The Very First

Just in case you're keeping a chronological list:

The very first blog post I wrote for this blog was this one: http://smalleradventure.blogspot.com/search/label/Bienvenue
That was back when I was adorable. Look how cute I was!
I wrote a blog before this one about a trip I took with McAdams to Montana.That was the birth of the magic. My very first favorite picture from that blog was this one, entitled "Holy Shit House, Batman!"
I was modest back then, and put asterisks between the 'S' and the 'T' of 'shit'. How cute is that?!

My first kiss was in a closet at a party, with a guy from my seventh grade class. "So," he said, "do you wanna?" I said ok - I was trying to be cool about the whole thing, not over eager or desperate, you know, but then I blew it and admitted, "I don't really know how." He said nothing, but I felt him move in the dark and his lips found mine, and then our mouths opened, and we kissed - French kissed! - very tentatively and experimentally, and then people banged on the door and said clever, sophisticated seventh grade things, like "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH! Y'all Frenched!", and then it was over. I still know that guy, though I haven't seen him in a long time. I think he's gay, but probably I have nothing to do with that. I should call him and tell him that the first kiss was weird, but real nice, and thank him for not telling everyone that I didn't know how to go to first base.My very first favorite song, I think, was "Spinning Wheel" by Blood, Sweat and Tears; at least that's what I've been told. I heard it on my dad's record, back when he was a hippie, and oh, how I danced! The first song I remember really liking all on my own was either:
I still love it! Historically accurate rock rules!

Or maybe it was this one:

Oh, just listen to my love sound! By the way, The DeFrancos were Canadian. That's just another little fun fact I offer you here, on this blog, free of charge. Anyway, this just proves that I have always had impeccable taste in music, and you should think that I am wise, discerning and urbane. Think that now, please.

Thank you.

I had my very first ladies only February 14th dinner party this year! I called it the Vagintines Buffet, and it was a great success! Eat your heart out, people who have dates!

My first favorite poem was this one:

I eat my peas with honey

I've done it all my life

It makes the peas taste funny

But it keeps them on my knife.

Oddly, the author is unknown; you can bet if I'd written that baby, my name would be all over it!

The very first time I understood the meaning of the word "sexy" was at an Aerosmith concert. I was twelve or thirteen, and I was smitten with Steven Tyler, even though he was so wasted he literally fell over under the weight of a ridiculous fur coat he was wearing, and the concert was unanimously voted "Worst of the Year" by our local music critics. What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants. I wanted his huge, leering fish-mouth, gold floor-length scarf, and bored-looking, chain-smoking guitar player. Grrrr. I've had a weakness for musicians with addictions that look at me with abject boredom through squinty eyes ever since. Whether or not a man can actually remain upright is overrated when it comes to matters of the coochie-coochie, n'est pas?

Speaking of coochie coochie* ...

The first time I ever understood the meaning of the word 'sex" goes a little something like this...

Mama came home from school and shrugged the heavy book bag from her sagging shoulder. Then came the slow process of shedding the armor she wore against the cold: the peeling off of the gloves, finger by finger; the wool hat releasing the damp hair beneath; the unwinding of the scarf, over the head and around, over and around, enough to make you dizzy; thick coat, button down sweater, pullover, and finally the elegant figure of mama emerged, like a delicate bird that had landed uncertainly in the living room. Only her belly looked incongruous, as if she had swallowed a beach ball. Where had she found a beach ball, here in the middle of a Wisconsin winter?

“You asked me where your sister came from, and how she got in my stomach. Those are good questions. I got you a special book from the library today. Shall we make some hot chocolate and read it?”

The book was filled with pictures made from figures cut out of brightly colored construction paper. It was called Where Did I Come From? We spread the pages across our laps, warm and filled with the taste of sweet, curled in on each other like the leaves of a cabbage. I smiled. I was happy and ready to begin. “Your Mommy and Daddy love each other very much,” she began, as I fingered the picture of a smiling, dark haired man, holding the hand of a pretty blonde lady…

I think I am about to embark on some firsts coming up in the near future. Normally, change scares the heck outta me, and I resist it like kitties resist the shower. Try it. They resist real hard. But many of my firsts have been great, and if it weren't for them, there would never have been seconds. Bring it on, life! I ain't afraid of you!

*Charo pronounces it "cuchi - cuchi". Two free fun facts in one posts! Damn, this blog is good!

Dream On

Lately I have been keeping a dream journal. This is mostly because I wake up 5 or 6 times a night, and I wanted to know why, so I thought maybe if I wrote down what was going on when I woke up, I could figure out why I wasn't able to sleep. Of course, the acts of waking up, flipping on the light, and searching for a pen and paper to write down the dream are all conducive to jolting me thoroughly awake, which hasn't really been so helpful. I have taken to writing in the dark on Kleenexes from the box on my nightstand. Again, this has not proven to be ideal. Still, I am learning some things that are seemingly important and revealing. For example, it seems I am overly concerned with the possibility that there is a rising trend among my friends and acquaintances to keep wild, vicious animals as pets. On Monday, at approximately 4:13 in the morning, I dreamed the adorable adopetd wolf cub of my dream neighbor leapt over the fence to rip my arms off. My dream neighbor was Paul Rudd, and I'm pretty sure he is sweet on me, but that has nothing to do with the dream. On his way over the fence, he- the wolf, not Paul Rudd- morphed from a fuzzy, cheerful furball of a cub into an enormous bear who apparantly was offended by my appendages. Evidently the grizzly had never heard of my right to bare arms, and his huge, razor-sharp bear claws (Yum!) left me only a gushing, bloody shoulder stump before I woke up, sweaty and panicked.

During the course of the week I was attacked by a squirrel (just because they are small doesn't mean that they are not wild or vicious) that my friend E. was nursing like a baby (Gross!), and I ran screaming from a nutria that was living in Paul Rudd's pool. Paul Rudd had invited me over for a little night swim - told ya he likes me! In the dark, I mistook the rodent for a floatie. HORRIFYING, I tell ya! Really put the kibosh on any sweet, sweet liquid lovin' for me and Paul Rudd. Then last night, my friend Mary brought her pet cougar over to watch "The Biggest Loser" with us. Having learned a thing or two over the last couple nights, I was adamant about letting her know where I stand on the wild, vicious animals as pets thing. " Number One, " I said, "your cougar scares me. He's big and sinewy, and his breath smells like carcass. He likes to play that game "swallow-your-head" all the time, and I'm just not into it. And B, he takes MASSIVE dumps!" I pointed over to my king-sized waterbed, where Mary had spread pounds of kitty litter. The cougar dropped a steamy load, growled, and cuffed me on the back of the neck, knocking me into the closet. Nightmare #543, right?

When I told Mary about the dream, she said, "You don't have a waterbed. Look at you, dreaming about cougars and getting a little of the motion of the ocean in your bed! It's not the size of the ship, know what I mean?"

I had no idea as to what she meant.

"You ARE the cougar, get it?! It's summer time, and you're a hot, older lady on the prowl! RAWRRR!"

Wow. Hot, older lady. Like Carole Channing? Joanne Whorley? Mrs. Roper? Great.

So what have we learned here?

Number 1: I love Paul Rudd, and he loves me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFXm4qj54hU

Number 2: Wild animals should be left in the wild. You can never train them, they will never be your friends, and they will always want to eat you.

"Hush your mouth, trained white tiger! I am master of the cats, and I know you are my friend!" Roy

Number 3: Sometimes even domesticated animals, or even good friends should be left in the wild. Sometimes so-called friends who call you "older" should not be allowed to watch quality television programming and eat Tofutti Cuties in your house.

Number 4: I think Paul Rudd is younger than I am. Maybe I could be a cougar. RAWWRRR!

Pretty hot, non?!














I'll keep you posted on any other dreamemories as they develop. I leave you know with some words to ponder, digest, and finally, to live with, by the reknowned psychedelic philosopher, Steven Tyler:
I know what nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know its everybodys sin
You got to lose to know how to win

Think about it.