the eagle has landed

We are officially Denverites (sounds like something you catch off a toilet, no?). Seriously, anyone who tells you that Denver at the end of September is not the greatest place on Earth, well, they're big fat liars telling big big fake fake lies.

It's pretty, we're happy. I have a baby turning one in a few hours, though, so I had better go get some sleep.

you can take me down, you can show me your home. Not the place where you live, but the place where you belong.

First things first:

Today is not only the birthday of my lovely friend Trisha, the girl I always live with when one of us finds ourselves single, but it is also the birthday of my friend old David, my very cute, very flirty friend David who my best friend Jessica pines away for. I love them both, like, <---------> this big and I think it is totally unfair that I have to split this day with both of them. David tends to be closer in proximity to me than Trisha, so he usually gets the birthday visit. Last year, we went to Shotgun Willy's. If you are not from Denver and do not know what Shotgun Willy's is, well, it's a grown up club. For grown ups. For drunk, birthday boy grown ups. It was way fun.

I told you,the Libras, they LOVE me and shit.

Second things second:

You see that? That's everything we own in the whole world. It's all packed into little suitcases because tomorrow noon we continue the Mr. Lady's North American tour of 2006. Next city, Denver CO.

I am not moving again for a long, long time.

I am so freaking excited to be going home, I can hardly stand it. I have always been lukewarm in my feelings about the Mile High City, but after a summer away I can say with a fair amount of certainty that Denver is my home. It is where I belong.

Pictures to follow, I would imagine.

Libras, libras everywhere...

I am a Libra magnet. They flock to me.

Today is my sister's birthday. I am going to pass on the whole birthday-schpeel thingy I do on this one, though. I'm just going to tell you a little of her story, the very, very little that I know.

The last time I saw her, she was 11 and I was leaving my mother's house in Delaware to go live with my father in Denver. The first time I had talked to her since, which just happens to also be the last time I talked to her, she was maybe 21 or 22 and just getting pregnant by some absolute fuckstick* who turned out to be exactly as much of a jerk as I warned her he was going to be. Now she is 26 with 2 kids and living the dream. The welfare dream.

I hear she is in Ohio or Iowa or something. I know she is a single mother and that kind of makes me sad for her.

She was deprived of, oh, a LOT of oxygen during a surgery at 6 months to correct one of her many birth defects and was left pretty much crippled mentally by it. It didn't help that something or the other went very wrong with the drainage system in her ears and she was deaf until she was 4-ish. Add to that the leg-braces and the developmental delays and you have one really screwed up kid. Top it off with truly shameful state-provided medical care (god forbid my perfectly capable parents INSURE us when the have that whole welfare thing!). Throw that into the mix with a psychopathic cult Christian mother, a piece of shit absentee father and three other kids fighting for their lives, and, oh, you can guess the rest.

I really feel just sad for her sometimes. Poor kid never had a chance. I left when she was 11. I had been working with her after school every day, tutoring her in reading and math and teaching her how to play the piano because that makes your brain work in ways it doesn't otherwise and helping her learn how to brush her hair and make herself look nice and take a bit of pride in herself. Of course, once I left, no one was there to pick up the slack. And of course, my dear mother so vilianized me (the gist of which was something about me having moved to do drugs and have sex with my father, I believe) that she would not talk to me or come visit my father anymore, for fear of being corrupted. And instead, she sat there and rotted away inside.

I asked her to come live with me when we last talked at 21 or 22. I really wanted to try to help her, to maybe parent her a little. I have never fully let go of the guilt I felt when I left her behind 14 years ago. She, of course, declined my offer and went on her crazy way, banishing me from her life again, refusing my phone calls, blocking me from viewing her silly little online photo site. Me, being a generally unforgiving, cold hearted sort of bitch, took the hint and walked away forever.

Today, she is living the same life my mother led, the same life all the women in our little section-8 ghetto lived, up against immeasurable odds, with no tools to fight and I only know this because I found her on MySpace and I occasionally click over to her space to look at pictures of her kids. I am sure that if not even I cannot see a way out of that life for her, she surely will never find one.

Boy, this post is a bummer. I didn't mean it to be. I just so rarely even think about those people that shared uterine space with me that when I do, I tend to drone on. Sorry.

And happy birthday, J. I hope it really was.

*fuckstick is one of those special words reserved for the lowest of the low, like the guy who sleeps with the slow girl, knocks her up, and then dumps her in the name of "doing right by god". Fuckstick.


I have only had 2 boyfriends in my whole life. One I was engaged to, one I married. I have had a few, um, "friends" along the way. In the in-between times, you know. Anyway, my point. I had NEVER been dumped. I have done some dumping myself, and always first, in a desperate sort of beat-him-to-it way.

I got dumped tonight. Very, very dumped. Over the phone.

And just when it couldn't get any worse, he did it again. In my email box.

Shit hurts, yo.

I would like to take this opportunity to e-apologize to Funny Ol' Becker, who doesn't even know I have a blog, but whom I dumped in the meanest, cruelest sort of teenage bitchy way I could manage. Dude, I feel your pain. I am totally sorry.

8 is most definitely enough

So, how was your weekend? Ours was lovely. We did indeed spend most of it by the pool, and some of us even got to have a cocktail or two while we were at it.

You know something? I had a revelation this weekend. My life, it's like a TV show. A typical, NBC, Thursday night TV show. How so, you ask? Let me tell you.

We have the single, unwed, young (and uber-hot* ) mother of three...
The brunette, brooding, serious brother and the blonde, silly, comic-relief brother...
The teenage, football star boy and his goofball, eccentric friend next door who is always over eating all the peanut butter sandwiches...
The curly headed, big eyed, painfully cute toddler girl...
And last but not least, The Aunts. Every good bad show has The Aunts. The crazy, drunk, cigarette-smoking-baby-pinching-beer-swinging-curse-saying-boy-crazy aunts. Yep, we've got those, too.
Add the obligatory yellow lab,
one house, a swimming pool and a lot of Midol every twenty-one days and you pretty much have my everyday life.

I wonder what kind of ratings we'd get.