BLOCK MOTHERS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My oldest sister left for The Big Time before the rest of us moved to the bustling metropolis of Topeka, Kansas. Oldest moved to Kansas City.

However, once she was settled in her home, she discovered the strangest form of discrimination. Some people's windows had signs in them that said Black Mother. Oldest was quite shocked.

It wasn't as bad as the klan burning a cross in the yard, but, still, she was appalled. Why would a city point out where black mothers live?

Then one day she put on her glasses.

The sign said Block Mother. A block mother was a person who agreed to help any child in trouble who couldn't get to his parents. Oldest felt quite relieved.

When we made our big move to Topeka, we had a Block Mother across the street from us.

She was not black.

I think the Block Mother program was phased out by about 1972 because moms were in the work force. They couldn't stay at home doing nothing except taking care of the neighborhood brats.

I think it's kind of sad that we don't have Block Parents now, who would at least be available to assist children when they could.

But the people who volunteered would probably be pedophiles.

And that's all the news that is news.

I'm Chevy Chase, and you're not.

Infinities of love,

Lola

THE SWEETEST FRISKY VIRGIN

Gentle Readers . . .  and Maxwell,

The Frisky Virgin has once again honored me with an award. If you aren't following Frisky yet, you should because she's a real sweetie.

You read that right.
My blog is lovely. 

This award comes with some conditions. These are the rules:

Link back to the person who gave you the award (already completed)
Complete the form below
Tell seven random things about yourself
Nominate 9 bloggers

QUESTIONS:

Name your favorite color
It depends. I prefer various shades of blue when I decorate a house. I like to wear red.
Name your favorite song
Why Don't We Do It In The Road

Name your favorite dessert
Frosted sugar cookies.
What pisses you off?
People who cheat on their spouses.
When you are upset you 
I sometimes cry, fret, bitch, and worry, and then I get over it. 
Your favorite pet
Faulkner, my smooth collie who died last year.
 Black or white?
Definitely black. I look wicked good in black.    
Everyday attitude
I'm the most cheerful depressed person I know. 
Your best feature
I'm tired of bragging about my bodacious ta-tas. I guess I'll say I have nice feet.   
Guilty pleasure
Blogging when I should be accomplishing other things.

Now I'm supposed to tell you seven random things about myself:

1. I didn't bring my white teddy bear with me when I moved. It was stupid because I still miss him.
2. When I was about 16 my mother told me I would never be able to hold down a job. It still haunts me, yet it's kind of funny because I've had some very tough jobs with deadlines to meet (newspaper reporter and editor) and I've been responsible for keeping people alive (healthcare).
3. I didn't major in journalism or healthcare and had no interest in working in either area.
4. I wear glasses and can't see a thing without them.
5. I'm pretty competitive and rather jealous of some people who accomplish shit I want to do.
6. I am a lot like Charlotte on Sex and the City, but I want to be Samantha.
7. I wanna get laid, but I won't hook up with somebody I don't know.

Now, the fun part. I am supposed to pass on this award to nine other bloggers:

1. A Mom Just Winging It 
2. Absorbing what I can
3. An Ordinary Life
4.  Conceive Writing
5. Diabeetus
6. Left Alone With A Full Moon
7. intriguedbeing
8. Lemons Don't Make Lemonade
9. Interwebs Fails
And a bonus baby -- 10. Atley 

Well, I'm afraid that's all the bloggy love I can handle for today. Thank you again to America's Friskiest Virgin. As for you nine bloggers who are now receiving the award, get yours ASAP. They're cluttering up my immaculate house. Congratulations!

 

 

Infinities of love,

Lola 

WHO? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . .  and Maxwell,

Today and only today, and perhaps some other time in the future, What? Monday becomes Who? Monday because the question is

Who is your hero and/or heroine? 

This is a toughie for me because I can name so many people.

I'll start with my mom and dad because I miss them so much. The older I get, the more I miss them.

Next, Favorite Young Man and Someone I Love.

Little Chick

Doris Kearns Goodwin (Oh how I wish I could be Doris but I don't think I could stand to look at her husband -- I was going to post a current photo of him but I couldn't find one and it's just as well because it might frighten those of you who are a bit sensitive. Dick Goodwin looks kind of like somebody dressed in a bad gorilla suit for Halloween, but a gorilla would be more attractive than Dick Goodwin.)

Bob Dole

Ronald and Nancy Reagan

Gerry and Betty Ford

Barack and Michelle Obama

Anne Tyler 

Pat Conroy


Maya Angelou

Sylvia Plath, but she should not have killed herself 

Grammarians

I'll stop there, but I'm sure I could come up with a lot more names because although lots of people in this world are jerks, I think even more people are great.

Now, tell us please,

Who is your hero and/or heroine?

Infinities of love,

Lola   

P.S. Heroine is not the same as heroin. We're not talkin' smack here. 

for b.

I get into my cold bed at night and

I whisper the silly nickname

I have for you and then

I talk to you softly about 

what it would be like if

you were here with me.

We would sit in the afternoon sunshine

with our books and 

share a kiss and a cocktail.

Then I would prepare a fine feast 

for us and we would dine 

at my whimsical blue table

while the blue clock behind us

quietly ticked off the minutes

until evening.

Then we would walk the 

dogs to the park

and talk about our books

and hurry home

to softly slide 

down the hallway

to my beautiful bedroom.

We would climb into the bed,

now warm,

and hold each other 

until you rested your ear

on my breast

and told me my 

heart was beating,
gently and kindly,

as it should.

Then we would make love

in the moonlight

until our two hearts grew together

and we realized 

the glow of the moon

came from 

within us.

MILESTONE MAYBE

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I believe I have reached a milestone with WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME. I seem to be at 500+ posts, but I'm not sure because the number of posts on my stats page sometimes stays the same for days at a time although I am posting every day.

So I might be at 510 posts, 600 posts, or 9,337.

When I started this blog it was called Dumped First Wife. When I began to feel more positive, I changed the title and my name. I was signing posts as Dumped First Wife and listed my occupation as topless dancer. Then I decided to reveal I am a writer named Lola. During those early days, when I had two or three followers, I often posted two or three times per day. I had to write about what I was thinking because I was in so much pain I feared my brain would explode. I'm convinced blogging kept me alive, or at least helped me get out of bed.

Now I usually post once each weekday and sometimes reveal a poem on the weekend. The majority of my hits continues to come from the United States with mighty, mighty Slovenia in second place. No country can ever replace Slovenia in my heart, unless some other country bypasses the number of Slovenian hits.

My small group of followers helped me through Faulkner's death, Harper's disappearance (he escaped from the back yard, went to jail, and had to be bailed out), the loss and probable death of Robin the foster dog, my divorce and settlement wars, and now more recently, with a larger group of followers, my sister's bypass surgery and stroke.

As for followers, boy have we gained. For a long time I had two, then three. Then several more showed up and I was stuck at 13 forever. With advice from my dear friend LegalMist and promotion by Cinderita, shout outs from many others, and help from all of you, we now have 70+ followers and I hope to keep growing -- the blog that is, not my butt.

My most popular post remains Dumpy Men With Beautiful Skinny Wives. 

Second place goes to Hiccups and Waterboarding.

I wrote Lit when I was drunk. After I got shit-faced, I called Favorite Young Man at work and told him I was drunk. He said not to ever call him at work again to say I was drunk.

I strongly suspect that no one ever read my pantoum, a poem in a particular form that you will understand if you read "I Grew Up In Linda Brown's Town." I wrote this poem after attending a writer's workshop. One of the sessions focused on pantoums and using geography (the cities you know) to write a pantoum. Because I grew up in Topeka, Kansas, home of Brown v. The Topeka Board of Education, I wrote about Topeka and the decision. I don't know, though, if this poem's losing streak should be broken. Perhaps it's better left unread. I'll let you be the judge of that.

As I have mentioned a number of times in posts and comments on your blogs, I LOVE the search terms people use to find my blog. The most popular is Why does Mr. Rogers always wear a sweater? That one shows up constantly because I am a Fred Rogers expert. After I wrote about Franklin the dog licking my toes, search terms tended to be about foot fetishes.

My all-time favorite search term is fucking my skinny wife.

I thank you all for sticking with me and commenting on my posts and even on my comments. You will never know what a help you are to me and how I value your friendship.

Infinities of love,

Lola

WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK

Gentle Readers . . .  and Maxwell,

At one of the newspapers where I worked, my favorite reporter was Carla. She covered the courts, so at mid-afternoon each weekday she returned to the newsroom to write her articles about what had occurred in the courthouse that day.

When Carla reached her computer, she would make her daily announcement. She might say, It's show tunes today! or Doobie Brothers time! or I'm in the mood for Queen!

Then perched on her chair, she proceeded to whistle while she worked. And everything she whistled was as announced. If she said Doobie Brothers, you were not going to hear the Eagles.


Then later I worked at another paper and one day I mentioned Carla's whistling. The grouchiest reporter in the room, the one who wore dirty clothes every day so her stench filled the newsroom, the one who shouted at anyone she suspected of wearing cologne because she was allergic to it but I don't know how she smelled it over herself, the one who GRITTED her teeth so they made this horrible creaking sound, shouted, That would drive me insane.


I LOVED it, I said. And the next time she gritted her teeth, I yelled, WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT HORRIBLE NOISE?

I'm sorry. I won't do it again, she said.


Infinities of love,

Lola

CELEBRITY ENCOUNTERS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I heard an interesting story last year from a lovely young lady named Sarah. Sarah's story took place about 16 years ago when she was at home, pregnant, and her husband called her from the Sears where he worked, whispering, Come down here right away. Bill Murray is in the paint department.

By the time Sarah arrived, a few people had gathered to take a look at Bill Murray, but it wasn't a crowd. Sarah approached and politely asked, Mr. Murray, will you please let me have my picture taken with you and will you autograph it for my baby?


Sarah said Bill Murray launched into a tirade about how he wasn't there to be funny and entertain people. He just wanted to look at paint with his friends so go away and leave him alone. But it went on a lot longer than that. In fact, it went on so long that if he had simply agreed to the photo and the autograph, it all would have been over and done with in less time than his tantrum required.

Sarah said, To this day I can't stand Bill Murray and I have never and will never spend a singly penny to see one of his movies.

On the other hand, Sarah had quite a love for Sonny Bono, who, of course, was not talented in the way Bill Murray is, but he had something better going for him: He was kind to Sarah.

When Sarah was a senior in high school, her class had their senior prom at Sonny Bono's restaurant. Sarah and a friend arrived to decorate before the prom and Sonny Bono came out to greet the girls personally. I believe he was the mayor of Palm Springs at the time. Mr. Bono also showed the girls to his private office and bathroom, where he said they could change into their prom dresses after they finished decorating. Then he apologized for leaving, but said he had to take care of some city business.

Sarah couldn't say enough good things about Sonny Bono and how kind and polite he was. Sonny Bono might have seemed like kind of a doofus, but as Cher said in her eulogy when Sonny died, How can you be the butt of the joke when you created the joke?

I certainly do not approve of the way the paparazzi stalk some celebrities, chasing them, and even running them off the road. But these people who are famous are usually famous because they want it. They want the exposure and the money and the fame. So they have to take what comes with it. Bill Murray should have had his picture taken with Sarah and then signed the photo. It would have meant so much to her, and I suspect he could have spared two - three minutes out of his paint perusing time. Case closed.

But I'm wondering, even though this is not What? Monday, have you encountered any celebrities? If so, how did they treat you?

My ex-husband travels a great deal because of his work, and he seems to run into (not literally) celebrities all the time. He was in New York and happened to be in the right place at the right time because he saw Dan Akroyd, Mary Tyler Moore, and many other big deals arrive at NBC for the filming of Saturday Night Live's 25th Anniversary Special. He sat down for breakfast once in a restaurant and noticed that Magic Johnson and Alex English were at the next table. Walking through the lobby at the Disneyland hotel, he spotted Sigourney Weaver. His celeb encounter list is too long for me to remember everyone.

My only real celebrity encounter was with writer Pat Conroy (shhhh! The affair continues. We read poetry to each other. What a man.)

Infinities of love,

Lola