Welcome to the Chaos

You have stumbled upon the new blog (i.e. random babblings) of a quirky single mom. A shoot-from-the-hip, anti-pink (yet almost gaggingly perky), non-traditional, can cuss like a sailor but loves insanely and has the save the world syndrome gal who is bracing for a future as a Crazy Cat Lady though she secretly hopes like hell it doesn't come true. Enjoy your stay and feel free to say hi- I don't bite. Well, unless we're dating and you are into that type of thing or you contain peanut butter. >;-)

About Me

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Quirky single mom of two monkeys. I used to beat up the kids that picked on the "special students" during recess. Now I work with those with chronic mental illness. I speak quite a few languages, enjoy coed naked underwater basket weaving, have an addiction to Sushi and humor is my defense mechanism. Arrogant people make my right eye twitch. I'm ambidextrously brained, I will knit for tattoos, I am the friend that everyone comes to for advice and bail money. I pride myself on keeping my eyes, ears, heart and mind open. Making me laugh goes a long way with me, I think the brain is the sexiest organ and I'm the kinda gal you can take anywhere and I'll have a good time. Other than that, I'm just me.

Followers

I miss you Mrs. Fitzimmons

If you’ve met my girls, there is no doubting where they came from. I couldn’t deny them if I tried. If you’ve met the rest of my family, you may wonder about me though. All the people that I take after have passed away. One of the most important ones, my grandma Katie, would have been 95 today.

Not a day goes by where I don’t miss her.

My gram was not like most grandmas. Yes she embroidered and crocheted and made the best soup ever. Her Matzoh Ball soup was my absolute favorite. But, she could also drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney and cuss like a sailor. Well, to be more accurate, she had made sailors blush.

My grandpa died young, but she always wore her wedding rings. In fact, my engagement ring was a replica of hers. If you tried to tease her about needing a man, she’d say she had one. If you said “one that’s still alive” she’d say “What the Hell for? So he can sit on my couch and make me fetch him beer? No thank you. I need another man like I need another goddamn hole in my head.”

When my dad was big and scary, she told him to go to Hell. When he told her not to use the “f word” around him, she told him to fuck off. When the world told her she needed to stop working at 65, she lied her ass off and got a job. When my parents told her there was an e on the end of my name, she told them no. Katie was feisty as Hell.

And, as I predicted for years, when God told her it was time to go, she cussed his ass out all day long before she went.

She was the only grandparent I’d ever known and the only strong female role model that was consistently in my life. In middle school I used to miss the bus on purpose so I could walk to her house and wait for my dad. He would be mad, but I got to hear story after story of her life from raising my mom and aunts and uncles to riding to work on the back of a Harley. Getting screamed at was so worth it.

She was the one that taught me not to take shit from anyone and that I could be and do whatever I wanted as long as I put my mind to it and “you don’t have to use your tits to do it either, you’re a smart one, you use your brain.” This is the same woman that set her mind on teaching her bird to hate Frank Sinatra and by George every time ole blue eyes came on, her bird Louie would BITCH up a storm. If you were to tell me she had a fling with Frank that went bad and that’s why she hated him, I would not be shocked at all. My grandma was a Hell of a woman.

I have a million grandma stories I will eventually find the strength to write, but for now, I’m easing into it. Her death is a wound that’s never really scabbed over. I look at my daughters and know how much she would love the Hell out of them. They’d come home dropping four letter words like crazy and hopped up on Brach’s candy, but I wouldn’t care.

It’s time for me to make my annual Brandy Old Fashioned Sweet (her drink of choice the last couple of decades of her life) and toast her. I will leave you with this…

When I moved out to California, I would call her once a week to check in. She’d ask how I was and I’d tell her the soup sucked. One time I called and she sounded kind of funky so I asked “Grandma, is that you?” True to form, her reply was “No, it’s Mrs. Fitzimmons, who the fuck else would be answering my phone?” From that point on, I would call and ask for Mrs. Fitzimmons and she’d laugh and say “This is Mrs. Fitzimmons, how’s my favorite little smart shit doing?”

I miss you Mrs. Fitzimmons.






That beauty in pink with the glasses is my Katie. The woman to her left is my mom. The woman below looking ready to knock my Uncle Gene the Hell out? Yup, my Katie. That gorgeous red afro belongs to my ever-amazing Aunt Carol. She’s the one from my #BoobieWed post. The two of them together would make the perfect woman.


4 comments:

Julz said...

I love her!

UberDorkGirlie said...

It was hard not too. She'd have loved you too hon! :)

Lori Leaumont said...

I wish there was a single woman in my life half as cool and as strong as your grandma. She sounds like one hell of a woman! I don't know you personally, but I was really touched by this. Thanks for sharing, and I hope to read many more stories about her.

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