Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

Burning Man, Teenage Heartbreak, Cash In the Attic, Mom's B-Day, New Kitties, and Hybrid SUVs

Hello My Loves,

I'm feeling a tad better as I close in on writing back to everyone who was kind enough to comment on my original entry about my nightmare 405 freeway accident. You lot are the best and I really do love you. It may not be the kind of love you need, but for my part, I'm sending out those vibes and always wishing you the best. And you can always come by and wave flags and I'll come by and do what I can to help with whatever you need; a second opinion, or some comforting words.

I spent hours helping Beau with his enormous fish tank last night. My God fish tending is work. He finally agreed to allow something other than a guppy to be added to his ninety gallon tank and we got a few cool looking placostimuses, I honestly don't know the plural form of that word, placostimi, it's a little like penis, are several penises, penises or peni?

I'm still sitting on the fence about our annual trip to Burning Man. There's the fact that I always tend to be struggling a bit financially, not seriously, because I am really very lucky, most of the big bills are handled by my trust, I live in a beautiful home in a safe neighborhood, and I don't have to worry too much. But Beau and the animals cost a fortune, I'm always in debt juggling bills, and Burning Man can be VERY expensive. My Mom who is my financial gatekeeper, (she is the trustee of my various trusts so everything goes through her, or her secretary Tina), will spend tens of thousands of dollars on clothes for herself without batting an eyelash, because we all know that clothes make the woman, but pretty much anything I'm interested in spending money on, even things we really do need, gets me labeled a spend thrift.

The other problems are a bit trickier; there's my health, because it takes a tremendous amount of stamina to trek out there and survive in the dusty, blistering desert heat for a week without plumbing or running water. To say nothing of taking good care of my child and all of the other kids out there. But there's the new and potentially more complicated and sensitive problem of Beau's having had his first real serious relationship with my best Burning Man friends' daughter, and their relationship having cooled. I can't get Beau to talk to me too much about it. They used to speak every night on the phone, and either because she is truly busy, or her parents are trying to protect her from being sexual at what seems like a too young age, with a boy who lives far away and doesn't really know how to communicate his feelings, she hasn't been calling and he's been afraid to call her. He thinks she doesn't like him any more and he also thinks that her parents hate him. She told him that she'd be busy all summer and wouldn't be coming to Burning Man, so he's feeling pretty heartbroken about the whole thing, but I don't think he's communicated this to her, so who knows, she may either be over it, or feeling heartbroken herself. What can I do? I love them both so much, I love her family to pieces, and I want everyone to be happy. I don't want to be the Mother of the boy who will always be remembered as my friend's daughter's first failed romance.

Anyway, we always camp with them, and I haven't heard from them, so I floated a wee hello balloon to her Dad via our Kidsville camp list, because I can't find her Mom's number or e-mail and Jo, Beau's friend, didn't call me back when I left a message on her machine. Why do relationships always have to be so tricky and complicated? Right now I'm feeling insecure and as if we didn't measure up somehow. They're super compassionate and politically correct and we're well meaning slobs who make mistakes and say the wrong things. I just don't know...

I don't even want to think about how I would get there. I have my doubts as to whether Cruise America is going to be happy about hearing from me again after last year's fiasco where I allowed the kids to paint the entire RV with "washable" finger-paint that baked into and ruined the finish.

I'm watching a wonderful British show called Cash In the Attic that I love. Probably because I'm always hoping to unearth some rare treasure that will help keep us afloat for a few months without the usual stress and worry. Today's show is sweet and something I can definitely relate to, a woman is trying to raise money by selling her hoard of collectibles for a scuba diving holiday in the Galapagos. Oh God, how I would love to be able to do that. Although I'm such a sentimental hoarder I honestly don't know if I'd be able to part with precious collectibles that had belonged to my super cool jazz musician Grandfather, like this woman did, in order to do this. I have to say that if I had an autographed copy of an early Louis Armstrong photo made out to my Grandpa, you'd have to pry it out of my cold dead hands to get it away from me.

My friend and neighbor Karyn had one of her garage sales recently and I bought some things for my Mom's birthday, but I postdated the check to her and she wasn't supposed to cash it until the first when I get my income. She gave it to her Dad and he deposited it four days early and long story short I have close to two hundred dollars in overdraft fees. This has been the worst case of Mercury Retrograde suckage that I can ever recall having been through.

Dinner with Mom tonight at The Los Angeles Country Club which means I have to find some way to cover this bloody bandage on my face and try to make myself presentable. On your birthday you get a free dinner and a birthday cake and Mom is all over that so even though tonight is not her birthday, we're going. I can't take Beau or Scott because neither one of them are much for coats and ties. Monday we're all going to go out for Mom's ninetieth and I'm still not sure where we're going, then next week Mom wants to take a small trip down south to see our old friend Jani who has moved to Newport. I need to rent a car and make reservations because I don't think we'll all fit in Mom's Cadillac with her walker and all of the stuff Beau likes to lug around everywhere he goes.

Our new feline family members are fitting in nicely. Iggy Ziggy Stardust Kitty just hopped right out of his box the moment he got here and started making friends right away. He has the cutest kitty swagger to him. He knows he's cool because he's obviously been worshipped from birth and he has no trouble letting everyone else know this. Although one of the bigger cats was trying to carry him around by his scruff today and he didn't like that too much. Our new boy, the Bengal who doesn't have a name yet, is living in my bathroom for now. We're doing the small room introduction thing with him and it seems to be working well. I have to say that he is one of the coolest cats I've ever had, he is super affectionate and of course gorgeous, he has little individual golden strands of fur, that Bengal people call glitter, scattered throughout his coat. It's really beautiful. But it's his personality that is the coolest. He hugs me, so naturally I've already fallen in love.

Last night I went late to Karyn's barbecue after pretty much everyone else had left because I'm just a tad embarrassed about being seen with all these cuts, scrapes and bruises, plus I've gained weight, weee, and that's always fun, "Oh, Hi Jacqui, you look...err...have you put on weight?"

Concha, who I do love and am very grateful to, is chattering away at me in Spanish, and it's always stressful stuff that I have to deal with, or stories about her grandson, who I want to love but who isn't very friendly to me because he doesn't really know me. The last time I tried to make pals with him he had a super stinky diaper that I would have changed had they let me, but no one else seemed to be bothered by it, and he was super rude and bratty, so he didn't exactly endear himself to me. So I don't always enjoy listening to stories about the latest wonderful thing he's done when I have a ton of things to do and I'm stealing time to write up an entry here. See how crotchety and mean I'm getting in my isolated old age? I swear if I don't watch out I'm going to end up being a troll under a bridge somewhere.

The problem I have with Concha is one of timing and communication. When I want to talk with her she's usually busy doing something and she can be very one track minded when she's busy. Then there's the fact that she doesn't always understand me and I don't always understand her, and when I'm writing I just want to be left alone.

I'll give you a funny example of how hard it is to communicate between languages; I woke up late today because I stayed up late last night. I paged Concha on the house intercom system to say hello, and ask her if she wouldn't mind making me a protein shake and oatmeal, (I told you I was lucky, but then you don't have to live with Interstitial Cystitis, Fybromialgia, PCOS, Hashimoto's, Acne, Obesity, arthritis, deformed knees, ADD, OCD, being the adopted birth daughter of a rapist mobster and a birth Mother who wants nothing to do with you, to say nothing of the legacy of beauty, [ie; weight], obsession, racism, and anti-semitism, I've had to deal with in my adoptive family), and she said, "Okay as soon as I'm done putting on my makeup."

I thought, "Wow, she sure does love her makeup." I mean she gets up earlier than anyone I've ever met just so she can spend at least a couple of hours doing her hair and makeup, touches it up throughout the day, and then does a bit of final primping before she leaves in the evening. Me, I buy makeup like a fiend, follow all of the latest trends, and then keep it in bags in my bathroom and put it on only when I'm forced to. Anyway, I thought it was kind of odd that she was doing a mid morning makeup touch up, so I said, "Oh, okay, well, when you're done with your makeup, would you mind bringing up some oatmeal?" And she said, "Makeup? No, I'm not putting on makeup, I'm mopping." Makeup and mopping sound a lot alike in Spanish, (moppiar/maquillar,) but then so do the words penis and comb, (pene/peine). We get a lot of mileage out of the ol', "Esther have you seen my comb/penis?" joke around here.

Looks like the dogs have caught and killed a poor fruit rat. Sadness. Must bury the rat. I guess I'll put him near the roses where we've been burying fish. Oh what fun, and here I thought I was going to get to snuggle the Zigster. Oh well, off to solve household dillemas as usual.

Love you,
Wacqui

OH and a big PS: I'm going to need to buy a new car. I have to have something large, an SUV or a Suburban, there's no getting around this, we haul around way too much heavy stuff for my convertible, and I'm hoping to get a hybrid. It all depends on how much, or how little I'll get back for my poor smashed up Ford Expedition, but my dream car would be a black hybrid SUV that would pull a restored vintage Airstream trailer that somehow magically appears in my driveway.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 15 comments