November 13, 2003

Today is my 6th wedding anniversary and also my Sweet Baboo's birthday (we got married in Reno on his birthday so he'd be old enough to gamble - you do the math).  David (my 23-year-old) was kind enough to come over and watch my little ones while Eric and I went out to lunch and a movie.   The matinee was cheap and we were able to see "School of Rock," which was a lot of fun.  We had a really good time and it was great to be out, breathing non-kid air and actually having a date of sorts.  His grandmother sent him $50 (which is like $500 to us right now), which let us splurge on this. 

My plan from yesterday actually worked great, so I fully endorse it as an effective code of behavior.  When Eric came home from work, I had boogie music playing on the computer (It was a playlist of stuff like "I Think I Love You" by The Partridge Family, "Roadhouse Blues" by The Doors, "Mocking Bird" by James Taylor and Carly Simon, "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac and other booty shakin songs.  I had the house respectfully clean, candles and incense going (standard in my house anyway) and when he came in, I pulled him into a goofy dance and that seemed to set the tone for the night.

It was great to feel silly and eccentric and bohemian when most rational thinking people would see us as pretty frickin pathetic right about now, at least financially (we're pretty cool in every other respect).   Josh has moved down here from Fortuna with his girlfriend, having left the Conservation Corps and ready to tackle the work force (yikes), so he and Valerie came over and visited for a while.  Afterwards, Eric and I watched Star Trek TNG (or regular 8pm date M-F) and then cuddled and talked and laughed until we went to sleep.  As I drifted off, I realized that maybe if I wanted my husband to be a little happier and take more interest in me and what I'm doing, maybe I should be a little more interesting and show a little joy myself. 

Today, he woke up in a really good mood, had to go back to a job they did earlier this week for some fine tuning and then pick up David from a job interview to babysit.  From there, it was burgers, movie and home again.  It was just lovely and the whole day was very carefree and joyous.  If nothing else, it really proved to me how much control we truly have over our own outlook and the atmosphere of our day.  I love experiments.  :)  I think I'll hang with this for a while.  As soon as I get a little cash aside, I'm going to the thrift shop to see what rather eccentric clothing I can pull up, hats, scarves, long vests and the like.  I feel cool a'callin my name.

Speaking of The Doors and "Roadhouse Blues," (I'm quite a fan) I was shocked in about 1999 to learn that the line to the song is actually, "Ashen lady, give up your vows."  I'd thought forever it was "Fashion lady, give up your mouse."  I thought Jim was trying to talk some society dame out of her pet mouse or something.  *shrug*  Of course, I also was one of about 70 million people who thought Jimi Hendricks was saying, "'scuse me while I kiss this guy," only to find out it was "'scuse me while I kiss the sky."  What are we supposed to do when we're being manipulated by the very artists who are supposed to inspire us.  Are we really supposed to believe that The Beatles were saying, "I can't hide" instead of "I get high?"  Supposedly, Bob Dylan had heard the song when he first met them, also thought they were singing "I get high" and offered to smoke them out while they looked on puzzled.  At least I know Bob and I weren't the only ones who thought The Beatles were potheads before he got to them.  I also know that Paul McCartney was such an ego maniac that the first several times he got high, he hired some guy to follow him around and write down anything he said because he was so sure he was going to say something so remarkably profound that it should be recorded for posterity's sake.  I guess he didn't know yet that anything you say when you're high only makes sense to other high people.  Lord knows we all thought The Steve Miller Band was some really deeep, heavy shit until we stopped smoking pot and got jobs.  Then it was, "Um, what the fuck is Steve talking about anyway?  Fly like an eagle, eagle, eagle to the sea?  Huh?" 

I got into a conversation the other night about pot and a friend of mine said she just couldn't see the appeal and I was agog.  "Jennifer," I asked, "How in the world can you NOT see the appeal of having the munchies, seeing a plate of M&M cookies in front of you and have them start talking to you while you're eating them??"  Ah yes, them were the days.  Now, all I do is get honry for about 47 seconds, then fall into a dead sleep.  Some things just don't better with time. 

One of the best things about smoking pot for me in the past was how philosophical I would get, taking an hour and a half to explain some quantum physics theory to another stoner, having them nod enthusiastically, say "Whoa" a lot, then when I was finished say, "Now what?"  No problem.  Here we go again...

Don't get me started on the evils of alcohol versus the joys of sacred herb.  It's a really long story.   No, I'm not voting for heroin and cocaine to be available in candy machines.  But... herbs are wonderful things when used appropriately.

Delena just listened to me singing really really loudly to "I Think I Love You Again" and made the mistake of asking what the guy looked like who sang the song.  I was never about Donnie Osmond growing up.  Hated him.  My cousin, Delena (a year younger than I am and my daughter's namesake) loved him but those teeth just bugged me.  I was into David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman. 

DavidDavid Photo to print out

This is David Cassidy (for those unborn or locked in a barn in the
heated and hormonal 1970's

And this is Bobby Sherman, who is now a paramedic

Neither one of them is looking too shabby.  Age check reveals:  Bobby Sherman is FREAKIN 60 YEARS OLD!  (As old as my MOTHER was when she died this year).  Good god, I'm going to need a moment here to recover from THAT one.

David Cassidy is FIFTY-THREE.  Good Lord.  Someone pass me a drink.  Forget what I said about the evils of alcohol.  Where did the time go?  They were skinny little things, lithe actually, in hip-hugger bell-bottoms and polyester shirts and big belt buckles.  That means Shirley Jones must be (checking) 69.  Wow.  Captain Kangaroo is 76 (not dead, that was Mr Greenjeans).  Wow.  Both Bobby Sherman and Keith Richards (from The Rolling Stones, who has been dead for 10 years and just hasn't laid down yet) are 60. 

I'm 42.  I think .  Lemme count.  1961... yep, 42.  I thought I was 42 all last year and got really excited when I realized  I had an extra year.  I totally missed being 41 and was actually 42 for 2 years.  Man, I'd better get to some serious eccentricity if I'm going to have accumulated sufficient weirdness by the time I'm a crone (I've got to have it DOWN by then, man). 

And now the time has come for me to saunter off to yon boudoir for an episode of Trek, TNG with my honey.  *sigh*  It's just what we do.

Stay cool, my dear friends.  You never know when they're looking.