Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
I met her just after my thirteenth birthday when I began to attend our shared summer camp. Since that moment she has been in my life. She has always been my friend yet, I do not remember meeting her. Her family has always been an extension of mine and she is more than a best friend. She is my sister.
"All the kids are in the dorms from General Swim. We better get to the chalet to take showers if we're going to make it to dinner on time," a wicked grin spreads across her face. She yells, "I'll race you," as she shoots out of the pool gate, leaving me to lock the gate of the pool. She scampers across the street, and scrambles up the outdoor, rusty, iron staircase. When she reaches the top of the stairs she rips her towel off in a pseudo striptease, waving it over her head, she yells "Yeah-ahhh!"
She turns her attention into the chalet. Yelling through the open door and down the hallway, "Hey you Bitches, I get dibs on the the next shower!" She hangs her towel over the deck's banister then disappears into the chalet followed by uproarious laughter.
She can be abrasively jovial. She is mischievous. She is wildly sensational. She exudes adventure. You can tell that whatever her plan is with the slightest twinkle in her eyes it is going to be righteous.
Our friendship has lasted through always living at least five hours away from each other, being middle school pen pals - I still have those letters, high school, sporadic weekend visits, shopping trips on Forbes Aveunu, our Grandmothers lighting candles for our protection, spending summers together, cars breaking down on the interstate, colleges, transferring colleges across the country, her overseas adventure with college abroad, countless Mr. Wrongs, road trips, concerts, changing cities, and her spectacularly lively country RamCat wedding and marriage to her equally rambunctious, audacious, thrill-seeking husband. Our most recent reunion occurred this month when she and J2 secretly planned a hurried visit on a two-night stopover from a cross country drive. After seeing each other five years ago at her RamCat One Year Wedding Anniversary we were back together.
She is exactly as my memory holds her. One moment she debates the latest methods of pedagogy and in the next moment she is masterminding saving the world through activism and the benefits of recycling. Two minutes later she is proudly expressing herself in the lyrics of 1980's rock anthems at the top of her lungs. She lives in the moment and loves wholeheartedly.
This is Chelsea.
Although we rarely see each other, when we do, we pick up exactly where we left off. That is damn fine friendship.
|Jeep riding through the ghettos and barrios of Memphis. Alright, this was taken in Bartlett.|
|We stopped for lunch Downtown. Can you guess where?|
|Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken.|
|The extremely polite and sophisticated Ladies Who Lunch at Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken.|
|If only I had known!! We got a giggle out of the posted signs in Tater Red's Lucky Mojos.|
|Figuring out our Blues Names upstairs in A. Schwab.|
|Chelsea is a Nordic Goddess, trying on hats in A. Schwab.|
|EAT, incase you forget. Phaedra at the old-timey soda fountain and ice cream parlor in A. Schwab.|
|Chelsea and Phae on Beale Street.|
|Chelsea on Beale St.|
|Yep, it is Chelsea and I on Beale Street.|
Chelsea tells me a story over a beer or two at Young Avenue Deli in the heart of the Memphis neighborhood Cooper Young.
|"Are you taking my picture?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because you are beautiful."|
Sunday, August 24, 2014
The little sister The Silver Fox promised me was born a week late with a penis. I was eight years old and devastated, but she let me put him in dresses and hair bows anyway. Trey and I told him he was adopted - his real parents are Aliens. I dared Trey he could not fit in the dryer, Blaise begged to try it himself and climbed in and held on for dear life as I let it roll with the door open, "That was fun!" he laughed as he lunged out of the spinning dryer. He happily tied ropes around his waist to fling himself off the top of our two-story deck. He holds a spirit of adventure matched by no other. He is always a prankster, quick-witted, and spontaneous with laughter, but he is even more noble and swift to help when someone is in a bind. He completed our family in perfection. Happy birthday to my favorite brother, Blaise!
I hope your day is filled with tickles and delight!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
On Saturday evening I play wrestle with J2. I crawl up the bed from his feet towards his face. He stops me by hip checking me off the bed and saying, "Get off of me; I can see the rape in your eyes."
I laugh uncontrollably until I snort and lose my breath.
The second time I try to wrestle him I sweetly cuddle up and locked my arms around his neck. As he stands up with me attached to him like a little money he says, "Your eyes are rapey."
Plenty of giggling ensues.
Tonight, I am the last one to bed. I turn the tv off and switch off the lamp on my nightstand. As he is gently snoring in the pitch black of night I cuddle into him, rest my lips near his ears, and whisper in the tone of nightmares yet to be had, "You can't see the rape in my eyes now."
Sweet dreams, y'all!
Monday, August 4, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Since J2 and the kids are out of town I've been practicing my future lifestyle of living in a nudist colony.
I am falling asleep in the bedroom this evening when someone starts banging on the front door. It's a real Police about to break down the front door style of pounding.
I'm dazed. I'm naked. Where do I keep the towels? Or wait, what if it's Mr. Mike from next door? That's inappropriate. Do I own a robe? Can I escape through the window? Who should I call to let them know I'm answering the door at night? I've watched too many Investigation Discovery shows. Oh yeah, my hot pink fuzzy robe is in the back of the closet. But that's a winter robe. Put it on anyway, I tell myself.
The banging continues in conjunction with the doorbell ringing in continued succession. "BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG! BANG! BANG! Ding-Ding-Ding-BANG! Ding-Ding-Dong! BANG!
Are you kidding me? The person at the door is trying to hurry and confuse me. Since the dog is not even home to protect me I'm surely about to be murdered in a spinster alone at home manner.
I hear multiple people yelling on the other side of the door. I pull up my phone keypad and type in 9-1-1, so I can easily hit send. You know, just in case.
I open the door and I'm bombarded with the words of no less than six neighborhood teenagers, "Did you lose your dog?"
These damn children have no home training or manners.
The ring leader, who has a bandana tied around her head in an adventurous lady pirate-style is large with her t-shirt slit too far down the center. The sleeves of her t-shirt are removed in the manner of a Bartlett country boy who cuts the grass. She is standing on the front porch with her hands tightly wrapped around the collar of a furry dog.
Why is she holding the collar of our Fuzzy Buddy?
"Did y'all lose your dog?" she yells. Her tone sounds like a accusation instead of a question.
He looks like our Mayor McCheese, but that is not him. He is having a spend-the-night party with Pandora.
"No. That's not our dog. That's the neighborhood stray that looks nearly identical to our dog."
The gang of teenagers in the driveway are still hollering, "Is that your dog? Is that your dog? Is that your dog?"
"Are you sure this isn't your dog?" the ring leader questions.
I am not what you might call an animal person. That is an understatement, but the dog's face is not Mayor's, "No. He's not ours."
The ring leader leans her head to the side and back towards her friends. She screams, "Shut up! It's not their dog!"
Still yelling she turns her head towards me, "Do you know whose dog it is?"
"Sorry, nope. He's just the neighborhood stray that happens to look exactly like ours."
Lesson learned, next time I'm not answering the psycho knock, Mayor McCheese is staying home with me, and there will not be a nudist colony in my future. Okay, still possibly a nudist camp, but I'm definitely changing the channel when I get back to the room. No more 'Murders' tonight.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Little Rock is approximately two and a half hours away from Memphis. It is just a quick ride from Memphis, so I jump at the opportunity to take a trip with the Memphis heavy metal thrash band Evil Army.
Although their surnames are quite intimidating and the internet is rampant with rumors about them I find these guys to be absolutely fantastic. They fill the entire four hour traffic jammed trip to Little Rock with laughter and fascinating stories of growing up in the national Metal scene. For the exceptional caliber of experience these guys hold they are extremely humble.
If you have a chance check out the heavy thrash rifts of Evil Army and see them in a city near you.
|Tyler Timebomb, Michael Murder, Rob Evil, and Aaron taking a quiet moment to smoke cigarettes before entering the Vino's Little Rock.|
|Rob Evil writing out the set list.|
|Aaron and Evil Army sitting around before the Vino's show.|
|Aaron has the merchandise table is set up and the guys are watching the opening act.|
|Memphis Metal band Dawn Patrol on the stage at Vino's Little Rock.|
|Tyler Timebomb watching Dawn Patrol perform.|
|Evil Army begins the set.|
|Rob Evil on the flying 'V', Michael Murder on drums, and Tyler Timebomb on bass.|
|Rob Evil and Michael Murder.|
|Rob Evil and Michael Murder.|
|A fan reaching for Rob Evil.|
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
He takes a few steps closer, "Come on! I'm hungry." He demands, "Just give me a few bucks!"
At this point I loose it. This man does not know me, what I do for a living, my situation, that I have been on a strict diet and exercise regimen for weeks, in spite of that I have been spending money on delicious groceries that I cannot eat, and I am hungry. He is big and he wants to bully me into a few bucks for McDonald's or whatever is he is going to purchase. I put both of my hands up into fists in front of my face. I squinch my face and bend at the waist and knees in a modified squatted position. As the bum walks closer I jump up screaming the first thing that pops into my head, "I'm taking care of three kids that aren't even mine! What don't you understand? I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING!!!"
He looks terrifyingly at me like I might shoot period blood out of my every orifice at him. He puts his hands up like a police suspect waiting to be frisked. Very quickly he backs away, "Okay, okay. Okay ma'am, okay."
I feel like an awful person for screaming what I said. I'm not always perfect, but I am always proud of these Little Rottens that are not even mine, but act too much like me to deny them.
On Sunday morning I wake up to hear the front door brushing open, "Jeff, wake up. Someone is in the house. I just heard the front door opening."
"What? You are asleep. How do you hear the front door opening?"
"I don't know, but someone is in the house."
He comes back into the bedroom, "It was someone for you. She's gone now. Go find what she left for you."
In the kitchen, left on the stove top, is a dozen hot pink and red zebra striped roses with a beautiful hand written note from Pandora as a gift for "Maternal Figure Day." The note brought me to tears. I may not be perfect, but Pandora's appreciation shows me that I do something right.
This week we have some big things happening.
|Maverick is being congratulated by a troop leader.|
|Phaedra's teacher, Myra tuning guitars backstage before the performance.|
|The Green Room backstage before the 201 performance. Phaedra is in the background being too cool for a fun group shot.|
|Marc Gurley, the owner of School of Rock, introducing the 201 performance at the 1884 Lounge in Minglewood Hall.|
|I warned Phaedra that when she began performing keys I would be the worst kind of stage-Mom photographer since I specialize in music photography. She thought it was a threat. This is her moment of realization that I am telling the truth.|
|She is a serious Rock 'n Roll artist.|
|This is my favorite shot. Phaedra remains this pensive while she practices at home.|
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
This morning I made a public declaration that I am giving up soda for Lent. Tonight, as I closed my eyes I can feel the pain bubbling behind my forehead, a lack of caffeine headache.
Searching for Advil in the dark to satiate my throbbing headache when I accidentally kicked the wooden block that holds up the foot of the bed. I'm yelling curse words, the likes have never been heard before when J2 rolls over and opens his eyes. Illuminated by the flashlight of my cellphone J2 sees me make a split minute decision between cradling my poor baby toe or issuing immediate retaliation to the bed for making me stub my toe. I hunch over in a crippled, old lady sort of way and scream at the bed as I punch the mattress, the way a badly trained girl would throw a baseball.
J2 laughs hysterically at my action and reaction. I'm crying in pain he's nearly crying from laughing.
By this point my toe is bleeding like a geyser and throbbing in horrific pain, like the devil himself is milking my pinky toe.
J2 asks to look at my toe because he has First Aid training.
He flicks it a couple of times. I'm sure he was nicer than that, but I'm crying and it hurts so badly.
He starts to tell me something, but I stop him. I can't handle blood and injury. He says, "You want my medical opinion?"
"No. No. No. Don't tell me!"
He ignores my pleas, "It's kind of crumpled."
"My toe is crumpled!?!" I begin laughing as I'm crying.
He thinks it's broken, "You'll be living with a slightly crumpled toe the rest of your life."
On the bright side he made a baggie of ice for this old, crumpled toe of mine. And, at least it's not cockeyed. Right?
Perhaps I should have given up cursing for Lent. After all, if I had my caffeine I would be peacefully sleeping, not searching the blackness of the bedroom for my Advil bottle.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
This cannot even be real! It's unfathomable to me.
My 1992, pre-pubescent self is so upset, stomping around, and screaming, "This isn't fair!"
Phaedra gets to watch Newsies in her eighth grade history class. That's some kind of class work!
Did you hear me??? Newsies!!! Christian Bale! David Moscow! Gabriel Damon!! Newsies!!!!!!! Newsies!!!! <possessed 13 year old girl who has taken a whiff of testosterone for the first time demon inside of me voice> Newsies!!!!!
<back to normal voice> Oops, sorry.
Disney! Dancing! Singing! Hotties from the 1990's! Newsies!!! Too numerous slumber parties spent watching Newsies!!!
Phaedra's not even grateful! She has no clue! And!!! To top it all off, Phaedra hates 'singing movies.'
Needless to say, I'll be attending her second class period tomorrow, swooning, dancing, and singing along, "Open the gates and seize the day..."
I am also sending her to school with a note, on personalized stationary, asking the teacher if we can borrow the tape, errr DVD for encore performances. Well, I suppose I should phrase it as added homework assignments.
Do not call me tomorrow after five pm. Something just came up! I'm busy! Newsies!!!!