Who am I? I'm...

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Gonna met all muh friends Gonna have ourself a ball Gonna tell my friends Gonna tell them all That I'm a wild one Ooh yeah I'm a wild one Gotta break it loose Gonna keep 'em movin' wild Gonna keep a swingin' baby I'm a real wild child I'm a real wild one An' I like a wild fun In a world gone crazy Everything seems hazy I'm a wild one Ooh yeah I'm a wild one I'm a wild one I'm a wild one I'm a wild one Oh baby I'm a wild one ~~IggyPop

Drive time convo with a seven year old talk box

When a boy becomes a graduate the discussion with a seven year old, on the drive home, can become enlightening. Yes, I am thrilled to report my son, the quiet child, stood before family, community and peers, received his diploma and promptly instructed good ol mom to "hurry up mom, you are taking too long with pictures." Ahem... After all the hugs, congratulations, tears and photo ops, the twisted female child and I headed toward our trusty family mobile for the quiet ride home. Conversation during the walk across the rather expansive parking area should have clued me in to what I was in for on the drive home, but my keen need to get us across the expanse and into the car (really, my feet were killing me and I had the goal of getting to the car and getting those heels off!) did not allow me to pick up on the cues.

"Please walk beside me. Not in front of me, not behind me."

"Mommy, you are so confusing. I can walk just fine right here."

"Yes dear child, but if you can't do what I am asking, I will just leave you here and come back for you."

"Mommy, I can make my own way to the car."

Oy vey... Seven year olds and their sense of "I can do it without you."

Once buckled into the car and out of that never ending move two spaces and wait ten minutes rush to the open road, I asked the seven year old twisted female child if she was proud of her brother. Her reply ran (continuously, mind you) for the full forty minute trip home, began like this...

"Yes, BUT... I am going to do better than bubba. He spends too much time playing his game, that's why he didn't do as well as I will. He could have done better, but that game was his excuse not to. I like to read more than bubba, that is why I have so much smart stuff in my brain. I think my drawing is going to have to be taken out, there just isn't enough room in there for it with all the smart stuff I plan on putting there. Mommy, I have so much smart stuff in my brain, I have no imagination. I wish I did have some imagination, but the smart stuff is more important. Do you think it will be okay if I have all smart stuff and no drawing or imagination parts? I think I will, but it worries me that my friends seem to have more imagination part than me. Maybe they will think I am too smart and not want to play with me because I can't play imagination with them. Okay mommy, I decided I can have two small parts next to the big smart stuff. One for drawing and one for imagination. They will be tiny, but I will fill them up with all the right things. I think my writing goes in the smart stuff, don't you? Maybe I need to make a list when we get home to make sure I put everything in the right place. I have to have a really big smart space, because remember mommy, I want to be a author and a singer/musician. For those I have to get lots of smart stuff from school and college. Is it time to start thinking about which school I will go to? I don't want to go to school where bubba goes. That would not be good. I want to go to my own school. By that time, bubba will be a real adult and could have babies. Did you see that one girl with the big belly? I bet she had a baby in there. And she is to young to have a good man. She really messed up mommy. Now she can't go to college and get a real job and do the fun things you are supposed to do before becoming a real adult and having a baby. Don't worry mommy, I won't be like her. I will go to school, get all filled up with smart stuff, and a little bit of drawing and imagination so I can keep my friends, and get a good job before I become a real adult. I think that I will be 35 when I get to be a real adult. Then I can get me a good man and have a baby. Do you know that B is dyslexic? She can't read much, but her only hobby is drawing. She is trying to get smart stuff in her head, but the drawing takes over. If she would make the drawing part smaller, maybe the smart stuff could get in her brain like it does mine. That's why I know how to do math better than her. Because I don't want my drawing part bigger than my smart part......"

I will stop there. I did interject with a few comments here and there, but this child can run right over anyone during a conversation so it is best to let it just run its course. If any of you remember the McDonalds commercial with the little girl in the backseat just rambling on and on and on with no end in sight, until she's handed a McDonalds shake. That would be my wonderfully twisted female wild child. The key difference being, she talks between sips. Eventually, she did wind down and toddle off to bed. However, this morning began a new day. The first thing she said to me...

"Mommy, now that bubba graduated when does he leave so I can have his room? I want to paint it purple and get book shelves and one of those up off the ground beds so I can make a fort underneath with a big light so I can put all my smart learning stuff in there. Can I also get one of those nature sound things? You know, don't you mommy, that music helps kids learn. So I need lots of sounds so I can keep putting the smart stuff in my brain..............."

Welcome to the brand new world of having a newly graduated child with the world at his feet, and one child who is insistant her imagination is small with all evidence pointing to the fact that despite her wishes, that imagination is firmly intact and growing with each breath she takes.

What the *censored* was that all about?

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be... Dream a little dream of me"

Ah yes... we all have them, a majority don't recall them, some are skeery, some are sexy, some are run on themes of the day's happenings and some are just downright "what the *censored* was that all about?" I had one of the latter overnight. Zam Pow! From out of nowhere this thing came.

I have never been one for crushes, idols, untamed passions, being star struck or any such nonsense. I'm a practical gal, feet firmly planted on the ground with stickers abound. To say I live a life full of reality is an understatement. That said, there has been one singular soul that piqued my interest many moons ago. Unlike many in the wild, wild world of the netterverse, this soul does not rule my every move, I don't do the fanfiction thing, don't do the walks on water schpeal, as a matter of fact I very rarely say much on the subject at all, much less think on the subject. Rather, one moment in time etch-a-sketched an image/thought/interest in the deep caverns of the grey matter confined between my ears. It stays there hidden away from prying eyes and other such negative nellies, swinging on the swings and romping through the emty fields before it. This is where the *censored*-ness comes into play about this dream.

I sat in a little diner (is it odd that I was actually sitting in a booster chair?) with a couple of friends having the earth's best DEEP fried taters and cocoa, just yabbering up a storm about absolutely nothing. Isn't that the normal way? When along came a spider and sat down... Opps, I forgot the subject... Ah yes, the dream. Out of nowhere I hear this voice ask if they can join our rather animated discussion about nothing. Without looking up, we chime in.. sure thing mister. The next thing I know, I'm smacking the hand of this etch-a-sketched vision of many moons ago, for having the nerve to dip into MY fried taters. WTH does he think he is anyway? Some superstar? Sheesh! Without so much as batting a singular eyelash, I request that he get his own *censored* taters. After all.. It is reported that he has more money than g-o-d himself. Hell, get me another order while yer at it dood! While he's away, my friends promptly begin kicking me and throwing things at me, reminding me, "why yes.. he is a superstar... WTH is wrong with you? Be nice!" He returned just as I was dipping my eyeballs into his water to clean them off after having rolled around on that floor covered in lord knows what. Conversation prattled on, ranging from nothing much to absurd.

I blinked and the food was gone (what good is a dream without food, I ask you?) and we had apparently launched war on a booth across the room. With finesse, we catapaulted spit wads, ice cube missles and creative insults (I thought the "you are as messy as my melted ice cream cone" was the finest in our arsenal). Laughter erupted when this etch-a-sketched image come to life sitting next to me took a direct hit upon his gargantuan sized schnoz by a very overcooked brussel sprout. It was akin to that neat "squirtshplash" cartoon sound from the days of yore. This instance, but of course, caused war to break out at our own booth. From out of nowhere, food appeared and was hurled at the booth's residents. I took a direct hit to the kisser from a sloppy joe and before I could clear my vision (again, by rinsing my eyeballs in HIS water - wth is up with me doing that?) a wad of smashed taters was sent on the fast track in my direction. Me being an old pro at food wars, I immediately grabbed the plate positioned in front of me and redirected the white glob the consistency of drywall paste toward my etch-a-sketched new friend. Heh! Take that you person who thinks you are a superstar! Splat! As I was clearing the vision and launching into a fit of laughter.... I mean, afterall, who the *censored* comes to a lowly grimy diner decked out in a tailored designer black suit complete with fine egyptian black shirt and silky grey tie with perfectly coiffed hair?... This etch-a-sketched soul that has held my interest since before I was even a tween, grabbed the passing waitress, pulled a fresh WHOLE cherry pie off her tray and kersmashed it square in my mouth full open in sheer laughter face. *censored* ... *censored*.... *censored* Cherry pie? Ewwwwwww.... anything but that!

I blinked and found myself sitting rather close with the most in horror, in total shock, mortified look on my face as this etch-a-sketched soul was passing a camera across to my friends and asking me if I would please take a photo with him. Zam Pow! End of dream, time to rise and shine. I wonder if this is a sign that I should try cherry pie.. hey.. I might like it. Or maybe that I should act on my craving for those DEEP fried taters that only a tiny dimly lit dingy diner can provide. Perhaps... Well hell... I'll just leave well enough the *censored* alone and cherish the new etch-a-sketched image deep within the caverns of grey matter confined between my ears now covered with schplatted overcooked brussel sprout and smashed taters!