Wednesday, March 9, 2011

March in Michigan...

Feeling rather underwhelmed/overwhelmed today. Kinda just sitting around. Its raining on the snow, my kids are all doing stuff, building stuff, plotting, planning, chatting. They ask me for food here and there. Its just casual. I fight off the little panic attacks that usually have something to do with life not looking like I thought. We are waiting for spring. We are just about out of ways to enjoy the now. Im going out tonight and that will be a nice escape. My blue hair has faded to a blech and I think I will go re color it in a little while. Dishwasher is humming, mail might or might not be here, Rokenbok machines are whirring, Eska is totting around, Greta and Mickey laughing upstairs, Charlie obsessively checking the jello we made this morning to see if it is firm yet. Phone rings occasionally, Toll Free Call. I wash some clothes and dry some clothes and sometimes seperate and or fold some clothes. Its a cozy kind of boring. I am neither loving nor hating it. I wish I were all clean and dressed and that we could bop out somewhere...but really I dont even know where to go.
Said it before but I'll say it again: Once it is nice out, don't expect to see me indoors, ever. I am going to set up a little encampment in my yard, and be out there the entire day. My entire soul depends on it.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

The truth has been revealed: I am not a hippie.

I wear patchouli everyday. I named my child after a flower. I dont shave my legs too often, certainly not in the fall winter or most of spring. I have been or do go to whole foods and trader joes, and pay triple just cuz' its so fake small town-y. With the "handwritten" signs from corporate. But as sure as the day is long, I am a FAILURE as a Hippie. You know why? Because even though Sgt. Peppers is currently in my cd player in my car, I love BRAS and SHOES TOO DAMN MUCH!

Do you even comprehend how much I hate being barefoot---OUCH--glass, nails, rocks, ringworm, warts, pebbles, rust, spiders, staphylococcus---fuck that! I hate it hate it hate it! I used to run around the neighborhood barefoot, seriously, when I was a teenager, I walked all the way to my job at a pool barefoot. Didnt even hurt. WTF?! SO weird. Now I weigh a ton and my feet all all wussy and gentle. So instead of being a thin athletic teenager with leather tough feet, I am now the exact OPPOSITE of that, and therefore, I love shoes. And therefore I fail the BAREFOOT portion of the BAREFOOT BRALESS HIPPIE thing. You still with me? Good. So ponder this:
I like the sturdy, sturdy super uber clunky 90s shoes. I LOVE my Doc Martens. I have the oxford red 3 lace ones, I have black mary janes that are painfully horrifically tight because they are not unisex, but rather, girls shoes, ladies, what have you, well they only go up to a 10. And I am an 11 if not 11 1/2. OW. I also have 8 hole patent leather red Doc Marten boots that rule my life. Gorgeous fun darling you feel like some alien spacecraft barbie fashion doll when you wear them, not bad t'all :)

Recently I discovered Keen. Yummy clunky super crunked out mountain climbing-chic-- look I dont know what to call this shit but it gets me, I fuckin LOVE it, all that faux hiking shit yummmmmmy so cute. Ok so KEEN(s), Keen, I have a pair of green mary janes and a pair of clunky hiking shoe thingies. Also green. I adore and devour green articles of clothing and decor. Duh. I takes my breath away, a good green anything-- car, paint on a house, little signs, I just adore green, it is amazing. It is so hard to do green wrong, even if you go into mint which is disgusting ,but since this 80's chic just does not seem as if it will ever fucking DIE, pastel yes sadly is also back and somehow....Im falling out of hate with pastel green-- sick right? ;P

Well, green shoes, clunky shoes, hi top chucks, platform boots, combat gear, I love me a great shoe. Mmmm mmm mmm.

And now, my dears, on to Bras!
Bras, oh bras, brassieres, all those lame things like boulder holder and, ummm other things? Yes, bras, I LOVE THEE. I H A T E My boobs flailing around. It makes me puke. It is not free, it is not comfy, cozy, casual, political, it is GROSS. BLECH. shudder. I Like a very high quality bra, one that is like micro engineered, researched, cantilevered, I want it to be A M A Z I N G. Like ,armor. Fucking armor to go out there and cook meals for brats and deal with assholes in stores and drive with psychos on the roads, texting while drink driving, ARMOR to help you lift lift lift huge fat toddlers up into swings, carts, baskets, vans, carseats, high chairs, bathtubs, cribs, playpens, strollers, ergos, pouchie things---holy shit, my titties would be pulverized by some kid's shoe if I didnt have a seriously wonderful bra on! OWCH anybody?
Besides armor, both psychological and actual, the bra just--solidifies you. Or is should. I am talking about real big time bras here, not little pink thingie from Target---like big crazy cup bras, they sure help my ole fluffy moosh boobs somehow mold into a lovely round bowl, safe and ensconced, looking all but 1/2 of my actual age of nearly 36 if-ya-know-what-I-mean, I think it is just lovely and fantastic to be solidified. Lovely!

SO, thus having failed my BAREFOOT and BRALESS categories of the barefoot braless hippie, we must now all rationally conclude that I am not and cannot ever be, truly, a hippie. I admire them and love the few real ones I am lucky enough to know, I thank them for their work and vision and perfumes and big rolicky skirts that hide fucked up mom butts, truly, they're so pretty and awesome-- but Gen X, Gen Y, next gen, I dunno, but I just so NOT a hippie. and thats totally ok, cuz hippies really dig me, and I think they know Im a kindred spirit. And thats groovy.