StormyWrites

Heroic Hello!

That’s right. I saved a baby duck today. Okay, so there WERE TWO blue speckled big eggs that some adorbs unwitting mama left in the corner of the house. I gated them off with this fencing you just chunk into the earth: it’s wide enough for the ducks to get through but not wide enough for Hugo. Except that we had a big storm and I let Hugo out and despite his oaffy demeanor I’ll be damned if he didn’t make a b-line for those eggs as one of the fence posts had fallen when it was super windy last night. I called him back in, and he literally had egg on his face. Schnoz over easy. But I got the fencing put up with a double lair this time and there’s still one egg so I’m hopeful. Crazy the things we get attached to.

We had a bunch of eggs around the house during Coronacation. Hard to believe that’s been a few years ago already. At first it was GREAT having the kids home because I work from home and they had online class with teachers that actually really cared. THEN the world went loco over TP and we all had to wash our fruit before we could bring it inside, which led to the Dorito Defense by which we all fought off gaining the COVID 19 since eating digestible sulfates seemed safer than an organic perishable orange that was certain to be laden with some awful virus. THEN some administrators got wise and decided to make classes safe enough for kids to go every day. While others decided to really upend rational thinking with hybrid schedules nobody could understand. In hindsight it all reads like a really bad script.

The latest from Upscale Mayberry …

Since our last convo I’ve been researching cancer friendly clothing and – truly no offense because I do love you – but I gotta ask. What the hell have you been wearing these past 8 months? Anything port friendly looks like a track suit best worn only by Ron Burgundy or any of the made men on Sopranos. I’m no Versace (oh to have 1/100th the panache of Donatella; the woman really is a queen in her own right), but I love clothes, have been a Vogue subscriber since I was 14 and love the idea of a real purpose that intermingles fashion savvy women (you) with an unmet fashion need. We always say “dress for the job you want, not for the job you have.” Why? Because even on crud days you feel a little better if you are dressed in something that gives you that confidence push. So here are my thoughts:

1. Go from Tony Soprano to Sophia Loren [insert drawings] so you’ve got port accedss magnets or easy snaps, contrasting cuffs, hidden slanted pockets, way better boat neck neckline so it’s not stifling and you can wear a soft cashmere scarf that will feel good and not heavy itchy. Hello! made tailored for women. Not tight – just not a velour box. Now we just need to find someone that can: a.) turn doodles into patterns; and, b.) sew.
2. Pants: black straight leg, side contrast chevron or fun tracking, closet goal couture not cheesy with snaps or magnets so it’s super easy on / off;
3. Tunic/Dress: a.) boat neck so loose not stick to radiation itchy gel but can still layer; b.) port access at angled zippers or with leather (or faux leather if we have to have that convo) accents versus super obvious velcro so part of the design doesn’t look so ad lib. c.) slight bell sleeves (bc accessories deserve their space; our clientele wear tennis bracelets and tag heuer); d. wear with leggings; e.) colors of navy made of supersoft peruvian flannel and cottons with dark trim, color block for fall and portwine dark purple (not that grimace radiation purple you showed me – that’s eggplant meets bruised, we are talking positive purple) that’s dark enough to cover the wine spills with – of course – contrast trim.
4. The material is all svelte cozy, like a baby’s blanket but inside use micromodal. It’s softer than silk and wicks moisture, inside the port areas lined with an antimicrobial section that can use silver leaf nylon dressing so it won’t stick or pull (it’s no wonder the cotton stuff sticks. If I have to start sending you my Hanes wifebeaters = which I love but really only to layer – then you may as well just be naked. Anyhow – back to materials – we want a super fine wool that can have soft padding inside that’s even removable – like the cups in sports bras. If you use a micromodal product, it’s a cellulose product gleaned from hardwood trees so it’s synthetic minimal, AND it naturally fights off bacteria. Think the science of Nike Dri-Fit or the Adidas Tech tees – it’s all made out of stuff like this. There’s a whole science behind what could be done to update your wardrobe even in the ickiest of times.
5. Headware – super soft but matches. The headwear available goes by so m any names! Scarf, snood (personal fav), ticehl, warp, doorag (on yo’ bad ass days when you get the kids to make the macaroni although we are probably not cool enough to pull that off even if you pull out the C card), chemobandana, hijab and the good old fashioned headbands and turbins.

Hello Homestretch to Spring Break!

Does it get any better than that? The true signal that there just may be an end to this god awful season we call winter in the midwest flatlands? It’s the one thing that gets us through those ridiculously dark daylight savings days of glum: spring break plans.

Radiation week 2 done. Great you guys can go visit your brother – palliative beach therapy is just what every doctor should order! Funny how they don’t even warn you about covid anymore. Remember when that was gonna kill us all physically. Now it’s aftermath is killing an entire generation mentally: thank you horriblest of all humans to ever exist Dr. For His Own Fortune Fauci. He is STILL trying to ride that gravy train. Good Lord! What next? Monkeypox? Oh yeah, you’re pushing the fear factor on that one. I thought i was for sure being spoofed when I first heard about that. MONKEYpox. Who names these? What’s next? The Snooples? Buttcrackulitis! Aaaaahhh! Beware! Danger zone! They didn’t wipe well enough and now they suffer from buttcrackulitis! Yep, three years ago we were all canceling spring break plans, the economy was tanking, no one was allowed to see anyone’s expression. Someone in China must still be regaling in having pulled off the largest prank ever. Sure, there was legitimacy. But I’m not sure we could have handled that any more poorly. Let’s blame all the coronovirus woes on Facebook since Zuckerberg has fewer scruples than the pizza dude in a porno movie. FB is to retail think tank mind warping for adults what Disney is to princess obsessed four year old girls. No matter how many times you unsubscribe, it just keeps coming back like a turd that insists on floating.

I read the Sheryl Sandberg (FB COO) book called Lean In. What a crock of gangrenous balony. The whole premise is that it is women’s fault we are treated as lesser in corporate America, and that the fix is to literally physically “Lean In” to the male conversations so we are seen as equal and equal contributors and not the coffee fetchers relegated to the seats lining the board room walls. Any women that – unlike her book written when she had essentially unlimited funds, the ability to set her own schedule, and a stay at home husband with ONE kid – that has actually LEANED in knows what happens. The men take it as a chance to LOOK DOWN your blouse and whisper versus announce what they’d like you to get them for lunch.

Sometime after her book was published and she regaled thousands with her provocative lean in-ness, she lost her husband (which no one wants for anyone and is tragic no matter what) and did essentially a minor retraction on how maybe she had it a little better than most, that this single mom stuff is HARD, and perhaps there are other considerations warranted before advising women to spend $30 on a book of rubbish. It’s no wonder so many men endorsed her book: they got kudos for supporting the forward thinking woman author executive that they didn’t actually have to work with and who was touting exactly the message they wanted to hear: it ain’t so tough out there ladies, just lean in.

Had I not had a demanding job with long hours, leaving Chase would have been a whole different nightmare. We’d be dead or gorked from being wrapped around a tree if I’d stayed; broke if I hadn’t. I now love every voice on the other side of the door when I come home. Life still throws me curveballs, but fear no longer occupies the driver seat. I’ve always been grateful to anyone that’s given me a job; even the jobs I didn’t like so much.

I don’t doubt that Ms. Sandberg loves her child and provides a lovely life for their house; that she tries to make those special moments last. But her message default put the rest of us down at her expense. How very FB of her.

My work release is Hotbox 401 – the workout studio classes I take. They charge me if I don’t show which is serious incentive. The people there are great; everyone overshares. I know who goes commando (I do not because I’m afraid of dribbling), who feels their nipples are too big, who is getting divorced, who has false eyelashes, best self tanners, whose kids are sick or getting married. It’s the nucleus of all good town gossip and a needed endorphin releasing sanctuary.

Speaking of strong-willed women, I reached out to the Italian Bride from the wedding we attended. I got a really weird “thanks for your message” almost corporate response, told Pete, who then got a text from the groom about five minutes later that they’re getting divorced. Which means she texted him, said you gotta tell your buds what’s happening so their SOs stop contacting me. That sucks. I really liked them together. Better to cut your losses. And man, that was a helluva party; fairytale picture perfect. We had dinner with them a month ago and thought everyone was having fun. All it takes is one deciding they don’t want kids, they don’t want to work, they want a really annoying parent to move in indefinitely, or some well hidden addiction or affliction to surface. Not sure what happened there, but major downer when you find a couple you both enjoy hanging out with and it goers bust.

But damn, we had connected! In the bathroom when we went out with them she asked if I was friends with the PDA special couple. Hard no! I said I couldn’t believe she wore the same color dress as me as coincidence. She laughed. She knew I was wearing a this season’s Nicole Miller to her reception. We talked shoes, for god’s sake! We had a connection! And now the PDA Special is getting married. I said I’m not going. Pete asked if I’d go if we were engaged: like it’s a bargaining chip. Rarely had I felt so instantly deflated. Pathetic. And most of all sad. I said if that’s how he saw me, then forget it. I don’t want it. Not that way. Not cheap. I grabbed the dog leash and asked him to please not follow. I was gone for about an hour – it was cold out which was good because it wasn’t one of those everyone’s out kind of days. Hugo was elated; he doesn’t walk very far, so we went to this little hideaway that at some point may have been a winter garden (assuming we ever had eastern block culture and diversity out here); it’s got a cool bench and the boughs arch over it creating a faux snowy shelter. I found it chasing an overthrown ball a few years ago. I love it for me and hate it for others as I’m pretty sure this is where someone got the inspiration for the Lovely Bones kid stealing scene. I got back, said I wasn’t gonna talk about it because I can’t without knowing I’ll say something mean which will make me feel even worse.

So we had this super awkward evening. I know he doesn’t feel like this is his house, but it’s where I am at and times like this he probably feels even more out of place. So I’m empathetic to that: no one likes not knowing where it’s okay to sit. It’s odd dating a fifty year old bachelor with no baggage. Because that’s not true. They might not have kids and exes, but they’ve got A LOT of baggage. When you’ve never had to answer to any one else, when you’ve never had to think first and worry about the repercussions of your words – even when you’re the nicest guy. You come tainted from the hearsay stories of every one of your friends failed relationships because you’re the guy that was available to go out with them when that puzzle was being dismantled. You come tainted because you focus on the things you’ve seen that have FAILED because while you’ve taken chances in life, you’ve never taken the biggest one: putting your heart so on the line that someone else has to come first.

He had a trip early the next day. Which was good. And he sent me photos of beautiful rings asking if I liked any of them (yes to tanzanite with diamond studs and and anything with big bold sapphires), to let him know which one I wanted because he doesn’t trust his taste, but not diamonds because that’s already in the works. Some may say that I was being bought and should have said none. But I. Am. Not. A. Moron. He said this would be pre-engagement while the other one he ordered is finished getting made back in Chicago. He gave it to me when he got back and said he was sorry even though I’m still not sure he knows what he was apologizing for. Just that he’d hurt my feelings bad enough that he knew I was on the brink of calling our not plans off for good.

We all hurt the ones we love the most. We hurt them far more than others because they care about us and most others don’t. It’s human nature. They’re the ones we see. The ones that make us vulnerable. The ones around which we feel we can put down our guard. Which makes it even more important to say you’re sorry. So I’m good because you can’t hate the ones you love the most even if the stuff they sometimes do is detestably hurtful. You gotta move on or you get stuck; relationships have to move forward of they wilt. No mom can keep her kid in onesies forever. But eventually that kid is old enough to drink and you realize going on vacation where the kids carry their own luggage and you’re not carrying both is awesome!

Kelly says I should go to the wedding, show up late, make sure I get the bartender to put a few extra spendy glasses of wine on the tab, and wear something crazy sexy that’s white. I’m afraid they’d turn me into a human pinata. I can hang out at the highschool four blocks away if I wanna see grody mashing; I don’t need to coordinate childcare, petcare, packing and airfare and have to behave and not drink much because it’s not like having as filter has ever been my thing; especially when I’ve had time to amp up the emotion meter.

Sorry if the paper is a little warpy. I’m writing this from the park district sauna. I already raided Hotbox this morning, Pete wanted to work out, kids are at Chase’s, so I’m doing the executive workout (sauna to steam to whirlpool, repeat). I usually get this space to myself, but today a cottonhead came in with a giant tub of moisturizer. She put down three layers of towels (one is customary) and started moisturing ALL of her parts. Reminded me of when I wash Hugo in the shower and gotta do the reach around to get his undercarriage. So now I gotta go because I feel like my mojo’s off.

Cannot wait to see you next week! If easier, we can still come your direction.

Hang in there – xoxox love ya, Stormy

South Beach Salutations!

Okay, you called my bluff – I’m writing this from the bleachers of the Aquatic Center swim meet, but MENTALLY I am so still in that perfect haven of oceanfront Nirvana. It is the epitome of nonjudgment meets fashion welcome committee. I wore four inch velvet heels with a sparkly cocktail dress to dinner; Pete wore a button down, jeans and sneakers and we were each perfectly fit in attired. I almost went to law school at University of Miami. I was weight listed but got a call from the admissions that I was next in line and could expect an acceptance letter soon. At which pint my god fearing never swears holy mother looked me square on and said “if you go there, you’ll flunk out because all you’re gonna do is F— Around.” And my stunned 21 year old self knew she was right. Wish that girl would have also known that failing out of law school in Miami would not have been the end of the world, that there was still a chance of surprising oneself even with such proximity to great beaches. And that I would have been so happy. I could have been Versace’s beard or hooked up with Latino hottie chopper pilots. I might not have wound up living in Mayberry and being friends with you, but may be we WOULD have been friends and you could be visiting me to enjoy my oceanfront view. C’est la vie. Funny how butterfly effect impactful each of those decisions can be.

How you feeling? Maybe the radiation will be so effective beyond all expectations that you won’t even need the chemo follow up. I’m going with that as a medical form of positive outcome potential until specifically told otherwise.

The latest from Upscale Mayberry:

Spent the last hour by another swim mom, Suzie. She is super nice and a feisty little thing that’s got daggers out for Walmart. In early December she ordered a go-kart which was the ONLY thing on her eight year old Santa believing son’s Christmas list. Ten days later, the delivery truck arrives and leaves the delivery as instructed by her garage. Suzie gets home from work to discover that instead of a little red dune buggy go-kart they delivered a king size MATTRESS. She calls asap and gets connected to a delivery customer call center in India: one that is apparently staffed by non-Christians with zero appreciation for the “guaranteed delivery by December 24th”. Suzie is advised that her “first choujice item is backstocked but they (insert politically incorrect Indian accent) Guar-Ant-Tee deeleeveree by Deecember twentee-six.” She says it’s not at all acceptable and is then told “It is a very nice mattress” and “you should puh-leeze be calm because it is ia veeeery nice mattress.” Suzie goes bananas. They THEN try to charge her an exorbitant oversizesd item restock charge and said she needed to physically transport teh mattress to be returned to a UPS center. If ther’s a telephonic way to send steam, I’m sure the rep’s ears were scorched.

She ended up paying $40 more to get the same go-kart from Amazon in time for Santa’s debut., It took an email and many more calls with a small claims court threat for Walmart to come get their mattress and reverse the charges.

Moral of the story? Do NOT buy go-karts from Walmart. You know my sentiments about that place: there’s an element of contributory negligence assumed by each shopper for walking in there. Even the crazies know to keep their behavior at bay knwoing the chances that someone even loonier than them is likely one motorized scooter or half an aisle away. Vigalente postal style justice on works for the perpetrator if EVERYONE ELSE around you isn’t the same loony ass mental as the dude with the gun.

So, now you know.

Must be something in the air. The “Italy” engraved frame with our initials came but instead of Italy said “Germany”. And I specifically typed in Italy. I sent it back, and they sent me an Italy without the initials but I’m keeping it’s too close to risk delivery by xmas.

Pete works with a lot of gay men who are flight attendants. Which is great that the airline industry has, for a lot longer than many, embraced the diversity. Anyone who says being gay is a choice, is an idiot. Who would choose to make life that much harder? Pete and I will dispute the nuances. Pete says if a dude voluntarily puts a dick in his mouth, he is gay. Me? I allow for a window of experimentation. What if you’re drunk? What if you just don’t know? Minors and prisons don’t count.

I used one of Pete’s passes to fly to Miami as the flights were open. My BIL Tommy used one to go skiing. When I talked to Kelly, she was super crabby. Said it must be nice everyone uses Pete’s passes to go on vacation. Pete said we could use his passes anytime we wanted, so long as we understood (which we do having grown up in that world) that we will be the last ones on and the first ones kicked off if there’s a space or weight and balance issue. I told Kelly to take two days off and we’d go wherever she wants. She says she needs to work, which means she is stressed and in legit need of a break. Her kids are awesome, but it’s tough keeping plates spinning. I know it’s the kneejerk reaction to scoff: say what’s wrong with her and stop being so grumpy. Why do we do that? Shouldn’t we elevate, elevate, empathize and then elevate women? It takes a lot to keep a household running: dealing with a demanding job (which is most any job where you care and want to do a good job or at least quiet quitting not get fired), kids that are always sick or throwing a wrench in the schedule despite everyone’s best efforts, no one in the house would be wearing clean underpants if it weren’t for us doing laundry. All food would be processed and in the crisper drawer of the frig. And don’t get me started about signing kids up for lessons, registration for any activity that takes twelve times longer than it should, figuring out which concession stand parent activity voluntolding session you can commit, food – because everyone needs to eat – and teacher gifts and trying to fit in a workout so your body doesn’t go to pot, staying connected with friends you never see because they’re in the same throes of calendar lunacy, planning a trip or something to do or at least renew a membership for spring break, which is nothing compared to having to accomodate schools that now feel no need to have most weeks be five days weeks and even when they are there’s at least one or two days of early dismissal.

30,000 foot cruising altitude Aloha to you!

Flying home from NYC. Wish you could have joined me; we could do a contest as to which borough has the best martini bar. I had to take one of the little commuter planes home that feel like they’re being flown by the latest twelve year old that graduated from pilot school.