He had a cruel smile.
To the uninitiated, it was charming, practically full of sunshine, promises and the warmth of a summer day.
To the victims, his teeth were jail bars, keeping the lies in until he wanted them to escape.

Second Adolescence

My mom didn't wear a lot of makeup when I was a kid, so it's always been a strange thing to me.

I've been thrilled to not have a bunch of extra stuff to do in the morning, but also a bit curious about the different ways people use it.

Recently, with a friend's help, I've been exploring makeups. Right now, I think ALL of it is fun, but I AM starting to develop brand loyalties and colors I like.

Mostly, though, I just like all the pretty colors and wish I had a more eyes so I could color them all up.

Hmph

I need to be wealthy so I can have time to do the following:

• Travel.
• Take pictures and start a photo business.
• Write.
• Write a lot.
• Do comedy.
• Make movies.
• Sew. Design clothes.

Lazy > cleaning

I need to clean my desk at work. And at home.

One of the worst parts of my life is trying to keep things clean. If I weren't so paranoid about letting people into my places, I'd hire a cleaning service.

The pet fur is whorled into the eddys created by the ebb and flow of our household. I need to take, like, a full week to just clean.

But I won't. Because lazy.

It's tough to realize that, without my permission, I've gotten older.

I suppose I've been pampered a bit because in my adult life, I've always looked a little younger than my real age, and my interests have always skewed a little younger than I am.

But as I was applying my glittery blue eye shadow over the weekend, I noticed that my crow's feet have grown slightly more pronounced, and the bags under my eyes are more textured.

My dad always used to say that growing old was better than the alternative, and I'm not necessarily upset about having the additional time for all the extra life experiences.

I just wonder when age crept up on me. Specifically, when it crept onto my face.

The Derbs

So, I'm here at derby scrimmages. There's a huge variety of conversations going on: one skater is getting a review, others are watching a *fail* video set to "turn down for what," some are just talking about their kids. It's my home away from home, people and a sport I wish I'd known earlier.
I'm so happy it, and they, are in my life now, though.
It's one of the only situations I've been in where you can truly go just as far as you want to go.
I love this moment.

Once I've seen behind someone's mask, I can't see anything else, and it colors all my interactions with them.

Sometimes, the scene behind the set enriches the relationship. I understand or forgive quirks or behaviors that would usually make me want to alienate myself.

Sometimes, however, the slip of the flaky mask reveals a desire for chaos and troublemaking that, quite frankly, makes me doubt anything this person has ever said and done.

The offer of a compliment I now see as a way to breed contempt amongst the people who were not offered such platitudes.

I've actually watched this person intentionally knock over a side table full of drinks (she headed straight to it, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then tipped it over).

I don't understand her. Not at all. But I hate who I've seen her be.

Kansas, land of ahs

We're on our way to Oklahoma City. This was supposed to be the first stop on the road to a derby event, but as it was canceled, and our OKC hotel room was paid for and nonrefundable, we're turning this into a neat little overnight trip.
These road trips remind me of why I love the Midwest. Even when you're in civilization, you're only minutes from wilderness and greenery. Years living in SoCal dulled my memories of just how pure a joy a wide open landscape is, and how I can just breathe better when there's more room to breathe. The first time we went to visit some of my husband's family, we drove through a farmstead and my heart leapt. My husband snorted and said, "Enjoy it. In 10 years, it'll be houses." By the time we left four years later, it was being turned into a housing community.
Kansas City is far from the largest city in the Midwest, but it's so much easier to navigate than Chicago, where my husband grew up.
People, upon hearing that I'm from Kansas, will talk about Kansas being flat, but I figure they've never actually been on the rolling hills of the Sunflower State.
I had no choice in the matter of being born and bred in Kansas (making me, according to the song we learned in elementary school, a jayhawker, in spite of my avoidance of KU as an alma mater). But as an adult, I've chosen to return to the state of my birth, with a renewed loyalty to it, a new appreciation of its charms, and the desire to correct all who would disparage it.
No, we're not known for BBQ because "(we) grow pigs there."
No, we don't tip cows for fun.
Yes, we have CD players.
And your approval is neither required nor desired.

Another Good Man Gone

This is an extension of a FB status from earlier:

I found out today that one of our family friends has passed. He was a friend of my dad's from college, and was one of a close-knit group of four or five men whom I believe my father, an only child, came to regard as brothers (or, depending on your relationships with your siblings, closer than brothers).

It's inevitable that people I know will pass away, and at 70, he'd had a full life with his partner of more than 30 years.

However, this doesn't keep me from feeling like my life is being dismantled one cast member at a time.

He'd been a part of my life as long as I can remember. I'd always had Mom, I'd always had Dad, and I'd always had Rick.

This man was brilliant, funny and generous. He had HBO and we didn't have cable at ALL, so every visit, he'd bring videotapes (Betas, then VHS) of movies he thought my parents would enjoy. (That's how I first saw "Xanadu," "Victor/Victoria" and "Rocky Horror Picture Show.")

Rick and his partner didn't have kids, but he was always remarkably patient with me and my sister and brother, and shared his knowledge of electronics, his love of gadgets, and his library of movies with our whole family.

When I was young (think 6 or so), enamored of his collection of movies, I imagined I would marry him (because, you know, movies). Of course, my childish hopes were dashed when I pieced together, in seventh grade, that he was gay.

My parents had known longer. Rick had called my father at 2 a.m. to tell him, and then asked my father how he felt.

To assure Rick that their relationship would not change, my dad joked that as long as Rick didn't hit on him, everything would be OK.

Rick chuckled and said, "Lewis, you're not my type."

(That exchange sounds incredibly non-PC now, but this would have probably been in the 1970s. These men had already known each other for more than a decade and would go on to share 30-40 more years of friendship.)

After my dad's death in 2011, Rick kept in contact with my mom, which I think helped her cope with the loss.

Over the last couple years, he and I had started playing Words With Friends. While he could have easily obliterated me game after game, he always had the grace to not beat me by too much. I was an adult, but still, you know, the kid he'd seen grow up. I was an adult, but not a peer, certainly not.

Aside from my parents, he was probably one of the most influential adults from my childhood. My only consolation in all of this is that I'd like to imagine that my dad met him at the gates and that they're up there discussing life, the universe and everything right now.

The Secret Life of Krackle Raclin

I grew up in a house filled with books. I bonded with my dad over movies and TV shows. My parents encouraged us to think creatively.

So, really, it's no wonder that I have a rich fantasy life.

I've written the opening line of my Academy Award acceptance speech.

I've imagined being hailed as the next Annie Leibovitz.

I've already spent, like, $2 million of the lottery I'm going to win.

MY REAL LIFE PALES IN COMPARISON TO MY FANTASY LIFE.

Once upon a time, I had a blog.

I called it One Stop Weird Shoppe, based on a message I inadvertently sent to a manager at my old paper.

One Stop Weird Shoppe is still out there, but I can't resurrect it, or find a way to add it to my Google account.

But I'm fine with that. My last post to that blog was in June 2007, practically a lifetime ago, and so much has happened since then.

When I wrote that last entry, my husband and I were living in a one-bedroom apartment in Southern California (with two cats). We were working at a newspaper. And I was crazily unhappy with things.

As of the start of this new blog, my husband and I are living in a three-bedroom house in Kansas City (with three cats and a dog). I'm working for a company that writes educational materials for insurance licensees and my husband is working as a medical assistant in a doctor's office. And, though there are ebbs and flows, I'm generally pretty happy with things. (And when I'm not happy, I still try to acknowledge how ridiculous it is to be unhappy WHEN I ACTUALLY HAVE A PRETTY FREAKING AWESOME LIFE.)

So, new blog for a new life.

And here's hoping that I can keep up this "blog entry a day" for the whole month. To be honest, I don't hold out much hope for myself. The only things I do every single day are

• Drink Diet Coke.
• Facebook.
• Make stupid jokes.