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I’m going to give you a book review here.  I want to preface this review by saying, this was not a particularly well written book.   It was rife with stereo-types.  There was a lot of unneeded swearing.  The ending was total trite.

I loved this book.  I cried all throughout it.  It touched me in my soul. 

The book!  The book!  Yes, yes, I will get there, but I have to say some more stuff before I get to it.

I have a lot of women friends.  I have a Best Friend Ever, a Super Good, But Could Never Be My Best Friend Ever, and then many Really Good Friends.  Also, to boot, I have One Friend That I Have Never Laid Eyes On, But Who Warms My Heart With Her Faraway Friendshipyness.

I love these women.  A lot.  I like being friends with women.  I love it.  I think its unnatural for women to NOT want to be friends with other women.  I find that women who say, “I just get along better with guys than girls.” are either a.)whores or b.)bitches.Boys are for screwing; not for forming friendships with.  Unless that boy is gay.  If thats the case then, Duh.  Good as a girlfriend, right there.  And, don’t kid yourself, either.  You do not have a lot of “good guy friends”.  You have a lot of dudes hanging around wondering who’s gonna bone you first.

Okay, so yeah.  The Book.  The book is Elegant Gathering of White Snows by Kris Radish.

Do you know Sark?  You should know her.  Elegant Gathering is like Succulent Wild Woman novel-style.

Its about women, and their friendship with each other.  Its about loving yourself.  Its about the love that comes with deep friendship, and this book relays that aspect without making that love seem perverted.  I’m not going to sit here and tell you the plot line of this book.  If you have good women friends than you should just read it.

Like I said, this isn’t the most well written novel.  But, there’s a little of some of these women in us all.  I would read some chapters and just cry and cry.  Because it reminded me of my mother, or because I knew that Christen must have felt that way when she lost her baby, or Lou might have gone thru when she was raising her boys.  It gave me a glimpse into Shawn’s divorces and one of the gals made me wonder if that is kind of how Erin is in real life (what with all the swearing…).  I saw bits of me, and all my ladies in this book.  And, Mel? This book is pink!

Reading Elegant Gathering made me want to have my own.  Hanging out in a room full of women and wine (or beer!!) and snacks, gabbing all night long about men and sex and kids and books and politics and religion and gossiping about people behind their backs?  Sounds like heaven to me.

*Um, I think you know, but my conscious is gnawing at me…I jest.  Kind of.  But, a little…I can’t help it if you are a whore.


I just wanted to say “whereupon”.  Don’t even know if its an actual word.  But, you know me, I don’t care.

Last night I had a dream that my office was THE Office, and we sold real estate, not paper, as my office does.  And, we all went on a business trip to Mississippi to see the architecture of a subdivision called Whitehills Cove.  In this sub, all the homes were built with ships.  Like, in some, the upstairs was the ship; others, the downstairs.  That’s neither here nor there except that there really IS a sub called Whitehills Cove in the city where I live, and that stupid ass book was set in Mississippi.

The good part of my dream is that John Krasinski and I were having an affair!  And, because even in my dreams I am PG rated, by “affair” I mean we were kissing.  Not even that tongue down your throat, heavy petting kind of kiss, but those sweet kisses that are soft and leave you wanting more soft kisses.  We were doing this behind Karen’s back (who was his girlfriend in the Office two seasons ago), and also behind my boyfriend’s back (who I BELIEVE was Ryan Gosling, but I’m not sure…he WAS in the dream, tho). 

Also, Julie Aves, Susie Carmen and Jennifer Jackson were all in this dream.  It was Julie’s birthday and we took her to the Meridian Mall to celebrate.  None of you but Kir will have any idea what any of that is.  Trust me.  It was weird, and funny.  I’m not even sure what the hell any of those girls had to do with anything (I went to school with all of them).

The thing was, I woke up from this dream, and prayed that when I fell back to sleep, I would still be in it.  And, I was!!!  And, those sweet kisses have made me happy all day long!! 

Seriously, a shrink would have so much fun with me!

PLUS, John Krasinski?  Excellent kisser.  I’m not so sure he should’nt be put on my list.  So Thank You Jim Halpert.  You’ve got great lips.

I just finished reading a peice of shit book.  Normally, you know, I like to curb my language, but really?  This book is a peice of shit.

This book is The Little Friend by Donna Tartt.

I think I read another of hers; The Secret History.  And, I remember liking it.  At least I don’t remember hating it.  And I hate this effing peice of shit book I just finished reading.  I can’t believe that I wasted my time with this crap.  I would give you a review, but I don’t even know what the hell this book is about. 

I started reading it at the beginning of the summer.  But, it didn’t jump right in there and give me the goods right up front.   I’ve read books that start slow before.  Song of Solomon was really slow going.  But, hey!  It was good.  It was worth the effort.  So I put the book down for a while and banged out like 47 other books that DIDNT SUCK.   Then, I have nothing to read, so yesterday I pick this horrendously stupid paperback up and say to myself, “Self, let us finish this.”  Because I thought at SOME point, its gotta go somewhere.

I held on to this thought til the end.  Then?  In the end, I seriously wanted to throw it out my effing window.   I want to stomp on this book and shoot it til its dead.  I hate this book so much.

The quote on the front cover says, “The Little Friend seems destined to become a special kind of classic…It grips you like a fairy tale, but denies you the consoling assurance tha it’s all just make-believe.”  ~The New York Times Book Review

I have never been so proud that I don’t give a crippity crap about the Post’s book review.  The Post should fire itself for having said that.  I wish it would have been a fairy tale that IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII read the book.

I mean, I am going to have to make up an entirely new catagory for this post, this book was that bad.  And, friends?  I like to read bad books.  I mean, I don’t mind reading a pithy book.  As long as it GOES somewhere.

I’m not a book snob.  Really.  I will not read Steinbeck.  He makes me wanna sleep.  See?  I’m not snobby.  Though secretly?  Okay.  I DO think I’m better than you because I’ve read the Fountainhead…

I like CRIME NOVELS!  Or Detective Novels.  Whatever. You know what I mean…I’m just saying that I don’t think my taste in books is better than anyone else’s.  But you should know:  Do not pick up The Little Friend.  Just for this, I don’t think you should pick up The Secret History, either.  Donna Tartt should be punished for making me read 624 pages that LEAD NO WHERE.  JEEZ.  At least Jodi Piccoult goes no where in half pages.


In other news…Even though she doesn’t love me as much as she used to because I quit smoking (and I totally understand that sentiment…people who smoke are much cooler than those who don’t…I don’t even really like myself anymore…) I still love her.  And, not just for this.  Mostly?  I love her for him.  Oh, I joke.  Okay, I joke a little.  I heart Johnny…BUT I HEART Erin!!!  You know I do!!   (see?  I gave you your own new catagory, too!!)

Its been said to me on more than one occasion that my marriage to Mr. Big Hands is non-conventional.  It is, I guess, a little different than some of my friends marriages.  BH and I aren’t up each others butts all the time.  We do a lot of things without each other.  We don’t have a joint checking account.  He pays all the bills, I buy the groceries.  That’s just how we roll.

People don’t always get that.  People don’t always get my husband.  BH is aloof a lot of the time.  I don’t think its a conscious thing…he just IS Aloof.  He’s quiet until you get to know him, but really?  You’ll never know him unless he thinks you are worth knowing.  That’s just how he rolls.

BH said to me the other night that he wished that everything wasn’t always just hunky dory with me.  He wishes that he knew I wanted to be better.  Like a better mother, a better human, a better voter, a better all around Me.  I told him to wish in one hand…I don’t think that way.  I think I am a good mother.  I could firm up a bit, but I’m pretty happy with me.  And, this year, I’m being a better voter.  But, I don’t dwell.  That’s just not how I roll.

We just do things a little differently.  We are different people.  We are polar opposites.  I told him that’s why we work so well together.  That’s what makes us so compatible and our differences will be what Holden appreciates as he gets older.  He is a realist.  I am a wild eyed idealist.  He reigns me in a little.  I let him be a little freer so he can do stuff like  this. ***

And, should you choose to actually listen to it, that is actually my husband.  You should know, he grew up in Detroit, and takes all this controversy to heart. 

That’s just how he rolls.

***Edited to add:  The above music is rated “r”.  Lots of Eff Words.  Its a rap, for cryin’ out loud!

With Big Hands in Chicago moshing himself silly to Rage Against the Machine, Holden and I took the opportunity to go to the lake.  Just me and Holden.  And, also: Dharma. 

I love the lake.  It is quiet and safe.  Everybody’s kids just hop on their bikes and you don’t see them til dinnertime.

There’s a giant crocodile shaped trampoline out in the middle of the lake, and the kids go out there for hours and jump off it.

I love the lake.  I can usually read an entire novel while I’m there.  Time before last I read Coronado by Dennis Lehane.  It was just a book of short stories, but it was so good.  I wish he’d come out with a new novel…This last time I read a Dean Koontz book.  Lord, in Heaven, I haven’t read a book by him since I was in the eighth grade.  I used to love to hole myself up in my room and read thrillers!  Not that Koontz is thriller-ish.  Is he?  Is that was that genre is?  Whatever.  Used to love it.  Guess I still do!  I ran through that book in like four hours!

I love that kind of laziness the lake affords.  Who has to do anything?  Not me.  Maybe I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich, maybe you’ll make it yourself.  Who cares!!!

The only thing I absolutely do not do at the lake is sunbathe.  Those days are over for me I think.  Beige is the new tan.

I did something a little different this time at the lake.  Something I don’t often do.  I went ape shit crazy on some little kid.

He had it coming to him.  He called my kid a name.  And, it wasn’t “stupid” or “dummy-head” or any other forgiveable crap name kids call each other.  This name was a personal attack, I felt.  And, Holden wasn’t even really that shook up over it.  But he did quit playing on the crocodile.   That crocodile?  Well its out there, but not so far away from the dock that One Mother couldn’t stomp out there, bend down, and quietly but forcefully through gritted teeth tell those little assholes that they better watch their mouths.  Did they want me to get their mothers(who, btw should have been out there watching their kids, anyway…um…see the sign, moron mommies???)?????  Yeah, well I didn’t think so.  When they call names like that it makes other kids not want to play on that crocodile, and thats not their crocodile.  You got me?  You?  In the blue shorts?  Do. You. Understand. Me?  Good.  Don’t let it happen again.  I’m watchin’ you.

And, then, said Mother may have stomped back to the beach.  But, oh.  One Mother was still mad.  Steaming.  Little bullies.  Who dotheythinktheyareanyway?? Gah.  Then One Mother may walk over to another mom and ask if those are her boys out there.  And that mommy may say no, but she thinks the one belongs to Floyd over there coming in on the jet ski.  And One Mother?  Oh, she might stomp right over to Floyd, jut out her hand in an attempt to shake, introduce herself as “Jennifer, Dallas’ daughter” (because I just assume that everyone knows who Dallas is.  Why?  Because everyone does…) and then dip into a tirade about the name calling and how its “bullshit” and blah blah blah.

Floyd, and I’m not even making that name up, told his boys C’mere and the one just starts a cryin’.  He knows.  The other kid comes too, and already is saying, “I didn’t call him any namth”.  And I’m thinking, Really?  Lispy Lisperton is making fun of my kid???  Floyd tells them that wasn’t nice and he didn’t raise them that way and to apologize to the lady and her son.  And, they do.

And then we shake and go on our way.  But not before Floyd asks me if that was my Gramma that passed away, and I tell him, no, it was my mom.  Der.   

But, I tell you.  I wondered, “did I over react????”.  I asked Holden if I embarrassed him.  He said no.  I told him if people talk to him like that to say, “Do NOT talk to me like that, understand?”  And, I made him practice saying that.  I mean, Holden NEVER gets picked on.  EVERYBODY likes Holden.  What was their problem??  You know what it was?  I heard the dad say, “Buddy, some kids have longer hair.”  Then I was even more pissed.  REALLY?  His shaggy hair is what made those asskids call him names?  Well, they should come into my community with their little buzz cuts.  Cuz here?  We play soccer, and our hair is shaggy.  Our LaCrosse team would Kick Your Ass.

But that’s what being a mother is all about, right?  I can tell, that for me?  Its going to be a constant struggle to keep myself from gouging other kid’s eyes out.