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One Bakersfield woman's blog to mankind has moved to blogger.com! All my readers please update your link-- you can find my blog here... One Bakersfield woman's blog to mankind
I've moved the entire blog! Every entry, every one of your great comments... it's all there for you to read! And more posts are coming soon!
A great big shout out and much appreciation and thanks to Dan at Bakotopia for his help in uploading my profile icon picture and setting up the HTML for the link sections on the blog! I could never have done it myself... I'm computer techy challenged.
Thanks to my readers for your support in this self-exploration blog endeavor, I hope that you'll continue reading on the new blog site!
love to you all...
Matildakay |
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Yesterday’s down-pour, flooding, lightning and thunder that rattled buildings reminded me of a tropical storm I was suddenly caught in while visiting friends in Mississippi along the Gulf of Mexico about a 30 minute drive from New Orleans in 1999. I am not sure of the name of the highway, but there is a coastal highway that runs along the Gulf of Mexico in Mississippi and a section of it leaves land and stretches across the Gulf in bridge-like fashion. Only it’s not that high up off the water like a bridge is, it’s low to the water giving the visual affect of driving across an ocean. We were driving along this highway on our way back to our friends house after a day of sight seeing when suddenly the skies opened up with a tropical down-pour the likes of which I’ve never seen being from California where we have mostly nice weather all the time. The rain was so thick you couldn’t see a foot in front of the car. There was nowhere to pull over and wait it out because we were on a bridge. And if that wasn’t bad enough… the waters in the Gulf of Mexico started to rise with the down-pour, the bridge seemed to get smaller and smaller and felt like it would be swallowed up at any moment by a tropical storm with a bad name (their storms are big enough to be named by the national weather departments). It was very scary! The only thing we could do was keep driving. We drove as quickly as we could following cars with Mississippi plates hoping they would know what to do. When we finally reached land again, we pulled over for a few minutes to catch our breath thankful that we had made it across what before we thought was a cool bridge. We then tried to navigate our way through flooded streets. Has anyone seen the traffic light system they have in Mississippi? Working for an engineering firm where we design streets as part of our job… I will tell you-- Mississippi traffic light systems are one of the worst I’ve ever seen. Their lights are strung on power lines across the intersections, almost reminiscent of San Francisco cable car wires. They do not work well in a tropical storm where lightning is striking the road. I began to wonder if we’d ever make it to our friend’s house… We are lucky that we don’t have tropical storms like that all the time. Yesterday’s downpour was reminiscent but nothing like it in comparison.
This entry also posted on Bakoblog. |
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Gemini—the sign of the twins. I was born a Gemini. May 28th a really long time ago… I’ve never really understood or followed astrology. It just isn’t all that important to me. My girlfriend ‘Babe’ and my sister-in-law both are very intrigued by astrology. They always ask people when their birthdays are or what sign someone is. And ‘Babe’ looks everyone up in this big book she has to find out all of his or her personality traits. What’s the point really? I just don’t get it.
I have this joke about being a Gemini that I tell people when asked my sign—“My ‘twin’ is off somewhere living the life I’m supposed to be living.”
Lately I’ve been wondering if that is more true than a joke. For surely my Gemini twin is out there somewhere in a wonderful relationship, possibly married, with beautiful children. That’s the life I’m supposed to be living. I’m not supposed to be divorced. Single. No children. 36. Alone. With yet another birthday looming in three months.
I could be stuck in my own Sliding Doors moment. Somewhere in my life there was that one happenstance moment of ‘What if’. A moment where my twin and I split and started living separate lives. And I ended up on the path I’m currently navigating. I wonder which choice, which decision it was that caused this split. Was it the first worthless man I fell in love with? Or the second? Was it when I got married? Or divorced? Was it the day I lost a baby? Or when I couldn’t get pregnant? Was it leaving college to go into business with my parents? Or starting a business with my ex-husband? Or working for a boss I have no respect for? Was it moving from that condo to the house with the red doors to the house I’m in now? Was it the way I spend my money? Was it waiting for ‘him’ to love me when ‘he’ never will? Was it the day I stepped off a curb and dislocated my knee that took two reconstructive surgeries to repair? Or was it a million other tiny little choices I’ve made every day? One of those moments could hold the answers to my twin and I and our elusive separate lives. Or it could go back even further… to the day I was born. I was born in Bakersfield to no one known to me. Given away and adopted by two wonderful parents. I live a life I was taught not one I inherited. My birth certificate states May 28th as my date of birth, but this is a corrected birth certificate with my adoptive parents names on it. I’ve never seen my real birth certificate. Those records are sealed. And I can’t open them without suing the courts and proving a medical need for information. It was the 60’s after all, a time of closed adoptions… not today’s liberal open adoptions where all parties involved meet before the baby is born. I don’t know my nationality, medical history or if I have any siblings. What if I actually was a ‘twin’! It’s possible… who knows. Does being given away on the day you were born instill a sense of loneliness in a person that never really quite goes away? Does not knowing whom you look like confuse your self-image? Does not knowing where you come from make it more difficult to ‘fit’ in? Will my Gemini twin and I ever reconnect and live the life I was meant to live? |
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I played mom this past weekend-- my goddaughter came to stay. So, this is what it’s like to be a mother…
FRIDAY NIGHT: Harry Connick, McDonald’s and a computer.
“Oh no! I can’t believe your wearing that!” My goddaughter exclaimed when I picked her up.
“What?” I asked.
“That Harry Connick Jr. shirt!” She said pointing at my t-shirt from the concert I had recently attended.
“What’s wrong with this?” I asked. Did I make a fashion mistake? I wondered.
“Are you going to torture me again ALL weekend with his music?” She asked.
I look at her and can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I finally went to his concert!” I told her. She had been with me the weekend I bought the tickets.
“I was at a pizza place in Paso Robles with my dad, and I almost fainted.” She continued.
“Why did you almost faint?” I asked.
“Because I saw one of his songs on the jukebox!” She exclaimed.
“Did you play the song?” I asked.
“No way!” She exclaimed.
I don’t think I’m going to turn her into a Harry Connick Jr. fan anytime soon. “I won’t torture you.” I said.
“You promise?” She asked, then added… “You will, I know you will.”
“It will be hard not to… but I promise, I won’t torture you with Harry music.”
DID I MENTION SHE’S ONLY 9 YEARS OLD!
“What are we going to do this weekend?” She asked.
“We’re going to do your report for school.” I replied.
“Can we go to the dollar store?” She asked.
“If we get your homework done.” I said.
“Are we going to do anything else?” She asked.
“We might go to the hockey game tomorrow night. And then your brother’s birthday party is Sunday afternoon.” I said.
“What do you want for dinner?” I asked.
“McDonald’s.” She stated.
“How about this place or that place?” I asked hopingly.
“I only like McDonald’s” She says.
Off to McDonald’s we go… cheeseburger happy meal with a toy that doesn’t do much. The play area is too crowded-- she’s disappointed.
“Hey, you know that movie ‘Miracle on 34th Street’?” She asks as we drive past Memorial Hospital. “I was a miracle baby and I was born on 34th Street!”
“Yes, you were!” I say. Her and her mother both almost died in childbirth.
“There’s a girl in my class who doesn’t know what a ‘premie’ is!” She exclaims as if she can’t believe it.
I look up websites on California Missions for her report for school. We listen to Jewel, because she likes Jewel and I promised not to torture her with Harry. I chat with friends on the computer while she plays ‘store’ with my adding machine.
“Remember when we went to the Jewel concert?” She asks. I took her to the Jewel concert at the Fox Theater in Bakersfield.
“Yes, that was fun.” I say.
“My mom was sad she couldn’t go, she likes Jewel too.” She said.
“I wish your mom could have went too.” I say.
“Who are you talking to now?” She asks pointing at the computer while handing me a receipt for $9,000,000 that she made on the adding machine.
“I’m talking with my cousin G****, D****, and N***.” I tell her.
“Who’s D****?” She asks.
“A friend.” I say.
“Tell N*** hi from me!” She exclaims smiling. She likes him.
“I will. He knows you’re here.” I explain.
“How does he know I’m here?” She asks.
“He knows everything.” I tell her and smile.
She smiles and goes back to ringing up my make-believe purchases on the adding machine.
“I’ll save these websites so we can do your report tomorrow.” I state.
“Ok. Can I get on the computer now?” She asks.
“Yes, let me say goodbye to my friends.” I tell her.
I say goodbye to G**** and D**** and tell N*** she’s getting on the computer. She likes to chat with him.
“Ok. The computer is all yours.” I tell her.
She gets on the computer and goes to two websites: Barbie.com and Myscene.com and plays dress-up and other games. She entertains herself on the computer and I watch TV.
“What’s N***’s email address?” She yells out to me.
I tell her his email address wondering what she’s going to send him.
“N*** says goodnight.” She yells to me.
“Tell him goodnight from me.” I yell back to her.
Foot pushing in my side, arm flung across my face. She sleeps next to me in my big bed smelling of sweetness, child sweat and lingering baby smells… and I am in heaven.
SATURDAY MORNING: Showers, cereal and a school report to write.
“Did you brush your teeth?” I asked.
“Yes.” She says.
“Hold still while I fix your hair.” I say as she’s wiggling all around.
“Do you want cereal?” I ask.
“What kind do you have?” She asks.
“Lucky Charms or Lucky Charms.” I state.
“Ok.”
“Let’s get to your homework so we can get it done.” I say after she finishes her cereal.
We read information on Mission San Miguel, look at websites, and begin to write her report. She does most of it herself. She asks me questions, and I only help her with one or two sentences.
“Do you know what that word means?” I ask while helping her write a sentence. “I mean is that a word you would normally use or will your teacher know someone helped you?”
“Well she knows I’m really smart!” She states matter-of-factly.
“Oh, ok.” I say amazed.
“I made the honor-roll!” She says proudly.
In between sentences she runs off to play store again on the adding machine, or to play ‘I dropped my dolly in the dirt’ and ‘Twinkle twinkle little star’ on my piano. Songs I’ve taught her. She writes me notes and leaves them on my refrigerator.
“Come look at the refrigerator.” She says.
“I will.” I tell her. “Come back, we have more to do on your report.”
We spend three hours this way. Writing sentences, reading, drawing mission layouts-- playing store and piano, until finally we are on the last questionnaire and she’s becoming frustrated.
“Why is my teacher making me do all of this?!” She wails.
“Let’s take a break and get something to eat, we can finish it later.” I say. Seeing her attention span is on its last leg.
“No! I want to get this done, so I don’t have to do it anymore.” She exclaims.
“Ok, then let’s focus and finish.” I say.
“Can we go to the dollar store now?” She asks finally done with her homework.
Off to the dollar store we go. She buys a gift for her brother’s birthday and a ball for herself that she spends the rest of the afternoon bouncing it in the house and playing basketball with in my drive way.
SATURDAY NIGHT: Hockey game, snacks in my purse and a magazine.
“Who’s playing?” She asks.
“Bakersfield Condors and San Diego Gulls.” I tell her.
A Beastie Boys song plays during a time-out. “I know who this is! It’s the Beastie Boys!” She exclaims and starts to sing along with the song.
I think it’s just wrong that a 9 year old knows Beastie Boy songs! She sits next to me reading a magazine she brought with her munching on cheetos while I watch the game. She stands when we stand and sits when we sit. She’s halfway bored. She’s a Stealers fan after all, not a hockey fan. At intermission we go to the snack bar.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her.
“A soda and licorice. I’m really thirsty.” She says.
“You don’t want any food-food, a hamburger or hotdog.” I ask.
“I don’t like hotdogs.” She says.
“Nachos? Pizza? Fries?” I ask hoping to get her to eat more than licorice.
She shakes her head no. And then when it’s our turn to order she changes her mind.
“I want nachos too!” She states.
I get her $5.00 nachos that she eats very little of. The Condors won, but I don’t think she even noticed.
Covers thrown off, she’s hot. Cartoon network on the TV. She sleeps…
SUNDAY MORNING: Pancakes, a failed hair-do, basketball and a computer.
I wake up before she does and chat with N*** on the computer. I go to wake her up-- she looks at me, flops over and buries herself under the covers.
“I want on the computer.” She says sleepily.
“Ok.” I say.
“N*** said to tell you that you sent him a lovely Barbie figure-skating show.” So… that’s what she emailed him!
She smiles and gets on the computer and goes to Myscene.com and plays dress-up again.
“This is you and my mom.” She tells me. As I look at a blonde and a brunette getting dressed to go out.
“Print it out for me.” I tell her.
I make us pancakes. She eats them the way I do with peanut butter and syrup. She plays on the computer and I clean up the kitchen.
“Hold still.” I say while fixing her hair really cute with twisty rolls in the front. Her mom doesn’t like her wearing pony tales all the time.
“I don’t like my hair down. It looks ugly.” She says squirming.
“It does not. You have pretty hair!” I exclaim.
In the end… we took out the twisty rolls and put her hair up in a pony tale. She played basketball in the driveway until time to go to her brother’s birthday party.
I found two notes on my refrigerator from her when I got home. They said: “M****** is the best, love D*****.” And “I love you M******. D*****.” My heart melted. This is what its like to have a daughter! I miss her already…Current Music: Minnie Driver - Everything I've Got in My Pocket |
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Another new blog... Flower in the Dale is a woman's point of view of: living in Oildale's small-minded community, her growth, and potential escape from small-mindedness, a new love, and single motherhood. So far... I really like it! Check it out. |
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I discovered a new blog on NL’s blog page everyone might like to check out it’s called Bakersfield blog on Hollywood Boulevard . It’s written by an actor about his scouting trips to Bakersfield for a movie. A very different and somewhat strange take on Bakersfield from someone famous-- although as of yet he hasn’t revealed his identity so we don’t know how famous he is. Strange to think one of Hollywood’s elite has been walking among us and eating in little diners in Bakersfield. It’s weird how NL has the uncanny ability to find this kind of stuff, but then I know he has a lot of contacts everywhere regarding his Lords book even including the military. So… check out the blog, maybe you all will be able to figure out who the actor is, I’m very curious about that. |
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I went home for lunch today and in my front yard were three of my neighbors annoying cats that torment me so. 3! I don’t know exactly how many cats my neighbor has. For all I know she could be one of those crazy little old ladies with 15 to 20 cats. I pulled into my drive way and the three cats, which were sitting in a semi-circle as if they were talking, looked over at me but didn’t budge. I assume they were discussing me. Discussing new ways to torture me! They continue to use my back yard as their toilet, (I haven’t bought that yard cat repellant yet, must really make an effort to do that), and now they are having cat conferences in my front yard. Their cat sex rendezvous’ continue to be a problem. It’s almost as if they have human radar or something. It doesn’t matter if I’m in my office area at the computer which happens to be next to a window, or if I’m in bed in my bedroom, which also happens to be next to a window—these cats always pick whichever window I happen to be next to… to have their cat-wailing and moaning and sex-screaming—cat sex! I can’t seem to escape them. They are determined to carry out their vendetta against me for not feeding them by torturing me with their daily and nightly cat sex. I should be so lucky as to have as much sex as these annoying cats! Still tormented and suffering… sigh. |
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I've been invited along with a few other writers to participate in Bakotopia's blog. A multi-user forum for writers of Bakersfield to express themselves. There are already some great posts up on Bakoblog, check it out. |
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WARNING: This post contains groupie type praise and blabbering drool!
Last night… ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’ was not Disneyland. It was Bakersfield, California-- Civic Auditorium Rabobank Arena-- Front row seats in the Orchestra Pit-- 20 feet from Harry Connick Jr. and his grand piano, jazz trio and big band! And I was one of two ‘Mels’ who were having a heart-racing, hold-your-breath, and dream-come-true, wipe-the-drool-from-the-corner-of-our-mouths kind of night. Both of us had been in love with Harry Connick Jr. and his music for years, and only recently found that we had this in common.
“Oh my God! Look at these seats!” Mel exclaimed.
“Well, you said you wanted to be close enough to drool!” The other Mel replied.
“You couldn’t ask for better seats, these are perfect.” That guy the two Mels went with said.
We were close enough to drool. Close enough to see little drops of sweat on Harry’s forehead. Close enough to see Haryy's dimples. Close enough to see and hear Harry tapping his foot in time to his piano playing. Close enough to watch Harry’s hands playing rapid jazz piano rhythms and melodies. Close enough to see that he closed his eyes sometimes while playing the piano. Close enough to feel the inflections in Harry’s voice when he sang. Close enough to watch Harry shake his buns and dance to jazz trumpet, trombone and saxophone. And when he walked out to the edge of the stage, we were almost close enough to reach out and touch him.
And if that wasn’t enough… his jazz trio and big band were filled with extraordinary musicians! Some of the best music I’ve heard live in my life.
He sang old standards from his new cd ‘Only You’ songs from previous cds ‘Come By Me’, ‘To See You’ and others… He began the show with ‘A Kiss to Build A Dream On’. When he walked out to the edge of the stage and sang “… Give me a kiss to build a dream on…” in his deep romantic crooning voice, I don’t know about the other Mel but this Mel’s heart melted. Next he sang, “Take all of me…” and this Mel thought: “If I only could.”
And when he sang ‘For Once In My Life’ I leaned over to that guy the two Mels went with and said: “Someday…”
“Someday?” He asked.
“Someday… I’ll have everything Harry’s singing about in ‘For Once In My Life’.” This Mel said.
A lady gave him roses and Harry moved her and her husband up to better seats (but they weren’t as good as ours). Another lady yelled out “I love you Harry!” And he moved her and her friend up to better seats also. (Still not as good as ours).
“That was all set up ahead of time.” That guy the two Mels went with said.
“If we gave him roses or yelled out we loved him, do you think we’d get better seats?” Mel asked.
“Like in his lap!” The other Mel exclaimed.
In the middle of the show things slowed down for a moment-- Harry by himself. Just him, his voice, and his piano. He sang ‘Send Me Someone To Love’ like it was my desperate prayer, and an old James Booker song that I can’t remember the title of. He effortlessly reminded me of why he is my favorite jazz pianist of all time with intricate jazz piano rhythms and melodies. He is why I still keep the piano my parents bought for me as a child. He is the reason I still at times when I’m alone sit down at that piano and play old church hymns and other songs I’ve learned over the years. I would love to play the piano like Harry Connick Jr., but alas, I am not that talented.
Being from New Orleans he shared some New Orleans music with us in ‘Bourbon Street Parade’ and showcased his big band.
He ended the show with one of my favorite songs ‘Come By Me’ and even though he played us an encore… this Mel was sad to see Harry go. Sad to see this ‘two Mels dream-come-true Harry moment’ end. This Mel... rode the Harry-high feeling all the way home and into sweet Harry Connick dreams.Current Music: Harry Connick Jr. - Only You |
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Sunday night I met a local rock God. Punk rock star Seantastic of Karmahitlist. (see pictures here) He was larger than life with rock star hair; rock star clothes, rock star tattoos, rock star moves and yes, punk-rock-God makeup! His was the best makeup job I’ve seen in a long time. As a former professional in the Cosmetic industry and trained in cosmetics in LA—and having owned the Cosmetic studio franchise Merle Norman here in Bakersfield for 10 years; let me tell you this local rock star’s look was right on the money. And I had punk makeup envy! He managed to achieve the perfect dramatic ‘Smokey eye’ look (my personal favorite), he added red shadow under his brows for rock star effect and he wore the perfect shade of lip-gloss (I wanted to ask him where he got it). Although it is possible that somewhere an adoring girl helped Seantastic with his makeup… I prefer to believe that someone of Seantastic’s charisma would have the talent to create his own punk-rock-God makeup look and in turn give me punk makeup envy!
In yet another ‘past life’ (the cosmetic store years) I did on average at least 3 makeovers a day 6 to 7 days a week for 10 years. That’s a lot of makeovers. That’s a lot of different looks I created on every different face and personality imaginable. I’ve done wedding parties, little old ladies, teenagers, and women of every age, local news reporters and transvestites. I once did a makeover on a woman who had been beaten up by her boyfriend and wanted help covering up the bruises that covered most of her face. She was so appreciative and I was just glad to help and see her smile. I met one of my best girlfriends when she came into the store crying from divorce court—I did a makeover on her, made her feel beautiful and we’ve been friends ever since. I taught a transvestite how to do his makeup during the weeks of his transformation from Victor to Victoria. (Quite a challenge I’ll tell you, he was not pretty!) I taught a local news reporter how to apply makeup for the camera. I used to give makeup presentations at local ‘women in business’ conferences. I knew my customers by name and what they wore. And I knew how to make women feel and look beautiful. I was taught that makeup was an art, the face a blank canvas and everyone is beautiful. Makeup just enhances a woman’s natural beauty. When a woman sat down at my makeup station I could look at her face and know exactly what colors would look best on her. It felt like a gift. And the hours I spent with each customer making them feel beautiful; creating my own pieces of art was very full filling.
The thousands of makeovers I did in the years I owned the cosmetic store have blurred in my memory. Too many faces, too many women, even though all were beautiful only a few stand out in my memory some of which I mentioned above. However, the one I will never forget was an older lady in her late 50’s to middle 60’s with gray hair. She came into the store one afternoon and requested a free makeover.
“What type of makeover were you wanting?” I asked her.
“Well, I DON’T want to look like YOU!” She said.
As you can imagine, I was insulted and instantly pissed off. And yet I had to spend an hour with her being kind and gracious and making her feel beautiful and looking nothing like me. I should have given her Seantastic’s punk-rock-God makeup look… but then I don’t think she had punk makeup envy the way I do.Current Music: The Filthies |
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