Embrace the Bacongal, and what ever I'm itching to say !

feet, both of them, and it was ah-ahhh-amazing! Don't get your shorts in a wad, I would never let another man touch me inappropriately. Friday, Mama (aka G. Mama....Mama G. or half of the "prentals") had lunch and than got a pedicure. Mama was the first person to introduce me to the joy and elation of a pedicure.  I immediately loved it.  And being that, as I've stated before on this blog, I may not be much of a runner, but my feet show the extent to which I attempt to be a runner. We arrived and the nail salon was busy, busy, busy.  A young gentlemen got us seated, a cup of water, and hot water added to soak our tootsies in.  I admit I was hoping that he was just doing the prep work and someone else would take the tools to my hooves. He sat down and started to slowly and meticulously trim my disgusting overgrown cuticles and dry skin and ill-shaped, home trimmed nails.  The nice, twenty something man, masculine, gently chastised me for trimming my nails so s

You may have read the headlines of late.  A DNA test on a blood and semen stained scarf found with one of the White Chapel victims has been linked to a Polish barber Aaron Kosminski.  The young Kosminski was in and out of lunatic asylums for much of his life and died in one. My first introduction to the "Jack the Ripper" mystery was in the form of pure 80's television. "Fantasy Island" season 4, episode 6, original air date of November 29, 1980.  The episode title was "With affection Jack the Ripper/Gigolo".  It was a strange pairing of a authoress that wanted to go back to 1889 White Chapel to unmask Jack the Ripper and some meek little guy who wanted to be a gigolo to get some confidence with women.  Really? confidence with women, obviously written by a man. I'm sure I had no idea what a gigolo was and the questions probably prompted answers that as a 8 year old I wasn't at all interested in.  I don't remember that part of the episo

I can't express to anyone why the ache of missing my Mom comes and goes at is does.  Perhaps it's because I am approaching the anniversary of her death, September 28, 1988.  But beyond that, right now, this moment, I am aching for my Mom. I had such jealousy of my friends who passed by the bullshit of teen years and got to know their Mom's as fellow adults.  Cohorts that supported each other.  In reality of my three closes friends none of them have had that much extra time with their Mom's.  Missy and Prissy lost their mom to cancer not long after I did.  Graybelle has lost her mom to the absence of other distractions.  But still I ache. I want to know what my Mom's favorite color was.  I want to know what she wanted to be when she grew up.  I want to know how she felt about gay marriage.  My gut tells me she wouldn't have given a fig, which is how I feel. But mostly I want the warm embrace.  The hug she gave me when I started my period at Burgerville.  I