What's up, sluts?

So, my computer's effed.  That sentence right there?  Had to retype it about six times.  Awesomeness.  So, this'll be brief.

The first time I spent three sequential days at "genius" bar at the Mac Store at the goddamned Freehold Mall in historic Freehold, New Jersey, well, it sucked donkeys.  Really.  My harddrive was wiped clean (fortunately after backing up) but one net result, that I hadn't thought of beforehand, was that all my bookmarks were lost.  Aw, sad.  (#firstworldproblems)

I recently just remembered the fantastic website Bangable Dudes in History.  How could I have forgotten Bangable Dudes in History?  Maybe because posts are few and far between.  But, in any case, I shouldn't have forgotten because it's one of my all time favorite websites.  Along with primamomma and Steam Me Up, Kid.  Oh, and Denny Delvecchio.  And the Bloggess.  So, now I guess I have this post of mine to keep me from forgetting!  Holy shit!  Like Memento!

Also? I don't get tattoos.  I mean both, I guess.  I neither "get" them (so have none) nor do I "get" them in that I don't understand them.  A woman at Wendy's tonight was with her about 10 year old son and she had a Franklin tattoo on her ankle.  And she was dressed professionally, like she just came from her administrative assistant job while her son, in his pajama pants and Yankees cap (askew, naturally), had been sitting on his ass all day at home, playing WoW.  Which, I know, it's summer, it's his right, but pajama pants?  I know it's just Wendy's and all, but you couldn't put on real pants?  I don't know.  Somehow, all together, it was depressing.

Anyway, why Franklin?  Was it her son's favorite show at one point?  And it took me a while to place it, you know?  I was all, hey, that looks familiar.  Huh.  Is that some sort of a Dead figure?  Or a stoner thing?  No.  No, it's not.  Nickelodeon.

Also, today at a park, a young-ish woman (early 30's, I'd say) sat near me and she had a Coach diaper bag (it was big and clearly Coach, due to the word "Coach" written all over it) (UPDATE: Clearly I'm in the 00's because Coach bags aren't actually that expensive now.  Huh.  I'm out of the loop on luxury items.  Still, all in all, it was pretty flashy for a diaper bag.  I stand by my initial judgement.) and a brand spankin' new Bugaboo stroller.  Oh, and she had a tattoo of a heart on her neck (above the neckline, right on the jugular -wait! a reference to the cardiovascular system and the fragility of life?).

So, I don't get tattoos.  They seem painful.  They're permanent.  I mean, at one point I had a huge crush on Billy Corgan and, I suppose, could've gotten a tattoo of him and then where would I fucking be now?  Huh?  Or Matthew Fox?  Jesus, dude.  I mean, it's permanent, is all I'm saying.

Also, I feel like I can tell you this (as if you don't already know), but I have spent way too much time on the Twilight Saga in the past few years.  Way too much.  At one point, I had a Twilight sticker on my car.  Boy did my husband hate that.  I scraped it off a year ago (Eclipse sucked, yo.).  Both very expensive and very painful to scrape off a tattoo.  So disgusting.

Also, this wasn't short after all!  Until next time, sluts.  xoxo

So I get updates on the 18th-Century American Women blog by Barbara, a retired historian.  She's great.  She also has quite a few other blogs, which she updates constantly.  She finds the greatest things, an example of which is this video explaining 18th Century Women's Clothing Layers.



Follow-up video suggested by Youtube:  Getting Dressed in the 18th Century.  OK, I'm nearly (nearly) 100% straight.  I only say nearly because, damn the end of this video is erotic, right?  The swishing, the laces on the back of the stays.  I feel kinda weird about perving on this whole thing, but I'm also thinking that she put this out there on youtube and I clearly (clearly) am not the only person watching this and thinking costume fetish.  Maybe the only one with female parts, but still.

I feel weird.  It's possible I read too much historical romance-type fiction and fanfiction.  Also?  I feel weird.



That video led me to others by that same girl (I feel like a cyberstalker), koshkacat, who is adorable, as you can see here in this video 



Holy shit, there's a Costume College?  A COSTUME COLLEGE?!?  Must find out more about this. Looks like it's in Florida, though, on account of the palm trees.  In any case, holy shit, that'd be rad.

Also, yesterday we got a costume catalog for Halloween (holy crap, already?) and my children are obsessively reading it.  Mostly my son, but my daughter too.  Anyway, they have a $219.99 women's costume that I would die if I owned.  I wouldn't waste it on these losers here on my street in Middletown, but it would be nice to own, if only because I could "become" Phebe Taylor's ghost and really really indulge my freaky-deaky inner crazy person.  Here's the costume I'm talking about, Ghost Lady Elite.  I like the word elite there.

I have to be honest and say that I wish that she didn't have a stripper vibe going on.  It is what it is with women's Halloween costumes, I suppose.  As an antidote, I'm going to watch some more koshkacat videos.

Until next time and yea... it got weird, right?  Of course it did.

Update:  Following the Youtube trail, once again, led me here:  http://youtu.be/2pw-AVf6lFw and I found this charming.  Two things:  I love the curtsy at the end (one) and two, she really needs a lady's maid because her hem got caught on the underskirt and that bothers me.  Overall, though, more instructional than the first video way at the top of this post because now I get it a little more.  OK, then.

Home Maintenance, Y U So Sexy?

Hi!  I haven't made it sexually uncomfortable around here in a while, so I thought I'd share.  Some uncomfortableness of a sexual nature.

It'll be fine.  Don't worry so much.

Uncomfortable sexy story #1:

Anywhoo, today I went and bought caulk.  I went to the local paint store, which is small, and which I frequent because I may not be able to do much, home improvement-wise, but I've always enjoyed painting.  Gives you a fresh start, you know?  I go there a lot and there's this guy in his twenties who has this Judd Nelson in Breakfast Club vibe going on.  And I *still* fall for that crap.

So I'm standing around, acting like a little school girl, trying like hell to avoid talking to him on account of I need caulk, but I'm not finding the exact type of caulk I need.  So then he says, alllll sexay like (not really), "Can I help you find something?"  "I hope so.  I'm looking for a particular type of caulk.  I need the kind you can squeeze.  The kind that's white when it comes out, but dries clear.  Do you have that, I wonder? *bats eyelashes sexily*"  You get the gist.  Kinda fun, really.  (Of course I only said the first two sentences there, but wouldn't it have been great had I run with it?  Actually, nah.  I don't know how to bat my eyelashes sexily.  Plus, I'd have creeped young Judd out.  And honestly, I'm going to need more paint in the future.)

Uncomfortable sexy story #2:  A few years ago, in our last house, which was also in a slight state of disrepair when we bought it (it's a pattern with us), I had the energy to completely redo all of the front landscaping.  It was a huge job, for such a small house and a small lot.  The reason is that half the yard was taken up by pachysandra, which is a densely rooted groundcover that is frankly a bitch to remove.  A real bitch.  So I thought the rental of some equipment to help might be in order.

I trot off to the local EZ Rental place, which, again, I came to frequent.  Didn't stop me here, though.  Young-ish dude behind the counter helped me.  I explained my problem - the roughly 80 square feet of pachysandra to get up and replace, eventually, with grass.  The roots.  The roots are the problem.  So, any machine would get jammed trying to rip all that stuff out, excepting maybe a back hoe or something.  And I say to the guy, completely unaware of what I was saying, "So...you're saying it's a hand job, then."  "Uhhhhh."  "I mean, it has to be done by hand."  "Uhhhh....yea."

*scene*

Uncomfortable sexy story #3:  For some reason, when I was a kid once, I was sitting around outside with my mom, my younger brother, and our lawn guy Kenny.  He was nice.  Died of alcoholism, ultimately, but he was a nice guy.

Somehow it wasn't too unusual, I guess, that we should all be sitting around chatting.  My mom's very extroverted and is super friendly with everyone she's ever employed for anything.  In any case, I was probably 10, my brother 9.  Leaf blowers had just come out.  Yes, I seem to be getting old.  And we kind of start marvelling at it.  And my brother had the distinct honor to be the one to say, completely unknowingly of course, "Nice blow job, Kenny."  I had no idea what that meant either, but what I remember is how red my mom got and how she let out a brief giggle before she wrapped the chat up, somehow, and herded us inside.

*scene*

Fin.

Oh and all of these pictures are wildly sexual if you squint.  Real hard, like.

Huh.  I enjoyed this.  Even more than I enjoyed telling young Judd-ish that I needed caulk.

Until next time...

Proprietary House Visit, Filled with Awesome

Hi! I thought I'd do something different with this post and just cover one topic. I know. But with lots of supporting materials (links, photos, videos). I know. I'm expanding my blogging horizons.

Last week I took my three year old son to visit the Proprietary House in Perth Amboy, New Jersey. My only regret is that I took my three year old son to visit the Proprietary House in Perth Amboy, New Jersey. For real. That kid is getting nowhere near two hundred and fifty year old objects/rooms ever again. Much less around docents who clearly cannot handle being interrupted, constantly, by a three year old boy who just wants to climb on chairs. Old chairs.

I tried taking him to Marlpit Hall here in Middletown a while ago and that, too, was a bust. But he was older this time, I thought. It'll be better this time, I thought. *sigh*

In any case, there's so much to say. So much! Oh, so much.

The visit in itself, while brief, was great. I'm going back! They offer tea and a tour for $7 every Wednesday. For real, if you're ever "visiting" Perth Amboy (and by that I mean, oh my God, how did we end up in Perth Amboy, I'm scared. Oh look! A historic house. Huh.) you should totally visit the Proprietary House. Oh, what I like/love about the website I just linked about Perth Amboy are one general and two specific things. First, generally, it's very honest. Unlike the official Perth Amboy website. Honest is refreshing. Secondly, there's a picture of a cat in the main slide show. Great. Thirdly, there's a warning about going there after dark. Again, honest. And great. Check it out.

It was originally built with the goal, from what I can tell, of becoming the Royal Governor's mansion in the 1760's or so. Eventually, with a lot of back and forth from the Royal Governor, William Franklin (below), illegitimate son of Benjamin Franklin and devout Loyalist, it did become the Governor's Mansion for East New Jersey. For two years, 1774-1776. Then he was arrested by the Continental Army. I got a big "Nero's playing the lyre while Rome is burning" kind of a vibe off of that, but that's probably just my interpretation. Regarding this portrait, I think he's a handsome looking devil, but the arched left eyebrow kills it a bit. Again, just me.

In any case, it's an enormous house. Very lovely. In pretty bad disrepair cosmetically, but lovely. And they had such visitors! Ben Franklin, of course, trying to persuade his son to come over to the rebel cause. But then William was all "No, you, come to the dark side," while breathing heavily (he had a cold). Ahh, I jest. Also, John Adams. Basically a who's who of important Loyalists/British officers and Revolutionary figures. Dare I say it? Maybe Phebe visited them! Oh, if I could prove that, I'd die.

After the Revolution, it was owned by a former British spy who was also mayor of Perth Amboy. I know! That's a cool side story. Another time. Then a bazillionaire (for the time) and then it was made into a hotel. Then disrepair. Then an orphanage. Then more disrepair. You get the idea. But now it's this behemoth building right smack dab in the middle of lots of row houses, in disrepair, in a generally very poor, very depressing town. I really had trouble picturing what the area must've looked like before. That also is another post, as I found a really good series of maps and aerial drawings of Perth Amboy from the 1770's. In any case, this drawing below, from this good website, gives an idea of how it looked as an estate.

OK, more supporting materials!

Let's start with the tea room. I found a picture! (Most pictures come from the Proprietary House website. A few come from me and a few more from da Google. I shall specify each case.) This room was originally a wine cellar and then an ammunition storage room. It's fantastic. I would hang out there all the time, if I could. It's on the basement level adjacent to the kitchen and servants' dining room. Not good if you're claustrophobic, I suppose, but I liked it. This grainy picture from here.

Alright. This is the part of the post where I tell you that this house is also on the map today because...wait for it...people believe it to be haunted. For real. Riddled with ghosts. Again? Great. And, of course (of course), there are lots of fantastic videos about this on youtube. I'll walk you through some of those in a bit. First, I want to show you more of the house and emphasize that it really is lovely, as a historic house, I mean.

The main floor of the house has a beautiful big entryway. With a lovely dining room off on one side and a lovely, big parlor off the other. I'll post below two pictures from this room. (I'm not a good photographer, especially of interiors. Huh. I'm better than whoever took that picture of the tea room, right? Right. I feel better.)

More on that mirror in the picture above in a bit.

Another photo of the interior from their website below, because I didn't want you to get the sense that all the rooms are that finished. They're not. Not by a long shot.

You can see lots more (bad) photos on their website. Check it out. And, seriously, if you ever find yourself in downtown Perth Amboy on a Wednesday, first of all, God help you and second of all, visit the Proprietary House.

Alrighty, time for the ghost stories. The house was "investigated" by Ghost Hunters. (For some reason, won't embed. Sorry.) Now, I've never seen this show, which runs/ran on SyFy, except for the video down below, but...well, I find it hilarious. These people, the TAPS people. So hilarious. A fair bit of the video is set in the basement tea room. "Are you afraid of us?" "No." I like Bruce. He seems awesome.

Anyway, I did not know any of this when I went to the Proprietary House, but I love it. OK, the ghost thing gets better though. I know. You say, "Wha? How can it get better than Ghost Hunters?" Right? It does. Enter psychic Jane Doherty, who I've read about before and who, of course, would be involved in this. Not only is she involved, but they let her give tours (in the banner of the previous link, they give some info. Sorta.). Oh and the best part about her? Her magic stomach. It's true. It's magic. In this video below (which is fantastic), you get to see it in action in the Proprietary House. Skip to 0:56 if you have to. "Here I am!"

Before I leave the ghost thing, one last video. Quick one. The mirror in the parlor in my picture above is the subject. I've watched this one about twenty times.

Almost done. Phew. Last thing to talk about in this whole big bag of awesome is "The Reenactment." So many things to say. You know what? I need to itemize. One, I just missed it and was really excited to go next year. (It's "performed" every year in early June.) Two, my favorite part of the video is the part when they write "The drama is about to begin." Three, uhhhh, Colonel Heard? Who was Phebe Taylor's brother? Yea, not how I pictured him. He's like a clean shaven Artie Lange here. Not how I pictured him. Four, my second favorite thing is the butler guy. Five, I have to confess I didn't make it past two minutes, which leads me to my last point. Six, I probably won't go next year due to my sensitivity to second hand embarrassment. For to enjoy.

In my last post, I believe I mentioned my interest in wearing an 18th century costume. My views on that are evolving.

Until next time...

Revisiting the Diary of Elder Mott

Today, I remembered an old post from July of last year. In the past few months, I've had a fair amount of crap to deal with. And that's taken me away from Phebe research some. I'm starting back up again, but lately I haven't found out that much about her specifically. I've found out a fair amount about the men around her, though, which is, I guess, normal. Sad and normal.

But then, like I said, I remembered this old post. I found not just a reference to her, but re-reading it, I realized that therein were described some specific things she did and a direct quote by her. I don't think I understood the importance of Elder Mott's diary. This might be it as far as information about her personality goes. Everything. I thought it would be good to revisit the passage from his diary.

I'll quote directly. These are from the diary of a church elder of the Baptist Church here in Middletown.

"June 1751 a Groundles Report Being Spred that John taylor Was Grate With Sarah thorne By Which Phebe taylor Was Stured Up to a Sperit of Jelosey: And did Much Abufe her hufband: for which he Came and Made Complant to Me of her: I Went to See her and told her the Sin She Was Gilty of But She Would Not hear I Used Indiuers (?) With her Several times But to No Purpofe. John thorn allfo Complained Unto Me: that Phebe Strove to Mak difrance Betwen: he and his Wife By Infifting her hufband and his Wife Ware Actually Guilty of the Charge Which Complaint I Laid Before Phebe With the Several Agrivating Sins She Was Gilty of In So doing: She Stil Continued obStinate and Juftified her Selfe In all She had done: Upon Which I told her She Should Not Be admited to her Place: With out Publick Acknolidgment: Which She Refented Very Much and told me I Ufed her Very ill And Watched Over her from Evel and Not for Good."

So she was publicly angry with her husband for supposedly cheating on her (possibly not true, I suppose) and she was chastised by the church elder for doing so. She told him that she had been "used very ill" and that the elder "watched over her from evel and not for good." Fantastic stuff.

Then in August, when she wasn't there, they suspended her until she could have a hearing.

Then in October 1751: "At a Church Meeting at Middletown Phebe Taylor Gave her Attendance Defiering to Be admitted to her Place Agane in the Church. I being Sik Could Not atend. The Church Redily admited her to her Place again In the Church. With out Examining the Complant laid Againf her By Me in Auguft."

Sounds like he was pissed at that last part. Also, in 1751 she gave birth to her seventh child (fourth child who survived childhood). So my thinking was she was fed up. I don't know. It was terribly exciting.

No more about them until the Revolution (1777) when her husband John was officially dismissed from the church for going against the Free States. That section is really interesting in the context of the Revolution, but doesn't mention any wives, much less Phebe, so less interesting to me.

Good gravy, but I found when I first read the elder's diary and it was almost one year ago. Bad amateur historian. Bad.

I plan on going here this week: The Proprietary House in Perth Amboy. Perth Amboy is also where Phebe's husband John Taylor was buried. Maybe I'll get a lead on that. Proprietary House was the residence of William Franklin, Royal Governor of New Jersey, illegitimate son of Benjamin Franklin, and the place where William Franklin was arrested at the outset of the Revolution. He was arrested by Phebe's brother, General Nathaniel Heard, head of the New Jersey militia. And damn it all, but I missed the reenactment. Damn it! Next year. Something to look forward to.

I should look into how much a Revolutionary era lady's costume costs. And I should just commit to being the kind of nerd, middle-aged nerd at that, who would dress up in a Revolution era lady's costume. Commit! I shall endeavor to commit.

Besides costumes, there's a lot more to do. I still haven't walked to where Phebe's house was, or found Cocowder Springs on Ruckman Hill, all of which is about two blocks away from me in Middletown. I could walk there. I should walk there. The problem is that going to Phebe's old house's foundation (adjacent to the new Luyster House property) involves me knocking on those people's door and asking for permission to trespass. Or to walk there without being arrested for trespassing, is I think what I mean. I am the kind of person for whom that is very difficult. Holy crap, but wearing a costume in public is nearly impossible. I also want to go back to the Monmouth County Historical Library and try to look more at original documents. They store them there.

I'm feeling better lately, kind of surprisingly, so I'm going to start making goals again. Get back into this a little. I still have very little time to myself, but damn it, Penny, "Make it work!" (Quoting Tim Gunn, a personal hero, not the least of which because he reportedly has lots of social anxiety problems. And yet is successful. My kind of dude.)

Wow, all over the place again. I guess I'm roller-coaster-y a lot lately. It is, apparently, how I roll.

Until next time...

I'm tired.

Today's theme: fatigue.

My dad's favorite all time movie is Blazing Saddles. I love that movie too. And I especially love Madeline Kahn's "I'm Tired" song in the movie (photo from here). I always have, since the first time I saw it as a teenager. In fact, it was kind of my theme as a teenager, "I'm tired" along with "I'm bored."

In any case, here's the link to the brilliant Madeline Kahn scene. (I tried to embed but either I forgot how to do that or "embedding has been disabled." Probably the latter. Sorry.) This song, along with Carol Burnett's "Little Girls" from Annie, in so many ways make life worth living for me.

My sister was depressed a while ago and I tried to convey to her that when I get depressed, or generally nihilistic about the world, I try to remember the good things. The wonderful things. Things I love. These things remind me that 1. humans can be fantastically creative, 2. I'm not alone and 3. since these wonderful things were created, are being created, then surely there will be more wonderful things created in the future, giving me something to look forward to.

And, OMG, I just realized this, but I've been thinking about using this subject as a very quick post and then Steamme Up Kid, as she's known on facebook, just saw Mel Brooks on the street in LA and he waved at her and she didn't realize who it was until too late and that, my friends, is the universe telling me I should immediately write about Blazing Saddles and do some of my magical thinking to link all these things together. (Her blog is another one of the things I love. Especially the post about dicks. I should totally tell my dad about that. Not.)

OK, that was the positive spin on the "I'm tired" theme. Now the negative. I was talking to a friend yesterday, an older friend who I met through church who has MS. We talk every now and again. She's about twenty years ahead of me on this whole thing and she's got a great attitude, very positive. Kind of a role model. So I asked her how she was doing with the heat lately. And she told me that recently, during a bad heat wave we had (a few days up around 105 degrees), she had to give up on trying to qualify for this one volunteering program.

She went through most of the forty hours of training in order to become a volunteer in a hospice program. But the final test was scheduled on a day when it was very very hot and it was scheduled in a place with no AC. So she couldn't do it. She said she really liked this program because she thought she could contribute, sitting with hospice patients while their caregivers got a few hours break. And yet, she couldn't do it. She couldn't do that one thing she wanted to do, that she worked so hard for, because her body failed her. All her symptoms flair up in the heat and she becomes (like me) non-functioning.

Fucking sad, right?

I miss being strong enough to do what I want. I miss being not tired. I want to be able to work. I want to be relied upon. One of the hardest thing has been trying to accept that this isn't going to go away. It has to be managed. I'm tired of the managing and I've only had this a year. My friend's a way way way better person than me and she's been managing for twenty years.

Alrighty. I should watch Blazing Saddles some time soon. Oooooh! I know! I should watch Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy coming out of the pond all wet and sexy in the A&E Pride and Prejudice (photo from here). Man, when that series came out, I spent $100 on the five VHS tape collection and watched that shit on repeat for weeks. Good stuff.

Or Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy walking across that field all sexy-like with his shirt open (photo from here). If only Keira wasn't so impossibly, un-healthily skinny. Oh well.

Or Rob Pattinson walking across the cafeteria in Twilight. Best part of that movie. (photo from here) Oh! Or prom in Twilight, that part was good. Say what you want. Lame, I know. I'm a nearly middle aged woman. What do you want?

Anyway, with those images in my head, I'm a little better. Thanks, interwebs for those images. My own personal wonderful things to combat fatigue and nihilism. I needed that.

Oh and I'm sorry for the randomness of this post. I'm all over the place. I just had to get past the David Sedaris post. Oh and I fully realize how lame I am. I should volunteer. I should find some way to volunteer. Until next time...

Post with Photos. And Nary a Boobie to Be Found.

Lately, I'm all over the place. Emotionally, physically. Let's talk about the emotionally part first. Then the physically part.

For instance, this "got milk" ad with Angie Harmon made me cry the other day. I don't really like her. I don't agree with her politics. I'm not convinced she can act. But, my God, those children. Those beautiful, beautiful children. I'm tearing up now describing how I was tearing up. So, yea. A bit fragile.

Photo from here

OK, then. So, physically, but not the ordinary sense of physically. I mean, I'm not lots of different places. Rather, my body is, physically, very unpredictable. Every hour is different, it seems. One hour of good. And when it happens, my God, it's like a miracle. And of course I overreact, then do too much, then bring on... hours of bad. Hours of weakness. Followed by, who knows. If I'm lucky another hour of good, but more likely, minorly bad. Bad, but not enough that I need to shut down. And then...good. And so on, and so on. A humongous roller coaster while blind-folded. Apparently, this is just how it is with MS. Medicine or no. Regardless of degree of physcial disability. It just is and clearly, I just have to accept it.

Overall, it just makes it hard to plan things. I control nothing about my body. And that leads me to have to cancel things I desperately want to do. And some things I don't want to do, but you get the idea.

I've cancelled more things, disappointed more people (including myself) in the last few months than I care to tally. The worst was probably when I had to cancel the ticket I had to see a taping of the Colbert Report a few months ago. It was great luck to even get the ticket in the first place - I had happened to sit at the computer the moment the tickets went on sale (the Colbert Report ticket people favor the smart phone crowd, I guess) and, miraculously, I got one. But I was too sick to go. And, just as bad, I'm missing, right now, Fun Day at my daughter's school. And last night she cried about it. Admittedly, she is a bit of a little actress, but still, it hurt. I just simply feel too bad to go.

In any case, going on with the roller coaster theme, I thought I'd tell you the quite roller coaster-y story of my meeting with David Sedaris. Or rather, what was going through my head during and right after my meeting with David Sedaris. (In case you think I actually met him in any real way, I really didn't. I met him at a book signing. Keep in mind the fact that he met maybe a thousand other people that night and meets thousands of people during his book tours. To me, though, I met him. Technically true.)

Polaroid of David Sedaris from this awesome idea for a blog

I had never been to an event of his and was ridiculously excited for weeks. This was last fall, so I was feeling somewhat better. Not really, but, I was already on the community college campus because of an adjunct job teaching, so it was easy to go.

After the reading, I rushed out the door (the things I do to meet famous people, apparently) and got in line to meet him. I was maybe 15th in line. Exciting, right? Well...being the guy that he is, Mr. Sedaris said that the people who were turned away at the door earlier due to selling out, were to be kept in the lobby and then brought out first to meet him. Mother the fuck, there were about fifty of them. Anyway, no big deal. Like I said, early days with the MS symptoms and I toughed it out. (Oh, Stephen. Would that I could've toughed it out for you. *sigh*)

Finally, it was my turn. I was just going to say "Oh, I'm such a big fan...blah blah blah." Oh and I was going to tell him that I had dental implants (five!) because he specifically asked that people talk to him about that (otherwise, it would be weird, right?) because he had just gone through the first phase of the process himself. And he was curious about what was to come. ("It hurts like hell," eventually I did say. "Really. Like...a lot." Oh, and "I'm so very sorry.")

But the thing is, he cut me off. Before I had a chance to say anything, he says to me "My goodness. You know, you rarely see women with their natural hair color anymore." Maybe he said something then like, "Oh, but it looks so lovely." Let's pretend he did. He could have. Unsure. I was just freaking out, thinking, "Well, shit. What do I say now?"

And then I thought of my guru aunt. And her premature graying in her thirties. And how I was going along in a family tradition by not dying it. You know, to pay tribute to her. And in response I get a kind of a blank stare from Mr. Sedaris, but let's be real, he's heard tons weirder. Still. I had blown it. And then I told him how painful implant surgery, part two, was going to be and then I was done. Damnit.

A bit about my aunt and then I'll tell you the two options I thought of later for what I should've said. (Damnit.) So...I have an aunt who's a guru. I haven't seen her in a decade at least. Maybe fifteen years. I guess 1996 was the last time. I sent her a birth announcement for my daughter five and a half years ago, but got no acknowledgement. I had had to send it to her foundation's general address, though. And she probably (surely) doesn't know my husband's last name, so wouldn't recognize who it was from. I didn't get an actual address from my dad because he didn't have it because he has dementia. With a heaping side of alcoholism. Actually, the alcoholism came first. Doesn't matter. In summary, we're not in touch, my aunt and I. But still, she looms large in my family's story. So, she randomly came to mind when questioned by David.

Ganga-ji (right), her partner Eli (left) and her teacher Papa-ji (center) in 1990 from here.

This is how I remember her. She looked roughly like this the last time I saw her. She was 48 then. Ten years older than me now. She'd had fully white hair since her mid-thirties. Adds to the guru-ness, right?

More recent image of Ganga-ji from here. We have similar noses. Unfortunately.

Oh, I can tell you one thing that happened that was kind of special between her and me. At her father's, my grandfather's, funeral in 1995, we were all standing at the graveside after the service was done. Standing in a circle. The three children - my father and his sisters - and their children and spouses. And my father began to weep. To a degree that I'll never forget.

In truth, that week was the beginning of the end for him. Within a year, he was committed, against his will, to a psychiatric unit for severe depression and then was given electro-shock therapy, or whatever the more PC name for that is. And then after that, the alcoholism he had so diligently suppressed for twenty years took over again. And it took him from us permanently, as it would turn out. Slowly and painfully took him from us.

He's alive today, but he's not there. His mind is completely gone. Talking to him is exactly like talking to someone in a dream who just won't. fucking. listen. And then who vanishes when you look away from him for a second. And who comes back a second later to kiss you on the forehead before he vanishes again.

So it was coming, at the funeral. All that. And I think I saw it and was bewildered by it. This man who was so competent, so good, I thought, was just in agony and was just so bewildered himself. And Ganga-ji (Aunt Toni as was) saw the combination of sadness and fear in my eyes and she said, "You really love him, don't you?" and I was truly kind of stunned that she saw me. I'm used to being invisible in my family.

The craziest thing is that those words, in particular, became even more important a few years later when my dad and I had a big show-down. I told him that he was an alcoholic and needed medical help and he said "You know? Of all my kids, you...you never loved me..." He then said other things, but I didn't really hear it. It was devastating, of course, and took years (a decade?) to get over. But I always had in the back of mind Ganga-ji's words and since she saw it, somehow, I know that that was the real truth. Not what my dad said.

So, while my mom and sister have questioned her guru-ness, I never have. Not since my grandfather's funeral. It's like she saw the future, or something. That I would need those words. What I'm projecting onto her and giving her credit for probably doesn't fall under the bailiwick of a guru, but still...mystical.

You should go to her website. It's kind of fascinating. Fairly incomprehensible to me, but fascinating. Here is a quote of hers, from her website: "The recognition of life itself is extraordinary, and the possibility of this recognition is that you recognize yourself as life itself – not separate from this form, but free of it." Unsure what that means. Maybe it's my brain lesions, but I really am unsure what that means.

It's all very well-meaning, though. It has always been a goal of hers, it seems, to help those who are suffering. Once, when I was in college, my parents and I were on a little fishing boat on the river near our house. It must've been during the summer. We started talking about Ganga-ji and her philosophy, as much as we could understand it anyway, and I said something profound. (I know. It was weird.) I said, "Well, I think she helps people searching. And I'm not searching now, so I don't get it. But maybe it's not for me to get, anyway." Shit. I'm the fucking family philosopher. That, I understood. I should start a foundation and collect donations on-line.

BTW, one book title of hers is "You Are That," which is a nice sentiment. Almost as nice as "You Are All That." If I entitled my book "You Are All That," would I have to pay royalties to the makers of that Freddie Prinze, Jr. movie, since it's a similar title? Hmm. Probably not.

So that's what happened with David Sedaris.

And now, here's what I should've said, #1:

Have you ever been in a New Jersey hair salon? Jesus. I spent about five years, going every six weeks, each time for roughly three hours, to a New Jersey hair salon. If I were to have to do that for the next fifteen years...well...I'd consider it a kind of a sentence, really. A loud, claustrophobic, extremely socially awkward (on my part), horrible, horrible kind of a sentence. A sentence for the crime of vanity, I suppose. No thanks.

Imagine this, only with big gold frames around the mirrors too. And lots and lots of women speaking loudly. And horrible music. (Photo from a Google Image search, that led me here.)

Oh, a good example of the kinds of women you would find at these salons:

I was wrong. Here are the boobies. With a side of anger. And a bucket-full of tanning cream. Photo from here.

What I should've said, #2:

I'm going for distinguished. Have you seen Up in the Air with George Clooney? Shit, dude. I just saw it on cable, and dude is hot. Smoking. I want that, but in the female version. Wait. I want to be like that, but in the female version. Yea. That's what I meant.

Photo from here.

Somehow, I think that last one was the way to go with Mr. Sedaris. Next time.