When You Care Enough To Not

 I have never watched one of those Hallmark Channel Christmas movies. Because I refuse. I do study and judge them by their trailers and posters though. And I mean judge. It seems to me that a huge percentage are a weak sauce attempt to remake "Baby Boom" but instead of a baby it's a dog/and or a whole kaboodle. 

Then there's the magical side to them: getting sent back in time or Fairy Godmothers and Santa and Aliens. It should be Aliens. I don't even know. I think Aliens could help.

And another thing, why always the long lost love? The "Christmas is now complete" trope.  Why does this Holiday need to be pressure cooked by unrealistic romantic idealizations? Ugh. Just ugh infinity. 

Give me a sad little tree that flourishes under the love from children any day over this sour sad tripe. 

True, Die Hard has a love story at it's core. It also blows up a building and drops the bad guy from it. I call that even. 

I'm off to watch all the Rankin & Bass Christmas Specials where NO ONE moves to Connecticut to be a Nanny for the talking dog of Santa's Fairy Godmother that leads the white girl main character through a magic portal to where she ends up helping a baker that's about to lose their shop that's going to be foreclosed on Christmas Eve if they don't sell one hundred thousand million cookies to an abandoned town of people that hate Christmas because of that mysterious thing that happened that no one talks about at the cookie factory but the talking dog sniffs out the ONE person that can save them all that's now homeless and they're the lost love of the baker and COOKIES FIX EVERYTHING and now they live over the shop and the town is now called Cookie Town and the talking dog and the white girl go back to the Fairy Godmother and ask for a wish and the girl wishes that she was never in this movie. 

The End.

Dream Tok

Okay, new dream sharing post. I was on a road trip. Driving up from Southern Utah, just enjoying the views. The music playing in the vehicle was a bunch of female artists : Brandi Carlisle, Sarah McLachlan and Tori Amos. Very  Lilith Fair. Then, when Sarah's "Angel" starts playing it does that Tik Tok Llama 🦙 interrupting thing and I woke up laughing. If you don't know, here's a sample of the chorus.

In the arms of the LLAMA
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold LLAMA
And the endlessness that you feel
You are pulled from the LLAMA
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the LLAMA
May you find some comfort here.

You're welcome.

This Seat's Taken

 Okay, this whole Travis Scott tragedy. I am more of the "Is there assigned seating?" age now. Whom am I kidding, I have always been that age. ANYWAY, I was at a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert decades ago. It was during their farewell tour (before they reformed again.) Point is, Toad is not the place where you'd expect a mosh pit. AND YET. Yup, there I was, down front and when Toad started the entire crowd pushed forward, crushing and mashing together. The girl next to me grabbed my hair at one point, yanking me down into the chaos. I had to elbow at least two people in the stomachs to get out of that mess. When I finally made it to the grass (with my ex) and we were watching the melee from a safe distance, Glen had stopped the entire concert and refused to return to the stage until people chilled the "f&*k" out. I think it took at least five to ten minutes to get the dumbass crowd under control. I mean, it is dangerous enough for me to just stand up let alone be in a crowd of moronic drunks crashing into a stage. Never again.

I cannot imagine the fear and panic that was happening inside that crowd in Huston. It saddens me. There is nothing that compares to that exhilaration and sheer joy a concert experience brings. I have learned to experience it differently. Safely. Probably too safely for some. I of course am older and not daring. Ready to sacrifice that euphoria for safe keeping.

Just give me a seat and I will be blissed out without having to elbow anyone. Promise. 

Miracle Day

 Ten years ago today I was being wheeled into the Huntsman's operating room and having the cancerous parts of  myself removed, from myself. I had set parameters beforehand with my surgeon on what music could not be played overhead during the procedure. The big NO NOs were Reo Speedwagon and Air Supply. Just in case I died on the operating table, I didn't want the last thing resonating through my being to be "All Out of Love" or even worse "Can't Fight This Feeling." I know, I know that someone will wield WHAM! against me. Go ahead. I can take it. I don't mind. No matter how embarrassing "Bad Boys" might seem I will sing that on a loop for eternity if it means to never hear another song from The Bands Who Should Not be Named again. Now, where was I before I got lost in my tirade against shit 80s limp rock? Oh yeah, being amazed and grateful that I am still on this floating blue marble ten years later. 

Ten years. It seems so long and yet, that is just how long ago it was when the last Harry Potter film was released. Yup. Not a lie. I totally remember thinking how lucky I was to live long enough to see all the films. Stephie didn't. Steph didn't live to see a lot. Many haven't. I think that every time I see the leaves change. I get nearly panicked each autumn to pay the change of season its due homage. I owe this life my attention. That I can pay.

My surgery also took place on the Day of the Dead. The day when two universes exist together. Being the nerdy geek that I am, I decided to put my own internal spin on it. I had been watching the last season of Torchwood where no one on Earth was able to die. Skipping all the horrible plot holes (and literal holes) in the show, I held on to that theme as mine. My own Miracle Day. My Day of the Dead where no one was allowed to die. 

Ten years later I am just as dorky. Still hold the leaves changing just as sacred and I will joyously hold in contempt Ear Worm Supply and URA Jackwagon. 😉😜

Getting used to the miraculous. I could get used to that.

Camel Toe City Sweetheart

 My Mom and I were doing self checkout at the Farmington Station Harmons when all of a sudden most of the high school kids came there for lunch. It was incredible.

Watching teenagers is a trip. The girl's styles, with their high waisted pants that are soooooo tight and up their hoo-has, blasting camel toes on full display is confounding. How is that comfortable? Hey, I'd like the pants that saw me in two, give me a rash, AND a yeast infection please! Hard pass.

Peering over all this from a GenX perspective I started to name groups, like a mashup of David Attenborough and a John Hughes movie: that one's a Molly Ringwald, those are the skaters, the sports, the nerds, and the full on goobers. 

During high school I remember being OBSESSED with not having camel toe. I mean, it was a prerogative in clothing decisions. (Yes, I'm back on that.) I am allllll for fashion recycling. We did it. I used to wear my Mom's 60s sweaters and skirts to school. But why couldn't they just bring back jelly shoes and parachute pants instead of this reiteration of the Mom Jean? SMDH. 

My Mom and I sat in the car resting and finishing our coffees for a while and watched the kids stream out. My Mom finally goes "ooop, caught some camel toe."

It was awesome.

Fart Jokes

I dreamt last night that I found out Dave Chappelle was having a meeting with industry bigwigs to decide comedy was going to be his way and only his way now. So I hired the whole gang from Leverage to stop it. (If you don't know anything about Leverage see my footnote.) Okay then, when we met up to plan strategy, they asked for my fighting skill and I told them one of them was going to have to hold Dave down so I could fart in his face. 

Soooooo, with my Ninja Farts on board we infiltrated the Super Secret Squirrel meeting and busted it up. I don't remember HOW it went down, only that it did. 

That's right. I saved the day. With a fart joke.

**Leverage is a TV show whose main theme is sticking it to the bad guy. They are comprised of a Hitter, a Grifter, a Thief, a Hacker, and traditionally a Mastermind. They find "leverage" on said bad guy and use it to their advantage to help the person that was wronged. Footnote to this footnote - as I explained this dream to my friends on their way to Drag Brunch and their having no idea about Leverage, when I detailed the lineup my friend added "oh and a construction worker, a cowboy, a Native American, a cop.."**

Subscribe

 I had over 12,000 emails.

Again.

I think this emblematic of my enthusiasm and hope.

I have so much enthusiasm for new (and existing) interests and then hope I will follow through with them.

Only to ignore them for months on end.

Maybe to unsubscribe completely.

This has been your Daily Moment of Existentialism With Heidi. 

Reunion of the Scrape

 This months marks the 10 year Anniversary of my Cervical Cancer diagnosis. Kind of a big deal. At the outset of it all they gave me a five year survival rate, with high probability of the cancer returning since it had spread to my lymph nodes. Still, it never did return. Not to say during the first year of my treatment that there weren't hella snags and bumps and plain old disasters. Even so, I'm here, 10 years later, for what I'm calling The Reunion of the Scrape. Today was my yearly pap smear and when I alerted my Gynecological Oncologist and his team of the particulars, they thought that was pretty damn funny. I am so lucky to have had The Hunstman Cancer Institute and their staff during all the original treatment and my follow up care. And just like before, today The Moms was there. Supporting me. Reminding me how loved I am. How grateful I am to BE HERE! 

After the stirrups, scraping, and reminiscing were over, Mom and I went for a treat. Nothing too fancy, being with my Mom is fun enough of a celebration. I ran into Sprouts and picked us up some lunch. A turkey wrap for Mom and veggie sushi for me, that the sweet kind lady made fresh because I asked if they had any without avocado so she made some! We ate in the car and had a great time of people watching. 

Not everyone gets to celebrate such milestones. They didn't get ten years, not even five. They don't get to make up silly crude names like Scrape-Aversay. Stephie didn't. So do me and Stephie a favor, go get your hoo-ha checked, your boobs squished, your testicles inspected and regularly get bloodwork done. The people that love you will thank you and you'll be thanking yourself. 

Here's to ten more years. 

Special of the Day

 

The Moms and I were at Costco today (I KNOW RIGHT she's out of the house and doing stuff it's WILD 🎉💖) and of course we're the minority of the minority wearing our masks and she's in the awesome little motorized cart and I was just not having it with people being clueless derps not possessing any sort of spacial awareness. I kept telling Mom to just go, not wait. If we didn't crowd into spaces we would still be there. An elderly handicapped woman in another of the motorized carts was struggling to put products in her basket. How many people walked by without helping until I did? It took two minutes and it totally made her day. I usually love the spectacle of humans at Costco. I engage, I smile, I joke and interact. Not today. (Well, not totally.)  I even had a teenager say about my super cool sparkly sequin mask "If you're gonna wear a mask just wear a regular one." I circled him like a twinkling vulture in the pastry aisle until his shoulders dropped to his navel and he shuffled away. Forget eye smiles, I have murder eyes.

And yet, there was the woman trying on a hoody, modeling it for her daughter. I voted two thumbs up. The sweet lady that smiled at me in the chip aisle and when I thanked her for it she thanked me for yes, my "eye smile." A man by the potatoes that told my Mom to "just run him over." The hippie in the tie dyed shirt that let my Mom go ahead in a crowded aisle that said "This place is mayhem!" There was the kind worker that helped with my old frames and their new lenses (I'm OFFICIALLY old now with progressives.) The sample girl handing out jerky that when I kindly followed up my no thanks with a "I'm vegan anyway" she giggled and said "I'm vegetarian!" We both laughed. Then as we were checking out, the checker told me how much she loved my mask and I overheard the other checker say "Working checkout is like directing traffic." My Mom and I laughed so hard.

I suppose, after allllll that, what I'm wanting to say is, help the little old ladies in the handicap carts. Be aware. My Mom seeing my impatience told me "I'm not special. I can wait." If you know my Mom you can hear it in her kind sweet voice. She is special. We are all special to someone. Let's start acting accordingly.

Face Time Capsules

Talking with my Mom today about her old address book, I asked her not to throw it away. She asked, "do you want it?" I told her it was history. She is saving it in her bottom drawer for me.

She had been wanting a new address book for a while. So many people have moved, numbers changed. Family members have died. You know, life. So, I got us matching address books for Christmas. They are sweet, with delicate blue butterflies on the cover. Blue is her favorite color. 

Now that she has updated her addresses and numbers, her sister and brothers aren't in there. She misses them every day. As we talked about all these changes I brought up how I still have Grandma Heugly's number on my phone, same with Sandy's cell. I started texting her when she moved to Arizona. But I don't have any of Stephie's numbers or even her address and this saddens and embarrasses me. I feel ashamed that someone I love so dearly, I have lost that physical earthly piece of them. I could drive you there. I have driven to her old house, just to see it. But I have no physical or digital record of it. Steph passed before smart phones and Facebook. We used to IM on AOL and send goofy emails, but they are gone. Lost in the ether with bouncing sheep and dancing babies.

Here's where my brain went after that conversation; so many of us are so digital now that each of our devices, our phones, our laptops, our tablets, they have become time capsules. They hold soooooo much of our lives, our memories that they need to be entrusted to someone if we aren't here anymore. I have designated a dear friend the keeper of my Facebook, why is there not a protocol for all our other devices? I mean, with my Mom and Dad they are mostly analog and gladly they are analog enough to have a notebook of all their passwords. 

Now on to the likes of us, with the multitudes of social medias and passwords and SO MANY PICTURES IN THE CLOUD. These little posts we make every day, these Facebooks and Grams and Tik Toks, are the choice pieces of a life journal we are choosing to share. Some are light years more choice than others, and still, they are part of our whole. I think they are worth protecting. So start making a plan with someone to save them. It is history.