I write about my Granny sometimes, how crazy, funny and smart she is and how much everyone is nuts about her. Or because of her. And I run her recipes sometimes, too.

Today it’s not funny, or crazy, just sad. (more…)

The first fight my husband and I got into (he doesn’t remember this but I do), we were outside of Lisbon, Portugal, at the remains of an ancient Moorish castle. (It was Castela dos Mouros, not the Castle of Sao Jorge.) My future mother-in-law was with us — he took me to Europe to meet his mother! At the moment, I thought that was romantic, now I’m thinking — was he nuts? Did he not realize I was already pregnant and this would complicate matters? (more…)

Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep. (more…)

We miss you, Lemon. Peace, always.

WM & HG

Ten years ago next week — May 9th, 1997 — my husband-to-be and I went out on our first date.

I had a mangorita, he had a vodka rocks. I was so nervous I dropped a hunk of bread in my water.

When we got engaged two months later — not quite two months even, because really, why waste time? — we were in Lisbon, Portugal. He took me there to introduce me to my future mother-in-law, who was working there at the time. If you have never been to Portugal, I highly recommend you get your booty over there. They have it all — romance, the gorgeous ocean, incredible beaches, castles and nice people, great food, streetcars that go careening around hither and yon. And Portuguese, which I do not understand one word of. I barely speak English, I think that’s probably obvious by now.

So when we went out for Chinese food, and the six-foot-tall Chinese waiter came over to our table and asked me, in Portuguese, what I would like for dinner, I turned to Hockey God (who was not yet Hockey God, he was just this cool guy I’d run off with to Europe) and he ordered for us. In pretty good Portuguese. Which he had never spoken before. That, to me, was very cool. I did not drop my bread in the water this time, mainly because no bread was served.

More about Lisbon: It is sunny there, and they have funiculars. Funiculars! Also we ate a lot of ice cream.

But we had no rings! So off we went to Iowa City, Iowa, after a brief visit to Prague (for my beau) and a trip back to Portland (for me) and bought a couple of gold bands at a jeweler’s downtown. Then I met my father-in-law and stepmother-in-law for the first time. I may have dropped my bread in my water glass. We had a fun trip.

(that’s us)

Happy Anniversary, sweets. It just keeps getting easier, doesn’t it? HA!

Lookit who is so sweet, and likes hockey! Miss Jen.

Happy Sunday, everyone.

WM

I have to give you something here, because Jesus. It’s bad enough I’m miserable, and torturing myself, but I have to do the same to you? Misery loves company, or what? Nothing is making me feel better, not even making the Internet, my husband and my father-in-law cry (usually this would help, but noooooooooooo it’s not helping), but then I came across this. Which made me think of my boyfriend, circa 1989, and how he wanted to look just like Milli Vanilli. (Milli and Vanilli, I used to call them.) He even grew his hair long and had it corn-rowed (I found out later he slept with the hairdresser, a girl I worked with).

He was white. (Probably still is.)

With not that attractive of a face.

It was not such a good look for him.

Oh, what a loser.

“Honey, do you look at him now and say ‘What was I thinking?‘” my cousin asked me, in her Louisiana accent.

Yeah, and then some. He was also gay (or bi, who knows, and needed a pretty girl “cover” such as myself so no one would suspect.) Guess what? Everyone suspected. Or knew. Except me and his mother. And probably the hairdresser. So he didn’t want to just be Milli Vanilli, he wanted to be with Milli Vanilli.

I will not run his name here, but if you send me an e-mail I’ll send you his website. Where he claims to have graduated from Portland State. (He flunked out.)

Goddammit — I think this might make me feel better.

Ed. to say: Don’t get me wrong. I do not give a fig that he was queer. Be gay. Fly free, friend. Don’t worry, be happy. Just don’t be having sex with anonymous men in bathrooms hither and yon, as was the case here, I found out later, and then come home and stick it to me. Because I will not be happy with that. Also? His mother informed me awhile back, “He’s not gay anymore” and told me that he married a girl. Poor thing. Go light a candle for her, would you?

Also, if you’re asking himself, Wacky Mommy, how did the date end? I fell in love with someone else. He was 6’5″ tall (my ex was 5’6″, tops). He was a comfort to me. You know, as I rebounded.

Because I just wanted to let my opinion be known… so there it is. I am expressing myself.

“I’m expressin’ with my full capabilities/
And now I’m livin’ in correctional facilities/
Cuz some don’t agree with how I do this/
I get straight/
meditate like a Buddhist/”
— NWA

Gay marriage should be legal. Wacky Mommy says yes, yeah, go for it, I support it and fully. Love, love, love.

“All you need is love/
Love is all you need/”
— The Beatles

However. The voters of Oregon, progressive and green and free-loving though we may be, passed Measure 36 a couple of years ago, stating that “only a marriage between one man and one woman shall be valid or legally recognized as a marriage.” (Here are some of the arguments against this measure.) (And “we” being “them” because you know I didn’t vote the damn thing in.)

My point: I still see tons of bumperstickers here that say ONE MAN ONE WOMAN YES ON 36 all over town and damn if I wouldn’t love to get my hands on about five or seven of them. Cuz I’d cut them up to say:

ONE WOMAN
ONE WOMAN

ONE MAN
ONE MAN

ONE WOMAN
ONE MAN

And then right next to all that I’d put a Bob Marley sticker that said:

ONE LOVE
ONE HEART
LET’S GET TOGETHER AND FEEL ALRIGHT

Happy New Year to all of you. Peace in 2007.

Loves and kisses, hogs and quiches,

WM

PS — If anyone can get some of these bumperstickers for me I would sure appreciate it.

PSS — No, I haven’t started baking or cleaning yet for the party on Monday, thanks for asking.

I can’t wait to get into bed with my husband at night. No, really. I cannot wait.

(more…)

Wacky Grandmas and Aunties who bring over a DVD of “The Apple Dumpling Gang,” spaghetti for dinner, cookies and ice cream and microwave popcorn for dessert, and stay all entire evening, thus freeing Wacky Parents to go on a freakin’ fancy dinner cruise aboard the Portland Spirit, and tour the Willamette from downtown Portland to Lake Oswego. Yes, that’s who rocks — relatives who are willing to do this.

We went to the Lotus Cardroom for a drink beforehand, drank at dinner, and, that’s right, had hot toddies with dessert. Wow, do I love a Hot Apple Pie drink. Almost as much as “The Apple Dumpling Gang.” I had a nice piece of salmon, which WD did not refer to, cheerfully, as “the only endangered species you can eat” (he, like, has to say this every time I eat salmon, so I appreciate his restraint). He had spinach manicotti. Both dishes had a fancy little sidedish of spaghetti squash, with shredded zucchini and carrots. Mine had rice pilaf and some fancy ginger sauce with… who knows, cuz I was likkered up by then. But it was delicious. And for you Booze Cops in the crowd, no we did not drive. We took the train. Which made WD even happier cuz damn — the boy loves all the various modes of transportation. I prefer a Cadillac Escalade, but that’s just me.

ttfn,

WM

ps — C, did you and R get any of the seven boxes I sent you? Do you think I’m insane? Just wondering. I have more to send, week after this. xxox wm