neatfrances

I’ve always wanted to write stories about the people whom I’ve encountered throughout my life.  I mean this isn’t like Nora Ephron kind of stuff I’m doing here but whatever.   This first note was written by a co-worker to my boss after she interacted with a client of mine that I just gave a facial to.  If you haven’t guessed it, I’m sometimes an esthetician.  I would have forgotten about this if I hadn’t had saved this copy she had given me in my portfolio.   The package she purchased was the most extensive & expensive.  And by the way, my boss never said boo to me.  

This second note I just got in the mail recently.  When I saw it in the mailbox I was immediately intrigued because it looked like an invitation.  It definitely wasn’t a bill and that was thrilling on its own.   It’s so great and so random.  I didn’t even remember who she was but the first thing I thought was, it’s probably Pearl Jam Ten because I’ve bought that CD like 4 times.  Then it got me thinking about things that have I done that I still feel bad for?  Eh, I don’t know…  I thoroughly appreciated the apology.  It totally made my day and made me smile straight from my liver.   If you’re wondering, after some serious consideration, I kept the $30 bucks. 

* NF=Neatfrances=Me & Names were clearly removed or edited for obvious reasons

You know it’s been a couple of months since I’ve made an entry and I would like to continue placing blame on blog writers block however today I think I figured out what my issue is.  The blame is me and the simple fact that I don’t like sharing personal information.  It’s clearly behavior drawn on my adolescent relationship with my mother but thankfully for you that’s not what today is about.    

 So the obvious question is, what the hell was I thinking making a blog?  Over the past couple of months I’ve written a handful of bloggings that I deemed unshareable and hid them away in a folder on my computer.   But I’m pretty sure I put them there because do I really want you, my 6 followers, or some random passing stranger knowing private personal stuff about me?  I guess.  I started blabbing my big giant mouth.  I started posting it to Facebook.  It’s like when you are in love with the absolutely wrong person and your heart just simply won’t listen to your brain.  I think that’s what I gotten myself into when I started this.  So being a woman who finishes something she’s started here is my sort of monthly issue regarding me and the evil that is the gym. 

 I hate the gym.  It is the only place on the entire planet where I am unsure of myself.   None the less my thirties have delivered what every person over the age of thirty has previously advised me and that is, your body just isn’t going to be what it used to be.   And, haha, just wait till you’re 40.

 Next month I turn 37 and since entering my 30’s  I’ve gained hard earned, sometimes bittersweet insight into my life and a really neat additional 17 lbs.  I absolutely do not recognize myself undressed.  My boyfriend said not that long ago that my rear end has gotten bigger since we met.  After the sting to my ego and the shock wore off I said …. “yeah.”  I have with little effort until recent times been lanky and thin.  I am still lanky but now I resemble a snake that has swallowed a generous varmint. 

 Honestly I’ve been more interested in my mental self-discovery and living a purposeful life.  This life I claim to be living is filled with constant poor eating habits.  Eating habits inspired by the four major Elf food groups of candy, candy corns, candy canes, and syrup.  So I’m continuing my purposeful existence of self-control and taking care of myself with a goal of losing 15 lbs and attainable realistic eating habits of which I have implemented toot sweet.  I quit smoking 10 years ago and some people have said that quitting smoking is like overcoming a crack addiction.  It just takes self-control dammit.  This self-control of which I clearly am capable of demonstrating. 

 So this 37^th year I am entering into will be me hastily sharing from the heart, figuring out my body with sustainable physical activity and retraining my elfish brain to healthier eating habits.  As I stand behind my blog premise about my street smarts it appears as if you are along for the ride as it is in motion.  Please remember to pack Dramamine and DRI-fit polyester. 

With quite a helping on my life plate lately and a dash of blog writer’s block, I leave you with a scene from one of my most quoted movies.  I personally have applied this eloquent advice that Garth provides Stacy to help me through a handful of tribulations or perhaps you’ve heard me sass these words to you after you so heart-fully replayed a personal life quandary.  Please consider the avenues of which these poetic words transcend the typical romantic relationship.  Its simple.  Its to the point.  Its clearly powerful stuff. 

http://youtu.be/edh2QvtX8ss

My cat Stinky owns me.  He’s the devil in angel’s fur. 

Stinky arrived in my life along with his brother Phatty in the late nineties.  My roommate at the time obtained them against my wishes from her cousin and then left them behind when she decided to hike the Appalachian Trail with her boyfriend.  She generously took the all the rent money, my new vacation clothes and left all her crap behind including the two - 2 year old male blue point Siamese cats.  She was a real gem. 

Being the soft hearted gal I am I became their new senior staff member.  Stinky and Phatty, originally named Joey and Calvin, were brothers and inseparable.  They never answered to their original names and earned their new names over time.  Stinky because clearly he was the trouble maker and Phatty because he could eat and eat he would.    If you are doing the math in your head you are coming to the conclusion that these cats are around 16 years old.  Well Stinky is.  We lost Phatty in 2007 to cancer.

When Phatty, his primary companion and best friend, died I believe Stinky died in a way too.  Siamese cats are known for their vocalization and Stinky began to meow.   Relentlessly and constantly. There was no stopping him.  In addition to the excessive meowing he started pulling most of his fur out on a regular basis and stopped eating.  One of the most frequently used sentences in my house was and still is, “shut up Stinky!”

The year Phatty died I lived next door to a very lovely German couple.  One day while exchanging pleasantries Frida askes me in her very think German accent, “vat is your boyfriend’s name?”  And my initial thought was, oh my god, was he swearing in the driveway at the diesel truck or did he break something of theirs?  My response was “why, what did he do?! “ Frida replies, “Oh, I just hear you yell, shut up Stinky!”  And I said, “oh no… that’s my cat!”  I’ve never laughed so hard and been so embarrassed in all my life.   Even the neighbors weren’t immune.  To either of us apparently.  

A lot of veterinary visits, pheromone experiments, and finally a replacement companion, New Buddy, and we find ourselves years later.  And guess what, he still meows.  Primarily in the wee hours of the morning.  You’re sleeping soundly and bam!  The most awful screeching noise that makes your stomach turn into a nauseating knot will jolt you awake!  Sometimes, just to keep you on your toes, he’ll choose to make this noise when you’re trying to make a phone call or need to concentrate on something.  I feel terrible for overnight guests and friends who have had to endure this noise.   I myself have not had a sound night of sleep in over 5 years!   I’ve surrendered to the fact that yelling gets you absolutely nowhere.    Now I try to practice patience thinking he’ll eventually come to his senses and be quiet.   In addition to the meowing he pukes on my shoes, he’s the sheddiest creature known to god’s green earth, he won’t let you brush him, he won’t let you clip his claws, and he makes me leave the bathtub on constant drip so he can have fresh water.  If you don’t do this you will suffer the consequences.

How can I still tolerate such an animal?  Why have I not turned him out into the mean unforgiving streets or worse euthanized this poor creature?  It’s simple.  I love him unconditionally.  He’s so cute.  He looks like Brad Pitt if Brad Pitt was a cat.   He’s got the funniest walk, the softest ear fur, and he is the best cuddler.   I worry about him when I’m not home and shudder to think of the day he won’t be wrecking my life.  This is either some kind of karmic spiritual test of will or an example of pure devotion.  We’ve been together for so long.  We’ve lived in at least 10 houses, shared several relationships, career changes, death, sickness, and happiness.    He has been my oldest companion.  Lord knows you’re thinking, this chick is just a crazy cat lady and that’s all.  Well touché.  But in my defense its worth knowing I am capable of such a commitment.  The commitment of owning a cat.  Oh excuse me, I mean the commitment of being owned by a cat.

My big giant brain has still been processing the gorgeous sound of Jack White and his all-female Peacocks last night at the WaMu Theatre in Seattle.  It was a random discovery while reading a Portland newspaper.  I sort of tried blowing off the suggestion from my boyfriend but none the less he kept bringing it up.  So I hit Craigslist and we met some guy in a parking lot and off we went with 2 tickets for $80.   If you are currently a fan of the living legend you no doubt are jealous.  If you haven’t seen him may I suggest you immediately Google the Blunderbuss tour straightaway and get your asses there?  I found myself in brief captivating moments where sound and sight meshed and a true magical experience occurred.   It was by far the loudest and best show I have ever seen.  God bless my boyfriend and god bless Craigslist. 

My first actual live music show was New Kids on the Block in 1990 at Alpine Valley in East Troy Wisconsin.  Keep your comments to yourself please.  NKOTB was my first love.   My father thoughtfully brought my sister and me.  This was so stellar at 14 because not but a few months prior all my friends went and my mother did not allow me to go because I was too young.  What a guy!

My most inappropriate attire worn to a concert was to Marilyn Manson just before he really hit it big in 1996.   I saw him at a small theater in Milwaukee Wisconsin.  I wish I could remember the venue but I do remember I had bought my ticket by saving Camel Cigarette C Notes, most of which I stole from a bathroom at a random house party with my roommate at the time.  The theater was small and intimate and I wore a white mesh like cropped sweater… To Manson people!  I saw Manson 2 more times since.  The second time was the summer following the white sweater incident, also at Alpine Valley, the 3^rd time was at The Eagles Ballroom several years later in Milwaukee where I accidentally drank too much and missed most of the show.  What I do remember is the naked girls dancing on stage in go go cages.  I can’t remember the year either because of the accidental over consumption and all.  And to think about it more clearly they we’re naked, just looked like it.  There might not have even been dancers.  Best time ever. 

The worst show I ever saw was Bon Jovi.  I’m not even gonna bore you with the details.  I only went because I wanted to spend time with some dear friends of mine that I never got to see.  A total waste of $75.  He kept displaying his derriere which engulfed the crazy screaming women with some kind of satisfaction.  It was so queer.   Alright sorry, some details were necessary. 

My most memorable show was 2006-ish which was one of the dozen or so Dave Matthews shows I’ve seen with my sister.  We got seat-seats not lawn-seats because the year before we witnessed drunken spectacles that truly scarred us for life.  It was a really hot humid summer day at Alpine Valley and we got really big frozen strawberry margaritas in the shape of a guitar and as the sun went down on our backs our with cold drinks in tow we smiled at the genius of seats and the blissful peace that was about to descend upon us.  This was the first year Dave played the sister song.  A song of which still brings us both to tears. I’m tearing up now just thinking about it. 

My biggest show regret was in 1997 missing INXS because of a roommate dispute over a car.   It wasn’t but a month later that Michael Hutchence was found dead in his hotel room.  (sigh.sniff.)

And the craziest show I’ve ever seen was GWAR.  I’ve only seen GWAR 3 times.  That’s some crazy fucking shit.  (Pardon my Wisconsin French)  They are metal, they are obscene, they are graphic and they are totally entertaining.  A large part of the show consists of lampooning, decapitating and similar death-ish activities of politicians and celebrities that result in you, the attendee, being cummed, bled, and slimed on.  One Halloween at the Eagles Ballroom, Slymentra Hymen  (the only female member) came out of retirement and spit fire into the audience.  It was breath taking.    If you haven’t seen them you need to Google Gwar and get your asses there too.

These memories played like a movie montage last night all the while I was unable to sleep because of the ringing in my ears.  I can’t wait for Lana del Ray to come to a local venue near me.  Oh you heavenly tar black souled angel!