It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chrismakkuh!

First of all, a good Chrismakkkuh Tree must be fake. Who wants to shlep home a dog piss magnet while scratching their nice car? Oh yeah! That's what my Goy husband is for! This year we, like a bride, have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue on our Tree. I swear it wasn't planned – excluding the blue!

The tree, like an interfaith wedding I guess, blends traditions from each of our religions.

Santa:
 

Blue Balls: A tribe tradition! Though it would be more fitting if they were broken. Ironically enough, I actually did break a blue ball yesterday, but failed to catch it on camera since I was a bit more concerned about glass in puppy paws.

My husbands letter to Santa:

And lots of ornaments representing things I just can't get enough of. Ever:

My babies like to sit under the tree:

 

And here's what I'll be getting this year for Hannukah:

 

 

I figured out the striky thingy all on my own! Happy Holidays!

Personal Service Announcement ( Becca talks about BohoPoetGirl)

It has come to my attention that a lot of people just don't get it, this blogging thing. Or the writing thing - which is odd because I doubt you all thought Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner was an autobiography, and yet, here I am, finding my back against the wall yet again with claims I'm embarrassing myself. This is not myself. This is a tiny piece of my personality, exaggerated into a fictional character. Reference my blogroll to sex and the beach if you want to make an attempt to understand what I am talking about. Is Maria De Los Angeles Manola Blahblahblahnick? Hell no! Is she a damn good writer who makes me laugh? Hell yes! Does she agree with plenty of what Manola says, sure! But it doesn't make it HER. I'm trying to find the humor in what I see around me. This blogging thing is my living breathing portfolio. If I wrote about things how they actually happened, you would understand that you'd much rather read about BohoPoetGirl. And I'd much rather write about her. What is fact and what is fiction? Exactly the point. I'll never tell. So if you can't take the heat, get the hell out of Blue Moon Over Miami! Now you've been warned. If anyone brings this up EVER again, I will simply reference you again to this blog post. Perhaps copy it into an email. Esta Todo.

And with that, I wish you all a good evening. I might attend Maria streaming live tomorrow night from her new blog, which she did not bring Manola too btw.


You didn't actually think I drained my pool with a saucepot, or at all, did you??


PS

BohoPoetGirl was just nominated for a content award in the humor category for being a "Hilarious blogger" and "Fab Writer." To those of you that get it, know you are who I am writing for, and why I will never stop writing.
Ok.

On my morning walk

Crossing past Barry I literally stumbled into something carved into the sidewalk. I turned around to read it and it said;

"God is real. He love you."

Sounds like G^d needs some grammar lessons, huh?

I'm available.

Why My Gay Friends Rock

This post is entirely inspired by White Dade. If you haven't read his blog yet, it's a must. Stop.reading.this.now.and.go.to.my.blogroll.


1. They don't hate me because of my tits, nor do they stare at them longingly when they think I'm not looking.

2. No one is ever going to accuse me of using them for anything.

3. They never judge you when you tell them about your sordid nights.

4. When they tell you look hot, girlfriend, they actually mean it.

5. They pretend to be straight for you when strange old men come up behind you at bars and try to grind with you.

6. They pick you up and take you to job interviews and it's not because of the possibility of getting laid, ever, unless it's by your hairdresser.

7. They have the best pot.

8. They tell you that you're hot enough to fuck even as a gay men ( Hansel I heart your forever for that one)

9. They never, ever, cockblock. If anything they cock-encourage.

10. They pick you up at 9 pm on a Tuesday because you are lonely and have no car and they can hear "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" in the background on the phone and it makes them incredibly nervous.


11. They destroyed that dirty video you made with them in the eighth grade because it didn't do anything for them. Even if their Dad still refers to you as "the dancer".

12. They can tell you "this shoe or that shoe" and you know it's not jealous sabatoge.

13. You've been borrowing clothes from them forever... why stop now?

14. They still pay when you go out with them.

15. They have amazing coffee table books; most notably The Big Penis Book... An absolute MUST SEE!

16. They like the same music. Fine I'll admit it. They like better music.

17. Eighties music doesn't make them run screaming.

18. They are much better huggers than women OR straight men you aren't interested in sleeping with.

19. You know when you're on the brink of a serious "I am invincible" spinout you can go out with them to a gay club and while you might get so drunk you urinate in your true religions and have to get driven home, sodden, by lesbians after losing them and falling on the dance floor fifty times, that at least you'll wake up not pregnant or with a disease.... at least pregnancy can always be gotten rid of... the herp is forever....and they will be there when you arrive shamefacedly to collect your car from valet the next morning and even invite you to the beach...


20. EYE CANDY.. there are a lot of hot gay men around here ladies.... and they don't mind if you look...


21. You can run around with your twins free as birds all day on their block of the beach and nobody will care except your clothes, who will appreciate your glorious lack of tan lines.


22. They always call when they say they will.

23. They always show up when they say they will.

24. They can appreciate the Adonis-like good looks of Jensen Ackles.
'
25. Because they swear the wallpaper on their IPhone is a picture of you and them, and not a picture of Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon.

26. Because they are at the door right now, all the way from Brickell.

My Blogger, Myself

I finally let myself cry. And it felt better than a xanax, than a bottle of wine, than getting off (ok,that's pushing it)...I let myself cry for five minutes and in that five minutes I realized that I'm never going to be on the streets, and I'm not going to die. And now I have decided to walk the 15 blocks to the bank and maybe the ten blocks further from there to publix. We will see how this little experiment turns out. I still cannot digest the idea of the bus. Five minutes of release is not going to take care of that just yet. And I do have things to look forward to. Like life. And there will be sunshine in bohopoetland again. And maybe, just maybe it will be better than it ever was before.

All By Myself, Part Two

Which brings us to Jesse. Jesse was the first guy I could ever talk to about poetry. He was an incredibly gifted poet, and while I would spout my dreams of being the next Maya Angelou, he wanted nothing more than to teach the literature he loved so much. I learned so much from him, but as the school year came to a close, we had the whole, where is this whole thing going anyway? talk and that was that with that. I moved home for the summer and few weeks found my friend Tim and I drunk and on xanax and in my bed. That lasted ten months, despite the fact he went to college in Baltimore, and despite the fact that because he was friends with Greg, he was constantly paranoid I would cheat on him. Ironically enough, I never did.

I dumped Tim in the spring and became so out of control it soon became imperative I get a boyfriend. This was the time period where I lost track of my "Number" and I still to this day am not quite sure what it is. Soon I found one, two actually; Cocaine and Colin. This lasted until one very nasty spring weekend senior year. The assholes at the college newspaper still have it in their online archives, and if you know my maiden name, I'm sure you've already read it.


I managed to get rid of Colin. But not my other lover. At this point it makes sense to mention that once when I was in Baltimore visiting Tim, a psychic on the street grabbed my hand and said, "This guy is not your soulmate, you will meet your soulmate in two years. This would be the March after I graduated college. I was still not quite done with my other lover and my life was pretty much unmanageable....The few months before I met Richy I wandered around like that duck in the childrens book... 'Are you my soulmate?"

Then I met Richy. He rescued me from everything....but I never really learned my lesson.

Which brings us to the now. The now that is too painful, too fresh, and too risky to discuss on the innnernets....

I end this post the way I began it. Alone, full of fear and anxiety. But as it was written in The Way of the Peaceful Warrior "We are here and it is now. Beyond that, all human knowledge is moonshine."


Shine on my darling readers. Thanks for being here, reinforcing the fact that my writing is the one thing no one can ever take away from me, and that no Lexus, Louis Bag, or $600 dinner could ever take the place of.

Still, Blue Moon Over My Mothers House just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Stop the World! I Want to Get Off!!!!

So, I'm going out of my mind. But the bitch keeps finding me. No car, no income, no husband, and I just ran out of dog food. The thought of taking the bus to publix fills my Gucci and Barton G's accustomed little heart with an anxiety so deep there is absolutely no where for it to go. Perhaps I'll start pacing around the pool again. That was a fun few hours yesterday. Or perhaps I'll continue to work on my sordid personal history....At least one thing is still free... And the jets in the pool are working just fine....

A Question for my Readers

Dearest Readers,

Please tell me, what happens when people stop rescuing you?? I mean, when you find yourself in a mess of mainly your own making, and there's no one to ask for help anymore, no one that wants to, no one that can... What do you do then? I could use some answers. I know all the right words to say to myself: I should say, "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger," I could say, "It's time to grow up," I could say, "Pull yourself out of this," or "Stand on your own two feet." But all those words sounds as hallow to me as they must to you. Nico, we are so not in Kansas anymore...

Hello Friends!

It's been quite the eventful month over here in Bohopoetland.. Irony has reigned supreme since I last signed off, and while some of you may know some of the details, most of you must not hold your breath, as these things that are going on are deeply personal. I can only ask you all to please keep me in your thoughts as I go through some major changes. I promised to come back a few days ago, but despite the fact that I watched the Greys Anatomy 2 hour season premiere and it was fantastic, the spell of it has somehow broken... Watching was not the escape from the boredom of life as it used to be.... As I step back into being a productive member of society and out of my guilded cage I am forced to admit that real life is far more interesting than the medical case of the week and whether or not Meredith finally has Derek move in with her.... These are just characters, characters on tv that are not my friends, and that I do not know beyond the glare of the plasma... I will never stop watching Greys, and I highly doubt I will ever stop loving the DVR with a passion... But however, there's something going on outside my windows now, and while I suspect it has always been there, it's call resonates so much more strongly through me now, more than ever....

Waiting For The Sun

Of course I had to wait until my absolute last day in Miami to try to tan, and of course I had to spend the sunny morning on the internet, packing, and cleaning. By the time I was ready to tan the sun was doing this in and out thing that made me feel like it was literally fucking me. Thankfully I came into the garage before it started spitting down. It now looks like a hurricane, and Samstyl's flight to VT via NY was CANCELLED this AM, and I am scheduled to fly out tomorrow, same airport, same airline, to Boston which last time I checked was not all that far from NY. My flight tracker claims we are still on time for departure tomorrow morning, but I don't believe it! I don't even like to drive in the rain, and although I've been flying many many times a year since birth, I still am uneasy about flying ( especially landing) in the rain.

In other news, I found my favorite camp counselor and the only other person in the universe I have found worthy to share my nickname on Facebook. It gave me the chills, seeing these girls who seemed so much older and more worldly when I was 8-14 and now I realize are only 4 years older than me which is pretty much nada at this point. I still have not been back to camp since I got kicked out the night of the play (Wizard of Oz, in which I had a plum role as Uncle Henry) which was a week before my senior year ended, taking the fall for doing the same things all my friends were doing and also the fall for every other thing that had gone wrong all summer. Soda tabs in the vending machine? Must have been me.. Laundry ladies smoking pot in star camp? Must have been me. I'm getting all upset reliving it here but it's also kind of an escape into the Things That Went Wrong And You Can't Change a Damn Thing About It. from my more pressing and immediate anxieties, The Things That Haven't Actually Gone Wrong Yet But Still Could.

Any secret, moses code or celestine prophecy reader would tell me right now, no Bohopoetgirl, the sun is not fucking you. The universe is not fucking you.

You are fucking yourself.

That's what she said.

I'm off to scan some old camp photos into the computer. :)

The Mystery of The Cushion Mushin

For those of you who haven't heard me wax poetic about my Pottery Barn sectional, it was the biggest purchase I have ever made with money I made myself. Okay, that money was the commission I earned by being my own agent when I bought my current home, but still, it made the lousy year and a half I spent in Real Estate more worth it than the oft promised rarely delivered bonuses I got selling the Queen's condo's for him when I was his and the Fag Hag's assistant. It is huge, filling up my entire living room, and I even sprung for the ottoman, the down filling, and the matching rug. Sometimes we forget how much couch room we now have and you may find Richy, Me, Reigna, Lucky, and Nico all curled up one side of the couch as if it was the entire thing.
Fast forward to the mystery of the wet spots, as I blogged a few weeks ago, that was Lucky doing some overenthusiastic licking. Now I am starting to notice how mushed a few of my cushions are becoming, and since Lucky has gotten a bit fat for his size lately, I suspect him. Here's a pic of my mushed cushion

I've tucked a fleece dog blanket into the next section of the couch for my shedders, but of course the only one who hangs out there is Nico, the one who doesn't shed. Oy Vey. it didn't take me very long to catch the musher in the act, as represented here. Nobody will be surprised to learn who it is:

Right now it is pouring mushers and shedders outside!! Also, if anyone would like to comment on how I can make my food stealing Lucky lose weight, you will see above his head is rapidly shrinking....And that cushion is not exactly a piece of fluff....

Good Morning Miami

It's on morning's like this that I really feel the full effect of some of the priveledges my life (and husband) provides me. I love when I wake up before he goes to work and we have that 45 minutes to hang out and talk, smoke and watch the dogs run (and potty) in the yard. Those moments make me smile all day. Then he leaves and I'm all up and Twittering and watching the Today show and a little voice inside of me is all "Don't you want to go back to sleep?" and that's the beauty of it. Because I always can later.
Someone snuck in and gave Nico the crappiest haircut ever when I was sleeping. Oh no, that was me. It's really not that bad but a little more light and a little less bacardi would have gone a long way. He's still not ready for his close up. Is this terrible that I am seriously considering asking Alicia, my buddy Danny of Shampology Salon and Supply right hand gal, to fix his hair while I have Danny fix mine? especially because she has little dogs and knows how to handle them.
In other news, I have officially scrapped the summer volunteering at Fairchild. I am still in to assist in the office for the Fairchild Challenge in the fall but the commute, my low tire, the bugs, the heat, the potting, and finally my mysterious possibly mango related rash ( tk god that is going away) just all add up to "I can't possibly go" every week.
And finally, I just got off the phone with my gorgeous husband and it looks like the pink slips are coming down on a few more heads this week. Good riddance to all that slows him ( and our next payday) down. In this economy, it astounds me that some people can't afford gas and some are buying million dollar gas guzzling boats with 60K paint jobs. I guess I'm comparing Orphan Annie to Daddy Warbucks though.
MMMMMmmmm Grilled cheese sandwiches on Today Show. OOOHHH the grilled cheese invitational! Why was I not invited! I have the best grilled cheese recipe EVER! ( To follow) Oh man, I just heard a crowd of people shouting "We want cheese!" Or was that just the voices in my head???

Break an Unwritten Rule Day

This blog is beginning to take shape, something which (again) makes me feel like a proud mama. I already have declared Monday, "Concoction Monday" and now I dub Tuesday "Break an Unwritten Rule Tuesday" although the blog is coming to you on a Wednesday morning, I am planning on having it up on time next week, so that I can make Wednesday Weird Song Wednesday, and post one of the many silly songs I have written to other songs.

Back on the Elliptical Again

Yesterday, when gearing up to go to the gym in Miami Gardens for the first time, being that I was going to the LA Fitness in Hollywood when I worked at the Powerboat Club and have not been to any gym since I quit that awful silicone enhanced place in Mid February, I was a little nervous.

And what better way to deal with being nervous than make a complete and total ASS out of myself. So I decided to break an unwritten rule, flagrantly and unabashedly.


Unwritten Rule #1

Thou Shalt Not Act as if You are in an IPod Commercial on a Machine at the Gym!

They playlist needed to be just right to keep me going without blushing or laughing too much... So I started with The Donna's Version of Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself". It was a perfect start. I started shaking my ass and moving my arms as I pumped the machine, something that was a little tricky, but still easier than dancing after one too many Blue Moon's.... At first it seemed no one was noticing, so I started to really get into it.... Then a young girl looked at me like I was crazy. Very encouraging. I started to do more arm movements and move my hips and legs more vigorously to the music....Lots of shoulder beat keeping was going down...

Dancing With Myself

I started to feel really good, free, reminding me of that episode of Friends where Phoebe is running like a freak in the park and tries to convince Monica to do it with her because "it's so liberating". Yes my friends, it is... The playlist is ESSENTIAL, because it gives you ideas for more idiotic moves than less appropriate music would inspire. Next up, "Do You Love Me" from Dirty Dancing....

Do You Love Me? I Can Really Move.... Do You Love Me? I'm in the Groove... Now That I Can Dance...Watch Me Now!


I can mash potato ( and freak out the guy cleaning the machine)
I can do the twist ( and almost hit the girl on my right and almost fall off...)
Now tell me baby, do you like it like this? ( the guy over there sure does...)

This song really captured the crowd... Some were giving me that unwritten rule breaking look I was doing this for, you know the one where people think they can stop your inappropriate behavior with a withering glance.... I know because I've been one of them!

Don't Cha Wish You Had the Chutzpah to Dance on your Machine??? And, Please don't stop the Dancing....

Back to 2 hip hop tracks, which in Miami Gardens, drew me a lot of mixed reviews... The looks were split between "White girl thinks she can shake her ass, at the gym, of all places.." to "Yo,Look at that white girl shaking it! Are those real?" Umm, Hello People! Implants were inspired by women who, like myself actually *gasp* had nice racks of the all natural persuasion..... All the while, the time and the miles and the calories were flying by.... And I was feeling good... Really freaking good.....




BohoPoetGirls Just Want to Have Fun....

This was all leading up to the big climax in act 3... I had already proven to myself that while some of the looks made me uncomfortable, I was having way too much fun not to keep pushing this social experiment to the next level. A bit of backstory is relevant here. I went to Camp Mataponi in Maine every summer growing up. Those girls were my closest friends in the universe. It's where I got my love of 80's pop. But I digress. Two of my cheerleading best friends and I wrote an entire act-it-out dance skit to this song.. And I decided to act it that dance, as much as memory, the elliptical and it's constant threats to throw my bouncing self off, and my sensibilities ( Seriously, I'm not Britney - I do have some shame)

This needs to go with the lyrics to make sense

I come home in the morning light my mother says when ( shoulder shrugging with elbows bent and hands raising in air to beat) you gonna live your life right....Oh mommy dear (wagging finger) we're not the fortunate ones.... Oh girls just want to have fun....

The phone rings, in the middle of the night, (bend knees and hold hand/phone to ear, while bouncing from right to left....) My father says what you gonna do with your life.. Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one ( shake hips and hold out one finger with other hand on hips and cocked head)

But girls they want to have fun ( during the chorus we actully do si do'd, which I couldn't accomplish on the elliptical without breaking my neck)
chorus here a little head shaking lip syncing and side to side movement worked here

Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide ( hug self and bend knees, lean forward and down, hide, in short) her away from the rest of the world

I want to be the one to walk in the sun ( stand up straight, bounce and put elbows out, hands flat under chin with the fingertips overlapping.......)

Chorus....

This was it, I had reached my ultimate threshhold of embarassment. And to my surprise, when I looked down at the machine, I had been on for almost 3o minutes already.

This is the dance that funk built....

Although I was done with my workout... I had to end with this, my walk out song...


I see you baby... Shaking that ass......

Tune in next week, when I plan to embarass myself in a totally different way... At a restaurant perhaps? the mall? A spa? Comments or emails to bohopoetgirl@gmail.com would be much appreciated. Until then, thanks for reading!

Happy When it Rains

Ahh Hurricane season. It's the closest thing we get to Winter, at least in terms of excuses not to leave the house, getting out of work, and just being lazy in general. After this blog happy week I actually have a bruise the size of my elbow worked into my inner right thigh from sitting cross legged on the couch, with the laptop on the ottoman ( AKA Sneaky's apartment) blogging. Oh I think I feel a list coming on... After the quote of the day of course. I have an AMAZING one today, the ending of Jack Kerouac's on the road... Possibly one of the best paragraphs ever written in America...

Today's Burning Question

This morning found Sneaky and me burning with the eternal question; continue to watch the Today Show/ browse blogs in the living room ( AKA home of the big TV)or go back to bed? Then I had the most amazing flash of inspiration. You really can have it all! Currently Sneaks and I are in bed, with the TV on, writing blogs ( plans to resume browsing asap), drinking coffee.

This is the way to spend a morning! Here are the views from the bed:







Not so bad, eh?


This is Today on Becca's Blog. Lol.



Where Have All the Comments Gone?

I'd like to think this has more with me changing my blog address than failing to provide anything of value to those in the blogosphere, but who knows. Bluemoon81.blogspot.com now features futons. How odd. Seriously thinking about deleting myspace, but then I would miss drinking red wine and laughing with Dina over what people from WHS are doing now ( besides living at home).

In the spirit of high school memories flooding my brain, here's a math problem for you.

Considering that I met my husband after college and have been with him longer than I was in high school, and spent the normal amount of time at both places, how pathetic are the people in the WHS class of 99' and older for still living at home?

Answers? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?