handcrafted decoupage glass trays featuring original art & inspirational messages


New York, Yew Nork

Sheree Burlington5 Comments

Last week I spent a week in New York. Because enough hasn't been written about the Big A, The City That Never Sleeps, I'm compelled to add my take: There are a shit load of people in NY. From my room on the 21st floor, on 34th and 8th, I could look down upon enough tiny people to populate my entire town. Most of them were walking.

Unless being led around by their dogs, people in my world walk under these circumstances: 1. Dead car. 2. No car. 3. No license. While there may be exceptions - those who trudge through snow up to their knees along unplowed terrain because they want to, these people are generally crazy and should be avoided. If you get too close, they may ask you to join them. My best friend Janet, falls into this category.

My trip into The City was flawless. I hit the road at 7:15 and arrived in NY State at 11:30. Drove right past my hotel on the way to the Javits. Pulled into the Javits Center and right into a parking spot. After dropping off my load, I asked one of New York's finest for directions. He was pleased to tell me that I look just like Lauren Holly. I had no idea who she was (it's lonely under my rock) but since it's rare for someone to say that you look just like some dog, I received his compliment in a most charming way. When I arrived at my hotel, there was a parking space out front. I handed my keys to some guy and watched it drive away.

I won't bore you with show details. The best part about it was the great company in my booth - Larry of Clay Design and Victoria of Dream Fabric Printing. All three of us are pretty much non-stop talkers. Sometimes we actually listened to one another. They were great company and I can't wait to see them again in August.

As planned, I had dinner at Chez Veasey, home of the wicked famous LorrieVeasey and Sexyhusbandomine. Here is the real scoop on the Veasey family: Sexyhusbandomine = Hunk. And he fed the kids and did the dishes while we talked. He should host a husband/boyfriend bootcamp. I'd immediately sign up Ireland. Oh, and those cute kids she blogs about? Seriously cute. And polite. We may think Lorrie walks on water, but she's a regular gal like the rest of us. I hugged her and those Beautiful Berthas moved right out of the way just like regular, non-famous boobage.

Cut to the last day of the trip. I call for my car - which sounds almost as cool as my agent. Two hours later, I'm still waiting. I'm beginning to wonder if the guy in front of the hotel drove it to Jersey and cut it into tiny pieces. Eventually it shows up. Whew. I'm not an idiot. I drive to the Javits and find it in absolute grid lock. No way to get anywhere near it. I drive around the block and approach it from a new angle. Not happening. As I prepare to make another 1/2 hour pass around the block, my gas light comes on. I see a entrance to the parking lot. I don't wonder why no one else is taking advantage of this clear passage. I just drive right in.

"License and registration, please." Do I know what I just did, he asks? I just ignored a Do Not Enter sign. (Ok, I am an idiot.) As I reach for my papers, I hear him say "Hey, you're the one who looks just like Lauren Holly." I flash him my most convincing LH smile. I still don't know who she is. That's ok, he says. Why don't you just back right into that space over there.

I heart New York.

Dickheads Yesterday. Delinquents Today.

Sheree Burlington3 Comments

It's Tuesday morning. I'm sitting in the Day Surgery waiting room with my middle aged siblings. The room is full. I can feel the air conditioner blowing cold air, but I'm having one hot flash after another. I want to be naked. My niece's cell phone keeps going off, "girls just wanna have fun." She moves in slow motion to answer it. Studies the phone number. Everyone is looking at us. I want to dope slap her. They do, too.

Mom is in chemically induced dream land. She's getting a new hip. She's 73 and has spent the last 6 months hobbling around with a cane. She looks like she's 93. Every time I open my mouth, I hear her voice come out of it, so I've been watching her decline with a strange sense of premonition. My hands on the key board look exactly like hers. It's almost creepy. I'm sitting in a too-soft chair on an ass that's almost as wide as hers. I wonder which hip will go first.

Someone is calling my name. I look up. A police officer is standing in the door. Her badge is not shiny like those on Law and Order, but she looks like a cop to me, and to everyone else in the room. Detective Barbee - the one who arrested my delightful 15 year old son three weeks ago. She's come to deliver his invitation to court. They all watch as I step out into the hall with her.

The papers say Order and Notice of Hearing. Juvenile Petition. The block next to Delinquency is checked. Next Monday at 12:45. Be there. Because my son thinks the rules that keep us from kicking the shit out of each other whenever the spirit moves us - those rules don't apply to him.

Three weeks ago I was beating my chest and lamenting Oh! What a world! My blue eyed boy in trouble with the law because the mean old Principal got into a chest thumping match with him. Put his hands on him to keep him from storming out of the office. Called the police when he jumped out of his office window (relax - first floor.) This week, I want them to lock up his ornery ass so that he can get a glimpse of his future. This week, I'm hoping the judge will decide teach a lesson to a kid who spews venom & threats when things don't go exactly his way.

He's been pretty docile for the last three weeks. Gets shitty with me when I say no, but is getting used to hearing it & is quick to apologize. He can see the change in me. I'm done. Done protecting him, making excuses for him, giving in to him. These days, the only thing I say yes to is food and shelter. I'm preparing him for his stay at the Big House. Saw it on TV the day he got arrested. Eight CDs and a work book. Actual guidance for parents with kids at risk. I listen to it all day at work. In my car. Make him listen to it. He hates it but admits that some of it would make sense if it weren't so stupid. The information is no-nonsense. Concrete. Say this. Do that. Parental salvation for just over $300. Every parent should know about this.