Work-Work and Dumb-Dumb – My Childhood Dolls

Age 2: Adorable, yet easily annoyed

I think you can probably tell a LOT about a person by what they named their dolls when they were very, very small children.  Or rather, what their mother named their dolls when they were very, very small children, in an effort to keep their adorable, yet easily annoyed daughter from calling stranger people “Dumb-Dumb”.

If you know me at all, you know that I am not one to disguise my emotions and opinions very well, plus I am easily annoyed.  At stupidity.  Now - I am aware that this cavalier attitude is shallow and will not win me over any life-long friends (let alone lovers), and I have, for the most part, reigned in my desire to call your casual dumb-ass a dumb-ass.  I mean, I still do it under my breath, but if nobody hears me, what’s the harm right?!?

My almost 12-year old son has started letting me know, usually when I have just finished barking my busy-body commands at him that perhaps my tone is a wee bit “off".  And I appreciate him reminding me of this (after that ripple of wanting to box him in the ears passes), because I understand completely and fully that it’s often “not what you say, but how you say it.”  And even if I do think somebody is a complete dumb-ass and I don’t SAY IN WORDS that I think they are a complete dumb-ass, well, my tone is saying it for me.  And that really has to change.  Because as much as I love my own company and (Self) Date Night ™ is really swell,  I really do want that someone special in my life to cozy up on.  But change is difficult, especially with a behavior and an attitude that is nearly a half-century old!

Anyway, at around the same age that photo was taken, and when i began talking, I had a nasty habit of calling most people I met “Dumb–Dumb.”  My mother thought she would solve this little problem by making me a doll and naming the doll Dumb-Dumb.  She then instructed me that I was now to call this DOLL Dumb-Dumb and nobody else Dumb-Dumb because, well, "...because people aren’t dumb-dumbs."  When I looked at her as if SHE were a dumb-dumb, she added something like "...and it's not a nice thing to call people, Maureen."  Fair enough.  I took to my new doll Dumb-Dumb (who, by the way did not have a face) like a pig takes to slop, and played with her, and called her by her name, and soon realized that Dumb-Dumb was super lonely and needed a companion.  So my mother made a companion doll that I got to name.  And I named him “Work-Work.”  We will save further analysis of why Dumb-Dumb was a girl and Work-Work was a boy for another blog. 

"WORK-WORK"

For 40 or so years, I have wondered why in the HELL a three-year-old child would name a doll Work-Work.  There was of course, the traditional male/female programming at play in my childhood home; my father went away to "work" and my mother stayed at home to care for the three children.  But I was two, maybe three years old - it was more than just my short history with this family.  And then I remember: it's who I am.  And what I do.  I am a worker bee.  I work.  Or should I say, “I werk!” No, I just work.  I always have worked, and I probably always WILL work, and I think there is something about the idea of work that, for some god-forsaken reason, gives me a warm, tingly feeling inside.  I am just highly industrious.  A few years ago, I got all excited about a compilation of old videos of our family (and extended family, mostly) my mom had put together from the 1970’s.  I think there was one scene with me in it.  I was about 2 1/2 years old, carrying a HUGE watering can and tending to the house plants. 

One of the things that has come up a lot for me lately is the absolute necessity of self-care, both of my adult self, as well as of that industrious little girl, who just LOVES to work.  I know that we are spoon-fed all sorts of crap about how we are not supposed to like work…how we are actually supposed to HATE work, so that once we get off work, we use what little “play-time” we have to do “non-work” things, like consume.  So then we have to work more.  And play less.

I think this is a load of horseshit.  There is nothing wrong with a little (or a lot) of work.  Especially when it is work that you LOVE doing and work that produces awesome results.  The very idea that the way we spend most of our waking hours should be engaged in something we loathe is ludicrous.  Not to mention - the idea we should all be hating work only serves to increase any aversion one already has to work (which for most of us is a lot), which is then numbed out during one’s play-time by “stuff”: substances, entertainment, stuff, distractions, stuff.  

The other day as I was lamenting over something or another, something that I was "not supposed to be doing” because I had "so many other things that I should be doing,” (meanwhile doing nothing) I ponder my inner child and wonder if she is the source of this most recent wave of ennui.  She replied quickly: “Sister, it’s not me, it's that fat bald dude in the corner over there who just wants to watch one more episode of  'Pimp My Ride' (or whatever).  Go get the watering can, b*tch!  I wanna do me some work!"

Anyway, the point is, I realized, for the VERY FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, my inner child is not the whining, crying, needy little orphan-child I have pictured her to be, one I need to take gently and lovingly into my arms and rock back and forth, letting her know that everything is going to be OK. At least not always. 

Nope.  My inner child needs for me to step aside and allow her to embody the badass, bossy busy-body she has always been.  Sure, I need to slow her down and re-direct her from time to time, but I do think this new little nugget of wisdom, that perhaps I need to care for my inner child in a completely different way, might allow me/her to open up just enough creative space to break on through to the other side of what it means to fully embody my greatest gifts and talents - and share them with more people.  

Or - I was just a bossy little girl, and will die an old, bitter spinster-maid, with Work-Work by my side.  And Work-Work is not real. So that is really super sad.

Yep, this is INDEED Why I am Still Single – 052315

This is, of course, a follow up to my earlier blog, titled “Is This Why I am Still Single? – 1/21/15” where I was pondering whether my over-the-top caustic persona might be the reason I continue to fly solo.

I am confirming this to be the case.

Right now, it's 4 'clock in the a.m. on a Saturday morning, and for some god-forsaken reason, my eyes have popped open, which indicates to Tommi the cat that it is now time to clean up my chin.  Because I understand this process to be exfoliating, and I am not one to let such beauty opportunities to go by, I allow her to do this while i figure out why the hell i am up so goddamn early and why my neck feels broken in several different places.

I try to go back to sleep, but after 20 minutes has gone by and the pain in my neck has taken shape, I decide I am up for good and, since I will already be waiting for the cable guy to come fix my T.V. some time between 8 a.m. and eternity, I figure now is the perfect opportunity to do the write-up on that date I had the other day - my FIRST date - in over a year. 

It was new potential!  So exciting and he was super-cute too!  Sure, he had 7 kids, but before I put the cart before the horse and begin raining my own too-hasty judgements down upon his head, I reign myself in a bit and suspend judgement for the moment.  Besides, when I shared with him on our first phone call that I was adopted, he shared that he was also adopted, and I give orphans a pass on just about anything.  

We arranged a quick Friday afternoon date, as he was scheduled to pick up one of his children at 6pm that day and couldn’t meet until 4pm.  Fair enough, keep it short and sweet.  That way, if there is NO chemistry, it’s short and sweet, and if there IS chemistry, a short visit will only work to build on that chemistry!  Bases covered.

I was excited, and and my third-eye pimple that had sprouted two days prior had given way a bit, plus the eyebrow I had partially shaved off the other day (no questions please) was already starting to fill in! Yay!  We were to meet at a café down the street on bikes, so I wore a casual, yet sexy little yoga number, stretch bottoms and a hot pink tank top, with my trusty blue hoodie.  

The date went fine.  There were no initial fireworks – physically, he appeared to be a full 30 or so pounds heavier than his profile pics (again, who am I to judge? and besides, he'll diet for me), and perhaps slightly more world-weary. We ended the date with a nice hug and went our separate ways.  

Flash forward several hours later that evening, when I received the following text:

HE: Pretty good first one and that hug was nice.

ME: (trying to keep it casual, I am still not sure how I feel about him) Hugs r awesome.

And then, for emphasis – 

ME: Hugger here.

HE: Me too and a kisser but you’re going to have to wait for that ;)

ugh. Seriously?  Is that seriously what you think a woman, who you know very little about, wants to hear?  That you are in control over when she will be receiving additional and further affections from you - you, a veritable and bona-fide stranger in her world?!? Is that what you think?!?  Lord Jeebus I think I have just died and gone to purgatory.  But it’s late – past 10pm – and I am not thinking very clearly, I'm just annoyed and I need him to know this if we are going to have any relationship at all, so I say:

ME: John* read that back to yourself.  That is straight out of the cornball movie corny.  Besides I never said anything about wanting to kiss you.

(that last part an utterly ridiculous statement, thrown in as a feeble attempt to try to soften the blow, because of course i would want to kiss him...slightly less now that he has made it a control issue.

HE: Damn…sorry for being corny, myself or whatever I came across as being.  I’ll stay in my lane.

ME: Awww I hate when things don’t translate will via text.

And then, feeling super bad that I had hurt his pride, I added:

ME: Really sorry to have offended.

HE: No worries.

I didn't hear from him again. 

*not his real name

"THE DRESS" - 051615

No, no, no, not “The Dress” as in the dress the captured all of that ridiculous attention on the social medias about what color it was – MY dress.  The fabulous one that I wore to a meet-and-greet last night in Oakland, CA, U.S.A., hometown of Dwayne Wiggins of Tony! Toni! Tone! fame, which happened to be one of my FAVORITE bands in college – real BANDS, back when musicians still played instruments. 

"The Revival" - My Favorite Album - 1990

It all started on Mother's Day, when i got drunk on "comfortable food" in the City with my sister-friend Mia and her mother. 

We were in Hayes Valley and after brunch did some poking around in some of the boutiques, and i tried on a really lovely dress that ended up showing quite a bit of side-boob.  And, had i been shopping by myself, i would have seen side-boob, and very quickly and without making a scene, put it right back on the rack, knowing that i would never, ever, ever have the nerve to wear a dress that showed side-boob, given a lot of factors, including my non-existent reputation and aging A-cups. Seriously, the only people who are really allowed to do side-boob with out seeming like a desperate, needy, or otherwise aging slut are Kim Kardashian.

So i bought the dress and when i got home, feeling ridiculously silly for spending nearly $70 on a dress that I knew would be a lounge-around-the-house-when-i-want-to-feel-particularly-sexy-dress (the material is impossibly soft, too!), I put the dress on and not an hour later, "POP" the right spaghetti strap came loose!  My lucky day!  Except I live in Oakland and the store is in SF and its a 7 day, no money back, exchange-only policy.  And i don't like SF. 

I started plotting a trip to the City some time during the week so that I could exchange the dress and find redemption for that $70 spent hastily, in a delicious moment of "Yeah, yeah, I can rock this!  No problemo!"  When later that day I received an invitation to attend a networking event (which are NOT my favorite excruciatingly painful things to do, ever) I thought how serendipitous it was that perhaps this presented the perfect opportunity for me to find just the right dress to wear for an occasion where i may be hob-nobbing with some of Black Oakland's movers-and-shakers! Crisis = Opportunity. Right there. Bam.

And then, the just-right dress appeared to me like a mirage out of the clear blue horizon, on an impossibly beautiful day, driving down a desert highway, on the road to nowhere.  I tried it on and fell in love instantly.  A daring choice, yes, because this particular dress would require that i go bra-less...yikes!  However, unlike the side-boob dress, my ta-ta's in THIS dress were tastefully displayed and not the least bit conspicuous - no side boob, no nipple, allllll goooood.:o)

The dress was an even exchange, and I left the store happy and excited that my mission had been successfully accomplished, bouncing all the way to my car, when out of nowhere, my glee and joy were dashed by the thought that i had nobody at home to play dress-up with and take the pictures!  And what happens when a single women who's roomate-shutterbug-Sun is away at his father's house and photos of a fabulous dress must be taken?  Determination.  That's what happens.  Yeah.  

This is me looking kind of like a forest gnome.

 This is me looking like a forest gnome and figuring out how how i might take a selfie without the camera directly in front of my face.

This is me looking even more like a forest gnome, but I wanted to get a photo of the shoes I chose to wear.  There was a rather large selection, and the selection process only took trying on each pair twice, getting up on a chair in my bedroom so that I could try and catch a look at how the unique hemline (short in front, long in back) looked with each pair of shoes, cursing in my head all the while “Goddammit Somebody Get Me a Full Length Mirror!!!”

Ignore the laundry in the back because apparently I did. 

That’s when I decided i needed to take advantage of the real reason I took the mirror down in the first place, which was to get a better look at the dress from that unique hemline, which had required all of the shoe fitting and re-fitting.  This photo is probably the best result of that particular effort:

 Then I got so excited at seeing half the result of my creation, I got a bit greedy (well who wouldn't?) and tried to capture the entire result, which was a mistake.  I don’t really know what was going on in my mind here, except to say that my yoga training was starting to kick in at the same time I was trying to fit entire my body into the mirror, and the way the dress actually LOOKED on my body - quite frankly, the way my body LOOKED in general -  became irrelevant.  And the result of not planning that look out in its entirety is what you see below, the second photo looking slightly more constipated than the first.

Determination, ppl. That's what it's all about.

And so, lastnight after all of those shenanigans and before hitting the town, I decided to share on social media my most favorite shot of the dress, in its MOST fabulousness, surprisingly without me anywhere in the shot, or the dress:

FRONT OF AWESOME DRESS I WORE TO MEET-N-GREET

And while I was really, really, really hoping to get that ONE FABULOUS SHOT with Dwayne Wiggins for my blog, I got two shitty ones instead.  He was pretty patient, until the 5^th or so shot in, when he started walking away, saying “Now that’s the shot, right there.” 

It obviously wasn’t the shot. 

It’s a Full Moon! And I Just Got My Period…On My Birthday…at Harbin Hot Springs…:o/

5-3-15: 7a.m

My eyes crack open on this glorious Sunday before my birthday!  I rise out of bed, full of pep and zeal and ready to begin the events I have planned for myself - on this most auspicious of occasions….my birthday.  I don’t know what it is about my birthday, but it has always been that day where it has felt OK for me to feel special….all.day.long.  So I make sure I always take full advantage of this.

This year, I have planned an over-nighter up to Harbin Hot Springs.  For those of you who have never been there, I can hardly describe it, except to say “Clothing Optional.”  It is also incredibly beautiful, nestled deep in the woods of Lake County, just north of the Napa Valley.  I have been to Harbin at least a handful of times, sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner.  Today I am flying fly solo and will be spending the night there and enjoying the full moon experience at precisely 8:42 pm tonight, PST.   

As I rise from the toilet and look back to flush, my eye catches the side of the toilet bowl – Oh FFS, Jeebus, you CANNOT be for real!  On my BIRTHDAY??? At the NUDIE SPA?????  BUT THIS IS ALL WRONG!!! i insist. To nobody.

Now for those of you who are sitting back wondering how it is that I couldn’t have known that my period was to come precisely on the day that I scheduled myself to go to the clothing-optional hot springs, I have two words for you: 47. 

And I know there are worse things than to be on your period at the nudie spa, but all I can think about is that I am going to have to deal with this conspicuous STRING hanging out of my nether regions, and that is not how I want to present!  Especially being a single, available woman, and before you start getting all grossed out about the potential for catching a date at the nudie spa, I say this: it could happen.  And really, Harbin has gotten a bad reputation in the past for being full of sleazies, but it’s not, i mean, i go there, right?!  And besides, the gays and the furrinurs (that's pronounced "foreigners" for those of you who don't speak 'Murican) seem to have taken the place over anyway, so whatever reputation it earned in the past seems to have faded like yesterday's laundry hung out to dry too long.

Anyway.  Whatever.  As I start to rifle through my options, (there are two), I ponder again whether a real Deva® Cup might hold more than the cheapie disposable option I purchased - let’s call it the Don’t-a® , which is super-rigid and is really only reliable after day #3.  I dunno, I just never thought that i(t) was worth the $35 price tag.  I still don’t, throw in a couple of Don’t-as, and make a run to the Walgreen’s for a box of tampons.  

2 p.m.

I arrive at Harbin, unpack my things and get myself situated on the front deck.  I know that before I settle in and get good and nude, I need to deal with my woman-thing.  On the drive up, I have decided that my period has not yet begun in earnest and so perhaps for this first day I WOULD be ok with the knock-off cup.  I look through my toiletries bag, once, twice, three times and DAMMIT no Donta’s!  Apparently I left them unpacked somewhere in the bathroom.  I grab a tampon and head for the bathroom.  

Yep.  I embody CONSPICUOUS on the walk from the bathroom to the deck, now in full-nude.  And I am trying to be comfortable with the whole string-out-of-the-nether-regions situation, but I am just not!  I feel like i am being watched left and right, even as i know that there are precisely zero fucks being given about me and my "situation" at this particular moment.

It's not until 2 or so hours later that suddenly, out of nowhere I realize – wait – that tampon isn’t going anywhere!  It finally dawns on me how my body works and that I can actually push the string “out of view” so to speak, without fear that the tampon will vanish inside my body!  EUREKA!  I'm back in the game again.

8:00 p.m.

I am half-way passed out on my bed and willing myself to get ready for the Full Moon ceremony happening at the warm pool just outside my window. 

8:30 p.m.

I hear chanting.  I cannot move. It's like i have sleep paralysis.  But i am not asleep.

9:00 p.m.

The chanting has stopped and I force myself to go outside and LOOK at the full moon, not full anymore since it is now 9 p.m.  I stumble out of my room and look down at a bunch of full-moon revelers.  I must look awkward, fully clothed, and bumbling out to catch a glance of the moon.  Which I do, and then turn right back around and go back upstairs.  And pass out. 

5-4-15 8 a.m. (my birthday)

I wake up and realize that I am not going to make the 8 a.m. yoga class.   I make my way to the café for a cup of coffee and perhaps a tasty treat for my birthday!  The guy in front of me asks about what’s inside that delicious-looking croissant...rasberry!  But apparently nobody has informed him that its my birthday and he takes it for himself.  He doesn't even smile at me as he walks by with his score.  Asshole. 

10:00 a.m.

My mind drifts to- and- fro- as I lay on the deck and let my body finally relax.  I try hard to stay in the moment, but I know that the clock has started ticking on my departure time, so it’s difficult.  I’m thinking about what I need to do in order to be ready to go, then I think about dinner plans (do I have food in the house?), then I think about that time at Ecstatic Dance when I was so awkward with this guy who I think is super-cute (I laugh about this out-loud, folks next to me must think I’m cray).  Back and forth, to and fro my mind wanders, and I realize I need to pee and get up and head to the bathroom, and walk straight into…the dude who I am crushing on at Ecstatic Dance.  My face lights up, and he doesn’t know why.  And he is naked, and I am naked.  And I say “Hi There!” as we get closer, thinking what the fuck do I do, do I go in for a hug?  And this little voice inside me says “Lean in!”  And I say back to this little voice, “Wait, what?  I thought we weren’t supposed to lean in!” And it says “Lean in!” again, so I lean in, and he catches me with his hands on my shoulders and I turn to the side and he plants a kiss on me. 

A kiss from the dude who I am crushing on at Ecstatic dance in the nude at Harbin Hot Springs on my 47th birthday.  

I was self-conscious for the remaining part of my stay but it was all worth it. 

Happy Birthday to me.