Sunday, February 27, 2011

Daddy Smells Like Sodium Nitrite











Angie and Mama and I went trespassing one evening. Mostly it was me and Angie while Mama played look-out at the end of the driveway. This is the old house. The house we all used to live in together. Mama and Daddy and Wendy and Angie and me. I was only seven when we moved out but I have very vivid memories of that old place. Please trust me when I say that it looked nothing like this when we all lived there. Also trust me when I say that if I were ever face-to-face with the born into privilege, rich as Croesus assholes who inherited this old beauty I would spit directly in their eye for allowing her to fall into such utter and tragic disrepair. Disgraceful. I used to ride my scooter across that front porch. Now it's fallen in under the weight of all of the tires and plywood they've piled on top. I mean seriously? Tires? My parents and my sisters worked so hard on that house. We nearly froze to death in the winter and there was more than one incident with a horny bull/rooster/billy goat but dammit I loved that place. Angie and I stood out in the yard and looked across the pasture where our old dog Napoleon is buried and we held one another and cried for our tired daddy and for ourselves.

The next day at Sam's Club, I spotted a rack of Smithfield country hams and before I even though about it I buried my face in the cloth bag and inhaled. Pure Daddy. For over two months I've been trying to smell him. His clothes don't smell like him. Not really. They smell like Mama. His truck smells like him. But then not really him. But that goddamn country ham... that country ham was like he'd pressed his finger to my sore heart. Again, more tears. More me and Angie clutching one another sobbing, only this time we were standing in the middle of Sam's Club on a Sunday afternoon. Church folks holding samples of cheese quesadillas were taking wide berths around us. "Daddy smells like sodium nitrite!" I wailed to my sister and we both howled with laughter and I promised her I'd make that a blog post title.
John and I went on vacation. Drove 13+ hours in the car with four cats and a litter box. Each way. A very good time was had. The sorta point of us going during that particular time was because Mama was having back surgery. The whole thing turned out to be a circle jerk with Worker's Comp being the jerkers and my mom and the rest of us being jerkees. They called about 2 hours before Mama was supposed to be at the hospital and cancelled the whole blessed thing. Thanks for mutton you bastards. So I'm flying back out Wednesday afternoon to be with my Mama-Mia whose surgery is finally definitely scheduled and WILL be performed on Thursday. Jeezus.

So during my vacation I went house hunting even though I'm not even sure I'll be approved for much of a loan. It's fun looking though. John, who's been semi-hesitant about the whole mess has finally come around to my side. Men. You can't cajole them. You have to plant seeds and then sit back and let them pretend like they're the ones solely responsible for the beautiful tree.

I also babysat Miss Caroline. I wouldn't let just anyone poop and pee and puke and shart all over me. Only fambly. At one time or another all of my nieces and nephew have expelled all over me. I always learned how to love them again. She's mighty beautiful so I figure by the time she's four or five we'll be able to speak to one another without avoiding eye-contact.

I was able to get Mama out of the house. In fact, I'd call that bit of our trip a raging success. We spent a day in Charlotte and an evening at a tattoo parlor with Katie and Sarah. Pictures to follow. We also just spent time doing normal Wal-Mart, Chinese buffet stuff. It was good. You know what else was good? The weather. 70 degrees every day.

Other stuff happened. I'll post pictures later. I think I've missed being in a healthy enough mind-frame to blog. Right now, I feel pretty okay.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Me and Mama and Angie at 36th St. Bakery in downtown Linkern. Looking up houses on the internet. Trying to enjoy my last real day of vacation and digesting all that's happened this week. I hate and love my life with equal amounts of zeal.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Yesterday I dug a path in the snow all the way from our front door, across the yard, to the compost heap. I did this because John and I both tried to crawl our way out there and we both ended up spread eagle in the snow. I said the Eff word a couple of times, John said the Cee word. We both trudged back inside and pretended the whole thing had never happened. An hour later, I decided to take charge of the situation. So I dug. And I sweat. And I dug and sweat some more. Did I mention the rain? Cause it was raining the whole time too. My point is, this has been a hellacious winter. My mama asks how much snow we've got on the ground and I tell her three feet and she says she believes me, but honestly, I think she thinks I'm exaggerating. But y'all. I'm so not. It's so bad that the plow trucks keep overheating and breaking down. It's so bad, that there are wrecks left and right because people keep pulling out in front of people cause they can't see around the mountains of snow that are piled up EVERYWHERE. It's bad, yo. So anyway, after I dug the tunnel, I stripped naked and took a hot-ass bath and then proceeded to have a migraine of historic proportions. Complete with cluster headaches and light sensitivity and regurgitation of everything I've consumed since 1997. I'd sleep for four hours, wake up, think I was gonna be okay, piddle around for 15 minutes, throw up and go back to bed. Between the stress of the snow and the stress of grieving over my sweet-ass Daddy, I'm beginning to think I might need to check myself into the nervous hospital.