Right away I start humming that song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack by the Blow Monkeys...but that's, You Don't Own Me....ah semantics. Well, I've been tagged by The Mind to tell you five things you don't know about me. This could be scary children, go grab your blankey and make sure all the lights are on.

1) I've had knee replacement surgery on my right knee and need to do the left eventually. Eventually being when I can have the surgery performed by The Rock, preferably in the nude. After I helped sanitize him of course.

2) When giving birth to Kendell and after pushing for two hours (that would be PUSHING, not labor) I asked the doctor if we could do this tomorrow because I really needed a nap. I truly did not understand why he laughed.

3) I'm a voracious reader. I have a book with me at all times. If I don't have a book with me, I actually have withdrawal pains. I even read in the shower. The library is not happy with me.

4) I have a lazy eye. It's not bad unless I'm very tired or very drunk. Both instances in which I also develop a drawl from learning to speak in Georgia. So if you're ever in a bar and see a cross eyed woman using the word "Ya'll" a lot...It's probably me.

5) When I was about sixteen, I was sitting on the couch and my sister came up, pushed my head down on the arm rest and farted on my head. I know that's not really something to "know" about me...but it drives my sister crazy when I repeat it. She denies it to this day...I however know the truth. You don't forget someone farting on your head.

Ahhhhh, who to spread the love to.....Let's try tagging Just a Trumpet Player, Mlah(because I missed you last time), and of course...Carrie!! hehe..you can all smack me later cause I like it anyways! hmmm, that's a sixth thing isn't it?

Driving home from the dog park, the smell of dirty, wet, dog swirles around me and Kendell.
Buddy moves from the back seat and plants his front paws on the console between our seats, presenting his furry derriere for the viewing pleasure of any driver lucky enough to be behind us. He moves forward as if peering at the traffic ahead of us, mapping out our route home.

As the light changes and I accelerate, he moves back out of my vision before I have the chance to tell him. Instead he now hangs his head over the back of Kendells seat. I glance over and see Kendell look at Buddy. It's a slow measuring look as he takes in the position of Buddy's hanging tongue and the intermittent plop of saliva that hang glides from it. Buddy moves over Kendell's head to see out that window and I watch as Kendell painstakingly pulls his hood up and over his head while watching that silently swaying drop of dog spit that teases from the end of Buddy's tongue.

I can't stop the laugh that bubbles out as he turns and looks at me.

"What??" he says.
"This is easier then making him move."
I laugh but concede his point. I just imagine what the people in other cars must see as we go past...

I see the lines under his eyes, brown and shadowed they look into me. See me. How easy it was to fall into those chocolate orbs, how I loved to throw open my arms and just leap.
I remember his arms, how safe they made me feel when wrapped around me. My soul yearns for that safety, reaches for it when I lay between the covers; a bystander to my hearts desires that rise unbidden past slumbering defenses.

The sun beats down upon our heads as we say our goodbyes, it should be raining, I think. "I'll be back" he says, "I love you".
I watch as he pulls away and drives down the road trailing my dreams behind him like a banner and I know he's gone. The heat of summer blazes against my back as I drop to my knees in the gravel, the bite of the rocks almost pleasant to the roaring in my ears. Even then, something deep and wise knew the truth.

The whole world was on fire
no one can save me but you.

I would wear his cologne, torturer to my victim, as if the smell of him would act as a balm and fill in the hole in my heart that was left behind with his clothing. Forgotten, like me.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon." How I clung to those words, refusing to let them go, engraving them onto the worry in my head like a tattoo covering an ex lovers name.

Strange what desire will make foolish people do.

Tears, rivers of tears so full that I should never cry again. My bed empty without his weight beside mine. The outline of him I traced in the space he left. My nose to his pillow, till even the scent of him had left me behind.

Phone calls to voice mail, filleting open fresh wounds with his recorded words.

"Marry me" he had said. Just believe, throw away years of caution, so I did. Silly girl.

This love is only gonna break your heart.

Over and over, how could I not go mad with this wanting, this cavernous empty ache.

How could this not be forever. How do you love someone so much and not have them feel the same. The rightness, the fit, the cookie to my cutter.

What a wicked thing to say
you never felt this way.

"I'm not coming back" he said matter of factly, as if I should have known this...and I should have. "It's been over for a long time now." For who? I wanted to scream at him. Not for me. Not when you call and make me laugh, and say loving things to me. Not when I ask if everything is the same, if you still love me and you say yes. Was I your fall back? Your safety net in case ?....just in case?

What a wicked thing to do
to let me dream of you

"Stop calling me" I would plead, yell, scream. His patience outweighed my anger, he waited...waited just to make sure...safety net.
"Let me move on, more forward" I would say, beg.
'I can't love anyone with your ghost haunting me' I would think.

No I don't want to fall in love....with you.

Years file past, neat soldiers lined in a row. I move forward, that small part of me that was broken still stumbles behind me. I see her from the corner of my eye, I wont forget her, leave her behind. She humbles me, reminds me what love can do.

"I want to come see you...just visit" his voice is the same. His laugh. He still makes me laugh.

I can see his smile, feel his arms, smell his scent. I can still taste his lips on mine if I try. I don't. Not anymore.

I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

I haven't felt the deep fall of love in so long. The slow decent into heated depths. It's sidelong glances and soft slow caress. It's a temptress I remember well. I cast her out cold and barren on my doorstep. I buried her with his cologne, his forgotten shirt...my dirty little secret, having loved someone more then they loved me. Love is whore and I no longer wanted to partake of her services.

"Just for a few days..." oh the temptation licks at my lips like an avid lover and I want it. That small broken figure stares at me, she knows what I don't want to hear.

What wicked games you play, to make me feel this way,
what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

No I don't wanna fall in love...with you.


(Wicked Game, Chris Isaak)

This year I received an early Christmas present....from YOU!

Since you nominated and voted for me over at Red Hot Heaven; I garnered both Red Hot Female Blogger and Red Hot Blog! I can't imagine a better Christmas present...well, except perhaps George Clooney delivered wearing a small red bow....but you get the idea.

It's been just over a year since I took a deep breath and plunged into the blogging world. You've made me laugh, you've touched my heart, made me angry at times,..but always, you made me think deeper, reach farther, and feel genuinely listened to and appreciated.

Thank you, everyone of you that choose to spend a few minutes out of your busy days listening to my thoughts.

Merry Christmas my friends.

KaraMia

I'm doing some last minute shopping today.

Why?? You might ask. Because evidently I am off my ever lovin rocker. That's ok though because every other living soul out here is a crayon short of a full box.

I'm just saying that ya'll better prepare to bail me out of the pokey if one more crazy driver thinks that parking their yuppy ass SUV in my trunk will make me go faster.

I'm having visions of yuppies on a stick...much better then sugar plums and lollipops anyday.

Bah Hum Bug!

I'm a statcounter ho.

There....I said it. I check my stats daily and usually cry...in the dark, in a closet (feeling guilty yet?).

Then I take a look at the keyword section and I laugh my not so insufficient derriere off. By far, my Jerry Springer post has garnered me the most interest. Pages and pages of keyword interest. Now, those of you looking for him don't stay long...but you do provide me with a daily chuckle and the knowledge that my impending transfer to the fiery flames of Hell will be a crowded one.

Today I thought I'd share with you some of my more, how should I say this?, UNIQUE keywords. Nothing like spreading the love...and making them come back to my site again. Bwah ha ha.

So without further ado, put on your waders and let's jump into the deep end.

Image between crotches of a gymnast: Note to self...look up where this landed when I get home. Note to weirdo looking for this, "Dude, last time I checked, gymnasts only have ONE crotch a piece....um...not that I'm checking....really.

Kendell Confection: Yes, he is a tasty little treat isn't he!

Kendell Storm: Oh honey, you don't know the half of it!

Female Gerbils: All I can say to this is, "put down the gerbil and run like hell!" No one at the pet store tells you that gerbils are like tribbles and that they will multiply till your house is full of little baby gerbils and gerbil shit. Run my friend, run fast and never look back!

I bite my cuticles: Hey...So do I! We should make a club...or something.

Lactating Gerbils: I believe I told you to put the gerbil down. Now your playing with it's nipples???

Corina Corral: huh, now I had a friend named Corina...but I swear I never put her in a corral...well, not so where it can be proven in court.

Redhead Cutie Freckles: Ha, honey, you're dreaming if you think you're gonna find her searching in google.

Northwest Gerbils: Back again? What is your deal with the Gerbils? Sicko.

Potty Training Drawing Circles: Did you think you were going to find instructions? I'm pretty sure if you want to draw circles with your pee...you can go right ahead with your bad self. I'm betting Carrie got some hits on this one as well.

Michelle lawyer ex-husband blogger: Don't know him. He sounds single...is he cute??

Life like fake puppies: Now everyone take a moment and lets think about this...Done? Good, cause I have NO idea what this means. However that will not stop me from using this at the office Christmas party, or anywhere else for that matter. When someone laments on their life after knocking back a few....I'm going to say, "yeah, I know. Life is like fake puppies" and then watch as their inebriated brain turns my statement into the most social philosophical statement EVER.

You know your a mother when: Honey, if you haven't figured out that your a mother by now...best to just back away from the rum bottle.

Rum gives me heartburn: Dude! Seriously....we need to get that club going.

No significant other: Sigh, same here. But I heard Michelle lawyer ex-husband blogger is available!

Kept Falling Out Bra: One word for ya, GLUE.

Dogback riding: Maybe it's a sport? Or a kinky sex game!!! ...um, not that I would be interested in that sort of thing....really.

She pulls lovingly: What?! What damn it. What is she pulling for GOD's SAKE!

And my absolute favorite keyword search to date....(drum roll please):

Child interrogation!!!!!

Seriously...do you need to look this up? I just tend to hang Kendell by his nose hairs and he tells me anything I want to know.

So there ya have it. The official proof that life is like fake puppies.

Smooches!

Oh the joy of internet at home. Ho Ho Ho and Merry Christmas to me!

This weekend I had internet installed at home again. Something I had discontinued a year ago to save money. Instead I relied on my internet connection at work to spread my verbal seed forth. (Quite a visual that line is...Isn't it.)

Unfortunately for me, work has declared all blogs marked as blogspot.com as evil, sex addicted, miscreants and I can no longer visit your blogs at work....the sadistic bastards! I have not spurned those of you I love...nor those of you that I just want to smooch, but instead have been put on restriction like a promiscuous teenager. Blogger birth control if you will...

However, it forced me to dig deep....ok, not that deep, and become linked into the Borg again. (Yes, that was a Star Trek the Next Generation reference...deal with it). So early Saturday morning, no make up, and afro head early, the cable guy came out to hook me up. Alas he only hooked up the internet...the rest of me is still un hooked, might have been the raccoon eyes from yesterdays mascara and my Shirly Temple on crack look...but I'm just guessing here.

I excitedly link up and check out my blog, something I haven't been able to view for almost two weeks. Metaphorically I crack my knuckles, getting ready to dig in and post my first at home post. The cursor is blinking, my fingers are on the keys and I'm ready to go. I'm so primed to burst you would think I had been watching cinamax after dark.

I sit there some more and type a few experimental strokes onto the screen. Yup, fingers work.

Tap, Tap, Tap, the space bar seems fine...

Hmmmm, maybe I need to check my email, I think to myself.

Ten seconds later I'm back to a blank screen that blinks at me in laughter at my failure to perform.

There's no denying it. I can't think of a damn thing worth typing about.

All weekend my muse is out shopping while I'm at home trying to fan the flames of creativity.

I don't visit blogs, I don't write...I stare at the screen and curse blogger for draining my brain into a limp tool.

Until today...today I can write, albeit a bit stutteringly, but I write.
Why you ask?
I'm at work... evidently I can only get down to business...when I'm at a business.

I'm going home tonight to cruise blogs since I sent all my shortcuts from work to my home computer. I may not be verbose at home but I can lurk on your blogs like the cyber stalker I am.

I sit in the middle of the living room, faded newspapers crumpled around me as I unpack each ornament and touch the memories that resonate off their surface.

Each one breaths into me bursts of images that remind me why I go through this year after year. Kendell looks up at me and smiles as he begins another box.

I hear him gasp with pleasure when he comes across our Christmas stockings. I see him pull them out of the box, eyes already seeing the stockings hung and full of surprises gifted on a Christmas morning.

The scent of fir tree and candle wax drift around us and the world seems to have turned into all things glittery and light.

I hear a small sound of dismay pass from Kendell's lips and look over to see him clutching a satin furred stocking against his cheek. It's deep red contrasts against the cinnamon of his skin and his lashes brush down against his cheek as a tear slides down from beneath them.

He looks at me with a face older in it's mourning and shows me the stocking in his hand.

I remember making the letters with glue and glitter for my mother the year Kendell was born. "Grandma", it says.

Today, Christmas smells like memories

"Hello."
Pause
"Hello??"
Pause
"I have your child" a low gruff voice rasps over the cell phone line. The voice quivering with menace.
I stop to think about this for a second.
"Well, you better make sure you have him back by Christmas or he'll be very upset" I state.
a burst of giggles
"Aw Mom. It's me, your son Kendell."
"No!" I gasp in feigned surprise.
"Yeah, really" he giggles out
"Wow, that's a relief!"

It's the time of year to deck the halls....or your neighbor..Whichever.

Every year someone asks if we get a real tree or do we have a fake tree. Growing up mostly in the northwest, I can't remember a time we didn't have a real tree. We even had real tree's when we were stationed in Panama...Albeit they were a bit crispy, but real nonetheless.

In 33 years I have had one fake tree....one. This was also the same time we had a house fire and the fake tree proved that not all things are made non-flamable.

I don't know about you, but I consider that a sign.

So off to the u-cut farm we went. The weekend was bulging with holiday events and we were forced to go get our tree in the pouring rain.

Being the optimist I am (what?? stop snickering!) I'm in a pony tail, blue jeans that are a smidge too long, and tennis shoes.

I try in vain to convince Kendell that the few pre-cut tree's are WONDERFUL.
He doesn't fall for it.

I'm forced to find a sharp cutting instrument...for the TREE...sheeesh, you guys have no faith.

Anyways, by the time I'm done, I have mud from my knees to my toes. I'm dripping wet, my pants are falling off and I have a line of mascara trailing from my left eye to my chin. I managed to shove the tree in the back seat, top hanging out the back window like it's trying to escape and shove the door shut despite a tree that was determined to get OUT.

Bonus? Kendell laughed his little butt off all the way home.

Coming in at the top ten:
transferring a call...
"Hey Carla, I have a Woody for ya."
Pause
"Nope, there's no way to recover from that one."
Burst of laughter as I connect the call and hang up the phone

Psst, Don't forget to vote! Voting Closes December Tenth!

Psst, Psst, Don't forget to submit your 80's hair!

Oh come on now. You know you had hair like this too! Unless you're 12...in which case, go back to the Disney site PRONTO bucko!

The sad part about that statement...there's nothing really on my blog that a 12 year old can't read...other then my bad mouth. I mean, I have no illicit love affairs..., all my drugs are prescribed....., I've never done bad things with animals....

Damn.

I need to catch up!

But I digress...as usual. So here's the deal. You need to go pull out your yearbooks, scrap books and photo albums and find your 80's hair. Then you go over to Great Lakes State of Mind and submit that puppy asap!

I played, so should you.

Then technically we're playing together...right??

"Are you Kendell's mom?" she asks sweetly, her head cocked to the side in a coy attempt to disarm me.
"Guilty" I respond with a smile. Who does she think she's dealing with here? An amateur?
She giggles, her freckles flashing bright against her pale skin and turns with a flare to saunter back to her desk.

"She loves me mom" Kendell whispers to me from between lips that manage to not move yet still broadcasts loud enough to be heard in space.
"Oh yeah?" I say as I eye the little red headed contender between squinted eye lids.
"Yeah, she told me last year AND this year."
"How do you feel about that?" I ask while my inner dialog is screaming 'Aaaaaagghhhh'.
"Is it ok to like a girl?" He asks hesitantly
Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson!!
"Uh, yeah, it's normal" I stutter out. Normal for OTHER peoples kids maybe, certainly not MY precious baby.
He releases a heavy sigh, the kind you reserve for after you've saved a baby kitten from certain death at the hands of the neighborhood pit bull. THAT kind of heavy sigh.

"Great! Can I kiss her?"
Hell NO!
"I think that you should wait for that. You're to young to go around kissing all those girls" I say, frantically trying to back peddle out of deep waters.

"Well, I kissed her already"
Steam shoots from my ears
"Oh. You did?" my voice is surprisingly normal while visions of barbecued red heads on a stick, dance through my head.
"Yeah, on the hand. She giggled." He grins at me.

Sigh, "Oh, ok. Well, keep away from her lips."
Wait. Did I just actually say that? That's implying that he should kiss her elsewhere. What am I thinking? Am I INSANE??

"I mean, that's enough kissing for now." I add.
"Well, when am I allowed to kiss her then?" His big brown eyes look at me imploringly.
Pause
..."When your married."

Conversation over, a good soldier knows when to retreat.

They hit me like a sledge hammer to the skull.
These memories that creep and climb, pulling their way along my body, leaving trails of distaste in their wake.
They slither into my brain and curl around my cerebral cortex. I hear the tell-tale rattle bouncing against the walls of membrane and bone.

They strike when I am warm and safe in bed, my defenses pooled around my feet, like warm down blankets. They burrow beneath the layers and layers of brick I piled in front of my cell, the solitary confinement where all things hurtful go, the special place for things that go bump in the night.

I see her image broadcast on the TV screen in my mind. I can smell the sickly clean smell of the ICU room and hear the monitor as they bleep and blare out information on my mothers vital signs.

Please God don't let them tell me she's aware. I don't want her to remember this.
Never.
this.
Please.

It is my mantra, my prayer. I worry the words in my hands like beads. Running them over and through my fingers till they are warmed by my body; an unconscious and ever-present extension of every waking thought.

My hands and face are "protected" and the false dryness of the gloves grate against my skin as I hold her cold, clammy, unresponsive hand. My heart beats a betraying mixture of sadness and resentment. It is a echoing voice, betraying me in these small quiet moments.

The Christmas lights glow from the nurses station behind me and reflect a thousand fold in her window. Through silent tears I watch them stream down into a watercolor of light. I pray for just a moment of recognition. I pray just as hard for none. Live or die. I don't know what I want. I've cried a river of tears and I just want to float away on them, far away to places that don't smell of death and pain. Places where people speak in loud booming voices and children laugh out loud, outrageously alive.

Alive.

I don't want her to suffer but I can't let her go. I don't want to visit her like this for another twenty years, or five, or even one.

This non existence.

This non living.

This in-between place is killing me, killing her.

Endless waiting. Each day blends into another till I can no longer tell if it's night or day, week or weekend, December or January. I come to hate them all. The nurses, the doctors, the people who smile at me in the hallways. I hate you, each of you, with every fiber in my body, every DNA strand that makes up my being. I hate you in my toenails, the strands of my hair.
desperately.
Passionately.
Hopelessly.

You that can smile and laugh. You that can tell your mother your sorry.
So sorry that you are less then what you should be. So sorry that you are not strong enough today.

What is strength if it desserts you when you need it most? What good is being strong when you are brought down to your knees in the most important and telling time of your life?

I hide behind my anger, take comfort in it's burning warmth. Find false strength in strong words and resentful glances.

I hate.

I hate everything...

and nothing...all at once.

Please end this.

I damn myself for thinking this thought. This one large looming betrayal of a word.

End...just end.

What do I mean?
End her life?
End her torment?
Mine??
End this endless waiting.
Happen, something happen.
Just something.
Anything.

I curse myself every moment that this feeling slides along my spine, swirling around my heart in an endless dance of guilt and sorrow.

When was the last time she looked at me? Really looked at me?
Does she remember how annoyed I was with her?
Does she know how sorry I am? How everything I am??

I'm sorry momma, so sorry.
For being less.
For being young and selfish.
For letting you think I was angry...I was just scared.

I hate this time of year,
I hate remembering.

Push, crowd, pat down, stomp, demolish.

Each and every moment of that time.

Obliterate, Annihilate, eliminate, eradicate, ...erase.

...all I want for Christmas.

Poor Sally Field...but I LOVE that quote!
Thanks so much whomever nominated me! You guys are the greatest!
(psst, the check's in the mail)

Check out the voting on Red Hot Heaven.
Voting is open till December 10th! Coooommme ooonnn, you know you want to....
Ok, fine...you know i'll whine about it till you doooooooo.
((Smooches))

Friend: I had a rough time training my son. How was Kendell?
Me: Meeeh..he wasn't so bad.
Friend: Lord when my son was finally trained, I then had to train him to lift the lid!
Me: Oh no kidding! Me too. Only with Kendell it wasn't just the lid that got wet, it was the shower stall, the corner, the cat in the hallway outside...
Friend:((snort)) whatever
Me: Ha, seriously. I went out on our apartment balcony one day to find him watering the plants down below and the neighbor across the courtyard on the floor of her balcony laughing so hard she was crying.
Friend:Ahhh, an exhibitionist....
Me:That's not the worse of it. I swear before I could get him to lift the lid he would pee all over the seat. VERY fun to go sit down and sit in someone else's pee ((eye roll))
Friend: How did you break him of it?
Pause
Me: I told him if I ever sat down in his pee again he would have to clean the seat up...with his tongue.
Friend: ((staring at me, mouth hanging open))
Me: What?? It worked!

Bribery and threats....a mother's greatest weapons.

Name:Kara

Location: Tacoma, Washington, United States

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Lavish Praise Upon Me

I'm a recovering single mother trying desperately to see humor in my day to day toil while simultaneously avoiding reality as much as humanly possible.

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