Friday Afternoon: Holiday Josh

Friday, 25 November 2016 — The day after American Thanksgiving 

Wow.  What a holiday!  What a beautiful holiday!  I just can’t believe it went so smoothly.  Ya know, last year Chris and my mom weren’t getting along.  I really doubted my relationships with both my parents and my bubs.  I couldn’t deal with it. It was so fresh.  Two weeks prior, we had an explosion occur in my personal life that made me want to die.  Literally, I wanted to stop breathing in my sleep and then I knew they’d be sorry for causing my sleepy cardiac arrest.  I was pissed at this time last year.  I told my mom that I didn’t feel like her home was mine last year.  It was horrible! This year: polar opposite.  Thank you, Jesus! Even though I’m not Christian, thank you.

I spent most of the day at my mom’s house yesterday and went to visit my old German neighbors.  They always have gifts for me, which I’ll gratefully receive.  Duane (her hubby) is 81 years old and Fraulein Siggy is 77.  They will not be with me one day, so I need to pay my respects now in THIS life and go be a good neighbor.  She gave me German chocolate and wine (per usual visit).  She told me she loved me.  It was so sweet. I wanted to cry a bit.  How is it that God has blessed me with Europeans?  I favor myself as being raised relatively spoiled, sheltered and Euro, but God reaffirms this to me.  I can’t possibly be American.  I was born in the wrong continent the life time.  He wanted me to be an outsider with an open mind.  I know it.  I’m grateful for it.

Chris picked me up around 5:30 and we went to go see my Italian “Mom” Ginger.  She invited us to her home earlier the night before.  I have a family of my own, but I tend to divulge a lot to Ginger.  She has been a good support me the last few years.  I tend to erupt around her in a good way.  She brings out emotions I hate to see. She is a genuine person.  We went over and it was as if her husband was shocked to see us.  She was incredibly happy. Chris said, “you’re not just her hairdresser, she’s your friend.”  It’s true.  I adore her.  Her home looked like what my home should look like in my house. Imagine, for a moment, Italian cowboy.  Her husband is an old rodeo star, they’re Italian and family-oriented.  What a role model.  I do not mean to type that so calmly, but it’s not too far from my own upbringing: hardworking parents, priveleged children, good house, good amount of money to fall on, lots of ethnicity.  I was so proud to be there in her kitchen driving wine and talking to her outside of my salon or party I’m hosting.

We wrapped up at Chris’ godmother’s house. I ate a pork tamale.  I don’t really eat pork, but it was holiday and it reminded me of my grandma.  Today I’m constipated.  Pork does that to me now.  How many other people can’t shit after pork that aren’t kosher? If that is the only bad that came of yesterday, then hot tea and lemon water will solve this issue.  I had a great day.  I’m so glad to be home.  I’m so thankful.  I’m all about it.  Tomorrow I’m back to work.

I wish this wouldn’t end.



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