Archive for the ‘heather’ Category

The Hudson’s Gentlemen Only Department

Posted on November 27, 2009

Detroit, family, heather

My wife’s elderly grandmother often tells the same stories. Fortunately, most of the stories are fascinating glimpses into the past and, as I’ve not known her for as long as the rest of her family, the stories are often new to me.     Today I learned about the “Gentlemen Only” department at the downtown Hudson’s department store.     Run a bit like a burlesque parlor, this was a department where all the customers were men, all the workers were women, and live, lingerie clad models paraded in front of patrons. The men would lounge in leather chairs while sipping coffee, reading newspapers, and choosing which model should wear what clothing for their amusement and shopping pleasure.     Ostensibly this allowed well-to-do men to purchase clothes for their chattel–I mean women–in confidence and with a clear idea of what they would be getting for the money. And, during the late 1960’s, Heather’s grandma Iris was a popular part-time attendant due to her charming English accent and polite demeanor.     Tonight’s story had two parts: Mafia Encounter     A high ranking member of a prominent Detroit mafia family, accompanied by stereotypical ‘heavies,’ directed various models to wear skimpy underthings and expensive fur coats. After making his selections clear to Iris and delivering a veiled threat that there better be “no funny business”, he left for a few hours only to return with several thousand dollars in cash to make good his purchases.     In parting he said, “I guess we’re all set, then,” and handed her a $20 bill. The Philandering Pilot     A Pan-Am pilot lounged away an afternoon directing various models to do his bidding, eventually purchasing two assortments of clothing. The first pile, fairly plain clothes fit for a portly lass, were to be packaged in Hudson’s shopping bags and packages. The second pile, made up of sexy undergarments and an expensive mink coat fit for a slighter build, were to be packaged in unmarked parcels, tightly sealed.     ”Whatever you do,” said the pilot, “don’t mix those two orders up. It will mean your job if you do.”     Its like Mad Men come to life, and an amazing example of the man’s world as it once was.     This was one of my favorite Iris stories to date, although it does not trump the stories of developing the first aerial photographs of Auschwitz while in the RAF photography corps…. I should get a recorder and get a few of these down for posterity.

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Operation Bed Sheets, ‘09

Posted on June 9, 2009

family, heather, holidays, riley, samantha

Jun 8, 2009:     Today was Samantha’s 8th birthday.     She was sent to school wearing a tiara: an opulent plastic tiara with imitation diamonds made of simulated glass* and bearing a box of Hannah Montana cupcakes–something I’m certain delighted the little boys most of all**.     Heather bought Sam some nice printed bed sheets. Instead of wrapping the pillowy and awkwardly shaped sheet-bag, a covert operation was successfully executed to dress her bed in the middle of the night. So during the day Heather surreptitiously laundered the new sheets and secreted them within our bedroom.     At approximately 10pm I scooped her little sleeping form up in my arms along with a tag-along teddy bear, carried her silently down the hall and laid her in our bed. It was a few minutes later that we’d removed the several dozen books from her bed, stripped it, and carefully installed the replacement sheets, pillow case and comforter.     I then gathered the little birthday girl up in my arms, carried her back to bed and laid her down amidst the new bedsheets.     In the morning she spent a few seconds in confusion and a few minutes in delight. Any more time than that would imply an attention span my little girl simply doesn’t have.     In the evening we laid waste to a local Chuck E Cheese per her specific request.     It was here that Riley lived some anxious moments fearing the animatronic rodent and then wasted about a half-hour attempting to get its attention. Samantha ran wild; like a gazelle with opposable thumbs and a slight mean streak.     At night-night time I read her the first two chapters of a new Lauren Child “Clarice Bean” book and thus ended the eight anniversary of my initial parentage.

* The plastic was simulating glass, the simulated glass was imitating diamonds.

** That’s sarcasm folks. The average 7-8 yr old boy would rather eat raw broccoli than admit to interacting with the various tween queen personalities littering today’s media environment.

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Change Our Morning Plans

Posted on December 13, 2008

heather

    Let’s leave the kids at grandma’s house.

    I can call my brother and tell him I can’t help him move his hot water heater.

    We can leave the house a mess for awhile.

        You are beautiful in your pajamas,

        I woke up hearing you breathe
        and it felt good to know you were still next to me after all these years

        But I don’t want you next to me right now,
        That seems too far away. So here’s a gentle shoulder rub.
        Are you awake?

        Tomorrow the house will be loud again,
        and time will rush us past one another for one more day.

        We’re old enough to know how to do it right,
        young enough to do it well

            This morning, let’s change our plans.*

* Alas, we did not.

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Cleverly Disguised as a Douche-bag and his Trampy Wife

Posted on April 7, 2008

family, heather

    This past Saturday evening my wife an I participated in a charity event known as a “Road Rally”.

    in actuality it was like a scavenger hunt with Riddler style clues and puzzles. Each team was given a bag of clues, riddles and questions which required you to drive all around northern Macomb and Oakland counties visiting various business establishments and communicating with humans. It was quite fun, and our team of four came in fifth. (I must admit that for some of the more difficult 1980’s trivia riddles I enlisted the aid of DaveCat, ZipGun, and goshou through the technology of cellular telephone talkery)

    Good, clean fun, right? The catch was that throughout the ordeal we would be expected to wear the fashions of the 1980s, hideous as they may now seem to we modern humans.

    I turned 18 in 1990 and therefore possessed an adult-sized body for about three years of that decade, during which time I accumulated but a meager collection of clothing that matched the styles of the time.
    Alas, my Z Cavaricci knock-offs are long gone, I never owned any Reebok Pumps and no one ever gave me a friendship bracelet. I was generally un-hip in any case; no reproducable photos reveal mullets, skinny ties or Jordache jeans on my person at any time.

    Nevertheless, I searched my closet and produced the pictured assortment of mixed eighties stuff. Note the reversible belt with my initial prominant on the tiny chrome-and-gold belt buckle. Also observe the “Ducky-style,” paisley, silk shirt (bought for me by my biological father in 1989 and worn for the first time in public in THIS PHOTOGRAPH). Lastly, check out the cloth windbreaker, which was an Aeropostale knock-off (complete with biplane on the back) purchased for me by my mom when I was 13… from K-Mart, for chrissake!

    The pants and shoes were purchased recently. I happen to like wearing Converse All-Stars, especially when playing DDR, though I only discovered them for the first time about a year ago. The pants were TIGHTER than any pants my fat, 36-year-old ass has any business wearing. One beneficial side effect is that it made me look really well endowed and demonstrated to the world the quality of my thighs. The overriding negative side-effect, however, is that my big ‘ol butt was… well… big and old. Since it wasn’t Jordache I had Heather write “Jordache” across my right ass-cheek. Not certain this fooled anyone, though…

    The result was bizarre, out-of-style, but perhaps not immediately period evoking. Well, I tried. Heather, however, did it right.

    First, let me tell you that Heather is a very self-conscious woman. She’s totally hot, in my opinion, but is constantly being camera shy and attempting to cover herself up. For instance, if she wears a mid-thigh miniskirt she is constantly tugging it down in a vain attempt to obscure her pretty legs and she’ll usually wear a t-shirt or tank-top under any shirt that might show cleavage just to frustrate inquiring eyes.

    So I was quite happy with her little shorts, see-through leggings and off-the-shoulder flash dancer look. Less thrilling to me was the hair-spray and eye shadow, but I’m sure she wasn’t thrilled with my man-of-the-day moustache.

    As I mentioned at the beginning, my team ended in fifth place. As for the other participants’ costumes? The gamut was run from Nike track suits with mullet-wigs to a tall blonde who actually had her long hair crimped for the occasion. Gnarly.

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Everybody Gets the Flu

Posted on January 17, 2008

family, heather, riley, samantha

    Sing it to the tune of “Everybody plays the fool,” and you may giggle just a little. Under your breath. Provided you are an idiot like me.

    In the meantime, let me tell you how much it sucks to be married to SafeTinspector:

    First, SafeT gets the flu on Sunday, so you end up with no assistance with the general production of proper parenting during the all-important second half of the weekend. Production schedules are off, backlogs grow long, and shareholders threaten you with lawsuits if some quality nurturing doesn’t get made RIght Now.

    Second, both your daughters get sick on Tuesday, with the toddler being so pitiful that you can barely catch your breath from going, “Awww….” all the time. And, of course, by this time SafeT is back at work so you get to tend the flu-ridden without his assistance.

    Cap this off with the near absolute certainty that you, yourself, will soon be afflicted with the flu (probably just in time for the weekend) and we have the orgasmic bliss of SafeTmarriage. Hats off to you, Heather!

The picture above was taken with Heather’s cell phone and sent to me with the caption, “I don’t feel good, Daddy!” I felt bad, but I still smiled.

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