Say it Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)

Once upon a time there was Sally, a small, unassuming little white Mustang. She had a petite engine and was generally a good little girl that could be convinced to go topless on occasion. She took me by the hand and broke me in gently. Owning her was a foregone conclusion, when one night at the now defunct Soup Kitchen Saloon, Sir Mack Rice and the boys popped in, took the stage, and treated us to an impromptu, 'Mustang Sally'! Only in Detroit--bless its little, damaged heart.....

When she was tired, I hooked up with her friend Black Betty. Now this bitch was Sally's alter ego. As bad as Sally was good, she had a little more guts and was not at all afraid to go topless--brazen hussy. She took me on more than one drag race on Gratiot and also got me a number of tickets. 'Ram a lam, the dang thing, gone wild'....

Thru Black Betty (ram a lam!), I was next introduced to Ruby Dee. An even throatier broad, to be sure. This was a girl loved showing off her assets and new blingbling. Flashing her special candy apple red 'lipstick' made her hard to miss. And she didn't take no shit from no one! She only garnered me one ticket, as I am FINALLY learning the speed lesson.

But now, there is a new sheriff in town. And HE is a bad ass! Meet Denzel, my first male car. Macho, black and beautiful, just like his namesake. Think Denzel in 'American Gangster', which is precisely where Ruby first laid eyes on him. Sleek, plush, handsome and with a deep, sexy growl--there is no mistakin' him for a girl. He is clean cut--sportin' a black on black suit with an 'eight shooter' in his pants. His big, ...uh...engine has 417 horses just dyin' to get out. And out they did come when Dane was hangin' and bangin' with him the other day, enjoyin' a little male bonding. Luckily the officer was understanding when it was explained that it was actually his Mommies car and it was new and he just wasn't used to it yet. Okay son, now get that bad boy home. Slowly. Whew! No tickies on the very first day...

Okay. So, I know I am nuts--and fully own it. My love of Stangs go way back to teenage years when I could NEVER afford one. I had to admire from afar. Years later, when I COULD afford one, I couldn't afford the insurance, as my driving record has never been stellar. Again, just a dream. Finally the stars aligned and all planets came together. That, and the fact that my favorite (and only) brother sells cars for Dean Arbour Ford (think northern lights) and makes it all possible for me. Thanks bro, I'll be careful. Promise. (fingers crossed behind back) xoxo

Happy Halloween to all. May all your tricks be treats!!!! Chocolate Kisses...muwah!!! PS. if ya haven't yet done it, check out Heff's blog this week (link on my site) for a Halloween giggle. Heff is a big (hallo) weenie, for sure!!!!

Radar Love....

My friend Gayle loves to remember the old stories from our 'heyday', as we fondly refer to our childhood. I've been threatening to share this one for awhile. So here goes, Babe, this ones for you...

My cousin Joni was the first in our group to turn 16 and get a car. She owned the hottest, most trick 1973 Barracuda that there could ever be. My Uncle Bob owned an auto body shop, so the paint and stripes were that of a genuine artist.

It was not unusual for Joni, myself, Gayle and maybe three other girls to be packed into the 'cuda' on the ride to and from school, smoking Marlboro Reds and singin' "Radar Love." It was also not unusual for us to stop at our favorite swimming hole on the way home for a quick dip.

One particularly hot June day, we decided to have a swim to cool off from the hot, steamy day. The 'cuda' was not air conditioned and we were roasting. Our special swimming spot was like something out of "The Blue Lagoon." Very hidden and private, the water in the Devils River was clear and the bottom was sandy. You had to go down a big, sandy slope to get to the water. There was even a big rope swing in which to launch ourselves.

Not bothering with bathing suits, we just stripped naked and plunged in, leaving our togs at the top of the hill. After frolicking around a bit, we started up the hill to get dressed. About half way up our two friends, Ray and Jeff--who apparently had the same idea, appeared holding our clothes. Mortification set in and screaming and running back down to the water ensued. In water up to our necks, we begged, pleaded and cajoled to get our clothes back AND that the 'little creepers' be gone when we to back to the top. The negotiations were hot and heavy. And a little teary. Ray and Jeff danced around waving our clothes like idiot matadors, daring us to come up and get 'em. Joni stood fully up so as to take one for the team, but since none of the rest of us would follow suit, that didn't work. Finally a deal was struck and they threw down our clothes. I don't remember what we bargained to this very day that saved ourselves the humiliation of showing up butt naked for dinner. But you can be assured that we knew to keep our clothes at the BOTTOM of the hill from now on.

Over the years I have retold this story a number of times and listeners always think it's a giggle. No one is the least bit sympathetic to our old plight and can't believe the freedom of it all. What can I say? We were children of the 70's, and very much comfortable with our bodies.

Zoom ahead to 2010. And now our little tale is in the blogosphere. Our future grand kids may try to find the video on Utube, but luckily enough, there were no cell phones around to capture the moment. We will do it the old fashioned way--through old memories that can always make us smile. xoxo to all of you that share your lives with me--blogosphere and otherwise. I luv ya all. xoxo

Blue Moon.....

Sometimes there is no accounting for good taste, as witnessed here at some pre wedding festivities. Buddy Mike just could not resist adding the moon to an otherwise sunny day. (Thanks Rose for the good quip!) Needless to say, a good time was had by all..

My whole family and many friends have convened on lovely Marco Island for the wedding of my gorgeous, supermodel niece, Laurel and her handsome fiance, Ben. There is a certain deliriousness and lawlessness involved in moving the party 5 states south--as witnessed poolside.

I've been spending time walking on Tigertail Beach which is approximately 6 miles long and then quenching my thirst with a local cocktail--or four. My sweet nieces are here from California and are stealing the show with all their 'cuteness'. Everyone is in high spirits to say the least.

The wedding takes place on the beach today at 5:30 and will be followed by what promises to be yet another fun party. I hear there is sushi!! How my heels are going to negotiate the sand is yet to be determined...

Congrats and best wishes to Laurel and Ben. May your life be sweet and happy and filled with the compromise and compassion that it takes to stay together for life. All my love and support, Auntie Jodi xo

Same old Song and Dance....

Inspired by dollfriend Michelle's post (Michelle Spell), I am going to try to address the difference in men and women--in my humble opinion. This ought to be good huh?

Michelle references Phillip Roth whose portrayal of women seems typical and mostly based upon our hormones. I think I read 'Portnoy's Complaint' in high school, or maybe just carried it around to impress someone, although I can't imagine who. Probably Mr. Jason, my favorite teacher whom I had a crush on (I later found out over cocktails, years later, that he was similarly enamored)! Oh, the power...

To me, I will own all of our differences and give the responsible nod to plain old hormones. Yes, we can become hysterical and illogical. Yes, we tend to go on and on over our female 'condition(s)'. Can ya blame us? Our emotional issues are simply due to the fact that we deal with a hormonal stew that keeps stirring around almost hourly sometimes. And the fact that we tend to express ourselves much more vocally than men on that, and most other subjects, makes it seem even more so.

We are genetically programmed to have specific roles at birth where we are set up to carry and nurture babies. Mentally and physically. Men, the lucky shits, can do their little part and move on to male bonding and providing food and shelter and possibly providing the seed for more babies. That part of their lives is so much less physically responsible. Even women in executive positions, who are bosses over men, still are looked at for the original role and expected to do both; whereas the duality for men is only sometimes recognized.

Men being the more (or so they say) 'visual' of the two sexes, will always see us for the beauty and child bearing attributes first. It's just nature trying to proagate and procreate the survival of the fittest. I doubt if they will ever care if we have read 'Portnoy's Complaint' upon first glance...except of course for Mr. Jason that is. Porn will always appeal to men with its imagery that sets up for sex and little else. A woman in charge of the same 'movie' would have the scene include wine, chocolate, back rubs the male 'talent' cleaning up something and WANTING to hear about our feelings--all before tucking us in for a lovely nap...But to me, that is part of the differences--based on, well, the basics.

If I sound like a setback for all women, I don't mean to. Our nature varies enough for this theory to not always be the norm. But, I do believe it explains things naturally. I love my role and wouldn't trade it. Can't help it. But as Jessica Rabbit spectacularly once said, "I'm not bad, I was just drawn that way."

Happy 10-10-10 to all my Honey's!!! xoxo

Ch Ch Ch Changes......

After years of talking about it, I finally did IT. No, not bungee jumping or roller derby, two of my big aspirations. I cut my hair. No, not just a slight trim or the addition of more bangs--but a real haircut. I don't prescribe to any new fashion trend or anything, actually more of an old fashion thing. Are any of you old enough to remember Joey Heatherton? Regular looking girl with a fabooo blond pixie haircut. I do not remember much of her acting, but I loved her in the Serta Perfect Sleeper ads in the 70's. Very sexy stuff for the times, "Buy a Perfect Sleeper. By Serta." I also can sing it perfectly--all throaty and breathlessly. Petula Clark andDusty Springfield are also two of my 'hair hero's' and had much the same look. However, I CANNOT sing 'Son of a Preacher Man' perfectly altho it is one of my favorite songs EVER, both Dusty's and the more modern Joan Osborne versions,--the same goes for 'Downtown'.

But I digress. Why are we women so hung up on our hair? I've heard it said that the hair loss was one of the most devastating aspect of cancer. So much of 'self' is tied up in our locks. As a hair dresser I have seen both the very brave and the very timid when it comes to hairstyles. I have mohawked, shaved bald, permed within an inch of it's life, mulletted, highlighted, bleached and anything else you can think of on willing clients. On myself tho, I tend to stay blond and medium to long length. I have flirted with short hair only a few times ever. A 'friend' recently posted on facebook a pic of me in the late 80's in all my big haired, permed glory. A sad time for women's hair for sure. How I was able to smile in the pic is beyond me. Must have been one hot camera guy....

So anyways, last week on my regular trim appointment, when Richard said, "when are we gonna cut this shit off?', I shocked him and said that now would be good. A devious smile appeared on his lips with an evil glint sparking his eyes, as he dug out his (gasp!) razor. Finally, He says. Are you nervous? No. Shut up and cut it. I did have to provide a pic because, Richard, in all his peachy youthfulness, was clueless on the 'Joey' look. No, not the dude from 'Friends', dumb ass! 28 minutes later and a 2 minute blow dry, Scissorhands spun me around for the reveal. Whoa--what a difference! Good or bad, of this I'm not sure. But I don't care, change was the goal. And all in all, family and friends have cheered the change.

The whole experience was exhausting. Lucky for me, I've got a Perfect Sleeper--by Serta.... xo

P.S. R.I.P Tony Curtis. Cool dude. A girlfriend was once rescued by Tony on the side of the road in Ft. Lauderdale, when her decrepit Mustang broke down. He was a total gentleman as he assisted her. And who could forget 'Stony Curtis'? Cool dude, indeed.