Tag Archives: personal

My Autobiography – from 6th grade?

Recently I have been redecorating my home office/craft room – looking for painting ideas on the Internet and basically overhauling the whole damn thing.

I have been wanting to change the decor in that room for 12 years!  Twelve years!

Finally, it seems like a reality – but I’m not quite there yet.

Scouring every inch of shit I’ve accumulated has been a real chore but maybe finally I’ll get my ass organized.  I’ve come across bill from 1993 and other crap that I promptly burned in my chiminea – because that damn shredder keeps crapping out!

Anyway, I cam across a lot of sentimental items as well:  pictures, mementos and my 6th grade autobiography.

It’s so funny to see what I thought of the world at 12.  That was 33 years ago!  I can’t believe I’m that old!  Damn!

So I thought I’d share some excerpts with you.  Now keep in mind that after I graduated college I became a translator in New York, the 6 years later a French & Spanish teacher.  Here we go:

Table of Contents (including page numbers of course!)

First Born
Kindergarten to Third
Fourth to Sixth Grade
My Future Plans
My Thanks
To Get This Information
Pictures

A full 14 pages!!!!!  Remember that this was pre-computer – 1979.  This is not the complete “work”….

… At two years I was potty trained and at four months I used to climb out out of my playpen by putting my toes and fingers in the holes and climbing out.  I couldn’t stand my pacifier or playpen.  I used to climb out of my crib and my parents couldn’t figure out how I did it.

I swam at two years and stopped my bottle at two years old, when my mother threw it in the garbage.  I walked at eight months and was a pain in the foot.

I cried a lot, my mother said I was born with my mouth open.  I never slept, my mother had to play country music mostly “Tiger By The Tail” by George Jones and dance me to sleep, but I still wouldn’t go to sleep…

…When I used to do something wrong I used to hide under my Aunt Mary’s bed.

My mother said I was always quiet and good, and never touched anything when I went out.  I used to sit by my mother all the while, I was very shy like my father…

…I was promoted to first grade when I had Mrs. Romano.  We had a play and I was a sunflower.  For Halloween I was a flower girl with a pink gown.  Mrs. Romano left to have a baby, and that’s when Mrs. Tobie took over.

When I was in second grade I had Mrs. Forstenhausler.  She was a very good teacher.  We had a play and I was an Arabian belly dancer.  I looked exactly like Jeannie on T.V., even my hair and shoes…

…When I was eight years old I made my First Holy Communion

…I was in Brownies from second to third grade.

When I was eight and a half I started twirling at the Masonic Temple in Bloomfield… But then she transferred the Bloomfield girls to Nutley to the Elks Club and we became the “Elkettes”.  Then I was asked to take private lessons…

…Fourth to Sixth Grade.  I went to Mrs. Little’s class and developed many nicknames but one still sticks called “Apollo Creed” because I always put up my fists…

…At nine years of age I started competitive twirling, modeling, strutting, etc…

…I’ll soon be going to North Junior High and I’m a little bit scared about the whole new thing.

My hobbies are:  twirling, swimming, crafts, ceramics, ice and roller skating, biking, modeling, diving, dancing and many more…

…I have been in numerous twirling contests and beauty contests…  All together I have about ninety trophies and medals…

…I will certainly try to get into Miss America when I grow up.

My Future Plans.  For my future I would like to be a Psychiatrist.  I have thought about being an actress but with a hundred to one chance I won’t get to be famous….

It’s so weird to read this.  Lemme see…  I did want to be a doctor but when I realized that I couldn’t stand the sight of blood – that was out.

Miss America?  After Essex County Junior Miss (which I did for MY MOTHER) I was DONE.  D – O – N – E, done.  Pageants weren’t for me.

I can still twirl, and I still consider my hobbies to be crafts, roller skating, swimming and if I was younger and still clubbing my nights away – dancing!

Some things have changed, some haven’t, but I’m still Jacqui.

How different or alike are you all these years later?

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Drive-By

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment.

Said sarcastically:  I’ve only been living at the Jersey Shore for 12 years (cough, cough) and my dentist, eye doctor and lady parts doctor are still an hour away.  I could never bring myself to leave them.

So I kill several birds with one stone.  I get my teeth cleaned, visit my mom in the cemetery, visit my dad and feed him hamburgers, subs, ribs and other artery clogging fare and sometimes I even get to see a friend or two.

After an hour trip up the parkway I popped in on Daddy with subs from Jersey Mike’s.  Did I say I was definitely cheating on my diet?  We chatted, caught up and I fixed his TV.

Aside:  My father and his TV issues are massive.  He wasn’t able to watch TV for an entire day because the remote wouldn’t work – and God forbid he called me to ask for help.  No.  He waited until I went up yesterday.  On Monday when I called him, he explained the dilemma and I schooled him in the art of using the DTV box to change channels – voilà TV!

So back to the TV repair daughter… I looked at the remote and realized the 9 was depressed.  I unjammed the number and snap!  The TV turned on and the remote worked!  He thanked me a thousand times, like I cured cancer (I wish).  I love my Dad!

At 2:30 I headed over to the dentist’s, and by 3:30 I was back in my car, top down, music blasting.

Should I ride by my old house?  Maybe I’ll see Skippy or Aunt Dolly?

2012

I gave in to my inner voice and swung by the old homestead.  Wow!  Does it look different!  They built a driveway (we had none) and a carport and an addition.  It looked nice.  It brought back so many memories!

When I returned to my dad’s house, I showed him the pictures.  I’ve been dreaming about that house a lot lately and those pictures made my father dream about it last night too.

He was telling me this morning that he was thinking about how many different people lived in that house.  Originally the house was three rooms (pre-addition) and a small upstairs.  My dad told me there was a host of boarders and tenants that lived with them.

Daddy was a cry-baby (his words, not mine), so he slept with his mother (my Nanoo) in the back bedroom where my Aunt Tootsie and Aunt Mimi also slept.  My Uncle Joe and my grandfather slept in the front room (I always knew it as the parlor) and the tenant d’année lived upstairs.

Imagine all those people in 3 rooms?  Crazy.  The Depression.

In between tenants, when my dad and his siblings got older, he and my Uncle Joe slept upstairs.

Over time tenants came and went, the family grew, moved out and then moved back in with and without their spouses and or children.  My Aunt Tootsie was the first of the family tenants.  Uncle Joe came next.  Then my mom and dad moved in and I came along 4 years later.

After we moved out when I was 4, my Aunt Mimi who was widowed by her 26-year-old husband (he died of testicular cancer) moved in.  I’m not sure of the timeline, but the next person that moved in was my Aunt Tootsie after my Uncle Teddy died.  Mimi moved downstairs with Nanoo and Aunt Tootsie stayed there until she fell ill and moved in with her daughter.

Now it was time for me to move in.  This was my third apartment after leaving my parents’ house.  I quit my job and went back to school for my Master’s Degree and teaching certification.  My parents offered to pay my rent for me but I wasn’t going to make them do that.

My Aunt Mimi asked me if I wanted to live upstairs in my old house, rent free.  Nanoo had already died a while ago and she was very lonely.  So I moved in with all my shit – furniture, clothes – everything!  My dad painted for me and my mom decorated the kitchen with black and white checked contact paper to give the room a little pizzaz.

I showered downstairs and was allowed any overnight guests.  LOL!  That didn’t work.  I had been dating my boyfriend John (now husband) for a while and he used to stay over and I would pretend he showed up at 6 am to see me.  I would go as far as to walk down the stairs, answer the door and walk on all fours back up so it would sound like 2 people coming in.

I was nuts!

Everyday when I came home, Mimi had to hear ALL the events of the day – no matter how mundane.  She and my mom were like the FBI!

I lived in that house for almost 3 years before I got married and moved in with my husband – right up the street.

All my apartments were in the same few block radius.  I went from Evergreen to Entwistle and then down to the end of Entwistle and back up to Passaic Ave – and now I live at the Jersey Shore – but that’s another story.

I loved living in my grandmother’s home.  It was so familiar and brought back so many memories.  I wish that we would have kept the house in the family – but I guess we all have to move on.

Move on but never forget all the good things.

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

My Life As A Jersey Girl

For the first 4 years of my life, my mom, my dad and I lived upstairs from my paternal grandmother (aka Nanoo) and my Aunt Mary (aka Mimi).

We lived in 3 rooms.  A large old-fashioned kitchen with a big white sink like you would see in the movie A Christmas Story, a large living room with a scratchy yet pristine couch, a smaller flowered love seat that pulled out into a bed, a big reclining chair and a console colored TV.  The bedroom was small with a full-size bedand a small closet.  That was the only closet space in the entire apartment!  Oh wait!  Maybe there was one in the living room.  I can’t remember.

My Nanoo in her kitchen

We had a half bath with a toilet that was so tiny, if you were an adult your knees would hit the pipe directly in front of the bowl.  Showers and baths were taken downstairs at my Nanoo’s but my mother used to bathe me in the large tub adjacent to the kitchen sink.

We had no air conditioning, so we spent most of our warm evenings on the porch swing chatting with the neighbors.  This is the late sixties and early seventies, when you knew your neighbors and actually spent time with them.  This is before everyone got too busy to see each other face to face, before families started moving away from each other instead of living on the same block or in the same house for that matter.

Playing the organ in my Nutley kitchen

This was a time when we all gathered for Sunday dinner at 1:00 in the afternoon to enjoy a giant pot of gravy with meatballs and sausage, and a huge bowl of macaroni (not pasta) that my mom and maternal grandmother (aka Grandma) slaved over for a couple of days just to get the perfect flavor.

My dad and I were always disappointed when mom made a roast beef or some other non-macaroni Sunday dinner.  It just wasn’t the same without the smell of pork and beef wafting through the house.

In the Nutley kitchen with my cousins

In the summers I swam in my Uncle Al’s pool next door.  He really wasn’t my uncle but calling a neighbor or a cousin aunt or uncle to show respect was an upheld practice.  My Aunt Ann (aka Tootsie) also had a pool that we would swim in.  She lived on the next block up the hill from us.

My Nutley childhood is full of fond memories of people, events, smells and daily life.  It was simpler time.

In 1971 we moved to the next town over.  It was only a 5 minute drive but it seemed like a world away.  No more running downstairs to see Nanoo and Mimi.  No more running up the block to visit Aunt Tootsie.  No more running across the Pipeline to visit my Tata (my Nanoo’s sister) and my 2 cousins that were my age, Bobby and David.

I was alone in Bloomfield.  No friends.  No family.  Just mom and dad.

My Poppy (my step-grandfather – really my great-uncle) helped my dad put up a 18 foot above ground pool.  It seemed like days that they were digging.  My dad

In my pool

was a perfectionist.  Everything had to be smooth and level.  When it was done, I couldn’t wait to jump in!

I spent day and night in that pool.  I was part fish.  I learned how to swim underwater first (I had been swimming since I was 2) and then I gradually mastered the art of freestyle.  My dad was a great swimmer who could hold his breath longer than anyone I knew.  He would stay under water for what seemed like hours but was really A LOT of minutes.  It was unbelievable.  No one could match or beat his breath-holding expertise.

One day a neighbor down the street came over with his daughter and introduced himself as Dick and his daughter Susan.  He thought that we might be the same age – and we were.  Susan was my first friend and more importantly, my first BEST friend.  But Susan is another story – I’ll talk about her later.

Back to my my new house…

We finally had air conditioning!  Two units!  We all slept downstairs until I got a little older, then we moved upstairs.  Then we had 2 units downstairs – one in the

My 1st bedroom at our new house

dining room wall and one window unit in the den (once my parent’s room, then the den, now my dad’s room) and one in each of our bedroom windows’ upstairs.

We could NEVER have all 4 on at the same time or they would trip a breaker.  Two at a time my father said.  So during the day we had the downstairs 2 running and at night the upstairs 2.

He used to come in my room to wake me up (I was NEVER a morning person) and bitch and moan because I kept the AC so cold.  He’d walk in and say, “Jesus Christ!  I can see my breath in here!”  I loved it cold in the summer so I could snuggle underneath the covers.

During the summer we spent most of our time in the half finished basement watching TV, eating, playing games (this is when I wasn’t in the pool).  We had another kitchen in the basement and my mom did most of her cooking downstairs 1.  because of the heat of the summer (even with AC) and 2.  because she wanted to keep the upstairs clean.

Did I mention that my mom (and her mother) were OCD, clean-crazy Italians? ALWAYS cleaning the house.  You could literally eat off my grandma’s floors – they were so clean and shiny.

We weren’t ALLOWED to use the front door.  The living room was for company

Sitting in the livingroom

only.  Food was definitely off-limits there.  I wasn’t allowed to sit on my bed after it was made.  My mother always said, “Beds are for sleeping, not for sitting.”

That about sums it up.

My bedroom floor was covered with an itchy indoor/outdoor block carpeting.  It was an ugly gold and I hated stepping on it.  My walls were hidden with white wood paneling and wooden beams framing my bed.  My furniture was a dark, early American clunky set that was popular in the seventies.  One wall had ceramic Hummel’s that my mom made but I was not allowed to put up posters or anything like that.

I loved Donny Osmond and Michael Jackson but posters of the Jackson Five or Puppy Love were out of the question.  Phyllis put her foot down.

We had a half bath upstairs complete with a built-in vanity and a little faux fur covered chair.  It had a big sink that I loved washing my hair in.  All my makeup (when it was time for makeup), hair stuff and other toiletries were tucked away in  3 out of the 8 cabinets.  I loved that part of the house!

The kitchen was an open galley-like kitchen with a wall oven and a stove top.  My

Singing away in the kitchen with Grandma & Poppy

mom set up a small “ice cream table” with 2 chairs so we had someplace to eat besides the dining room – which happened to be adjacent to the kitchen.

The living room had a wall of built-in bookcases and cabinets from floor to ceiling.  It housed all the books we loved to read:  Reader’s Digest, how-to books, nature books, encyclopedias and all the treasures that I bought from the Weekly Reader and various book fairs we had throughout the year at school.

The curtains on the front windows were made with material from Germany or Austria that one of my dad’s bosses brought back for my mom.  They were pretty, white, lace curtains covered by a heavier material drape.

The entire house was wired for sound.  I mean it was ahead of its time.  We had speakers in the livingroom, kitchen, basement and everywhere else – all hooked up to a stereo system complete with turntable, radio and 8 track.

It was cool!

I loved my new neighborhood and my new friends.

To be continued….

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

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Does Life Begin At 40?

My mom used to say, “I’d like to meet the asshole who said life begins at forty and punch him in his face!”

I always got a kick out of that.  My poor mom’s life went downhill health-wise at forty:  cancer, diabetes, you name it.  So I always “understood” why she said it.

After she passed away, I was going through her “stuff” and found a button in her drawer that said, “Life is like a shit sandwich and every day I take another bite.”  Again – I understood.

Botox

Botox (Photo credit: AJC1)

When I hit 40 five years ago, I flipped out and was amidst my own mid-life crisis.  I was afraid I was going to end up sick like my mother.  I was in total fear.

I went on a diet, lost 50 pounds in 5 months and booked a trip to Paris for a month in the summer.  It was a blast!

At 41 I finally got my convertible BMW but all the birthdays have been lackluster since then.

Am I afraid of getting old?  Yes.
Am I afraid of looking old?  Yes.
Will I age gracefully?  I’m NOT sure.

All these things drive me crazy!

My husband cannot believe my maddening obsession with age.  I’m worried about MY age – no one else’s.   As soon as a movies comes on TV, I’m checking out the cast’s ages and compare myself to possibly botox-laden starlets who have more “plastic” injected into them than a Barbie mold.

There are pros and cons to getting older.  I once blogged about my twenties vs. my forties – read it HERE.  The differences are amazing.

So, what are my pros and cons?

PROS

  • I know what I want (usually) and can probably can get it.
  • Many younger men love older women – especially in Europe.  This is not really one of my pros because I’m married but flattered.
  • Being married and sharing my life with someone.

CONS

  • The sagging boobs.  At 40 they dropped ever so slightly.  At 45… I can’t even talk about it!
  • Wrinkles & lines.  Noticeable or invisible.  I am my worst critic.
  • Being married.  Did I already mention that?
  • Losing people you love.  There are more of us in the ground than on the ground now.

I think my con list is going to be longer so I’ll stop now rather than risk an onset depression from life-examination.  

Will I Botox up and filler out?  Will I face lift and boob-job and God knows what else?

Yes.  No.  Maybe.

The truth is that I don’t know.  I think about it then I dismiss it.  I have noticed that I do think about it more now than I did 5 years ago.  Do you?

So my question is… Do you think life begins at forty?

My answer… I guess it depends where you are, how you feel and what you have to look forward to.  I feel strong and confident at 45.  I felt it at 40 too.  Of course there are always way to improve oneself – something I’m constantly striving for.

Has life begun at 40 for me?  It didn’t for my mother.

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What about you?

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Is Monday a dirty word?

Now that I’m off for the summer, my days blur into nights, weekends into the weeks and times and dates are virtually non-existent.

Today, I even forgot to feed my cats dinner.  They ate this morning and have dry food out all day, but for some reason I completely spaced.  Maybe because Bailey, my male cat whose stomach can be used as an alarm clock, was snoozing at the top of the stairs all night long and didn’t bug me to feed him.

Anyhoo… besides vacuuming 2 times today, I did absolutely nothing except make 2 cocktails, drink them and pass out.

Yeah – that about sums it up.  My Sunday in a nutshell.

So now it’s 10:30 pm on Sunday night (I know it’s Sunday because Sookie is on and I know it’s 10:30 because I’m on my laptop) and I’m sitting here watching Newsroom, while Peaches snuggles next to me, trying to figure out what to write for my blog tomorrow and I’m coming up with nothing.

Partially because I have a raging sinus headache and partially because I don’t seem to give shit about anything for some reason.

I have nothing to reflect on tonight because my week has been filled with NOTHING.  Say it with me… NOTHING!

N-O-T-H-I-N-G!

Did I learn anything this week?

  • I learned that I have to shave ALL my areas daily.  I mean – who ever heard of 5:00 shadow on their legs?  Spending your summer in a bikini brings out the beast in my ability to grow hair.
  • I learned that like senior citizens, I now keep track of when I poop.  Furthermore I am jealous of people who poop everyday.
  • I learned – rather re-affirmed – that my cats may be the neediest pets on the Earth.  They don’t leave my side for a sec.  Why can’t they be normal cats who hide and hiss?  Not beg and cuddle and cry constantly.  I love them – who am I kidding?
  • I learned that I know nothing that goes on in my neighborhood.
  • I’ve also learned that I don’t care what goes on in my neighborhood as long as it doesn’t directly involve MOI.
  • I learned that with idle time all I can think about is sex and food – and don’t seem to be getting either.  Damn diet!  Damn husband.

But alas… enough of my rantings.  As you can see it’s a short list.

So tomorrow is Monday and I think I’ll go visit my dad and bring him food and pop over to the cemetery to visit my mom.

Monday WAS a dirty word.  It will be one again in September when I head back to work.  I relish my weekends then.

Is Monday a dirty word for you?

Boy!   I hope my next post is back on target…..

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Summer 2012 – Let The Vacation Begin!

Warning…  I swear a lot in this one….

Well, it’s 2012 and I’m off for the summer, soon to be broke and bored yet again.

This is the third day of my vacation and I’ve been pretty damn industrious.  I started DAY ONE on Tuesday with these Facebook posts:

  • Vacation Day One: Woke up with a headache +. Fed the cats, birds, squirrels and chipmunks. Coffee, breakfast, Facebook, Pinterest, Scramble. A little TV. Vacuumed downstairs and steps. Cleaned downstairs bathroom. Making a pot of gravy. Head better. Time 12:26 pm.
  • Vacation Day One Continued: Laundry. Lunch. Scooped kitty boxes. Washed dishes and cleaned kitchen. Brought pile of shoes upstairs. Admired the sun – maybe I’ll go out on the deck…. Made a batch of meatballs. It’s 1:57 pm.
  • Less industrious this afternoon: tasted a meatball. More laundry. Folded towels. TV, FB, Scramble. Downloaded a book. Thinking about a cocktail.

Not bad for a first day off!

DAY TWO on Wednesday went something like this:

  • It’s going to be 96 today!  I’m going to lay out all day (after I vacuum) and read my book, Not Taco Bell Material.  Let me get my Crystal Light lemonade, my phone, my Blackberry and…. oh shit… I need a beach towel.
  • Damn!  It’s hot out here!  Whew!  I’m sweating my ass off.  Maybe I’ll go inside and have lunch.  Maybe a meatball.  Mmmm.  These are good.  Wait.  I need more lemonade.  Hmmmm… maybe a cocktail.  A Vootbeer – yeah, that’s what I want.  Vanilla Vodka & diet rootbeer.  Yum!
  • Maybe I should lay on my stomach.  My back is so white.  No.  The friggin’ squirrels ate my beanbag lounge – what can I lay on?
  • Boy, this metal deck is hot.  The pool still looks like shit – I guess I’ll hose myself down.
  • Ouch!  That fuckin’ water is hot!  What is it boiling?  Lemme wait until it cools off.  I smell musty now.
  • I have mosquito bites all over me!  WTF!  It’s the middle of the day!  GD Jersey Shore!
  • Fuck this shit!  I’m going inside.  It’s too hot out here anyway.
  • JC!  What’s the temperature in here?  It’s too warm.  JCPL probably cut back on the electricity.  Fuckers.
  • Maybe I should get the mail.
  • Screw this.  I’m not cooking.  We’ll have leftovers.

DAY THREE – Thursday:

  • I can’t believe I was dreaming about Scramble all night.  Seriously.  I need coffee.  Maybe I’ll have some cantaloupe.
  • Oh how cute!  The squirrelies want to eat.  Should we throw them some peanuts kitties?
  • I don’t feel like vacuuming.  I’ll do it later.  I’m going outside.
  • Wow!  It’s hotter than yesterday!  Let’s see how long I’ll last.  I’m laying on my stomach today.  This towel should work.  Holy shit!  I think I burnt my boob!  This damn deck is like a frying pan.
  • I think I’m losing a cup-size.  I’m going inside.  This is ridiculous.
  • What day is it?  When’s the last time I showered?  I smell.  I’ll shower later.
  • Oooo… anyone on Scramble?

As you can see my week is deteriorating quickly.  I spent most of the day taking pictures of my pussies and backyard wildlife and posting them on Facebook,  fucking around on Pinterest and looking up recipes for Jello Shots!

It’s too humid to lay out without a swimable pool, work around the house, cook, bake or think!  

I know.  I shouldn’t bitch.  I have the summer off.  How many more days of this?

I really need a summer job!

Can anyone relate?   Teachers perhaps?

I’ll tell you one thing – if it’s only day three and I can’t remember the last time I bathed, I’m already in trouble.  At least I’m not double-fisting Champagne by the pool yet…  just give me a few more days.

© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Thinking About A Simpler Time

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© 2012 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Kitty Talk: An Embarassing Admission Part 2

I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but baby-talk to my 3 kitty cats.  My husband makes fun of my catlingo but my babies know exactly what I say – at least I think they do.  With names like Bailey Boots Little Pussy, Peaches N. Crème de Menthe & Tia Maria Tigresse, it’s hard not to have fun.

Besides Peaches, Tia and Bailey I call them tons of names.  I don’t know how they know who I’m talking to, but they do:

  • Bailey, Boots, Bear, Buddy, Mommy, Bootseree, Baldor, G Boy, Mommy’s Boy, Kitty Cat Bat, Tee La, Mommy Ska La, Foo Fighter, Pretty Boy, Boo, Smee, Snuggy, Ma Moo, Boo Bear Boy, Teess, Swee, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Boodis, Butter Bean….
  • Peaches, Bear, Mommy’s Girl, Mommy, Bunny Girl, Cotton Tail, G, Buddy, La, Peachka, Snuggy, Bunny, Buddy Girl, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Butter….
  • Tia, Ti Ti, Ti Boo, Ti Boozen, Tia Boo bia, Tee, Baby Tee, Little Tee, Mommy’s Girl….

They also have their own theme songs (yes, I’m nuts).  If I sing Bailey’s song, he comes and Peaches does the same.  Tia – not sure.  Do you want to hear them?  Again, I know I’m nuts but I love my babies.

  • Bailey Bear with black hair, he’s my Bailey, Bailey Bear.
  • Peaches N. Cream, Peaches N. Cream, little itty bitty, bitty Peaches N. Cream.
  • Tia Boobia, foo-fighter fia, Tia.

My Catlingo continues to not only names and songs but to everyday cat chat.

Food is foodis.  Do you want me to open the door for you is you want Mommy opee up?  Do you want to go to bed becomes you wanna go seepy in the bed?  The only thing that seems to stay the same is do you want to eat? The backyard wildlife all have names too.

  • squirrels = squirrlees
  • chipmunks = ship monkeys
  • birds = birdies
  • rabbits = bunny wabbits
  • bugs = buggies
  • mice = mousies
  • ants = anties
  • cats = kitty cat friends

That about covers the yard and surrounding areas.  I know I sound like a total nut but I remember my parents always talking baby talk to our dogs when I was growing up.  Even with my pets, my mom, when she was alive and my dad always talked baby-talk to their grand-cats.  It’s a given.

Do you?  I think almost everybody does it, but many don’t admit it.  I can’t believe I am!

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Separate Bedrooms: The New Retro-Modern

I wrote this blog back in April…

A couple of years ago my husband and I had a huge fight (probably over something stupid) and he moved into the spare bedroom.

To this day he drifts in and out of our boudoir for various reasons:  sex, sleep, intimacy, his bed is not made….  Frankly, I am so used to sleeping alone (well not alone – with 1, 2 or 3 cats) that when he decides to invade my personal space (Isn’t that what marriage is?) without warning, I get absolutely NO SLEEP.

By the time I get acclimated to a warm, non-furry body next to me, he’s gone again because of his crazy work schedule.

Back to the lack of sound sleep….

Girls… you know what I’m talking about.  The burping, farting, snoring and general restlessness of a man is difficult  to look forward to.

My friend tries to convince me that it’s part of marriage and she’ll never go to sleep  without her husband next to her.  I agree – but once you get used to the less smelly, less noisy version of sleep, it’s hard to go back.  I already have to deal with the cats and my own ADHD.  Damn!  I take to 2 Benadryl every night so so I can fall asleep at a decent hour.

I am not a cuddler.  I am always warm and can’t stand the idea of someone snuggled up against me.  Maybe I’m a guy in a chick’s body?  Who knows!

It definitely got me thinking about the past and the practice of separatebedrooms.  My parents always slept in the same bed, but I think the kings and queens of Europe had the right idea.

Are separate bedrooms the new retro modern?

I think so.  Right or wrong.  Good or bad.  I think if it works for you, go for it.  What do you think?  I’d love to hear from you.

By the way, he’s back in the bed….  It was nice while it lasted.

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Image: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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Bed Blogging – Revisited

Author: Duy Le UCLA made stripper pole

Image via Wikipedia

Last night I just couldn’t get myself to fall asleep.  Why?

Not because of my job.  Not because of my bills.  Not because of my fat ass – but because I was bed blogging.

I wanted to say sleep blogging – but technically I wasn’t asleep.  I was lying in bed writing my blog in my head.  Thinking of a ton of ideas, and stories, and witty repartee.

Of course, tonight I have forgotten every single thing that I wanted to write about – but that’s par for the course.  After the day I had at work my brain is a pile of mushy Jello with no vodka.

I always need vodka.

En tout cas, I write my best pieces when I’m emotional and I think of my best stories when I’m bed blogging.  I lie in bed staring at the stripper pole that my husband so sweetly bolted into the ceiling (after I had a pole accident – of course) and my mind races 240 with “information”.

Does anyone else blog in their sleep?  Do you compose letters, write books or try-out meaningful conversation?  What else do you do?

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

All I can say is I should have bought stock in Benadryl because that seems to be the only way I can get to sleep lately.  Sweet dreams.  Or should I say sweet blogs?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.