Stuff I really like

I was going to title this, "The Strange and Bizarre Things I Like". That IS much catchier, but it would be misleading. I'm not entirely against being misled now and then, but I don't want to responsible for it just yet. So, I went with the less enticing and more adolescent sounding, "Stuff I Like". It's a title that right away tells you there's a teddy bear on the list somewhere, right? Wrong. Okay, let's see what the hell I'm talking about, because I sure can't wait to.

I could go all chronological, and shit right up in here-- and I think I will. My earliest fixation was on books. I was born blind in one eye, so I guess I read them with the good one, until they put a patch on the good one, to force the bad one to work. I felt pretty fucked with and I was only five.Then with surgery, my eyesight was much improved and I went on to love books of many kinds and I adored drawing, painting, writing poetry and songs. I was always a good singer and loved music. I was a person fortunate to have my dream of performing professionally come true, when I sang opera.

Now the kind of weird things. I was totally obsessed with Shirley Temple for a good number of my childhood years. I would dilligently research her films and life and my prized possession was an old Shirley Temple doll, circa 1942. I even knew the exact number of curls on her head.56. Or something. I've forgotten now. But I still have a fondness for her movies (and old movies in general and many in particular). My doll is in my closet somewhere. When I grew up I understood why I was so hooked on Shirley and her movies. Shirley's movies were formulaic- she became separated from her parents- often from her father- and then through some comedic means is reunited in a tearful scene. I used to watch and smile when the father came back. He was always so happy to see Shirley. And he always promised, as he swept her up in his big, strong arms, that he would never go away again. Ever. Then a beautiful little tear would appear at the edge of Shirley's bright, hopeful eyes, edged by shining golden ringlets. But Shirley, always the little trooper, would wipe them away with one chubby little hand and smile, her cherubic dimples appearing. "I love, you, daddy."  "I love you, too, Dimples" or whatever her name was in the movie. Twinkles maybe?...... So, there you go. My separatedly anxious, abandoned, traumatised twinkie eating shame junkie of a seven year old that I was, I was shooting up daddy scenes. And coming to, in time to note that there was nothing for dinner.

The real problem was that the shooting was real. My dad had done it. I was almost seven, and it was June- two months before my birthday in August. He was a vagabond, hitch hiking hippie. My mom was a groupie for rock 'n' roll bands. She'd have them move in! We actually lived with a lot of people, so a few more didn't really matter. The chapters dealing with all of this, in my book, "Fleadick" are pretty hard to write about. Thank God, I have a good sense of humour or I'd literally be dead.So my mother was a drug dealer, as well, which did enable her to be at home all day for we kiddies, right? It just didn't work out very well. Cindy and I (and other children who came and went with their sometimes very abusive parents) were always running into their burning cigarettes, and getting in the way of their party.

It's so funny, really, because my daughter, Sophia was having her birthday a few years back and we just couldn't please her no matter what lovely idea we came up with for a party. Well, finally, she agreed to this Wildlife Adventures person who brings exotic animals into your home, teaches the children, answers questions and overses a petting session. It cost almost $300. I ordered her cake, bought party gift bags and all the crap needed to give her the party she wanted. Then after it was all over, I was sitting in the backyard thinking back on my childhood birthdays. It was so damned pathetic, I couldn't help but laugh at the difference between my childrens' lives and my own. I know I did that thing deprived people do when they have kids of their own. I've gone overboard. But I'd rather screw them up this way then by some lack of something emotional or material I could have given. The point here is that my kids are pretty high up there on my list of "Stuff I Like". They're on a numbr of other lists, too, like I Most Want to Throttle"...

So, other kind of freakish things are that I really love minature things. I got myself a dollhouse when I turned eighteen and fully decorated it, electrified it, painted it- the works, with the help of Michael, I'm sure you've since come out of the closet, Mccraigy. He started off stocky and masculine but six months of shared Jazz, Tap and Ballet lessons later (We were theatre majors) he was a mirror staring, leg warmer-loving, groin stretching pantyboy. Theatre has that effect on some men. Opera, too. That's why I would never sing for anyone who's on the edge. I can't be responsible for that.

M'kay, I worship antiques, particularly European, though I wouldn't claim a particular period or style as my favourite- I like too many. I love history, I enjoy well written biographies. I especially relish learning about ancient people of power in the world of actuality and myth. I love Vargas pin ups- there's a sweet, fun, titilating sexuality that's missing from our current scene- when less was more. It was all about presentaion, style, a sense of how to appreciate the female form. Completely lacking the lurid, degrading, violent elements that to my mind are worse than watching two honest dogs fuck. Clearly, I'm no prude. I say what I mean most of the time. Anyways, Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor, I'd put on my most gorgeous list. I'd take a young Marlon Brando anyday.  Vivienne Leigh, too, a stunning and wonderful actress I have always loved, having seen her in many films beside the one for which she is most famous.

Movies are next in line to books for me. I am a sucker for Gone With The Wind, so I'll admit it right away and be done with trying to pretend I'm above it. Daphne DuMaurier's,  "Rebecca", any film made of Tennesee William's plays, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf", A Lion in Winter....I won't go on. Too many! For Books I've always been a D.H. Lawrence person, all the Russian authors, South American Poetry like Neruda and Lorca, I like Baudelaire, Rilke...I don't know. I actually read very little poetry. I prefer non-fiction over fiction. Usually I am trying to learn something. I love to travel and fate's thrown me the opportunity through my husband's work for us to travel pretty extensively with and without our two kids in tow.We head for Alaska in June, so I have to move my recovery along, damnitt!!! It's been slow and difficult going since they peeled me open like a can of sardines. A fun time was had by all. Percocet is my friend.

Well, that's more than enough, except i did forget to mention about one hundred things that would have made you suck in your breath and shake your head and murmur, I just can't believe this woman isn't in some institution. I love cats and french fries and System of a Down and Peanutbutter Cap 'N' Crunch rules! Whew. I need a cigarette. Thank you so much for reading this, if you did. If you really did read this, would you just leave a comment like, YO! or Ahoy there, matey! Anything so I know I actually exist on this site? Please? Thanks. Love, C