Well, that candle just finished itself up. That's something, I think. Sweet little candle over that sweet old dog. But y'all can quit sending me your condolences. I'm so glad she's escaped this mortal coil. I swear I am. The only pain I have when I think about her is the memory of her sad old black eyes and I wish she hadn't hung on so long.
I wish I was nicer. I do. But I'm not. I have evil thoughts about people. I have a person I call my "mortal enemy" although I always hasten to add that she is very, very talented. It's true. She is.
I'm selfish as hell. Doing for my family is doing for me. Don't even think it's not. That's genetic, y'all. Anything I can do to ensure the continuation of my DNA is inbred in me to do.
Okay, sure, I can stop and help a stranger. One Friday night back in the old, old days when we used to go out without fail on Fridays, we were walking from a restaurant back to the bar and a guy with no legs fell out of his wheel chair. I stopped and helped him back up. Didn't mean anything to me. Okay. That's not true. I still remember it. But who wouldn't do that? I mean, come on.
Here's what I think I'm saying: I am human. I'm no saint. I try not to lie or cheat or steal. Mostly, I succeed. I certainly don't cheat and I don't steal on purpose but sometimes I wonder if my brain stores words and phrases from other writers and then I use them as my own.
Well, as John Lennon said when George Harrison was sued for plagiarizing a melody, "There's only eight notes."
Of course, that's not perfectly true. What about C sharp?
I don't know. I'm no musician.
I went and stayed with Owen for awhile today. He was so excited when he saw me. I swear he was. He was in his high chair and had noodle sauce all over him and he babbled away for awhile, telling me what he'd been doing, and then he stopped and said, "Mer-Mer! Hey!" It was wonderful. We read a lot of books. He got so excited I thought he might explode. When we read Good Dog Carl books and the baby gets on Carl's back, I always tell him that the baby is saying, "Come on, Carl! Come on!" and he said "Come on! Come on!" so loudly that they could probably hear him across the street. I want that boy to love books. I don't give a shit if he ever remembers me reading to him. I just want him to love words on pages. His mama and daddy read to him too. If anyone has a chance at loving to read, it's him. He has books all over his house and mine too. If you ask him where a certain book is, he can find it.
The more that boy knows, the more apt he'll be to want to know more and the more apt he'll be to grow up smart and educated and want to find a mate who's the same and thus, their offspring will grow up smart too. See? DNA. Of course, he's going to want to find a woman who reminds him of his Aunts Jessie and May too, but he won't realize that. But that will be a good thing.
We're such a soup of genes and upbringing, aren't we? Who knows what will spark a child's interest in what becomes a life-time passion? Not me.
I remember some of my favorite books from early childhood. I remember memorizing them and pretending to read them. I remember being SO PISSED OFF after my first day of first grade that I hadn't learned to read yet. I remember how wonderful it was when I figured it out and how quickly Alice and Jerry became too easy and I wanted more, more, MORE! My first addiction. Books.
Followed quickly by sugar. I'd probably be a pastry chef who writes cookbooks if I hadn't become aware of being fat. Not hard to miss, what with everyone calling me fat, from the other kids at school to my grandmother's friends. Not that they said that, exactly. They just gave me gifts of jump ropes and hinted that maybe I'd "slim down" as they used to say, if I'd jump a lot of rope.
Well, there you go.
I'm going to go cook some broccoli. I'll probably make some low-fat cheese sauce to go over it. Made with nutritional yeast. And cheese.
Boy. I am not perfect. I am so far from perfect that I couldn't see it with the Hubble telescope. But I sure as hell never had a child with someone other than my husband. Husbands. Whatever. You know why men cheat? Because they can. I suppose the same could be said for women, too. Arnold. Why is anyone surprised? Dude smokes cigars the size of donkey dicks.
I hope my brain is working better tomorrow. I'm sure you do too.
Love you...The Vastly Imperfect And Not-So-Nice Ms. Moon
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I have only been reading your blog for a short time but you sound tired and weary. You have a lot on your plate right now. But you will be OK because you are a Grandmaw. You have Mr. Moon, kids that love you, a pack of dogs, a brood of hens and a a mean fucking rooster. Take some time for yourself.ReplyDelete
I like your brain.ReplyDelete
XOXOXOXO for ye olde dog, may he rest in peace from all your kindness. In Buddhism is is said that an animal who receives kindness from us humans gets to come back as a human. I'm not sure that's something to aspire to but your old honey got love and tenderness from you...ReplyDelete
We know yr not perfect and sometimes mean, that's why we love u, and for your genius, crazy, creative mind. Your sense of humor too, of course.ReplyDelete
Oh no one's perfect but you're brilliant and don't you forget it.ReplyDelete
My absolute favourite childhood book apart from most of Roald Dahl and C S Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia is The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton. I'm sure Owen will love reading. I read constantly as a child.
Love the comment about Arnie. What an idiot.
Love you very much xx
Birdie- Exactly why I am not going to Las Vegas although I am already sort of wishing I was. A little bit.ReplyDelete
Jill- Again- GOOD!
Beth Coyote- Bless you, baby.
Bethany- If we can't laugh- well, forget it.
Christina- Men sometimes have no idea how casually they throw the jewels of their life to the wind. That's what I think. I have not read The Magic Faraway Tree. I think I must.
Love, love, love.
After reading this I have (although it is not completely applicable, but hell, it's Waylon) "Lonesome, On'ry and Mean" going through my head and I wisht I had me some ruby red boots to either dance in or kick something with. I guess dancing is sort of kicking, as in "Kick out the jams motherfuckers!" Ah me, I ramble. Don't pay me no mind.ReplyDelete
It's okay. I don't know of one perfect human. Never will be one either.ReplyDelete
Yeah. I saw some of the comments over the last few days and think I have an idea of why you wrote this.ReplyDelete
Well. I've known you for many years. I know you're not perfect or next to holy or whatnot. We just are what we are.
I'm glad you are what you are in my life. And that's all there is. I love you.
Not-So-Nice? Maybe Southerners have higher standards for niceness. The very name of your blog could hardly be nicer.ReplyDelete
As for Arnold, Californians are relieved to have Jerry Brown back...
The truth is we are are selfish to some degree...and anyone who says they are not is not being honest with themselves.ReplyDelete
I admit I laughed too...at the leg-less guy falling from the wheelchair. Sorry to any legless people reading this but my first thought was Lt. Dan from Forest Gump throwing himself from his wheel chair at the bar whores. :) I don't know, but it struck me funny.
P.S. I think your brain works just fine. WTF is "normal" anyway.
I wrote a post way back that was titled "Not So Nice" -- I thought it was pretty funny but it caused a hell of a lot of troll-visiting!ReplyDelete
I love your not-so-niceness. It's perfection.
Any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine. There is a special place in hell for anybody who you don't like.ReplyDelete
God help them.
I once asked a former boyfriend why, why, why he was fucking around on me, and he actually answered, "Because I can." I had to give him points for honesty before I kicked his cheating ass to the curb. It seems like there's a damn epidemic of high-profile cheaters these days. And I'm betting those donkey-dick cigars are compensation for certain anatomical shortcomings.ReplyDelete
Hell Ms Moon... it's what's in your heart that counts. Wouldn't it be such a boring world if we were all perfect?!ReplyDelete
Oh, and Arnie..."Dude smokes cigars the size of donkey dicks."
Haha.. I laughed so hard, I might have peed myself a little bit! x
x-rayiris- Great song title! Hell ya! And you're right about those boots. You kind of can't go wrong in those boots. They dance and they kick. And they kick ass.ReplyDelete
Syd- Sometimes I just wish I was a little less far from perfect though, you know?
SJ- You know me too well. And that makes me happy.
A- After our governor here in Florida, we'd be happy to have Dick Cheney. Okay. Not really.
Mel's Way- It was a bit Forrest Gumpish.
Elizabeth- You make me feel so much better. All the time.
Ms. Bastard-Beloved- Hopefully, not the section we'll be in! Love you truly.
Kati- Wait- I think I might have been married to that guy! Haha! Anyway, yeah- don't men who smoke big fat cigars know what we think when we see 'em? God.
Sandy- I guess it would be boring if we were all perfect. But then again, we would all be perfectly happy with that perfection. Or something. Maybe. Who knows? Not me.