Love at first fight.

Ever been instantaneously attracted to someone and shared a moment? The type scene that only happens in movies and you swear the world stops spinning for a nano-second as you stare at each other. That moment is clearly etched in your memory like magic for all eternity. Time stands still. You would hear Aerosmith singing "Crazy for You" if your brain would be able to process any more pleasure. Yeah- that what I'm talking about.

I walk into my tae kwon do class early, the black belt class that is held before my class is still in progress. The work out mat takes up three quarters of the mirror lined large open room. Off to the side is the viewing area seats and locker rooms. I need to walk the entire lengh of the room to change in the ladies locker room in the back. Carrying my equipment bag, I'm dressed in a sun dress, bare foot and swinging my high heels in my hand as I walk as no shoes are aloud past the entry.

I nod hello to those I know and look at the advance black belts class working on their forms as I saunter in. This class is ninety percent male, so being no fool I slow down my stride. When practicing your form, you are to remain oblivious to your surroundings, keeping your concentration on your movements. So I am able to gawk at the sweating black belts bodies unabashed because they will not notice my stares. At this level, your form is a long series of compicated self defense movements, a workout in it's self. You are trying for perfection and strength in your well choreographed form. They are in lines according to rank. The least experienced in the rear, highest ranked person in front right corner, closest to were I am.

In this alpha position is a man I have never seen here before. Where has he been all my life? It is not his placement in the class that catches my eyes, but the energy he eludes from every pour of his being. His movements are full of strength and precision. Tall and broad shouldered, body of the Greek god Zeus. Curly black hair, dark lashed chocolate eyes. Ahhhh. He radiates power and strength in his graceful form.

I stop short when I see him, three feet away from were he is, my mouth slightly open in a little "ooh", as I drop one of my shoes unnoticed by me. Zeus has just completed a high punch in my direction and he does the forbidden eye contact with me, stopping in mid form. You I'm sure felt the earth stop spinning when it happened. The energy of our first shared acknolagement caused tidal waves down under. K2 doesn't see me stop suddenly right in front of him and runs right into my now still butt. Zeus at this point shakes his head a little, breaking eye contact with me, as to clear his mind, and returns to his form, our moment over. KD who has bounced off my back side is now run into by his older brother who didn't see the traffic jam ahead of him that I created. "Mom, look at HIM", yelling my youngest son, pointing at Zeus without manners or shame. The three of us watch, impressed at this amazing man. Finely I bend to retrieve my dropped sandal and hurry and change into my uniform so I can continue to view this phenomenon.

Impressively, Zeus doesn't leave after his class has finished, but stays for the next class that I am in. What stamina. I steal opportunities to watch him from the back of the class, as I am on the low end of the totem pole. After our stretches and warm up maneuvers up and down the gym, it is time to pull on our protective pads and spare. We are to line up in two lines facing each other, lowest rank opposing the highest, so the black belt can teach the peons pointers and watch out for them. Being the lowliest of the low, I am first in line. I see Zeus walk off the mat and thank God he won't see me get my ass kicked. After everyone is lined up appropriately, I see Zeus walking my direction. He didn't leave after all but waited so he could be my partner. IEEE.

K2 is standing beside me in the newbie line and in an awed voice whispers "Woah-oh-oh Mom", knowing I am in for the beating of my life. I have nothing here, I think as we face one another and bow, my stomach and legs trembling. It is common for the higher ranks to not even acknowledge the lesser ranked belts, it's a pecking order thing. At the signal we swing into our fighting stance mode. Zeus flashes me what I consider a somewhat condescending smile. I can't help myself and whisper, "Your going down". Ok I knew better to trash talk someone so out of my league, but in my pervy mind he was, if you know what I mean. I spent more time down on the mat than a dust bunny, but every time I got back up, I taunted him more. "Is that all you got? C'mon don't hold back now", I'd jeer. Was so proud when I did catch him with a good unexpected blow. The bigger they are, the harder I want them.

Next we practice our one-steps on each other. One steps you take turns doing a number of self defense moves on each other, taking the punches and kicks or dishing them out. Found out my best defense is spinning ad whipping with my hair. Zeus boy would actually stop when my ponytail hit him in the face and just close his eyes and breathing in deeply as he smelled my hair. When he at one point bend me completely backwards(I was supposed to go with it and drop to the ground) he had to tell me just to fall- I wasn't playing fair. All's fair in love and tae kwan do. As I'm laying on my back staring up at him, thinking bout how good this boys sweat smells, he does the polite thing and offers me his hand to help me up. As I bounce back up on my feet, he spins me so I am facing the front wall of the mat, my back to all the rest of the people in the room. "You broke the rules", Zeus tells me, "I can send you back to the locker room to change, or you discreetly tighten your belt without turning around". First you never face the front of the room and adjust your uniform because that is a sign of disrespect to the flags that are hanging in the front of the room. I look down and see my belt slipped down on my hips, the inside tie of my top is undone, exposing my lacey red push up bra that is against dress code. In my haste to change so I can eye ball this hottie more, I forgot to change into my white sports bra. Rats there goes any attempt to impress I think as my face turns as red as my undies I am hurrying to cover. I bustle my boys into my jeep and hurry home right after class.

Funny, Zeus starts showing up at the later class after that. If he wasn't able to be my opponent, he would align himself close to were I was practicing. Chiverous man-boy that he is, he would not let any misguilded swings from over zealous fighter come close to me. "Heads up there Munkay Girl", he would say as he would block me from taking a misdirected blow, stepping between me and harms way. He would always position himself in the same angle I was in to be able to see me no matter were he was in the class. If we were not sparing one another, we would do walk by taunting. "Don't be bringing none of that weak stuff round here", would be answered by, "Got a can of whoop ass with your name on it".

He used my boys to get to me. I heard him talking to them once from the girls locker room were I was changing. "Your dad ever come to watch you guys?", he would fish for information from them. "Which school do you go too?" And "Live close by?" was another. He did get good and tell my youngest if he were able to flip him he would take then out for pizza after class. I think Zeus jumped over backwards rather than was forced when K2 flipped him. Best pizza we ever tasted.

The night I turned up at class without my boys who were spending the night at a sleep over, Zeus took my car key out of my coat pocket. After class my car was running. He changed before me and warmed it up for me while I was showering. Sweet thing was waiting to say goodnight and make his move. I politely declined and told him him once again that I was married. He always had a funny good natured comeback when I told him that. "That's ok", he would answer. "I'm a Libra". As I pulled out of the parking lot and watched him in my rearview mirror, I heard Three Doors Down coming from my CD player. "Here Without You" lyrics filled my jeep. He had burned me a copy of his CD and had put it into my stereo when he started my car.

I seen less of Zeus after that, opting for a later class or doing other activities to avoid trouble. Last winter my furnace quit on me. I have a back up natural gas fireplace that would heat my home but I was having trouble figuring out how to light it. I shipped the kids off to relatives, and headed off to Menards for my fix all, duct tape, thinking I could tape an ice pack on my thermostats to trick it into producing more heat. Who do I happen to run into at the store? My hero Zeus. He offers to come to my rescue and I give him directions to my cold house. I stop and pick up the ingredients to finish the catering job I was cooking for the next day.

Toolbox in hand he knocks on my door. I show him were the fireplace is and the basement, were all the electric furnace stuff is. Walking back upstairs the electricity goes out now too.(He had thrown the switch in the fuse box he confessed later). Zeus focuses on the fireplace and has lit before I know it. My ovens are also gas so I light some candles and continue to work on tomorrows party food. I offer Zeus dinner for keeping me from frostbite. He takes is tools out to his car and returns with a guitar. He is entertaining me with his musical talent as I cook. This is starting to read like a cheesy romance novel here I think as I dish us up. Instead of huddling in my kitchen we sit by the fireplace for warmth as we eat. If I wasn't so committed, I would of eaten that spaghetti off his bare torso. A bottle of wine and hours later I am back in the kitchen when things were becoming too intimate for my comfort in the fire light. As I walk back into the living room, he is nowhere in sight. He had to be upstairs so up I go looking for him. There he is, in my bedroom, pulling the covers off my bed. Surprised at his boldness and not being very subtle I ask him what the hell he thinks he is doing. "Munkay Girl, it is too cold for you to sleep up here tonight. I am moving your mattress down by the fireplace so you will be warm." Man. What a guy.

That was the best mattress ride I had in some time. Ok I dropped the mattress on the stairs and we tumbled and slid down it. Good thing I know how to fall.

Will Work For Cheese

I didn't go looking for work. It came looking for me. I gotta learn to just say no. It was my own sister who hooked me up and turned me on.


I took her lunch into our flower shop. Of course I had packed Sis a behemoth sized portion of my homemade lasanga extravaganza. She pasted it around. Girlfriend named Cheese Heidi tried it and couldn't get enough. Cheese Heidi earned her name because her family has their own cheese empire. They also have a huge farm and raise bison for meat production. Cheese Heidi runs a bistro and gourmet shop. She wanted me bad. I finally caved in to her pleas and thought I'd try it.

I told my friend Mitch that I was thinking of trying out this work thing. He got all upset that I would go to a stranger. Seams his family owns the number one Italian restaurant in the cities. They make trips to their home land to bring back their own ingredients, they are that peticular. Nice offer but intimidating. Plus I'd have to drive downtown for my fix.

I get high just walking into the bistro's kitchen. It is huge, new and well stocked. I have never seen such a well designed kitchen. I have every kind of import ingredient available and she has her own herb garden right outside my door. She has giving me creative license and encourages my ideas. My sous-chef is a culinary institute graduate. I cook, and I mix it up. Plus now I bring home the bacon.

Cheese Heidi may be a cheese natzi, but I respect her quest for perfection. She has very hight standards. Some think she is hard to work for, and has been known to fire or demote her staff, her sous- chef for example was hired for my job. I like that she doesn't settle for the mundane.

I look forward each day I go into planning the everchanging menu. I dance while I am there and it is contagious. Is she the enabler or am I? You tell me, who's pimping who?

Kickin it Up

The air in my house is hot with the smell of testosterone. Full of energy packed pre-adolescent males, engaged in such manly activities as skateboarding, dirtbiking, and physical challenges of any kind, it reeks in here. As much as I would like to be able to hide out in the sanitary and safety of my own room and let chaos rein, I play the responsible parent and monitor the events to maintain authority. One step closer to my total world dominance achievement. Periodically I remind my marauding juveniles of my presents by officiating a race from the sidelines, judge a grind, and administer band-aids and kool-aid as needed. Extreme summertime play. No rules, no curfews, no worries. All is good and happy at the monkey ranch.

Dinner time approaches and most boys dispense to the direction of their own homes. The Jakes remain. The Jakes are brothers nine months apart in age. Almost indistinguishable in appearance, and both their fist names begin with the letter J. I call them The Jakes as never to mix the two up. I think their mom pierced the older Jakes ear so she could tell the difference, they look that much alike.

My two boys bike the Jakes home to make sure they can come back and stay until dark. They are gone all of twenty minutes. In through my kitchen door tumble in the group of tow heads, my youngest last in, which is unusual as K2 takes life a run and never brings up the rear unless it is to chores. Their choirs of excited loud voices tell me K2 has had an accident. Figures- all day here living on the edge here and two seconds out of my sight... K2 pulls off his shoes and begins to cry, no bawl. Four different explanations of how he hurt his foot on The Jakes trampoline. My best understanding is K2 got hurt when he was pushed off by his brother. I take K2 to emergency room, were while being cast for the majority of the upcoming summer, I find out he had broken it while kicking his older brother.

It is not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last he kicks his brother. He does after all have my temper. I am not mad nor surprised. I even understand why he had a hard time telling me exactly how he had broken his foot. No one would want to confess to that. What fluffs my hair is all the money I spent on tae kwan do lessons. The hours practicing our kicks in class so we would know how to do it right. Just a bad habit to kick.

Control Central

Summer is in full swing at our house. Being the only at home mom in our burb-hood, all the kids congregate at my home. My grocery bill quadruples. I launch into my lumbar jack cooking mode and I like it. Parents drive by on the way home from work and slow at our corner to see if their kid's bike or dog is in our yard. Most of the time it is, so they will pull in and walk into my kitchen for a visit if they have time. Some have been known to stop even if there are so sign of their kids.
The kitchen is the heart of my home. I designed it just than way knowing it is hub of activity. In my last house I had a couch and a fireplace in my kitchen, making it all the more warm and comforting. Someday I will again.
Friends walk in my kitchen and seat themselves at my counter island, giving them the best view of whatever project I am working on. They enjoy critiquing my painting attemps, my sewing projects, or the latest handicraft I am concentrating on. Often though, my buddies are most delighted when I am cooking. I always have good things to drink in my fridge and bar, and are generous when compimenting food with wine. I will have a dish simmering for dinner on the back burner, while baking. Leftovers never happen.
One dad brought his cam corder once and filmed me cooking, a spur of the moment amateur cooking show as a joke present for his wife. Of course I sent home some effete I was making so not to hurt her feelings.
In the Dakota Nation language, the name Winona means "her door". Being named "Her door" is the ultimate compliment, meaning the person with this name has a warm inviting home were all are welcome. Kinda like a caucasian Martha with a heart.
My kids friends never have to ask if they can stay for dinner ever. They just sit up to my counter with my boys. I have met many new friends over dinner. The few times that there has not been enough dinner made to fill all their growing bodies, we go smorgasboard and haul out back up food. I have served manicotti with a side of peanut butter and jelly before for example.
We have written plays, performed musicals, designed fashion shows, created small explosions, and performed minor surgery in the center of my universe.
I know I should get a real work a day job. But sometimes money just isn't worth it. I want my door to always be open to all who dare enter.

Warning- for mature audiences only

This blog contains graphic mature content witch may offend or embarrass the reader. You may ask your children to leave the room as you read. Specific detail are available on my pay for view web site.

It was my hubbys birthday. At the times I am not bringing in a paycheck, I feel guilty spending money I did not earn on him so I improvise and make him something. Being the meat eater that he is, I once made a cake out of meat, a terrain I covered in cream cheese frosting and used a pastry bag filled with cheese spread to write his name on for his party. Another time I came up with a treasure hunt using riddles for him to solve the clues to help him find the champane in the fridge, that had the clue to lead him to the 4 wheeler key, to the picnic basket, to find the location I was hiding on a blanket. Once I got up early to serve him breakfast in bed as I did my yoga routine in front of him in the buff. In Texas I biked ten miles to his job so I could steal him for lunch. My sunstroke helped to convince him to leave work early that day. One year I bought him a cross bow and made him his own target by blowing up a picture of his ex wife and nailing it to hay bales. Ok I loved that one.

This year I cooked french cuisine for him. Blue cheese stuffed filet mignon, mushroom glace, roast garlic and bacon mashed potatoes topped with firecracker onion rings. Fresh endive and asparagus salad with crab and honey Dijon dressing. And every year being that he is german I make him old german chocolate cake. I used to make him just german chocolate but now that he is old....

Did I mention that I was nakid? Let me back it up. As long as I was going exoticly forien, I wanted to look the part. I go to my friend, salon spa owning Heidi. She has the massuse give me the body glow treatment. Waxed, scrubbed, polished so my body was that of a babies. (ok this did end up costing hubby some) Then she puts a temporary red/copper highlights through my hair. And she then curls all of this mop- takes 2 girls 1 1/2 hours to give me ass length Shirley Temple ringlets. Everyone in the salon had to come over to pull a curl and yell "Boing". She has done contestant make up for miss Minnesota wanna be's so this girl can swing a make up brush. She gave me false eyelashes and a mole right above my red painted lips. I stopped traffic. Dude at the gas station pumped my gas for me at the self serve. Ohh la-la I am so unmunkay like.

When hubby enters our clean and kid free candle lit house for his weekend visit home, he bellers, "Daddys home. Where's my food woman?" That is our usual greeting, I yell it when I walk in also. He drops his suitcase by the front door and walks to the foot of the stairs finding noone on the main level. That is when I make my entrance. Wearing only my lace collar and cuffs from my maids outfit, and a pearl thong, I strut down the stairs balancing precariously on my fuck me shoes. (these are shoes so sexy and high they are good for only one thing, hence the name.) I smile a little Mona Lisa smile as Le Encantment plays in the background. Hubby doesn't take to new things right away and hasn't quite figured out who I am or if I still have a handle or at least a tail hold on reality. I purr, "Bon joir, mes amie" to him with a little kiss. I decide to french it up one step further by speaking only in french to him for the rest of the evening. Doesn't matter that I have had only 1 year of french or that I remember few entire sentences, that bilingual Sesame Street comes right back. Hubby can't speak a word of it so it doesn't matter if I call his manhood a cabbage or not, it all sounds good. Honey begins to relax once I lead him to our living room couch, prop his feet up and pour him a glass of burgandy. I feed him hor dorves trying to keep out of arms reach when he tries to touch. He follows me unable to keep away back into the kitchen for the salad. I serve show girl cabaret style complete with side step high kicks.. He can't remember to eat. At one point he gets the digital camera out and pretends not to understand my "Non-non-non sil-vous plait", but I figure ok- even my own mother wouldn't recognize me. As he eats his entree I do my own improvised adult Circa du Soil with a peach and two ottomans. Thank goodness for yoga and tae kwan do. After Moulone Rogue style serving of the cake, I give him a french anatomy lesson on myself using the peach. Amazing how the feeling of a few pearls strategically placed along with a tumbler of peppermint shnapps on the rocks turn a guy into your very own french poodle. Hubby was a loved whipped puppy all weekend. Had to push him away to be able to go to the bathroom by myself. Finaly I sent him to the grocery store for a breather. He makes a show of placing the grocery bags down in front of me and says, "Find the ice cream before it melts". On top of the food I spy a slim velvet box. Honey bought me my own real pearls. Awwwwwwww. C'est Bon!

Ain't Too Proud to Beg

Dear God, I"m lifting up our good friend Eli. Please heal his heart of it's malfunctions. Guild his surgeons hands during his surgeries and give all the doctors and nurses and healthcare workers the knowledge and wisdom to enable his total recovery and cure. Let no more bad unexpected surprises or complications occur. Make miracles happen in Eli's heart, giving it the strength he needs to be robust and vivacious again. Safeguard him from infections and clear his lungs of all traces of phenomena. Let his recovery time be short and painless. Fill his family with your love and peace during this stressful time. Thank you for blessing me with having him in my life. Please don't let his illness take him from me. Show me how to be of help to him and his family during this time. Amen

"I was dreaming when I wrote this, excuse me if it goes astray..."

DIG IF U WILL THE PICTURE
Last night I was upclose and personal with Prince.
OF YOU AND I ENGAGED IN A KISS
It was his "hometown" Musicology Tour.
THE SWEAT OF YOUR BODY COVERS ME
I felt it was a party not a concert.
CAN U MY DARLING CAN YOU PICTURE THIS?
The energy and stage presents of The Artist was phenomenal.

DREAM IF YOU WILL A COURT YARD
A remix of his classics intertwined them with his new.
AN OCEAN OF VIOLETS IN BLOOM
Purple lights, confetti, and streamers.
ANIMALS STIKE CURIOUS POSES
Dancing was fluid sensuous expression of his body.
THEY FEEL THE HEAT,THE HEAT BETWEEN YOU AND I

HOW CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME STANDING
The entire stadium was on their feet.
ALONE IN A WORLD SO COLD SO COLD
Glowing as I danced with the masses hip to hip.
MAYBE I"M JUST TO DEMANDING
Wish he would of sang "I wanna be your lover" in it's entirety.
MAYBE I'M JUST LIKE MY FATHER 2 BOLD
uninhibited danced like a black girl stuck in white girls body.
MAYBE YOUR JUST LIKE MY MOTHER
I should of brought my boys.
SHE'S NEVER SATISFIED SHE'S NEVER SATISFIED
He will be my next husband after the Rock.
WHY DO WE YELL AT EACH OTHER
My throught is sore from cheering and singing
WHEN THE DOVES CRY

TOUCH IF YOU WILL MY STOMACH
No no no please no
FEEL HOW IT TREMBLES INSIDE
Prince did not sing to my heart but to my g-spot.
YOU'VE GOT THE BUTTERFLIES ALL TIED UP
He inspired Prince-asims inplace of orgasm's.
DON'T MAKE ME CHASE YOU
He's so little I picture myself breaking him
EVEN DOVES HAVE PRIDE
Not munkays though.

Rumblings

Sometime last night or early morning I woke up to the sound of low rumblings of thunder off in the distance. Rain again. Instantaneously, before I open my eyes, I hear not only Bob Seager, but The Silver Bullet Band singing "Night Moves" to me inside my head-

"Woke last night to the sound of thunder,
how far off, I sat and wonder.
Started humming a song from 1962,
funny how the night moves,
when you haven't got much to lose,
funny how the night moves...
with autumn closing in...

Not one of my favorite songs, or one I have or pay much attention to. To me it is a sad song of loneliness and yearning. But damn if I couldn't get that stinking song out of my head. Laid in bed listening to the far off storm and trying to remember the words to this song. Thought at one point of getting up to look up the lyrics on the net, but of course didn't. Why couldn't it have been AC/DC's "Thunder Struck", or Effiels "Life Like Thunder"? Those words I know by heart. Damn those Night Moves.

Ode To Homey

Homey was the best three legged dog,
family member we loved dearly,
damn that car.


That haiku was for Homey, our golden lab what was part of our family for over ten years. He was my son's K1's best friend. He was the brown eyed- blond I always knew I would fall for- only in dog form, not human. Homey was fast, and loyal and strong. They say pets look like their owners, he was K1 in canine form. I ran over him once with the back tire of the wrangler and cracked his pelvis. Homey got up and ran and I had to chase him to take him to the vet. Last year a ignorant hunter shot his hind leg off. When we brought him home with only three legs left, and took him to a sitter while we were on vacation, Homey ran away and was found eleven miles away from were he started. After he was hit and left on the side of the road, at the neibhors house that my kids were playing at, I had numerous strangers stop at my house to tell me the bad news of Homeys demise. Friends stopped in to give their condolences. We buried our beloved companion at the edge of our lawn by the road were he would sit and wait for us to return home when we left. Amist the flowers that have appeared on his grave, solitary shoes have also shown up. He was a retriever and would steal one of your shoes when you took them off at our door to bring back to you. It takes a dog to raise a village.

The Hunger

Every new moon or so I experience this insatiable apatite. And it frightens me. I am similar to blood thirsty carnivorous werewolf unable to control my cravings. Or a black widow spider,who will feed her body with no retribution of her bizarre action of killing her mate and eating him. Every cell and fiber in my body yearns for fulfillment. I am empty to my core. I am concentration camp hungey. I desire very specific food items that can not be substituted for another. Rare steak is high on my list. Spinach. Dairy. Gingersnaps. Nuts. And most of all chocolate. I am able to eat non-stop during this time of my hunger, out eating my entire family put together. I have tired myself out from the work of eating, my jaws sore from the chewing motion. But I never feel satiated. Ever.
My body is also physically hungary. I crave human touch to fill this need. My lust is always present, I do a poor job of trying to hide my wanton desires. I transform into a flaming nymphomaniac. The opposite sex becomes so much more appealing. Grotties become full fledged hotties. Trolls remain trolls but I think of nothing more than the intimate act of copulation with my eyes closed. Pizza boys double their appeal. There is no ugly man if he is caring food. Waiters become irresistibly charming. Going into a Famous Daves make my senses reel, and my nostrils flare. I know better than endangering anyone buy trying to go into a sports bar due to the high levels of testosterone and smell of meat in the air.
I also at this time became extremely tired. I'm not sure if I tax myself with all the eating or lusting I do, but I feel weary to the bone. My limbs feel heavy with the need to sleep. I could gladly do a Rumplestiltskin nap. My bed is my most favorite place to be for more than one reason.
My Neanderthal fantasy's at this time, include a clan of hunky cave men who drag the enormous wooly mammoth they have slaughtered into the cave for me, were they will cook it for me, and take turns keeping me happy between naps till spring. My ideal man would show up at my bedroom door, naked and carrying food. Once I achieve fulfillment they would know to back out of the room until I awoke and needed their services again. This position is open to any man out there reading this, but if he can cook a t-bone to perfection, know a good suppy of Dove dark chocolate, and balance a tray on his happy parts, I'll take him sight unseen.

Lay one on me.

Kissing is a pastime highly underrated by people of a certain age. It seems that once one is out of the teens and well into the experience of adult sexuality, there is a tendency to shift focus away from the delicate pleasures that once enticed us. Kissing becomes a perfunctory act, or at most a form of foreplay. Fewer and fewer people recall the keen delight of kissing for kissings sake, of making out for hours in a state of foggy bliss, drunk on sensation. The absurdity of pressing lips together, of daring to explore with the tongue: perhaps their strange charms are forgotten, or they no longer inspire giggles and heady excitement. We no longer make time for oddball kissing games, sneaking nibbles or marathon snogs. Its a damn shame.

Just Turn Right

Late last night I have a call from my friend, CarPool Mitch. CP Mitch tells me that tomorrow he will be a little late picking up K2. CP Mitch drives him to school every morning with his son, who is K2's best bud. CP has an idea.
"Munkay Bitch", he tells me, "Every morning at the last turn we take into the school parking lot, our boys chant, just turn right, just turn right- please turn right!". Their school is on the left, by turning right they would turn away from the school and into town, away from their mundane daily academics and toward all the fun non-scholarly activities are happening. "What if tomorrow, I did turn right?" Damn I love how this man thinks. "Brilliant!" is my reply, "Just keep going and don't look back. Just tell me were I meet ya?" Then I remember today my body belongs to my Dr's. Rats.
I arrive at the clinic for the battery of test I'm shedualed for. First up is my ultra sound. Not a big invasive procedure for most ladies, but I am not your typical pane in the glass. While pregnant I would have to be sedated to have anyone touch my belly. My stomach is my most sensitive area of my body. Poke me, scrape me, measure me, stare me down through a microscope, whatever, just do not come close to touching me there. One unknowing fool at the universality unexpectedly did once and my screams brought my hubby running. From down the hall. And through the waiting room. I have changed somewhat since my transplant. One person at one time I actually enjoyed touching me there, but I was almost certain he would not be the one doing today's ultra sound.
Nice young man intoduces himself wearing a white lab coat and explains he will be the lucky one doing my procedures today. Poor bastard. He takes me into a room ware he dims the lights and plays me some soft mood music. As he lays me back on the table and makes sure I have enough pillows and am warm enough under the paper sheet, he rubs the pre warmed jell vigorously between booth hands as if he were about to massage me instead of violate me with infrared waves. I squeeze my eyes closed shut and grab onto the edge of the table I'm on, bracing myself for the horror I know is about to come. I go into my deep beathing mode and search my brain for my best happy spots. The beach comes to mind. Chocolate. Ridding my bike. My jaccusi. As his hands touch my trembling stomach, I do not flinch and scramble off the bed. No shouts happen. I do not roll into a fetal position and whimper. But I do... giggle, and giggle. I giggle and titter, only to stop once and awhile to snicker or chuckle. I table dance on my back like a snake during this exam. But I live through it. Maybe I should of let fly during the ultra sound because this lab coat wearing demon wants another piece of me. "Are you allergic to latex?", he askes fiddling with his machine. "Nope", I answer wiping the goop off my tummy before he can get close again. "Good", because we need some pictures from the inside. What the sicko has attached to the computer looks like a slender dildo, bulbous head and all. To top it off, he is unroll a condom over it, the latex he was refuring too. Laughing at that bizarre sight I say, "Oh no you don't, I need a few more dates and a couple of drinks before you even try that". What happens next borderlines on date rape in my book. After he has recorded images of my womanliness from ever angle possible he tries for a fast exit. "You can use these towels here to clean yourself up before you dress, and just leave the door open when you leave. Then I'll buy you dinner." Ha-ha.
Next doctor does more of the same. Does everything but try driving a truck in there.
The out come from all these invasions were favorable. It does not look like cancer. I can say that word now. I had been unable to before, not wanting to even say it out loud. I walked out of that office today a thousand pounds lighter.
On the way home I decided that I would just turn right alittle more often.

Whatsa matta you face?

The message machine is winking at me. Beckoning me closer to push it's button. I do and continue to assemble the salad nichole I'm making for dinner. What the..? It's got to be a prank I think as I strain now to understand what the noise that I'm hearing. Is that...yes, that is my hubbies voice. I can tell there is some thing very wrong by the sound of his words. Oh my God- he has to be sick, is he having another anurism? Nooooo, whew. I get it now, my hubby is trying to sing. Possibly the only worse singer on this earth than myself. I barly make out the lyrics, read in what he is trying for in a harmonious manner.  "Don't worry, be happy, wooo, woo..." I guffaw at the visual of him half way across the country, in his office, door locked reading these goofy words and hoping none of the people who work for him can hear. I "just push play" one more time and my laughs soon turn to tears as the fear that I have denied myself lets it's self flow. Sometimes I just don't know what to do with my face.

Monkey on Parade

The University calls today for two reasons. First they want me to be in another study. This one involves me wearing a computerize monitor implanted on my body to give them constant information on my metabolic rate. It would be a way to see how effectively my new cells are working and more information on whats going on inside me. The procedure would mean surgery to implant a pager sized computer in my buttocks. It would be more invasive than my transplant. They assured me that it would not be noticeable. Umm- have they seen the size of my ass? Put big brother anywhere on me that size you are gonna notice. And owww, imagine sitting on that puppy. They are sending me the agreement and authorization for this to look over and sign. I know it would give valuable information, but no stinking way. Not this munkay.
The second thing they want of me is to be involved in the big public fund raiser for the diabetes association called "The lightning run". Basically it is all the Harley dealers loaning machines to the lead a parade of bikers to raise funds. The research team are put on the back of these beautiful bikes and it ends at the capital were they do all the photo's and TV interviews. Bikers take donations and come for miles to do good and show off. Since they know I have my own bike and ride, they want me to be lead monkey this year. Funny as I'm certain my cell donor died on his motorcycle. Too bad I can't afford to fix mine yet because I'm buying transplant drugs instead. Am I the only one who sees the irony there?

"I'm going to Disney World!"

The family flights are booked and the hotel reservations made. Hubby surprised me by doing this. The man who has never even gone to Vallyfair or nearby water slide did this. It is his way with dealing with the unspoken stress of my impending test results. We do not talk on this subject, but ignore it. This is his way of providing hope and encouragement to me. Stay well baby, and we will spend spring break in the sunshine.

Pavlov's Munkay

Music evokes memories. Certain songs enable you to time travel. Seventies grove are my childhood. Eighties techo-punk send me right back to the big hair, tight jean days. I officially became a real adult listening to the nineties tunes. Lyric's can make you feel different seasons. When do you hear the Eagles "Girls of Summer" played on the radio? Yeah- same with any beach theamed melody. Songs also relate to feelings. The music you danced to at your wedding, or when you met your sweetie probly isn't them same stuff you listen too as you work out. Any song from George Michaels "Faith" CD instantly incites passion in me. Similar to Pavlov's dog who would automatically drool at the sound of a bell, body fluids rush to a different orifice for me.
Now is the time for you to start playing the song "Father Figure" in your head as you continue to read this. During this CD's prime, I am but a young kid having just met my hubby. For me, the words to "Father Figure", are how I feel about my future husband. Michaels erotic voice singing this song is forplay to my ears. The hours spent naked while listening to this album are uncountable. I'm sure my first born was conceived while Michael croned. Put in the "Faith" CD and clothes were instantly shed. We laughed, we danced, we loved with Michael.
Time moved on and the "Faith" CD was moved to the back of the pile. Eventually Michael was moved to the closet. No pun intended. Then my house burns to the ground and with it goes my mammoth stereo along with Michael. He is not replaced.
I was watching a talk show the other day and there is George Michael talking about his comeback. Damn that's right, I remember him now. Has it been that long that he is making a come back. Hubby calls from across the country as I am watching and we both wonder at our memory time lapsed. Time goes on without our realizing it eh?
Hubby flies home for his weekend visit and we are spending our quality time together, enjoying each others company and catching up on our time spent apart. We are in the in the kitchen, and he is watching me cook one of our favorite seafood meals. While I srub the shellfish, hubby goes over to the little stereo on the counter and I see him fiddling. Hubster is not in the least bit music savvy. He does not remember lyrics or band names. He now spends his time listening to talk radio or sports. Expecting the mundane I am surprised and delighted to hear."...Let me be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine, I will be the one who loves you, till the end of time.." Yup, my juices flowed like water everywhere. That fishy smell, from this, lingered in our house the entire weekend, if you know what I mean. "Excuse me, but your fish smells like..."

Ring-Ring.

Today I got the call. The call that in one terrible slow motion instant, shifts my world off its axis. As I write, things are now slightly off kilter.
"Munkay #9, this is Dr. Wonderful calling, bla bla bla." Any time a Dr. calls you it is not good. It is not a call he did not want to make, the tone of his voice tells me this. It is a rehearsed one sided conversation, planned to give me minimum details. He redirects the million questions that are forming in my now uncomprehending mind, words that my tounge is unable to form into a sentence, to yet another specialist. In a week I will know what my future holds. Once they test the few cells they have left me unprodded, and squeezed the last drop of blood from this turnip munkay, hopefully my little world will slide back on the level.
Initial shock fades and I realize it's go-time. Should I cry? Fuss and vent? Take up drinking and running with lose men. Nah- not my monkay style. When stressed I spring into motion. When I go into a cooking frenzy, my family delights. I find great comfort in my kitchen. Music blaring I turn out mountains of food. My friends and neibhors will eat like never before. I, on the otherhand ,will forget to eat. Exercise will show this body who is in control. Seven days can be an eternaty. Or a blink. It is all how you spend it.
And today had started out such a good day too.

Missing....?

Remember the feeling you had when you found out there was no Santa Claus? You felt like you had lost a family member. You had an instant emptiness in your soul. You tried in your best naive way to rationalize your beliefs until inside you could no longer fool yourself. Anger at being so easily decepted replaces your sadness. Then you grew up, weather you wanted too or not.
We all have different category's of friends, and friends who intermingle in those category's. Good time friends, true blue friends, fair weather friends. I also have what I call my public TV friends. Like channel 2, they are the ones who only contact you when they need funding. They save the good stuff for when they want a contribution. I recently chose to disconnected on of these friends.
At first I missed him, or more like the notion of his existence. Then I realized it was only background noise. Circumstances forced my to talk with him recently. After ending the conversation disappointed, it came to me. How can you miss what you never had.