Creative Alibi

Keys to my Heart

2008-09-19T23:52:00.001-07:00

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved.

You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic.

Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

Long time, no see me...

2008-09-19T22:54:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I posted anything. Over a year. So long that I honestly don't remember posting that last one.
Good Heaven's I was bored. Actually, I was going through stuff. A lot of stuff.

I know blogs are supposed to be full of honesty and true confessions. But I don't think I'm going to go into it all here.
No, I think all that self-exposure is mostly vanity anyway. Or at least it would be for me. I'm just going to come here and type.
I don't know what it will lead to. I don't know that it won't be a year before I am back again. But I do know that I have grown since I've been gone. And I like it. I love it actually.

I wonder if I should just delete all the stuff before. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Maybe I will let it stand as my anonymous history. Maybe it's important to remember where I came from. And how right and wrong I once was.

I am still married. Much more truly happy than I once made myself out to be on this blog. I was a liar then. But now I am in love again and it feels... sweet.

I am still working for the same company. But I am moving up.

I am still seeking God, but these days I'm finding Him closer than I ever realized.

I feel good.

It's good to be back... if only for today.

Okay... Gingerbread Love Muffins it is then....

2007-03-07T18:55:00.001-08:00

Your Boobies' Names Are...

Love Muffins

Boobie Name Generator

May I should change my screen name...

2007-03-07T18:52:00.001-08:00

Your Girl Parts Are Named:

Gingerbread

Girl Parts Name Generator

Hack of all trades

2007-03-07T18:25:00.000-08:00

You can't be great at everything. That's what everybody tells me.
"Jack of all trade, Master of none" as the saying goes.

But somehow I can't get that through my thick skull. I want to be good at everything. I want to be a master blogger (or is it "mistress blogger"), a great writer, novelist, screenwriter, poet, songwriter. I want to learn Spanish, French and Japanese or maybe Korean. I want to play guitar. I want to learn Flash and how to edit movies. I want to learn how to meditate. Ideally I'd like to learn to read minds but that's low in the list of priorities... not mention realities. I want to be more limber and I want rock hard abs. And I want to learn how to be stripper (not for a living, just a way to turn on my husband without simulataneously making him double over with laughter.)

The list goes on.

Problem is, I start to try to do these things and then I slack off. I get really gungho until I get burned out or until I get too busy doing something else.

I can't do everything. I can't. So why do I try? I need therapy. Actually I'm in therapy. Which is nice. But I find myself wanting to solve all my problems at once and so I solve nothing.

If you saw how many books are on my current reading list it would shock you. I don't mean my "to be read" list I mean the list of books I'm currently in the middle of . One of them is actually a book on how to speed read. I kid you not.

I am both too hard and too easy on myself. I have no discipline to stick to anything long enough to become really good at it or even be called dedicated. But I beat myself up over not doing everything on my impossibly long list.

Sucks being a Renaissance Woman.

Responsibility

2006-06-26T16:10:00.000-07:00

I think one of the most important things I’ve learned as an adult is how important it is to admit when I’m wrong. To apologize and to take responsibility for my bad judgment.

You don’t see much of that going around these days. No one likes to admit when they’ve made a mistake. Even if it was an accident or just a misunderstanding, if somebody has to take the “blame” nobody steps up. Just watch one episode of Judge Judy and you’ll see what I mean. People think that “accident” means “I’m not responsible.”

I guess it’s because we live in such a litigious society. The risk of losing everything over even a small mistake has become so very high. Or maybe it’s because we take so much sheer pleasure in excoriating our enemies publicly. Self-vindication is everyone’s goal whether you’re on the giving or receiving end of a perceived wrong.

For all the “christianity” (small “c”) running rampant in America these days there’s an appalling lack the two things at the core of Christian faith. Penitence and Forgiveness.

Let’s take one of my favorite villains, our President of questionable moral virtue. As much as we scream for truth and accountability -- what would we do if POTUS actually turned around and gave it to us? We’d crucify him if the truth is anywhere near what we suspect. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’d be in the crowd screaming for blood.

Forgiveness is essential if I’m to practice what I preach. But that’s not to disregard accountability. Taking responsibility for your sins is just as important as acknowledging them. But I don’t know I’d be as focused on what he planned to do to right his wrongs as I would be on howling triumphantly from the rooftops “I KNEW IT! YOU SEE!!!”

It’s more import that I be RIGHT, and less important that he admits that he was WRONG.

But that is the truth. That is me admitting my failing. Now how do I take responsibility for it? Maybe just writing this admission is a first step to righting my self-righteous ideology. I will still demand the truth from my government. I will still fight for equality and human rights, but what happens after the battle. What do I do with the truth when I win it? And with justice when it’s secured? Do I lord it over those who hang their heads in shame and defeat? Or do I let them win back their honor by taking responsibility for their mistakes and learning to respect the rights of those they once trampled. Is that enough? If not, can going to prison with it’s dishonorable connotation, become an act of honor-restoration in the serving of a sentence?

Which is best for our society? For our country? Perhaps more intimately -- which speaks more highly of my character when it satisfies my soul?

Red Ink

2006-06-18T20:10:00.000-07:00

A cry went up. And I swear to god I don’t know where it came from. I mean one minute I was listening to that bastard berate me. And the next minute there was this dreadful scream like I’ve never heard before. Then his eyes went all wide and his mouth fell open as if he'd forgotten what he was going to say next.

For a second I thought that the scream had come from somewhere else. Outside maybe. Or it could have been a radio commercial on the little bookshelf stereo in his office.

Then I had to blink a few times because he started to shrink. Well that’s what it looked like. But he was sinking down to his knees. His eyes lifted to my face as he melted to the floor. There was something in them… confusion… tension…. Fear.

“Well it had to be done.”

I turned and just there to my right was Belinda. Passionless, matter of fact and oddly bemused as she watched Alain gasp for breath. The letter opener in her hand was dipped in red ink. Like the ink he’d used to mark up the copy I had written for latest catalog. Only darker.

He reached out toward me. Mercy? A mea culpa? A final blessing? But hadn’t he just been telling me how worthless I am? I forget now. I think it was “hack”…. I think it was something like that….

“Your turn, Honore” she thrust the letter opener forward with the point toward me.

She hated him for calling her a slut behind her back when she wore her skirt hems too high and her blouses cut too low. But is that enough? Enough of a reason to put a letter opener in his chest?

“Sure it is,” I said out loud.

But I didn’t take the silver ink-stained blade. I mean can you really kill somebody with a letter opener?

“You can’t do it.” It was a simple statement of fact.

And with that she flipped it in her palm and thrust it into Alain’s throat in a single, swift, and alarmingly graceful motion.

No cry went up this time. Just a gentle gurgling that reminded me of the brook behind our house when I was a girl. I looked down at Alain who now collapsed onto his side. Eyes still looking up at me as red ink bubbled in a lively stream from his neck.

“We’d better go now.”

I followed her out of his office and down to the lobby. I was thinking about my resume. I guess, I’d better update that puppy now, huh? I hoped I could still get a letter of recommendation from Human Resources. I mean I’m never late. I hardly ever call out sick. I’m a people person.

I figured I’d better turn in my badge now. I could always do the exit interview by phone. Patrick, the desk guard picked up the badge I tossed at him. He seamed pale.

“Jesus! Honore what happened?” He looked at the badge and then back at me, scanning my clothes.

I looked down. Décolletage exposed beneath my blouse, glistening like wine, the white silk speckled with burgundy. Even my miniskirt blossomed with rosey flecks. I was covered in red ink. Indelible red ink. Shit, I didn’t even think my drycleaner could get all that out.

Instinctively my right hand came up to the stains. Something glinted in it.

“What have you done, Honore?”

His question was a disappointed groan of chastising authority. Like my mother calling out my Christian name in frustration when I came home from playing in the stream behind our house. My white Sunday dress covered in mud.

“Honore Belinda Jones! What have you done!”

**********************

I would like to thank JJ of Flash Fiction Friday fame for giving me the opportunity to safely murder in effigy one of the current sources of stress in my life. The real Alain is not my boss but rather a colleague. If he knew how close he came to meeting his maker I'm sure he would say "thank you" as well.

Epiphany

2006-06-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

Stress sucks.

Leftover Thoughts.

2006-06-06T19:51:00.000-07:00

I want to learn to meditate. Maybe it’s because I’m a schmuck. I believe that crap those New Age-y types say about the answers being “within.” Okay not totally… not exactly. But I think if I could just shut my intellect up for a minute, maybe my spiritual self, or my instinct will take over.

The thing is I want to do it in the God Way. Not the religious establishment way of meditating on and memorizing Bible verses. And not the higher power non-entity little “g” god way. I guess I just want to sit someplace quiet and be with God. To be… I dunno… grateful, honest, repentant, forgiving, faithful, hopeful … doubtful.

Doubt is important to me right now. Doubt is honest. Doubt is mingled up in my anger, frustration and disappointment. Doubt is clarity in a way that faith isn’t. When people tell me I should “have faith that everything is going to workout… that God is in control,” I think that what they are really saying is “Ignore the obvious. Accept what is and wait for the wind to blow just right so that your ship comes sailing in.”

But Doubt makes me resist that thought. I mean, of all those great guys in the Bible, who among them ever sat on their hands and literally “Waited on the Lord?” Most of them didn’t. This waiting crap is for the birds. I mean if you really have faith shouldn’t you be taking serious action to receive all those blessings God promises?

“But what if there were no Biblical promises or admonitions?” Doubt asks me with mock innocence. “What if there were no great spiritual leaders? Or wise new age gurus? What then?” Then I would be back to being a schmuck. Back to looking within. Listening to the silence and waiting for God to say something, or to become a feeling or a thought or an inspiration way down in my gut. I want God to be that overwhelming rush of passion that binds me to my dreams even when the day is hot and my head is pounding and all I want to do is sleep… or cry.

So I’m having trouble picking up the Bible and just reading it. I’m having trouble with the Tao Te Ching and the Bhagavad Gita. I’m having trouble because my intellect wants to reconcile them with faith while my soul just wants to let their music play while I sing my own divinely inspired song. And you know how difficult it is to sing a song when some jackass is sitting next you, blabbering away and won’t shut up.

So Doubt has to become a gag of sorts. But I’ve been shunning it. Denying it. Hiding my eyes. I don’t want to admit that I have doubts about my faith. But I do. Not about God Himself, but about what exactly it is God really wants from me. And I am so sick and fucking tired of people telling me what God wants, who He’s judging, and who He’s going to send to hell. I’m tired of bigotry masquerading as righteousness. I’m tired of telling myself I’m waiting on the Lord when I know perfectly well that all I’m doing is procrastinating through prayer.

You’ve got to hand it to Doubt. It’s not easily duped. It’s wise and knows how to cut through the crap. So my meditation needs to give Doubt the floor and let it speak it’s piece…or is it peace? The only question is will God have anything to say about it. Will He strike Doubt down with a lightening bolt – and me with it – or will He embrace it and calm it’s fears? Hard to know really. And I don’t want to pin my hopes on an answer because I’m not there yet. Besides even if I do, I know what will happen… Doubt will say something like, “Aren’t you just predicting the answers you hope to hear?” The only way to reach a real answer is to take a real journey into the silence… one that only a real schmuck would take.

Flash Fiction Entry

2006-06-03T20:51:00.000-07:00

I haven't done one of these in a while but since I'm trying to write creatively everyday and I have more time on the weekends it just seems like the right thing to do....

Vanity's Bonfire
He said little as they paddled their way along the sunken streets.
“This wasn’t our fault you know,” his balding compatriot offered to the dismal silence.“I mean, really. How could we have known? It was all Chicken Little stuff. Nobody could have predicted…” his voice trailed off.

Of course somebody had predicted, hadn’t they? But it’s so easy to dismiss a bunch of weak wristed intellectuals. Power has a way distracting you. Pride goeth before… what was it?

“Make a left here” the dark-skinned woman said to the rower.
“I’m sorry ma’am, that way is blocked.”
“Blocked?! But we came that way just this morning!” her dark eyes burned with annoyance and her small white teeth nipped at the cold air.
“It’s…” the rower glanced at the sunken gray faced man at the stern of the boat. “It’s safer this way.”

Protestors, of course, had blocked the pass. The small armada floated along course. Just months ago it would have seemed absurd to see twenty odd boats filled with black suited men and heads of state rowing their way down the streets of the world’s most powerful city.

Even when the EPA confirmed the unprecedented rise of the world's oceans it seamed like nothing more than a passing weather anomaly. But today the most powerful nation in the world had been thrust into third world status. The entire coastal infrastructure crippled.

They weren’t the only ones of course. No the only ones suffering, and not the only ones to blame. But the world blamed the United States for it anyway. And virtually every nation on earth had abandoned it except for Israel and the UK.

Well, what was left of the UK anyway. Mass sections of the island nation were submerged, save for some fortunate areas of the Scottish Highlands. The government had been relocated to Ben Nevis.

The trip back from Capitol Hill was long and dreary. When they steered the boat down Pennsylvania Avenue the gray man stirred and lifted his eyes. A warm glow fell across his face as he gazed upon the final demise of over two centuries worth of history.

The balding man and the black woman gasped and tears rolled down their cheeks. Flames licked the horizon. White pillars jutted out of the water and thrust upward into a red and yellow blaze and a billowing column of smoke; like so many candles on a floating birthday cake.

The President lowered his head into his hands and began to sob. The Secret Service rower placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “It’s okay sir… it’s going to be okay.”

But it wouldn’t be okay. Because global warming was just getting started.

I'm not really...

2006-06-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

blogging every single day. Well not exactly. I'm trying not to log on to blogger at work. Apparently they frown on that... go figure.

But I am trying to write creatively everyday. Or just write everyday - cause I don't think my last two entries were especially creative -- nor is this one for that matter. So what I've been doing is just jotting things down at lunchtime or at the end of the day and just saving it and emailing to myself at home. Then I can take a few moments to post it all for you guys when I get a chance. See how clever I am?

Any this really is Saturday morning. And I really am typing this directly into blogger. And the actual post time will be 10:45 AM, which is when I opened this little "create post" window. And yes I really am tapping away at my keyboard hoping that something creative will erupt from these little fingers of mine. And, no I'm not sensing any creativity in this yet either.

Hmmmm.... still nothing. Okay enough of this torture... go on about your day people. Nothing to see here.

Positive Thoughts

2006-06-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

For a long time I've been wanting a deep fryer and George Foreman grill.
We had a little event at work today -- during which there were raffles for, among other things, a deep fryer and a George Foreman grill. I won the grill. And I just totally knew that I was going to when one of them. In fact it's the only reason I attended the event. Because I had way too much work to do and the event was optional.

I also want my husband to get back into surfing. It's really good for him. Not just physically but spiritually it's good for him. But for complicated reasons I won't go into he just can't bring himself to do. But I am totally convinced that if I were to start surfing, he would not be able to stay away. Only problem is I can't swim very well. So earlier this year I made it my goal to learn to swim. Still I haven't taken much action on it because it would require me to take classes with a bunch of strangers at the YWCA. Not that the Y is bad, but why pay for that when I already belong to a gym with a pool (that unfortunately does NOT have classes.) the most I could do was splash around in the pool at my gym and try to teach myself. Not successful.

Today I worked an event for my job -- totally different event than afforementioned George-Foreman-Grill-Winning Event; I told you I was busy. One of the women I worked the event with was this sweet gal who had been a lifeguard since age 15 and a swim instructor for many years. It turns out she misses teaching. When I told her I wanted to learn she jumped at the chance to teach me. She has passes to every gym in town, including mine, and we agreed to meet on Saturdays (starting next week) for my private swim classes. How cool is that?!!

It's like all these little blessings are falling out of the sky today. I like it. I've been feeling stressed and overworked and it feels good to have great things like happen.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share.

Today I hate...

2006-06-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

AOL. I want to read my email. Is that too much to ask? It's bad enough they are now accepting "dirty" money from advertisers to guarantee that I get spammed. But now I can't even get my legitimate email.

Maybe someone is punishing them for their sins. I bet they got hacked and don't want to admit it. I bet they are not as secure as they like us to believe. I'm thinking it may be time to leave them. I've thought about it but I never took any action. I mean I have outlook at home. It might be time to set it up to receive my yahoo mail.

But I've been with AOL for so long. Everybody has that email address. I'd have to go in and every online account I've ever had. I don't even know how many online accounts I have? And then there's the little matter of all my alternate email addresses under aol. And my husbands. But if I revise my website and set up an email box with an online server I could get around that.

I really don't like AOL anymore. They are expensive and they really don't give you all that much. But I don't hate them quite enough yet to go through all the trouble. Still this freakin' outage has made hate them enough to start thinking up an escape plan.

Who's with me?!!!

So...

2006-05-31T20:38:00.000-07:00

I've been interviewing for this job. A really great job. Way more money - like a 50% bump.
Great company. Pretty much the same thing that I'm doing now. Only they are more formalized. They do Direct Marketing the way you're supposed to do it. My company... not so much.

I have no doubt I can do the job and blow the doors off, you know. But I just love the company and the people I work with so much that all I can think is, that I totally have the power to bring that kind of philosophy right into my current job.

It's far more practical to accept a job that will pay me more. Especially since I want to start a family. But I can shake this nagging feeling that this is not the right move for me. Not that the new company has actually OFFERED me anything, mind you. But I am damn good so there is a good chance that they will.

I'm not afraid of change. I love change. Thrive on it. But I just feel like this is not the right move. Plus I know that I would really be screwing over my current company if I left. I mean BIG TIME. And they simply can't compete with the salaries these guys would be offering.

It just seems so counter-intuitive to pass up that much money. But I just can't see myself taking that job.

5 Minutes

2006-05-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

If I could write creatively for just five minutes everyday, would that be enough? Would it be enough to get back on track and fulfill my destiny as a writer? The unrest I’m feeling seems to be pulling me toward that. I feel a heaviness in my chest. A hollow heaviness. How can something that feels so empty be weighing me down so much? The paradox of unfulfillment. So what is next? Do I blog away? Do just let 5 minutes a day kill the hunger pangs until the next 300 second fix?

I think in the back of my mind that if I just get started… if I just sit down and commit to 5 minutes it will lead to more. Like when two teenagers swear to each other that they will only kiss in the backseat of a parents car. Just kissing, no tongue, no touching below the neck. But then you know it leads to something more. Because deep down inside they want to, need to, have to – by biological imperative – go all the way.

That’s just how these things go. Maybe my creative genius will just get carried away with itself and do something truly great. That’s my hope anyway.

Haitus Over

2006-05-29T19:33:00.000-07:00

Everyone is the star of their own damn show.
Nobody thinks they are going to die.
If anything happens they’re gonna pull through
All those folks that die on the news, they’re just background.
The extras that make up the ambiance of living.

You know what’s worse than being canceled from your own life show?
Being forced to sit through your own reruns.
Ennui. Restlessness. Like you’ve become an extra in your own life.

I am restless and sad. Angry for no reason other than the fact that I’ve stopped moving forward.

It’s not that I don’t want to go anywhere.
It’s just that I don’t know which way to go.
Every direction, every possible turn of the plot has so many damn consequences.
They say that anything worth having is going to take hard work.

Well, keeping this show fresh is tough my friend. Real tough.
I want to feel my blood pumping. I want to hit my mark and remember my lines.
I want to hear the crowd laugh and know it’s not canned.

I feel this ache. This yearning for something more. I wish I could be so bold as to say it’s just beyond my reach. But that would be vain. And a lie. It would imply that I was actively reaching for something. But I’m not. The thing I’m yearning for is right the palm of my hands. I simply lack the will power - or maybe it’s discipline- to close my grip.

But I’m angry enough, just enough, just for right now, to let a little of that tension build to bend my knuckles just a bit.

My co-stars need a little push too. I know that. I want some character interaction. I want some conflict. I want a plot twist. Something big. A cliff-hanger at the end of the day that gets me up and ready to go the next morning.

Damn it’s hard. Scripts don’t write them selves you know. How do you recreate your character when the whole audience thinks they know you so well? How do you start over?

I’m tired of watching TV. Watching other lives being lived. Not even real ones. I don’t want to wake up one day and find that I never started living mine. How do those people do it? The tv stars and writers, the artists and intellectuals, the philosophers and the saints. Where do they find the time? Everybody gets the same 24 hours though don’t they? If I’ve learned nothing from Jack Bauer I’ve learned that.

I don’t know if I’ll get canceled before all the questions are answered or all my loose ends are tied up. Or if I’ll ever have spin off series or two… a girl and a boy would be nice but I’m not picky. But I’d like to make it to my series finale and maybe get an Emmy from God in the end. That would be nice. Or maybe I’ll leave some legacy behind something good for people to remember. Something to carry on… for syndication.

Home Again

2006-05-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

You know I love staying at a five star resort, right on the beach, with a view of the Pacific from my room, a private wading pool on the balcony, yummy tropical drinks for breakfast and delicious gourmet meals every night....

Well I'm not there anymore.
Hence this post.
Damn, I wanna go back!!!!

Me Generation

2006-05-07T13:08:00.000-07:00

So I was reading in the paper how the whole Me Generation is very selfish and enititled. How they all assume that fame and fortune are their birthrights. How they question authority and expect to get their own way. And then I read how they think the whole world gives a shit what they think so they pour their hearts out in their blogs and expose every little sordid detail. And then I remembered that I have a blog that I haven't posted to in like two months. And I thought, "damn, the whole world IS waiting to hear MY meaningless ramblings."

So hi.

I'm not pregnant yet. Still working on it.
I'm not rich yet. My big plan for millions keeps getting stalled.... fucking lottery!
I'm not on a secluded tropical beach... but I will be in like 6 days. Honeymoon Part Deux!
I haven't figured out the secrets of the universe or unlocked the mind of God or gotten over the fact that I will not live forever.
I haven't written the great American novel yet.

I have however, bought a new Ipod. Window shopped for a new car. Braided my hair. Gone on a job interview for a position that would up my salary by 50%. Cleaned up copious amounts of cat poop, pee and vomit (sick kitties at home). Decided that taking my fucking temperature every freakin' morning was a waste of time. And I downloaded several guide meditation recordings to my ipod in order to try and look deeper into my subconscious mind and hopefully discover some universal truths ... or maybe to channel some good lottery numbers...I'm not picky.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2006-03-17T17:45:00.000-08:00

Well, I did not wear green today. For some reason I thought tomorrow was St. Paddy's day. (sigh). I should be at church right now. I left work early to do the whole Stations-of-the-Cross-fish-n-chips-St.-Pat's-green-beer-thing at church. But my hubby is feeling sick and is begging me do fish and chips at home.
Okay, but I'm going to make him pray a long time first.

On the up side they set me up with a home networking thing at work. Or they tried to anyway. It doesn't work. I can connect but apparently there is no where to go. I'm stumped. They should have a manual on this. It's truly annoying. Well just one more small step on my quest to work from home.

I'm working on a plan to do web design from home so eventually I can quit. But that's way down the road. I did spend a butt load of money on Creative Suite 2 Studio 8 Web bundle. Actually I got it at an Academic discount which is still pricey. But better than the 2K or so that it would cost retail.

I'm planning to go do a SALSA class tomorrow morning at 7am. but I don't know if I'll make it. That's SALSA as in the Red Cross's Save A Live SAturday CPR classes. It's not the early hour, it's the nasty rain and hail we're supposed to be getting. The last thing I want to do is end up wrapped around a telephone pole and have to get CPR done on me on my way to a CPR class. Now that would ironic.

Uh hello...

2006-03-09T22:57:00.000-08:00

Anybody still out there? Sorry I haven't been posting. Figured I should actually start doing some work... ya know... while I'm at work. That and the fact that they blocked all blogspot addresses. Hehehe... I guess SOMEBODY was visting too many blogs on company time. Sheesh, some people huh? What slackers! Fortunately, I'm hard at work keeping the place together.

Well, I'll have to catch you all up on the goings on later this weekend. But I am alive. Fear not. Still not pregnant yet, but having a grand old time trying. In fact we are planning a honeymoon follow-up for this coming May. Going back to the same place. Very cool.

Anyways, hope ya'll are okay. I'll check in on ya as I get the chance.

I'm soo COOL!

2006-01-23T18:46:00.000-08:00

What mythological creature are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

A UNICORN: "When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing,And you look to the North, and a pale moon is rising,And it seems like all is dying,And wold leave the world to mourn,In the distance hear the laughter of the last unicorn!"Unicorns are well known as the protectors of the forest. They are seen as a symbol for purity. Hence, their white coat. You are wise and like the fairy you love earth's creatures. You are compassionate, yet its hard for you to regret past experiences because you believe that with experience comes respect and wisdom. You live by the motto "knowledge is power." While your advice is worth while, not everyone is willing to listen because they don't understand you. But know that they are foolish to not listen. People take your timidnes coldly, therefore you only have a few select friends. But you except this and wouldn't have it any other way. You are secretive and never lie. You aren't afraid of death and acknowledge that your time will come. You have a quiet radiance and you obtain secrets that not even the ancient vampire knows.

Oh My Gosh! It's ALL TRUE

2006-01-19T23:27:00.000-08:00

Got this one from Brooke. It's scary how accurate this is. Especial #8... fortunately my husband is made of sturdy stuff.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Girl With an Alibi!

Girl With an Alibi is the last letter of the Greek alphabet.
Humans share over 98 percent of their DNA with Girl With an Alibi.
Humans have 46 chromosomes, peas have 14, and Girl With an Alibi has 7.
Girl With an Alibi can eat up to four kilograms of insects in a single night.
Girl With an Alibi will always turn right when leaving a cave!
Asixteenthcenturymathematician lost his nose in a duel over his love forGirl Withan Alibi,and wore a silver replacement for the rest of his life.
The porpoise is second to Girl With an Alibi as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
Over 2000 people have now climbed Girl With an Alibi, with roughly ten percent dying on the way down.
Girl With an Alibi is the only king without a moustache on the standard pack of cards.
White chocolate isn't technically chocolate, because it doesn't contain Girl With an Alibi!

Dumb.

2006-01-18T21:23:00.000-08:00

I came across this page explaining how one self-diagnoses "whooping cough" (don't ask me why). There are four questions. All I want to know is why do they even put question number 1? I mean seriously who answers "no" to that?

http://www.whoopingcough.net/self-diagnosis.htm

Maimed... er, Memed by Christine

2006-01-13T10:59:00.000-08:00

Christine has tagged me in a meme. I couldn't answer all four questions but I figured I'd better post what I could since apparently I'll lose points for lateness.
Okay Christine here ya go...

Hum a jingle of which you know all the words. LOUDER!!Ok, now write it down so we can remember it too.
”Oh I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Weiner That is what I’d truly like to beeeee. Cause if I was an Oscar Meyer Weiner. Everyone would be in love with meeeeeeee…”
As a kid, you played a board game over and over. And you cheated you little bastard. What was the game? Damn! How did you know? There were two actually. Life and Monopoly. I played with my cousin Rhea and the boy from next door whose name was Merschell. We’d play out on my grandmothers porch. At some point during the game Mersh and I would send Rhea into the house for snacks while she was gone we’d steal her money. When she caught on to that and started taking her money with her, we changed tactics and raid the bank. She’d come back and we’d have fistfulls of money which we’d deny stealing until we were blue in the face.
What is the name of the song that you have been singing the incorrect words all these years? What were you singing? What should you have been singing? I’m gonna have to get back to you on this one cause honestly I don’t know the words to most songs. I just sort of humm the parts I don’t know.
What is the most embarrassing childhood story that your parents drag out just to fuck with you for their own private amusement. That story would be the time when my mom put little 3 year-old me down for a nap and then came back to check on me later. She found me in the bathroom eating her cold cream. So she gave me a swat on the butt and I started to cry. She then decided I looked so funny that she had to take a picture. At this point in the story she whips out this picture…

I’ve heard this story so often that I now tell it myself so really it no longer fucks with me like it used to. (Do I get a bonus point for illustrations?)

Feel free to tag yourself.

My Stripper Song

2006-01-12T09:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Brooke for the link

Your Stipper Song Is

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

"You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you

Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I?ve got no

Soul to tell"

When you dance, it's a little scary - and a lot sexy.

What Song Should You Strip To?

Because I love Matt Soooo Much...

2006-01-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

Matt at Cerulean Blue has tagged me for a meme that I just did. But due to my great love for Matt and since there's such a wealth of quirkiness in my personality (and because I have nothing else to talk about) here's
5 MORE weird things about me!

When people cut me off on the road while driving, I like to imagine that I have super mental powers or magical abilities and that I can just lift their car up with my mind and put them on the side of the road where they will be inexplicably stalled out for an hour or that I can magically transport them to some grubby little street in Bangkok. It’s my version of creative road rage.
I’m trying to train my cats to give me back massages. They’ll do tummy massages but for some reason if they can’t look you in the eye Shi-cat-su as I call it is out of the question.
Automatic - Chevette. Standard - Prelude. Automatic - Carolla. Standard - Tercel. Automatic. – RAV4. That's the pattern of the types of transmissions I’ve had in my cars since I started driving. It’s getting to close to the time to get a new car. I want to get an Automatic but I secretly feel compelled to continue the pattern of alternating between Automatics and stick shifts. It’s causing me no end of angst.
Besides imagining how I could die on a daily basis I also imagine winning the lottery. I go through how I would spend the money, who I’d share it with, etc. This has become more complicated since I got married. Because even though the odds of me ever winning are practically zero, I still feel like I have to compromise with my husband on how to spend my imaginary money.
I think french fries are the world’s most perfect food. Especially my french fries. And I can’t eat french fries without thinking of my Uncle Dean, who was the first person to make me homemade french fries. That could be why he's my favorite uncle.

Amazing... but what exit?

2006-01-03T16:03:00.000-08:00

VOORHEES, N.J. - Curiosity didn't kill one cat on a wild ride on the New Jersey Turnpike. The kitten, now known, for obvious reasons, as Miracle, hitchhiked a ride on the underbelly of a sport utility vehicle just before Christmas.

The gray and white feline traveled some 70 miles under the vehicle as it whizzed along the Turnpike on Dec. 23.

Click the title to read the whole story...

Who are you and what do you want?

2006-01-03T14:24:00.000-08:00

Well here it is. The new year. I need to make some resolutions. But what do I want? What do I want to accomplish? What do I want to be? What changes do I want to make?

I want to be in better health. I want to spend my money wisely and save more. I want to be satisfied with and grateful for the things I have instead of always wanting more. I want to be a mom. I want to write more and to be a better writer. I want to start my own business. I want to work from home. I want to be happy. I want to be closer to God (not in a “be dead” way but in a “closer walk with thee” way.)

So here be my resolutions for 2006...

To get some form of exercise at least 2 times a week (already had sex twice this week so I’m on a roll!)
To wear more hats – literally. I spent a lot of money on hats last year and I need to make them count.
To get pregnant.
To (depending on the timing of #3) give birth.
To turn 39 (if I don’t accomplish that then there’s pretty much no chance of the rest of these as my birthday is like 27 days off.)
To pray more.
With the help of #6 to determine what my new business should be.
To publish my book of short stories.
To make progress and perhaps finish the novel I started 3 years ago
To learn to play guitar reasonably well
To eat less red meat and eat healthier in general.
To practice compassion.
To write more letters to the people I love (not just emails but actual letters.)
To start a real retirement plan and behave more fiscally responsibly
To actually stick at least one of these resolutions… other than the hats.

Alibi's False Idol: Starbucks' New Cinnamon Dulce Latte

2006-01-03T09:58:00.000-08:00

Mmmmmm.....
Bow down and worship ye mortals!

So "nummy" my heretic tastebuds have pledged themselves to this and the high priestess Blueberry Muffin.

I'm going to have to make sure I take communion soon to keep them from eternal damnation.

False Prophets (ranting to you folks because if I go off on someone I'll make her cry and then I'd feel like shit)

2005-12-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

One of the things that annoys me about some of my fellow Christians is their inconceivable inability to distinguish a False Prophet from a false idol.

The Bible warns us against both. But so many Christians don’t see the delineation that it scares me. So let’s clarify shall we? A false idol (or you could just say "idol" since presumably they're all false) would be someone or something that leads a Christian AWAY from their faith. Examples might include: Satanic worship, greed, pornography, hedonism; or if you are the type to see other religions as "the path to hell" this might also include anything non-Christian like say Buddhism, Judaism or Islam.

I’m not saying that I agree with that all those things are idolotrous nor will I debate what really goes in the Idol category but from a fundamentalist Christian standpoint I could see how these things could lead a Christian directly away from their professed faith. They either displace the values of Christ or refute the faith entirely (as in other religions). For this reason I don’t think false idols are really much of a threat to Christians. I mean they are obvious. They are so easy to spot it’s pathetic. They are the big red flashing “DANGER” signs for religious Christian fervor. We respond to them with a universal, "DUH!"

False Prophets on the other hand are far more insidious. They masquerade as Christians. They quote Bible verses. They start holy wars. They claim to be doing God’s work even though their actions seem to profit them more than they do the church. They turn a blind eye to injustice. And they do it all right under the noses of, and often with the overt approval of people who genuinely want to please Christ. The False Prophet doesn’t want you to renounce your faith, he wants to pervert it! He will make you a tool of the Enemy. Under his care your chilled Christian heart will learn to judge others mercilessly. You’ll mindlessly drive lost souls away from Christ or else pervert them as well.

The everyday Christian hears the False Prophet shout, “Honk if you love Jesus!!” and he/she HONKS like a crack addicted goose. The False Prophet sends an email claiming that CBS canceled Touched By An Angel because it was glorifying God and some atheist (who has oddly enough been dead for 10+ years) had protested it. In his/her righteous indignation the everyday Christian madly spams everyone in their address book with this lie without bothering to spend like 10 seconds to type in “http://www.snopes.com/” to see if it’s true or not; completely forgetting that the show hasn’t been on in like three years and the 9th commandment clearly states “thou shalt not bear false witness”.

The False Prophet claims that Jesus is his co-pilot as he orders the deaths of innocent people who stand in the way of his profiteering while ignoring the slaughter of other innocents who have nothing to offer him. The False Prophet places a magnifying glass over the lives of gays in love in order to distract the everyday Christian from the fact that he is robbing the poor and the elderly and decimating God's good earth.

The Bible doesn’t warn us about the dangers of false idols in the Last Days. It warns us about the dangers of False Prophets. False idols may be an opportunity for proselytizing and missionary work but they are no big threat to our salvation. Do not fear those who can destroy the body, fear those who can destroy the soul. Those who would use our faith against us are counting on us to be lazy. Certainly we are to be as innocent at doves, but we have to be as cunning as serpents. We are to take nothing for granted. Sometimes I think we as Christians are just so damn happy to hear somebody, anybody say “Thank You Jesus!” that we just “pishaw!” the bad behavior that is muddying up our shoes by association. It’s gotten so bad that the everyday Christian is actually apologizing for and rationalizing the sins of False Prophets. It’s a doomed path, if everyday Christians keep down that road, they’ll burn with them too.

Lucifer was an ANGEL of LIGHT. Let’s remember that. If he showed up at your door sporting horns, a pointy tail and a pitchfork you’d say, “Get thee off my porch Satan!” Right? That’s so hopeless he’s not gonna try that. The Devil is S-M-A-R-T and not only that he’s a snappy dresser. When he knocks on a Christian door he’s gonna be wearing his Sunday Best, carrying his Bible, there’ll be a cross around his neck. And after he offers to paint the blood of the lamb on your door he’s gonna ask you to sign a petition to fire that Lesbian schoolteacher who’s teaching your dyslexic son to read when no one else could and in exchange he’ll give you four tickets to a screening of Narnia. That doesn’t mean we can’t trust each other. But it does mean that we need to be on guard. For the Devil and his False Prophets are big toothy roving lions (and I ain't talking about Aslan, folks) looking for a tasty Christian morsel to maul.

But we’ll know true Christians by their love. The love of Christ that accepts and forgives others who can’t/won’t/don’t live up Gods standards. The love that would never send valiant men and women to sacrifice themselves in order to line the coffers of the wealthy. The love that asks WWJD instead of deciding to torture a prisoner of war. The love that sacrifices of itself. The love that tenderly cares for the poor. The love that rescues children. The love that delivers justice with mercy. That’s what you look for and if you don’t see that then check the size of their teeth.

Haunted.

2005-12-22T15:20:00.000-08:00

When does a haunting begin?

I’ve always assumed that the memory of someone we love begins to haunt us after they die. But maybe death is like walking around the corner while singing a song. They are out of sight but you can still hear the tune. And maybe the haunting begins with a sweet little ditty that they begin to sing when we can still see them, hold them and even harmonize a bit.

My Dad is alive. But the other night when Michael was opening a bottle of wine he told me that for the last 3 years he’s been unable to open a bottle of wine without thinking of my Dad. That’s because the first time my folks came out to meet Michael he was zipping around the kitchen preparing dinner. At one point he pulled a corkscrew out of the drawer and deftly uncorked a bottle of Cabernet. Viewing his future son-in-law’s grace my Dad said, “Man, you sure know your way around a kitchen!”

That one statement comes to Michael’s mind every single time he opens a bottle of wine. Michael told me all this the other night and I couldn’t help but note that something in his voice when he told the story made me realize that Michael was simultaneously deeply flattered and proud that he impressed my Dad. Michael really values my Dad’s opinion, I’ve always known that. But I think it meant everything to him to know that he had won my Dad’s approval even in a small way.

“Ever since then,” Michael told me, “I haven’t been able to open a bottle of wine without thinking of your Dad. It’s gonna be like that for the rest of my life. It’s like he’s cursed me or something.” We laughed about it. But I realized that when my Dad eventually passes away (hopefully many, many years from now) that will be the way he haunts my husband. But the thing is, he’s already started haunting him.

So it begins now. Here I am contemplating the possibility of creating life and I am simultaneously obsessed with the ending of it. My grandmother is alive. But she who gave me my first cup of java haunts me daily when I have my morning cup. Michael’s mother is alive. But she haunts me every time I see the Oakland Raiders emblem and remember her referring to them as “those jerky Raiders!” because she doesn’t like to curse. My mother is still alive. And she haunts my every move because she really was my very first Best Friend and in some ways will always be. But I always think of her when I see the old Godzilla movies, the original King Kong, The Day The Earth Stood Still or a dozen other classics that she still obsesses over.

I wonder how I will haunt people. I wonder if I am already haunting them. Maybe spirits are not bound by time or space. Maybe they can travel back in time to their own lifetimes like some ghost of Christmas past. Maybe everyone I have ever loved or will love is here. It would be wonderful to imagine my future children are even at this moment haunting me in the little toys and baby things that I see in the stores. Or in the faces of children around me. I hope that I am haunting them too. Because if I am then I know that there is a bond that cannot be broken and that death is merely a corner that we all turn while singing our own sweet songs.

My Christmas Prayer

2005-12-20T10:18:00.000-08:00

Dear God-

I know you’ve heard me say this before. But I really, really want a baby. You know I have that personal deadline of “be a mom for the first time before I’m 40.” Well my 39th birthday is like 40 days away so you know I’m really cutting it close here. While I respect the fact that you are not obligated to perform on my schedule, I might remind you of a certain promise you made a while back which you've kept so far. I'm just saying my foot is now tapping with "are we there yet" impatience.

Now according my fertility calendar I’m due to ovulate on your son’s birthday (give or take). So Michael and I will be “exchanging gifts” so to speak from now until then (and maybe on through the New Year just for good measure). In other words we’re doing our part. Do it to death practically… thank you for making the process so much fun, by the way. But you know all that “miracle of life” stuff is still open for you to step and in and “put a bow on it” as it were.

What I’m saying is: Make me a mommy for Christmas. Please.

Thank you. Amen.
-Girl

*Any of you prayerful folk who may be so inclined, please add an Amen. Think of it as a Pregnancy Petition To the Big "G" For GWAA.

5 MORE Weird Habits

2005-12-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

I’m tagging myself on from Brookes post.

Since I pretty much logged my embarrassing habits in this post and most of them are pretty weird, let’s just call this 5 MORE weird habits.

I have conversations with my cats. I do both sides of the conversation and yet somehow they get all the best lines.
I sing many of my conversations with Michael. He does it too, so it isn’t just me. We do it country, bluesy, opera-style… all different music genres. It’s fun. We try to make things rhyme when we do it. However, it usually ends up with us agreeing that if we raise our kids this way they are going to be picked on really badly at school.
I read Dear Abbey every morning at work and imagine what I would do if someone in my family behaved the way people in those letters do.
I imagine different horrible ways I could die. I do this pretty much daily. However, when I actually get up to the moment of my death, I think of some miraculous way I could be saved or I just change the subject. (Example, this morning I had a nose bleed and imagined that it was a sign of a brain tumor caused by cell phone use. Then I decided I needed to do my nails this weekend no matter what, so I never actually imagined my final tragic moments as I succumb to brain cancer.)
I dance for no reason without even realizing I’m doing it. No music playing or anything; I just start moving to whatever I’m hearing in my head (which is sometimes nothing.) Last night I was having a conversation (spoken not sung) with Michael and I started doing The Robot as I was standing there. He just looked at me like I was nuts and then started laughing.

Sultry Christmas Love Songs

2005-12-15T11:05:00.000-08:00

I want to make a CD with the best Bluesy, Jazzy, Ballady and R&B Christmas Songs on it. I guess I’m looking for Christmas Love songs but it doesn’t have to be exclusively love songs. Just songs that would be great to slow dance to with your honey on Christmas Eve (have I given away my December 24th plans?)

Here’s what I have so far but I need more. Give me your best suggestions. Not just songs but whoever does the best rendition of it in your opinion. Hopefully they’ll be available on Itunes.

– Baby it’s Cold Outside (either Ella Fitzgerald’s version or the Harry Connick Jr. one)
– This Christmas (the Harry Connick Jr. version is my top pick)
– Santa Baby (Eartha Kitt – is there really anyone that matches up?)
– I Can’t Wait for Christmas – Mindy Abair

Also does anyone know where I can download “I’ve got some presents for Santa” by Sarah Taylor & Bill Mumy?

Update: I'm adding these to my list
-- Frosty’s Rag (Frosty the Snowman) Anita Baker
-- Merry Christmas Baby – Christina Aguilera or Chuck Berry or Etta James
-- Merry, Merry Christmas Baby - (I think this is different from the one above, but not sure)
-- Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer – Temptations or Ray Charles
-- The Man With The Bag – Kay Star
-- The Christmas Song – Nat King Cole
-- I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus – (Not sure who does the best version)

And Ye Shall Receive

2005-12-11T21:12:00.000-08:00

I had a rough drive home Tuesday night. I was feeling down on myself. I haven't been doing the things I want to do. The things I should do. I spend too much. I eat like crap. I don't exercise. I'm not writing. I'm not focused at work. I don't pray enough. I feel like a hypocrit half the time. I was just not feeling happy.

So I started praying on the way home. I got really emotional. I started sobbing. Laying out my soul to God. Just telling Him all the ways I'd been letting myself and Him down. Finally I just said, "I know You can help me but I don't know where to start!"

Suddenly my eyes focused in on the licence plate of the car ahead of me. It was just a normal CA plate. A number followed by three letters and then three more numbers. But the letters incredibly spelled out the word "ASK."

I actually did a doubletake. ASK! Oh right that would make sense. And so I did. I went back over each my complaints and woes and ASKED for God's help (crying pretty much the whole time). I'm pretty sure He started working on things immediately because I had the presence of mind to ASK Him to help me get home without killing myself considering the fact I was crying so much.

After a few minutes I felt a sense of calm. The car was still in front of me. Then I laughed, "so what's that? Your version of a personalized licence plate? That was clever, really clever."

Seriously God is pretty cool.

Michael called a few minutes later and I told him what happened. "You see, that's what I've been saying you just have to ask Him for help everyday and have faith." Yeah but it helps to here from the Big Guy Himself every so often.

If Only...

2005-12-06T08:53:00.000-08:00

Gosh, it's like I could add some holly berries and it would be the perfect Christmas card!

Random Post

2005-12-05T13:49:00.000-08:00

Ross is evil: I mean Ross Dress For Less not the character from Friends. I feel like I sell my soul to the devil every time I walk in there. So many lovely things to buy. Things that would look so nice in my house, on my body or on my feet. So inexpensive-seeming and yet where does my money go? Ross, foul soul-sucking money-eating store. I must stay away from thee!!

Cats: What the hell is it with them? Do they have to eat EVERY day? Greedy little poops. But they are cute. Unfortunately they think I live to serve them. Which is probably true.

Husband: He made me breakfast in bed yesterday. Fresh fruit, English muffin, steak and eggs. Complete with a tiny vase filled with tiny roses and a tea light candle on the tray. And the Sunday paper. Hmmm… make note: Keep Him!!

Work: Tell me why I need to come here again? Oh right!....

Money: Never enough of it to meet my needs… er, desires. I must learn not to spend it. But it’s made for spending. So if I just have it sitting a bank account it’s bound to go stale, no?

Christmas: I’m getting mildly annoyed with the “Happy Holidays” thing. I know not everybody’s a Christian. But I like saying "Merry Christmas." Get over it if you don’t like it. I think I will alternate. Maybe next year I will do "Happy Holidays." But right now I need a "Merry Christmas" year.

Blogs: I know you are out there. But I’m boring you all to tears with my lack of blogging. But that whole “havin’ a job” deal is slowin’ my flow. All I have time for is a random post like this. *sigh*

Word Verification

2005-11-26T14:24:00.000-08:00

I hate that I have to do it. But I'm totally fed up with the Spammenters. Word verification is now active. :|

Honeymoon Highlights

2005-11-18T15:49:00.000-08:00

For the most part there was sex, tropical drinks, sunshine and sleep. But here are a few highlights for you to enjoy.

Alibi Loses Her Mind
I don’t like to fly. I get nervous. Mainly I get nervous when I’m packing and when I’m on my way to the airport. Once I’m at the airport and checked in, I can take deep breaths and relax and I’m fine. This is why I like to get to the airport the recommended 2 hours ahead of time. I need the chill time. My husband forgot this. He was taking his own sweet time. I was wigging out but trying not to show it. We live an hour away from the airport. Our flight was in an hour and forty minutes. You think “okay you got forty minutes to spare” but in my mind I’m thinking “we have to park, take the shuttle to the terminal, check our bags, go through security and I still need a ½ hour to chill out. WE’RE LATE!!!” My husband has gone to the bathroom yet again and I am sitting in the car waiting. So I started yelling at my car. Loudly. He’s still not coming. I’m holding the steering wheel in a death grip. Finally I start pounding the steering wheel and yell some more. I look over and Michael is standing outside the car looking frightened. I have now scared the crap out of my husband. I drive like 90 miles an hour and we get to the parking structure in ½ hour. As we wait for the shuttle I apologize and remind him of my flying needs. “Okay,” he says still a bit nervous and annoyed, “I understand and I’m sorry I took so long. But this is NOT a good way to start out our honeymoon.”

We Have Been Chosen!
Our honeymoon destination was the Gran Mayan resort in Nuevo Vallarta (outside Puerto Vallarta). My mom said it was nice. Really nice. She did say “really” so I should have heeded that. But I figured whatever, nice hotel, Mexico, on the beach. How good does it have to be? My parents had taken care of the accommodations so it was basically a free honeymoon. I wasn’t going to complain no matter what it was like. Well we told the cab driver we are at the Mayan Palace (wrong place) so he drove us there and we were like “damn, this place is pretty cool looking.” We start to pull our bags out the car and the bell man looks at our confirmation form and says, “oh no you are next door.” Great, we don’t get to stay at the cool place. Then he says “The Gran Mayan is the top, the best place.” Well why didn’t you say so!!! We get over to the Gran Mayan and damn skippy if that place wasn’t the nicest hotel I’ve ever seen. Better than the Four Seasons we stayed at for the 4th of July. You walk past the alabaster entry into a stone foyer and there are like eight 40 foot tall Mayan statues lining the entrance and a 40 foot fountain in front of you. Our jaws just fell open. Our room was really an apartment with a full kitchen, living room, bedroom, bath and a balcony with a spectacular ocean view. Oh and the balcony had its own private wading pool! Michael started jumping up and down like a little kid. We giddily called my parents to thank them and Michael jokingly said, “Hey, you think next time you spring for decent hotel for us? Jeez!”

WONDERFUL!!!!
The first night we went to one of the restaurants on the resort. Since the regular tourist season hadn’t quite started the resort was maybe only at 20% capacity. We had a fabulous dinner with an awesome waiter. We shared a bottle of wine. That is I had a glass and Michael drank the rest. The wine and the service went to his head a little because he began talking about how great our waiter was and why can’t other people in service industries be nicer. Why are they so rude? This extended into a long diatribe on rude people, people with no morals, ethically challenged people, judgmental people, judgmental religious people, corrupt government officials, George Bush, unjust wars, crime, racism, apathy, general God-less-ness and a whole host of other peeves that my normally quiet husband has apparently been holding inside for quite some time. The conversation/speech was so long that it continued all the way back to the hotel and up the elevator to our room. I opened the door and Michael followed me in ranting about presidential misconduct the whole time. Now because the amount of alcohol he’d consumed and the fact that he’s got something of a sharp wit he was being outrageously funny and downright profane in his ranting. But I was cracking up the whole time so I just let him rant. Once we were in the room, his volume increased and the sound echoed off the stone tile floors of our room. But the walls were pretty thick so I didn’t concern myself. I took off my clothes and requested a massage from Rant Man which he happily obliged without even breaking his verbal stride. By now he was annoying himself. “My god somebody shut me up!” he’d yell and then proceed to harangue some other topic with obnoxious splendor. We’d been back in the room about 45 minutes when he got up to go get a drink of water. As he walked in to the kitchen I hear him yell back “WONDERFUL!!! The door is WIDE OPEN!!” He’d forgotten to close it and had been yelling at the top of his voice the whole time. I started laughing hysterically.

The next day we did a test. I stood all the way down the hall by the elevator. He stood in our room with the door open and said in a normal conversational voice, “honey can you here me?” With the stone hallways carrying his voice to me I heard him crystal clear. So anyone and everyone on that floor had to hear every word. I don’t know how someone didn’t come down the hall and punch him out. I suppose there weren’t many Republicans on that floor or they might have killed us. I guess we were lucky the hotel wasn’t at full capacity.

Lower Life Forms
The Gran Mayan is a timeshare. My parents have been doing the timeshare thing for years. It makes sense for them. They’re retired and they like to travel. Michael and I rarely travel. So as will happen when the Timeshare Uninitiated venture into foreign lands we were duped into sitting through the Sales Pitch. Well, they promised us 10% off all our meals…. and a free lunch… and a 500 peso gift card!!!! We weren’t going to buy anything and we told them that. Now my strategy with these things has always been to listen politely and agree with how nice everything is and then when they ask if I want in I just say “NO” repeatedly without any explanation. Michael’s strategy is to convince them that even though “we have money and could buy one right now! Today!” that we don’t need a time share. Now in the shark pool of timeshare sales, which one of us is bleeding? I could not believe he actually told them we have money. That we could write a check right there and pay for the biggest place they had but we simply have other plans for our money. Now all that is true of course but damn it, I didn’t want them to know that. Once they know, they are like pit bulls they won’t let go until all the blood has drained from your body and you stop quivering. So of course they kept coming at us with deal after deal. I mean they started out with the $40K deal and ended up with something in the neighborhood of $500 for pretty much the same thing. We were like WTF?! How does THAT work?! And they kept saying that we had to make a decision right there that minute because they were bound by Mexican Law (supposedly enforced by some red-coated Mexican "officials" who appeared to be drinking and watching tv in a nearby lounge) to only offer such amazing deals once and only once. If turned them down our names would go into a master computer and if we ever wanted to buy in later we be blacklisted to pay top dollar -- presumably $80K+. All of this was a load of crap and Michael told them that to their faces-- it was pretty funny to watch their expressions as the denied it. We could have gotten up and left of course but we were still holding out for the 500 peso gift card so we stuck it out. No less than 7 different sales guys tag teamed us for the four hour session (that was billed as 90 minutes) during which they offered us about 25 different time share deals. By the time we did get up and walk, Michael was livid. "Those bastards! Why did I tell them I have money? I should have told them that we are broke and that I'm unemployed and living off you!" I just kind of nodded and let him rant. It took me 2 days to calm him down. Thank god we remembered to close the door that night.

Michael Loses His Mind
Honeymoon. Sounds sweet doesn’t it? Well it isn’t always. Couples do fight. Even couples in love. Michael is a homebody. Although he enjoys a good vacation he really prefers to be home. So as the week wore on he was getting a bit homesick. But I think it was subconscious because it manifested itself in the form crabbiness. He pretty much started bitching about everything. The service, the people, (he still lauded our waiter from the first night but everyone else sucked). This wasn’t the righteous humorous rant of the first night. This was nitpicky bitching about stuff that really didn’t matter. Since I was pretty much having a good time I didn’t want to let him bring me down so I … well I tuned him out. I just nodded and smiled and pretended to listen. He caught on to this during a romantic dinner cruise on the fourth night. On the way back on the boat he pretty much called me out on it and I tried to deny it. But he kept pushing. So finally I just told him that it was all his bitching that was making me tune him out. “So I should just let people walk all over me?! You’re like everyone else. You let it all slide. You don’t stand up for yourself.” Now this is not even remotely true and he knows it. In fact, I can be a real bitch in the trenches. But I pick my battles. If the phone company or a credit card company is trying to screw us with excess fees I will clamp on like an alligator on a fisherman’s arm until I get my way. But if a Mexican busboy who barely speaks English can’t tell me the vineyard of what is quite obviously some common red table wine from a jug because he doesn’t know it and can’t understand me anyway I’m not gonna get ruffled. (That had happened earlier and Michael started complaining that people don’t care about their jobs and when he was a waiter for that brief two weeks back in the 80’s he’d memorized a whole wine list plus the day’s specials with all the ingredients and…yada-yada...) After that little argument we didn’t speak to each other pretty much the rest of the night. I did apologize to him before we went to bed but he pretended to be asleep. The next morning I apologized again just for good measure and he guiltily said that it had been all his fault (true ‘nuff) and how could he expect me to listen when he’d been acting like a jackass (again, true.) I promised to listen to him and not pretend to hear something when I hadn’t actually heard him or even been listening. We topped it all off with make-up sex and we were back to the sweet part of the Honeymoon.

Ahhhh…. I love being married.

Part 3: The Reception

2005-11-18T14:03:00.000-08:00

Yes I'm dragging it out....

After the wedding everyone proceeded back to the hotel for the Reception. The Wedding Party actually went to the beach across the street where we took pictures. Even though this is Southern California it was still October so after about 10minutes of wind battering we decided that the hotel courtyard was a much more attractive spot. Of course when all your guests SEE you taking Wedding Party pictures you pretty much end up having all your guests IN the Wedding Party pictures. But I didn’t mind.

I was feeling pretty darn glorious and fabulously gracious so I proceeded to work the room like I’ve never worked a room before. I think I thanked Kerry (Carmen’s Boyfriend who video taped everything) like 10,000 times. I made sure to have a real conversation with every single soul and I didn’t even have to plaster a smile on my face once. The absence of alcohol in my system pretty much confirms for me that I was running on pure adrenaline.

My hubby was Mr. Cool Calm and Collected (at first) and just casually made the rounds. But his calm was merely a façade. At one point during the cocktail hour I stepped aside to discuss the showing of the wedding video. I had given him two versions of the dvd. One with a “special feature” and one without. I told him he could play the “non-special” one during dinner after everyone had gotten their food. But I wanted to wait until the end of dinner to play the “Special” part. He said “no problem. I can just put the Special feature dvd in and pause it before the big finale comes on.” I just looked at him. Obviously I had just told I didn’t want to risk it starting before I was ready. He looked at my expression and then said, “or we can just hold off on the special dvd until you’re ready.” Thank you.

Why was it so special? Well the video consists of four photo montages set to four songs. The first song shows pictures of Michael growing up. The second pictures of me growing up and the third pictures of us together. A friend of mine had done 3 photo collages/albums with the same idea so I thought I’d take it a step further. The fourth song was a tribute to Michael’s late father. Michael knew about the first 3 parts (it was impossible to spend that much time on the computer without him finding out) but he didn’t know about the fourth part.

Well the wedding planner started the “non-special” dvd a bit too early and people were still getting their plates. Michael saw the first part with photos from his childhood and got really emotional especially seeing pics of his grandparents and the one photo of his dad that I put in that part. He had to go to the bathroom to compose himself he was so emotional. I started thinking maybe the tribute would overwhelm him and he’d be mad at me. But I had to risk it. When he came back and everyone was seated they restarted the video. Everyone enjoyed the first three parts.

Then came the big finale…. (drum role) I was handed a microphone and I stood up.
“Honey,” I said, “I just want you to know that I love you with all the love in my heart. But I know that’s not enough. I want you to have all the love in heaven and all the love on earth. I want you to be surrounded by all the love of the people here and all the love of those who couldn’t be here. And so this is my wedding gift to you.”

Right on cue they started the tribute and in the words of Michael’s Scottish cousins, “there were ne’ a dry eye in the ‘ouse.” Michael was crying and so was everyone else. At one point he turned to me and said, “I can’t believe you did all this for me. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. Thank you.” That’s when I finally relaxed.

We danced. We ate cake. We laughed like fools. And everyone had a fabulous time. I don’t think I ate one bite of my dinner and neither did Michael. In fact when we got back to our house later that night I cooked us dinner. Ah well, I was too busy to eat at the reception anyway. Michael was still a bit emotional and overcome but he was happy too. And we were both ready to start the honeymoon.

Here Comes the Girl With An Alibi....

2005-11-12T20:36:00.000-08:00

All dressed in whiiiiiiiiite!
:)

The Wedding Chronicles - Part 2 of 3

2005-11-03T07:57:00.000-08:00

(Sorry, been busy. I’m scraping a few minutes to write this.)

Part 2: The Wedding

6:30a I wake up promptly. Shower, shave my legs and other girly parts. I throw on clothes from day before because I forgot to pack pajamas and a robe. Carmen comes over from next door. We discover the hotel has no breakfast room service so we head down to the Continental Breakfast (not free) and load up plates of fruit and Danish.

7:30a We are back in the room and Carmen starts my make-up. Anne arrives, having had a rough morning on the other side of the hotel with my darling nephew. She works on getting my dress and jewelry together. I have no idea where my mother is. Considering her room is right down the hall, I wonder what’s taking her so long.

8:00a The photographer arrives and starts taking pictures. Every 3 minutes Carmen yells, “EAT!” because I keep yapping and forgetting to eat my breakfast. At about 8:15 Carmen heads back to her room to get dressed. I’m a bit flummoxed now because I’m basically alone with the photographers. I thought the bride was supposed to be surrounded by admirers all morning. What’s up wit dat? I call my parents room “uh, where are you?” I say to my mom. She sounds flustered. “Be there in a sec.”

8:45a The limo driver calls. He’s downstairs. “We’ll be down in 15 minutes,” I say. But I do not have my dress, shoes or even jewelry on. My mom looks at me like I’m crazy. Miraculously in 15 minutes I am dressed and we are indeed on our way down in the elevator. People in the hotel lobby stare admiringly. I feel like Princess Di or maybe J. Lo or Oprah… well I felt special, let’s just leave it at that.

We have the World’s Best Limo Driver – (WBLD). (Mental note: write a commendation letter to limo company.) In spite of the fact that he takes an alternate route to the church, other than one that I specified in the invitation, I like him. This however, turns out to be prescient on his part.

We arrive at the church at 9:30. Michael is not there. Nor for that matter is anyone else. It turns out that the main route (the one in my directions) to the church is blocked because a key road is closed. Everyone is now lost. My dad’s cell phone rings constantly as people call trying to get alternate directions. My mom, who has driven separately, is completely wigged out. I try to give her directions but I just get more stressed. The WBLD takes the cell phone and saves the day.

10:00a The wedding is supposed to be starting. Only a few people have made it. Michael is still not there. His groomsmen (who’d been specifically instructed not to leave him alone) arrive without him. Finally he calls, apparently he too has been fielding calls from lost guests for the last hour. 20 minutes later I’m told that he’s arrived. Guests are peeking in the little window in the door to the sanctuary. Anne tries to cover up the window with a paper towel. WBLD comes to the rescue and affixes the paper towel.

10:25a We’re waiting to allow a few more guests time to arrive. With nothing to obsess over my stress level spikes. I begin pacing. My dad tries to divert me by making small talk about the weather or something. Anne and Carmen comment on how often their boobs are popping out of their bridesmaids dresses. That conversation makes my conservative dad look as if he’d like to disappear into the sofa he’s sitting on. I’m still nervous. I try hopping up and down and swinging my arms to release energy. It doesn’t work. Suddenly I begin to feel nauseous. Carmen and Anne grab a trash can and hold it under my chin. I try to breathe slowly but to no avail. I begin to dry heave violently. My poor dad is shock. The girls try to get me to relax. Just when I’m about ready to hurl Carmen says, “so is Mike big in Germany?” I crack up laughing and the nausea is completely gone.

10:40a The wedding begins. It’s perfect. Everything! I walk down the aisle. All my friends and family are there. It’s amazing. Michael looks awesome. We steal glances at each other through the sermon. The Priest gives the best wedding homily I’ve ever heard. (Even afterward people comment on how awesome the sermon was. When does THAT ever happen?) The priest forgets to give us our “kiss the bride” cue, so we just do it anyway.

Miraculously, even though we started the wedding 40 minutes late, we arrive at the reception and it begins on time.

Stay tuned for Part 3 – The Reception. (Which I’ll get to some time this century hopefully.)

Wow!... I say again.... WOW!

2005-10-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

Even though I know that this is the epitome of evil technology, why is it that I still want to try it just once? I mean the sinister possibilities are virtually endless...

You could force a bodyguard to murder his charge, cause someone to kill themselves by walking off a cliff, criminals could get their victims to stop fighting back or running away, gangsters could veer police off course and just think of all the bad sci-fi tv plots that are going to come out of this.

It's the end of the world as we know it.

*sigh* Although it may be the only way to keep me from my shop-a-holic ways.

The Wedding Chronicles - Part 1 of 3

2005-10-17T15:49:00.000-07:00

Part 1: The Countdown:
Yes friends I have returned from my honeymoon. And because I have not been blogging I feel compelled to subject you to several gruelingly long posts. Here is the first. A chronicling of the last four days leading up to the wedding.

Tuesday: 4 days to the Wedding…
- I get the disk from the church with the ceremony program on it. But it’s on a 3.5 floppy (who uses these anymore?) I don’t have Microsoft publisher so I go to Kinkos to open it and email files to myself. My dad has Publisher on his laptop which he is bringing with him (to do work) when he flies in on Wednesday.
- I start burning the music CD’s which we will give out as Reception Favors.
- Since there will be a lot of small children at the reception I have my mom pick up bubbles and sticker books to keep the little ones occupied when they get bored.
- I’ve been working on a video project for the wedding for over two months and still not done. It consists of photos set to 3 songs. (1st song has pics of Michael growing up, 2nd has pics of me growing up. 3rd has pics of the two of us) Plus there is a 4th song that has pics of Michael and his late father who passed away when Michael was 12. Michael knows about the first 3 parts but has no idea of the 4th. It’s my wedding present to him.
- Carmen IM’s me. I tell her that in some of Michael’s younger pics he looks like David Hasselhof. I practically fall off my chair laughing when she responds: “Wow. So is he big in Germany?”
- I get to bed a little before 2am

Wednesday: 3 days before Wedding…
- I finally finish the project early Wednesday morning in iMovie on my Mac. But I still have to convert it to a DVD in iDVD so it will play at the Reception. iDVD is a pain in the ass.
- My mother and I meet with the Reception coordinator to finalize plans and handover checks. She makes us a great deal on the video projection equipment.
- My dad arrives and I pretty much abscond with his laptop for the next 3 days. I decide I do not like the font the church used so I change it to match the fonts I used for the invitation and the Reception Program. I merge the ceremony program and the reception program. I try to start printing but it takes so long to install the printer driver on my dad’s computer that I don’t even start it. I could print it at kinkos but to print in color will cost a fortune and I insist on using the same high quality paper I used for the invites. (I am Bridezilla Full Force at this point)
- I am simultaneously working on 3 computers: 1) My Mac laptop – doing the video, 2) My dad’s laptop redoing the church program and 3) Michael’s PC as I finish burning the music cd’s that are going to be our wedding favors and printing the cd labels and case inserts I had previously designed right down to the friggin’ photography.
- Michael finally confirms with his second groomsman that he will be in the wedding party and sets out to find a jacket for him. I refuse to panic.
- I finally get to bed at 2:30am

Thursday: 2 days before Wedding…
- I’m hard at work printing the programs but my printer is unimaginably slow and has a bad habit of jamming and screwing things up. It’s made worse by the fact that it’s a double-sided print job in MS Publisher. It will end up taking over 12 hours to print and assemble 80 programs.
- During an email correspondence with the church I learn from the church administrator that the Priest “doesn’t want the church program changed in ANY way.” Too Late. It’s already changed and it’s too late to change it back. What’s he gonna do? Refuse to marry us because I changed the font and added 4 pages?
- My mom arrives to help me but there isn’t much she can do except staple the programs as they come out of the printer. Fortunately I printed the CD labels and inserts so she is able to put labels on the CDs as we finish burning them on Michael’s PC.
- She puts them in the cases for me. I notice that she is not putting them in so the label is right side up when you open the case. I stifle the urge to make her redo them. Later after she leaves and my Maid of Honor Carmen arrives I have Carmen open every case and straighten out the CDs (I just couldn’t help it.)
- I get a much needed break when Carmen engages in the arduous task of plucking my overgrown eyebrows. She does and excellent job and I begin to look Bride-Worthy.
- I finally finish burning the DVDs. Carmen keeps a lookout for Michael while I do a final quality check of the DVD. It’s perfect.
- We bag up the programs, music CD’s and DVDs along with other items that I will have to turn over to the Wedding planner on Friday.
- Michael still hasn’t found the jackets for his best man and groomsman. I refuse to panic.
- I get to sleep at 2:30am

Friday: 1 day before Wedding…
- I finally feel like I can breathe. Carmen has stayed over night and together we load up her car with the goods to take over to the hotel. My Bridal Shower which has been totally planned by my Mother, Carmen and my Matron of Honor, Anne (Yeah I have a Matron of Honor and Maid of Honor).
- Carmen has prepared the coolest (and quite elaborate) shower favors I’ve ever seen. Anne has come up with some cool fun games with awesome prizes and my Mom organized the location and totally yummy menu.
- I couldn’t have asked for more. I got the best gifts, sexy lingerie that I can actually wear plus other really cool stuff.
- The wedding planner is unable to make it over to pick-up the programs etc. But it’s no big deal since he will be there at 7am the next morning.
- I am carefree. I feel like a star.
- Carmen realizes she made her reservation at the wrong hotel. She has minor panic attack but it turns out another guest needed a hotel room and so takes over her room that the other hotel so she and her boyfriend can afford to get a room right next door to mine a the hotel.
- Carmen and I go back to my house to pack my stuff up for the wedding. I say good-bye to Michael who is on his way to pick up the jackets for the guys which are being hand delivered to the Men’s Warehouse near us from another store 50 miles away -hopefully before they close. I refuse to panic.
- Carmen and I stop at TGI Fridays on the way back to the hotel for food because it’s late and nothing else is open. It takes forever to get food and I get cranky. She buys me a shot of Tequila. I am now cranky and buzzed.
- Back at the hotel we chow on gross food, Malibu Rum and juice as she glues on my fake nails.
- I finally get to sleep at 2 am.

I'm Back!

2005-10-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

I have returned from my honeymoon. Fabulously sexed up. Mildly tanned (we didn't get out much... hehehe... wink*wink*)

The wedding was fabulous! The Reception was stellar. The honeymoon was ... well fabulously sexed up.

I hardly know where to start. So I'm gonna think about it and then over next week or so I'll share a few stories. I'll hopefully have the pics back from the photographer next week so you'll get to see me in full Bridal regalia. Hope everyone is well.

Just call me... Mrs G.

Highlights and True Quotes From Our Engaged Encounter Weekend

2005-09-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

Great Expectations

“You know how I said ‘I’m sure they’re going to feed us the first night’? Well not only are they NOT feeding us but we are supposed to bring snacks to share.” These words were spoken by me a few hours before the retreat when I realized I was going to have to come up with dinner for us after all.
“Don’t keep food in your rooms cause there’s a rat problem.” Spoken by, Paul, one of the facilitators the first evening. This caused Michael and I to look at each other in horror because we had left his dinner in his room.
Upon realizing that he had grossly over packed for a weekend of non-stop discussions and meetings at a Catholic Mission, Michael laughed and said “I don’t know what I was expecting. I brought all these swimming trunks! Where’s the pool?”

Father Jerry – The Priest
“I’m your spiritual toilet.” Said by Father Jerry as he was trying to explain the role of a priest in confession.
“When she’s a bitch you’ll have to love her anyway,” advice from Father Jerry to all the grooms.

Learning New Skills
At one point we had to look into our beloved’s eyes and apologize for a recent hurt and then ask for forgiveness. Since Michael and I haven’t really pissed each other off lately we both hesitated. Then he said softly, “I’m sorry about accidentally ripping your wedding dress.” As I choked for air he smiled and said, “kidding! kidding!” Miraculously, he still lives.
During the weekend we were taught the 8 Rules of Arguing. They were pretty much standard things I’d heard before like “don’t go to bed angry,” and “don’t drag up past issues and arguments.” After we went through them Chris, one of the married facilitators, said, “Now there’s a Secret 9th Rule that is very effective. Write this down… Secret Rule #9 is Argue Naked!” I looked around and I’m quite certain every one us in the room had written THAT one down.

Learning to Appreciate What You Have – The Other Couples
“I’ve had enough of this shit.” This was said by a guy to his fiancée while we were standing in line for lunch on the last day. “See honey, at least I’m not him,” whispered Michael (who was also getting antsy at this point) to me after overhearing this.
“You scared the crap out of me this morning,” Michael’s roommate to Michael as he recounted discovering that Michael wasn’t under the mound of blankets on the second morning. (Michael had snuck back home to sleep in our bed because the Mission beds were torturing his back and his roommate was snoring like a bear with a buzz saw.)

Sharing Time – You Learn So Much, You Really Do
One of the exercises involved responding yes or no to 16 statements. We each answered them without letting the other see our responses. Then they asked the questions again and if you said yes you were supposed to stand up. That way you could see where you and your sweetheart disagreed. Michael and I only disagreed on two. The first was “We will write the ‘Thank you’ notes together.” Since I know darn well I will be writing them I wrote: NO. Michael said, “what, I’m going to help!” “I know you’ll INTEND to help,” I said “but really you don’t like doing that sort of thing so I know I’ll be doing them.” “That’s true,” and then he smiled – so really we didn’t disagree on that one. The Second statement we had different answers on was: “I want to have a child of my own gender, even if it means having more children than we originally intended.” Again, I wrote: NO. Once again Michael was standing on his own. Of course pretty much every guy in the room was standing alone. All the women were looking at their men with “yeah, right buddy!” expressions on their faces. “Uh-huh that one usually ends up with all the men standing,” said Father Jerry. “Well, I have to continue my family name,” Michael said.
During the weekend everyone was encouraged to put questions into a box. Later during the Question and Answer segment several anonymous questions were pulled from the box. One was: “What do you do if you know she’s going to be fertile on the honeymoon but you both aren’t ready to start a family yet?” Keeping in mind this a Catholic retreat and discussions of Natural Family Planning had been happening, this question was met with a few wimpy non-answers. Then Michael sang out… “TROJAN MAN!!” Everyone laughed. “That’s not Natural Family Planning, honey,” I whispered trying not to laugh. “Oh sorry you guys have so many rules.” Still more half-assed answers were offered. Finally I just spoke up, “C’mon people you have more than one body part to work with. You can achieve the same honeymoon goals with OTHER parts of the body, you know!” Everyone pretty much got the message. So clearly in fact, that Diane one of the elderly married facilitators said, “okay well I think we’re done with THAT question. Let’s move on to another.” Well jeez, sorry. But I tried to be tactful about it. I mean it’s not like I actually came right out and said, “blow job.”

I cannot tell a lie...

2005-09-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

I was planning to. There's this thing I was going to lie about. I won't go into it. But it was stupid. I was supposed to do something by a certain date, which I did not do. I was going to lie and insist that I did it so I would not look like a dork.

But God does not want me to lie. So it is better that I be a dork than a liar. That's kind of what He wanted to talk to me about at lunch. Only it wasn't a talk so much as a feeling. I just found this overwhelming revulsion over the idea of picking up the phone to call in my lie. So I just said, "fuck it." And as soon as I let that go, I felt like God was happy about it. I'm not entirely happy about it but I'm pretty sure He is.

I thought about the mist yesterday. About what it meant. There I was driving through it but that takes faith because there could be a wreck in the road ahead that I couldn't see. I mean it may as well have been pitch black. That's what I need to be able to do spiritually. To just move forward even though I don't know what's in the road ahead. I have to trust God and stay on the path. That's soooo hard.

After the wedding we are pretty much going to start trying for a family right away. But the truth is I don't want to be a working mom. I can't possibly keep my job with its killer commute and be a good mom. I just can't imagine not taking care of my kid first. But I don't know if we can afford for me not to work. I'm afraid of Michael getting overstressed from the burden of supporting us alone. Plus I actually LIKE working. I like my job. So for me the best answer would be to work out of the home. But the last time I did freelance, I really struggled. So I have ideas of other stay at home work I can do.

But then the big question is ... CAN I do it ? Will people actually pay me to do the kind of work I want to do? Will my family suffer? I don't know the future but I haven't changed my mind. I want to be a mom. I just keep moving forward through the mist. I'm just trying to trust God. An honest dork bumbling through a fog on faith, that's me. It's nice and yet it sucks too. It's a rollarcoaster and I don't like rollarcoasters. But I refuse to get off.

Into the Mist

2005-09-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

I have a lunch date tomorrow.

I was driving home today and there was an uncharacteristic fog covering a stretch of freeway. It was mystical and I started thinking that God was there in the mist. And in my imagination I heard a voice say, "you think I'm here because of the mist? I'm here all the time. What makes the mist so special?"

But I immediately thought that this imaginary voice was not God but was only the voice of my faith talking. And no sooner did this cross my mind than a large Lays potato chip truck crossed in front of me. And the tagline blared out in giant letters...

LET'S DO LUNCH!

So tomorrow I'm going to have lunch with God. I don't know if I'll go to church or just go somewhere quiet to pray. But I have a lot to think about. And a lot that I need to talk over with Him.

I'll let you know if He shows up. To be continued...

A True Story

2005-09-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

A long time ago I worked for the phone company. I was one of those people who answered when you called up declaring your innocence to when you discovered a slew of calls to the Pyschic Hotline on your phone bill. Or more accurately I was the one you got transferred to when you were so pissed off that you started screaming at the first person you were talking to.

One day I got a call from a secretary who was livid on behalf of her very important boss. It seemed that the phone bill on the line at his summer home was doubling every month and he felt we were ripping him off because there was no one in the house to use the phone. If we didn't do something about it immediately he'd report us to the FCC and bring down the wrath of the government on us.

So I pulled up his account and sure enough the balance was doubling every month in the empty house. Another rep had already checked for crossed lines (which can cause you to be billed for other people's calls) so I knew that wasn't the problem. Then I looked closer at the balance.

Apparently this very important personage had overpaid his last bill of the previous summer and had a $5 credit balance. Which he subsequently paid. Giving him a $10 credit balance. When he again paid! This continued on until he got an $80 bill and finally got fed up. I explained this to her and pointed out the notation on the bill that said "credit balance. do not pay." Then I issued a refund check.

So who was this very important man?
The late Supreme Court Chief Justice William Renquist.
I swear it's true.
Brilliant man but couldn't pay a phone bill.
Those will be some tough shoes to fill.
(Looking back I suspect the secretary's FCC threat was her own idea. I've worked for Hollywood producers and I know that "you'll never work in this town again" type ploy is a favorite of over-stressed assistants who are trying to impress their bosses with results.)

By the way, I didn't tell this story to speak ill of the dead. Just to show that these people we deify are in fact very human. I always smiled and remembered this incident when his name was mentioned in the news.

Zombi-fied

2005-09-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

That's how I feel this morning.

We did our Engaged Encounter this weekend. It was really good. But emotionally and physically draining. I hadn't quite recovered from it yesterday at work. Work was non-stop busy. Today will be as well.

Last night there was wicked thunder and lightening storm. It sounded and felt like explosions all night long right outside the house. I hardly slept at all.

This morning I was such a zombie I left the house without my purse and had to drive home and get it. I'd have said "screw it" but I know I need to get gas in order to get home tonight. I finally got into work at 9am.

I'm supposed to meet the wedding planner at the church tonight to go over flowers and some other details that are slipping my mind.

The office at home is a mess and I have to clean it.

I want sleep.

I'll have to cook dinner.

I took some chicken out to thaw last night and the ants got to it this morning. Ants suck.

There's some good news. Michael made me coffee this morning so I didn't kill myself driving in by falling asleep at the wheel. Also I found out my Aunt Rita changed her mind and she is coming to the wedding. That makes me happy. Aunts don't suck.

False Alarm!

2005-09-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

No hernia. Just a pulled groin muscle. Whew!

And to spread a little joy meet my new friend...

Top 5 Stress Factors This Week

2005-09-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

Michael still hasn't asked his friends to be best man and groomsman-- and wedding is 3 WEEKS away.
I have over 100 pictures to scan in to finish our reception video and the editing software is pissing me off.
Still not finished with the damn broom cause I keep changing my mind on how I want to do it.
Michael needs to have the suit I bought him altered and he seems to be in no big hurry.
He informed me last night that he thinks he has developed a hernia. I've been begging him to take things easy for weeks cause he's been working on the house day and night. The only other person I know who had a hernia had to have surgery and it took weeks to recover. (Well, he's gonna have to suffer until after the honeymoon, that's all I can say!!!!)

(Kidding about letting him suffer of course. I just finished leaving him another message to get to the doctor's TODAY!!)

Levey Leverage

2005-09-09T10:15:00.000-07:00

It seams like both sides of the Katrina blame game are using the Levey funding as leverage in assigning fault. While I admit that I despise George Bush in the interest of fairness I have to ask...

1. If he had not cut funding to the Levey project would it really have been done in time to prevent the Katrina catastrophe?
2. Considering how long it takes for government to complete any project (I heard one report that said the project had been underway for 30 years and was only 85% done) would it have been complete even if they had been working on it from day one of his administration?
3. I've heard that at least the last 3 administrations have also diverted funds that would have gone to the levey. Would it be more appropriate to blame them?
4. Do we even know if the plans for the levey project would have resulted in leveys that were strong enough to hold back the amount of water that Katrina moved? Isn't it possible that even a fully upgraded levey would have failed anyway?

I have no friggin' idea what the answer to these questions are (especially #4). But I'd like to know before I go placing the blame for the Leveys failing at ANY administration's feet; past or present.

It just seams to me that when you build a city close to water and you build it below sea level you are basically at the mercy of God and nature. There may well have been nothing we could do to hold back the flood. Perhaps antedeluvian New Orleans is a modern reverse Tower of Babal. Perhaps we (our forefathers I mean) were too vain in thinking we could put a city in a hole and by the sea and neither the forces of heaven nor earth could do anything about it.

Now as for responsibility in rescuing people. I want to see somebody in chains for that shit.

Jumping The Broom

2005-09-09T08:13:00.000-07:00

This is to answer Christine's question on my last post. I forget that most people don't know what the heck a Jumping Broom is. So don't feel bad Christine.

Jumping the broom is a tradition that had it's origins in Africa and then came to the US during the days of slavery. Slave unions were not legally recognized and so the usual ceremonies were a little different. For the African slaves the broom was a symbol of the household and a symbol of sweeping away the past. So to announce to the community that they intended to live as man and wife from that point on they would jump hand in hand over a broom placed on the ground.

The tradition slumped a bit after slavery. But it gained popularity again after Alex Haley's Roots mini-series brought it back into the spotlight. However some families like mine have been doing it for generations. Incidentally the same tradition was common in Europe at one time. However to my knowledge the only people of European descent who still do it are practicioners of wicca. I don't know much about the traditions or ceremonies there so I defer to anyone who knows more.

African Americans who jump the broom will typically buy a very ornately decorated broom or decorate one of their own. I'm well known in my family for decorating brooms. I've done six or seven for different relatives. So I have the added pressure of doing something spectacular for my own. Originally I was going to actually try to MAKE the broom but that prooved a little too much. So I opted for the standard craft broom and I'm just going to decorate it. When I'm done, I'll post a picture.

The Jumping ceremony is done differently for different families. Some families do it in the church after the bride and groom have been pronounced husband and wife or just outside the church as they leave. A friend of mine whose husband is Jewish combined the broom jumping and the glass breaking in one ceremony which was cool. (I'd like to somehow combine traditions like that. If Michael's cousin Charlie follows through with his idea we could be jumping the broom to Scottish bagpipes. Charlie is coming all the way from Scotland and he's promised to wear a kilt at the very least.)

In my family we jump the broom at the start of the reception when the newlyweds are announced upon their entrance. One of my uncles usually gives a short speech explaining everything I just wrote here for the benefit of those who may not be familiar. And then it's 1-2-3... and over we go!!!

By the way we have saying in our family: "the first one to hit the ground rules the house." So far it's proved true. I told Michael about that and he just laughed and said, "don't worry honey you can be the first one over. It's okay by me."
Now did I pick a good one, or what!

UPDATE: I forgot to mention that I added a little something a few years ago to our family tradition. During the bridal shower I bring the broom and have all the women write a prayer or wish for the couple on tiny note cards that they tie to the broom. It looks amazing to have all those tiny whisps of white paper fluttering away on the broom. I did that for my friend a few years ago and the effect is really powerful.

30 Days...

2005-09-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

...and counting until my wedding.

So my posts are going to become sporadic over the next month. I'll try to contribute to all the fun stuff (HNT, Haiku Thursday and Flash Fiction) as I can. But you'll have to forgive me for my inconsistency.

I'm losing my mind. Can you believe Michael has not even confirmed who's going to be his best man?!!!! ARRRGGGHHH!!!! It's okay I'm calm. Really.

I just have to get his suit altered. Finish the wedding CDs (including designing the art work). Edit my video gift for Michael (it's a surprise. It's nothing naked or anything but it's going to have a tribute to his Dad who passed away when Michael was 12.) Buy a mini DVD player (so I can show the video at the reception.) Decorate our jumping broom. Pickup my dress. Deliver the cake topper to the baker. Confirm the guest list. Help Michael finish clearing out the guest house. Get his ring. Pick up my ring that's being re-set. and... and.... Oh god... panicking... list is soooo long... so much more stuff than this... *whimper*

Just need to hold on... Martini Friday in less than 32 hours... good
Tequila shot Thursday in less than 8 hours... even better.

And another thing…

2005-09-06T14:26:00.000-07:00

This past week I’ve had a couple of conversations, read a few blog exchanges and listened to a few newsreports where folks seem to think that all the looting of non-essentials (TVs and VCRs etc.) and taking pot shots at rescuers (which from what I can tell was not nearly as wide spread as was first reported) have something to do with Katrina survivors being poor and/or welfare recipients.

On the one side I hear people saying something to the effect that this is some kind of psychological reaction. There was even a Pyschologist that tried to somehow justify the behavior based on oppression or some such nonsense. On the other side I hear people saying that the looters and shooters are upset that they won’t be getting welfare checks now. And that’s what it’s about.

What the hell? Stealing TVs and VCRs is not a reaction to poverty or a loss of welfare. It is a result of low character and there is no excuse. Is it more likely to happen if the person is poor? Maybe, maybe not. To the extent that poverty often brings with it an inadequate education, that could be true. If you think you can get money for a water-logged big screen TV your problem is more one of intelligence deficiency than finances. (Mayor Nagin suggests the looters were drug addicts. That maybe true in part but I doubt it’s true in all cases.) This is just a glimpse into the worst side of “HUMAN” nature not the nature of the poor or of any specific ethnic group.

But my main problem with both of these attitudes is that the looters/shooters are getting lumped together with the mass of survivors who are justifiably angry at not being rescued in a timely manner. They are citizens of the richest nation in the world. They deserve more.

You have one side saying that, “well they are mostly black so that is why no one cares.” There may a small amount of truth in that but not enough to convince me, because the outpouring of compassion and generosity from my fellow Americans is telling me different. The hold up was a ponderous bureaucracy being more ponderous than normal; magnified by indifference to the value of the human lives at stake. But the overwhelming desire to help among Americans was there. As soon as we started seeing the images of what was happening we reacted. I doubt the survivors anger is directed at their fellow citizens so much as it is at the government that behaves like it doesn’t give damn until it gets embarrassed in the press.

Then there is the other side saying that the survivors are angry because their handouts are now gone. WTF?! This isn’t about a late welfare check, people!!! This is about dying in your own home waiting for days for rescue that never comes. This is about not having food, water, shelter and medical attention while Air Force One dips over head for a peek. This is about the elderly dying in cesspools of sewage. It’s about children being separated from their parents. This is about being told that supplies can’t get through even as you are interviewed by a press that somehow managed to get hundreds of reporters and their equipment in from day one.

The survivors were and still are angry BECAUSE THEY WERE LEFT TO DIE FOR DAYS!!!!

There are still people who await rescue and already there are hints that the hand of hospitality that’s been extended to these refugees is destined to grow cold. The President’s own mother: "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them." (emphasis mine.)

It’s “scary” that they might want have roof over their heads as opposed to going back to a pile of rubble? Living in a mass camp is “working for very well for them,” is it? No Mrs. Bush it’s scary that you don’t understand a damn thing about human beings and you raised the man who is leading this nation. And by the way, I’d bet that every last person in the Astrodome can’t wait until it’s safe to go back and try to salvage what they can and start rebuilding. These folks don’t think they are at sleep-away camp. If they can’t go back home they’re not going to start putting up pictures on the walls of the Astrodome and buying bedroom furniture; they’re going to try to get housing and jobs so they can start living again.

Believe it or not the poor do have pride. Maybe some of them were getting handouts before this happened. But so the fuck what!! What the hell does that have to with their basic needs for food, shelter and safety. And don't forget, a hell of lot of them had jobs too. Maybe not 6-figure jobs, hell maybe not even 5-figure jobs. But they had 'em and they worked for a living. And guess what! Jobs are all gone. In fact the folks on welfare are better off because they already in the system. The handout will not be cut off for them. The people who are truly cutoff from financial assistance are the ones whose jobs were drowned in rush of water.

Alot of these peopleowned small businesses. Some had homes that had been in their families for generations. They may not speak main stream American English but they have a sense of honor (looters & shooters not withstanding). They may not have been rich but they did have dignity. Now that they have lost every possession they’ve ever owned; is too much to ask that they be afforded the respect that every other honorable citizen in this country has come to expect? Is it too much to ask to have them retain at least a shred of that dignity without the mother of the President (among others) implying that they've just become a bunch freeloaders?

Okay. Rant over for now.

George Bush Is NOT a Racist. – “Forget You!”

2005-09-06T10:09:00.000-07:00

“George Bush doesn’t care about black people.”
This was the statement made by Kayne West (whoever the hell that is)– in the manner of a schoolboy stiffly reciting his lines in a play– that has everybody talking. For the record I want to say that I don’t believe that. Sure it may seem that way on the surface especially in the black community. Heck, I’ve even said it a time or two myself. But there are a lot of poor whites suffering in Louisiana right now too.

So maybe it’s the poor he doesn’t care about. But you know I don’t think that’s it either. A large percentage of the poor are fighting his groovy little war for him so he’s got to care... at least a little. I was thinking about it a lot as I watched CNN this weekend. Then it finally crystallized for me… George doesn’t care about people who are not useful to him.

It has nothing directly to do with the color of their skin or their income level. It has to do with their usefulness to him. It’s a matter of profitability. We’re always hearing about low voter turn out among the poor so you know his party can’t rely on their votes. And even though there was slightly better turn out from the poor in the last presidential election it still wasn’t that high. Maybe it was because so many of them were turned away at the polls. But you know all that’s just anecdotal, right? Yeah sure it is. What do you expect? They all had the same names as criminals.

Also if you are below the poverty level you don’t pay taxes. If you are getting any kind of government aid you are just draining the system. If you were an employee in a company it’d be like you were getting a paycheck while … I dunno… blogging all day. You have to contribute to the bottom line. If not, you’re fired!

I think that’s why he didn’t crack the whip over FEMA’s head within the first 24 hours of Katrina. The value of the people the affected and of New Orleans in particular had not yet been established. But he underestimated the love of this country for New Orleans. Hell, the world loves New Orleans. His flyby on Monday was an insult to every human being who has ever donned Mardi Gras beads. He just figured, “well that’s what I got FEMA for, so I don’t have to deal with this mess.”

And in a way he’d be right. FEMA should have responded faster. At least that’s what it looks like right now. We’ll know more as more is revealed. But HE IS the President. He HAS to get his hands dirty no matter what FEMA is doing. And if they are moving too slowly, then he ought to step in and kick some ass.

But the people in Katrina’s wake didn’t manifest their value until he began to get criticism for his neglect of them. Then suddenly he knew exactly what their value was. They’ve got P.R. value – BIG TIME! This kind of thing can derail a legacy. Heck, it could derail a political party. And George knows what side his bread is buttered on. If wants to keep whatever retirement plan his oil buddies have set up for him, then he’d better leave a strong Republican Party behind in 2008.

So my response to Kayne is: You’re wrong, brother. It’s not that our President doesn’t ‘care about black people.’ It’s that he doesn’t care about anyone who’s not useful to him. Black, white, brown, rich, poor, middle class; if you’re not useful, you have no meaning to him. Now isn’t it comforting to know he’s not a bigot? Sure makes me feel all warm inside.

When we were kids we used to dismiss someone we didn’t care about with the words, “Forget You!”

Don’t support his war – “Forget You!”
Don’t support his agenda – “Forget You!”
Don’t believe in his version of Christianity – “Forget You!”
Think he lied about WMDs - “Forget You!”
Think he’s raping the environment for oil – “Forget You!”
Think he’s ignoring global warming to our peril – “Forget You!”
You don’t vote Republican – “Forget You!”
Think he’s botched the handling of this disaster - “Forget You!”
Hate his Social Insecurity proposals – “Forget You!”
Rich Democrat who wants him out of office – “Forget You!”
Poor Republican who wants him out of office – “Forget You!”
Grieving mother who wants answers on why he lied about Iraq.– “Forget You!”
Dying hurricane victim whose been waiting for rescue for a week on a rooftop. “Forget You!” … oh wait, is that a CNN camera beaming your desperate visage into the homes of people across the globe?…the response to this crisis is “Unacceptable!”

Peeve of the day: Hungry Eyes

2005-09-02T09:14:00.000-07:00

Lately my eyeballs have been eating a lot... and it's getting on my nerves.

Does this ever happen to you? You get some kind of little fuzzy or a piece of dust in your eye and it floats across your pupil like a drive-by cataracts blurring your vision. By the time you get to a mirror and give yourself the evil gypsy eye by pulling your lower lid down the little floater has mysteriously disappeared.

This happened to me this morning. I got out of the shower and dried my face only to discover that something that felt like a spool of loose thread was trapped under my eyelid teasing my pupils every time I blinked. But before I could clear the condensation off the mirror my eyeball had swallowed the whole damn thing.

My eyeballs are ravenous. They eat everything that touches them. What concerns me is that I’m fairly certain that they don’t have a separate digestive tract that I know of. So where is it all going? I have this vision of the back of my eyes looking somewhat like the underside of a bachelor’s sofa cushions with crumbs, lint, buttons, condom wrappers, spare change and pizza crusts stuffed into the crevices. Thank god I can't roll my eyes that far back, cause I really don't think I want to know.

Occasionally a well placed application of eyedrops or a dousing of Collyrium in an eyecup can have an ipecac-like cleansing effect. But lately there’s been no guarantee that the offending particles will be regurgitated. My baby browns have gorged themselves on all manner of lint, thread, eye shadow particles and flakes of dried mascara.

And they are clearly not vegan either. Cat hair, my own eyelashes, even tiny gnats flying recklessly; all have met their demise behind my ocular orbs. I pity the person who gets into a street fight with me and tries to poke me in my Venus Fly Trap Peepers. That fool’s gonna loose an arm!
*blink-blink*gulp*blink-blink*burp!*
All gone!!

HNT Poll: New Shoes!

2005-09-01T09:10:00.000-07:00

Okay I bought these shoes at Ross on Tuesday. I don't need these shoes. But I like these shoes. I have too many shoes. But these shoes were only $20 and the heels aren't too high which I like. And they fit my feet which are very narrow and hard to find shoes for, but I DON'T NEED THEM. I bought another pair of shoes that I AM taking back, plus a 3rd pair that I'm definitely keeping. But these shoes are up in the air. They are sooooo cute, but I soooo don't NEED them.

This is your HNT poll:What do you think I should do?

Should they stay or should they go now?

New Pictures!!!

2005-08-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

I just added two new photographic series to my new Picturebook blog. Check 'em out and let me know your thoughts. I'm trying to develope an "Eye" for photographing things. My friend Carmen is a fantastic photographer but she has a really developed eye and can compose a shot well. I hope to be as good as she is.

Excuses, excuses!

2005-08-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

Top 10 Lame Excuses For Not Having an HNT for Today.

Work. I've actually been earning my pay check this week. Crazy, huh?
I can't upload pics from work cause of the firewall.
Had to sort through our bills last night -- such a buzz kill.
Discovered an ant investation in my cat's litter box last night.
Our new bed is too firm so I haven't been sleeping too good and being sleepy made me forget.
Made homemade french fries last night. (After a giant plate of fries I just want to sleep.)
Was feeling non-techy last night and didn't want to turn on the computer and download the camera.
Cat's had late night fight and chased each other across my face! so I overslept and didn't have time this morning.
I've only been fully naked when my camera was handy and it's not called FNT.
I got confused and started working on a Half Nekkid Haiku.

Title: Half Nekkid Haiku Thursday
She gives excuses
A hint of skin unrevealed
Half Nekkid longing

I'll try to be Half Nekkid next week.

Happy Friday-Eve!

My Father Called

2005-08-22T14:12:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid my biological father did a brief stint in Rahway State Prison (of “Scared Straight” fame) for burglary and assault. He’s since cleaned up his act, gotten off the drugs that drove him to it, went back to school and is now a Registered Nurse. He’s still not the most responsible person, can’t keep money, a car and jobs are shaky at best. Though he’s actually much loved by his patients (as I can attest from a visit to one of the nursing homes he worked at), just not so much by his bosses. I'm incredibly proud of him. Still though, I guess there’s a part of him that feels his past like constant a shadow over him.

We were never really that close when I was growing up, and there's still an awkwardness between us. I’m much closer to my step-father, to me he's my "Dad." Because of that I think my father kind of feels like he doesn’t deserve me on some level. So whenever he calls me, he’s like a bundle of nervous energy and talking a mile a minute. He called me over the weekend to tell me he’d gotten the invitation I sent him to my wedding. The conversation went something like this.

“Ali? Hey it’s Dad!”
“Oh, hey how are you doing?”
“Good, good. Listen I don’t want to keep you but I was just calling to say I got the invitation. I was just so… so tickled to see it! I really want to come out there.”
“Well, good. I really hope you can make it. It’d be great to have you there.”
“Well, you know I’m between jobs right now. But I’m starting a new one next month so… well I don’t how the money’s gonna be but… I’ll find a way.”
“I hope so. That’d be nice.”
“Yeah, I was over at your Aunt’s and we were just tickled by your invite… She can’t come, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I talked to her last week and she told me.”
“Oh she did? Yeah, cause they are going to be in Brazil. Oh hey do you sing?”
“What?”
“Well we were listening to that song on your web site and we were thinking that was you singing and Michael playing.”
“Oh no, that wasn't me. That was my old writing partner from L.A. He hired somebody to sing the song we wrote.”
“Oh, (laughs) Well we had a whole little story in our heads. Anyway, I told your Aunt I was gonna try to get out there. And she said no matter what we would make it happen to get me out there.”
“Okay. Good. That’s great”
“So you know, by hook or by croo… Well, no, no, not by crook. But by hook anyway. I’ll get out there.”

Now am I a sick person that I found that to be hysterically funny? I promise you, I didn’t laugh until I hung up. He’s a sweet man. Really he is. I hope he can make it… by hook that is.

Alibi's 100th Post: My Famous Quote

2005-08-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

After my escape from my horrible ex-boyfriend many years ago I made up a "Famous Quote." I imagined it to be the deep words of wisdom that I'd like to be remembered for if I ever get famous and then like ... die or something. So today for my 100th post I'd like to start my own meme as I share my "Famous Quote."

Where you can not be honest, you are not welcome.
Where you can not be yourself, you have no place.
Where you can not be true, you can not belong.

Thank you all for making this blog a place where I can belong.

[I invite you all to try this meme and offer the world your own "Famous Quote," the only condition is that it has to be your own and not some already dead famous person. Have Fun!]

Patience is a virtue...

2005-08-18T19:10:00.000-07:00

On this lovely Half Nekkid Thursday eve, my new digital camera documents for the blogosphere the wonderfulness of my new silicone bra stuffers...
BEFORE

And AFTER!!!

It's long way from the sock-stuffers I used whenI was a budding young girl.

I loved Michael's reactions to them...
"HOLY SMOKES!!!!"
"BOINNNNGGG!!!"
"Wow, I could get used to that."
and my favorite...
"Careful woman, don't make any promises you can't keep!"

And in Honor of Haiku Thursday

Title: Insert Breast Here
a woman's own curves
the pleasure of a man's eye
truth is a trifle

My New Digital Camera.

2005-08-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

It's a Casio Ex S500 and I love it like a long lost brother.

These are flowers from our yard.

100 Things About Me

2005-08-16T16:47:00.000-07:00

I keep seeing this on various blogs so I thought I would do it too. Here are 100 things about me.

I am 38 years old but I don’t look it.
I am a college grad.
I live in Vista, CA.
I have two cats.
My fiance’, Michael is really my husband as we were legally married last year.
Only a few people know we are legally married.
Our church wedding will be in October.
I completely forgot our first legal anniversary on July 31st
So did Michael.
Two weddings (Legal & church) is common in my family, at least 3 other family members have done it before me.
I need a manicure and pedicure
I think I am too flat-chested but I wouldn’t ever want to go under the knife.
I have Vitiligo. (What Michael Jackson claims to have as an excuse for altering his skin color)
I hate that I have to refer to Vitiligo as "Michael Jackson disease" for people to get it.
Sometimes they still don't get it. "I am not a pedophile I just have little white patches on my skin! Sheesh!"
I am incredibly flat-footed.
My chiropractor told me it's “amazing that your legs have adapted to allow you to walk straight with feet that flat.”
I have a bad memory for song names and singers.
I can quote practically every line in Flash Gordon.
I think Vin Diesel is H-O-T!
I love hummingbirds and dragons
I think it is good luck to see a live hummingbird or a dragon.
I have never seen a live dragon but I’m still looking.
I’d love to be abducted by aliens just to have a conversation and ask them questions.
I’d try to convince the aliens to give me super powers.
I have two best friends Anne and Carmen.
Anne and I once convinced a woman that we were not only sisters, but twins. (Anne is white.)
I lost my virginity at age 19.
I have 3 tattoos.
I want to get another tattoo (of a dragon) but I want to wait until after I have kids.
I just bought a new digital camera.
I just bought some gel filled silicone bra inserts.
I think I will somehow combine 31 & 32 for Half Nekkid Thursday.
I might even do it this Thursday.
I drive a green RAV4.
I love to shop.
I love to bargain hunt.
I sometimes fear that I’m a shop-a-holic.
I love television.
I have TiVo.
My least favorite chore is cleaning out the cat’s litter box.
I’m a technology fiend.
I almost bought a new video camera yesterday.
I already have a video camera that’s less than a year old.
I didn’t buy the camera.
I would have had to lie to Michael about where I got the camera so he wouldn’t be mad about me buying a second one.
I think lying to him would really make me a sucky wife so I couldn’t do it.
I love sci-fi.
I’m a Trekkie.
I prefer “Trekkie” to “Trekker.” Sue me, fan boys!
I love Battlestar Galactica (old and new.)
The strands of my hair are thin and break easily.
This annoys me.
I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.
My eating habits suck.
I’m going overboard with my wedding.
I’m obsessing on wedding things even though I act like I’m not.
I’m worried about Michael.
I think he needs to take better care of himself.
I think I need to take better care of myself.
We both spend too much money.
We both love shoes.
In the last month I have bought him eight pairs of shoes.
I can get discount shoes through work
I also get discount clothes
I just ordered some clothes yesterday for me.
I’m probably going to max out my discounts for the year by September
No I won’t order stuff for you.
I had spaghetti for lunch today and for dinner last night
Tonight is “date night”
I think we are going for sushi.
I hope we can go see a movie
Hopefully there will be sex too. :D
I love “date night”.
I hope to get pregnant on our honeymoon
Or shortly thereafter
Or shortly there-before
My priest hinted that we should temporarily hold off on sex until we have our “sacramental wedding.”
Who’s he kidding?
I want to have a daughter.
If I have a daughter I will name her Kennedy Anne.
This is not negotiable.
If I have a son, Michael gets to name him.
He wants to name his first son Paul Michael after his father.
I think his name should be Paul Michael Travis. (after my favorite uncle)
I’d be willing to insert a second middle name of his choice for our daughter if I can get the “Travis” in there for our son.
I think this is a good compromise.
I never actually met my Uncle Travis.
I just loved him forever from his photos.
I have another uncle, Travis Anthony.
I’ve met him. He’s cool.
I would let him think our son was named after him, because he would like that.
I was named after my mother.
I look like my mother.
I like that I look like my mother but I wish I had a different name.
My nickname as a child was Bibba-Gos. It has nothing to do with my name.
I hated that nickname.
My Aunt Patsy made it up.
Sometimes she still calls me “Bib” when it slips out
I will never name a child after my Aunt Patsy

Click Here For My New Blog

2005-08-15T23:54:00.000-07:00

Just cause I feel like it I decided to post some of my short stories.

Since they are longer than my regular posts (if you can imagine that) I decided to give them their own blog.

I hope you like it. I probably won't post that often, but I'll let you know when I do.

Enjoy.

FFF #3: "I Promise"

2005-08-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

"You thought I forgot, didn't you?” Roddy’s eyes sparkled as he grinned at me.

“Yeah. Hell, I forgot… well sort of… I guess it was… still in the back of my mind,” I said awkwardly as I sat down on the couch across from him. The last time I’d seen him he was in a hospital bed and practically at death’s door. But here he was, looking strong as an ox and cancer-free.

“You look good, Roddy. Healthy.”
“I feel good,” he beamed at me, “My new place is cool. Just up the way from your dad.”
“Yeah?”
“He misses you. Talks about you all the time. You should talk to him.”
“I dunno. It’s been so long. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Just say hello, Neecee. Just tell him you’re thinking about him.”

It was funny to hear Roddy use my childhood nickname like that. Something about his voice wrapped around the name just took me back. We talked for a long time. I pulled out my old photo albums and we went through them remembering and laughing. We talked about Malcolm, my husband; and Simon, my son and the namesake of my father. Simon was back in rehab and I didn’t know if he would stay clean this time either. Malcolm’s knee was mending slowly but it would be a while before he was back to work fulltime. My lousy job was our main income. Roddy listened to me vent. He was always good at that.

At one point I heard Malcolm yell up from the basement, “Denise, honey, who you talking to?”

“I’m on the phone, babe!” I hollered back not even flinching in the lie. I mean what was I supposed to say? I couldn’t very well tell him that I was pouring my heart out to my childhood sweetheart. Should I have said that the handsome man who shared all my secrets since kindergarten and from whom I’d gotten my first real kiss was sitting in our living room with me even though he wasn’t supposed to be there? I just don’t think that would have gone over well.

We talked a little more and then a clumsy silence fell over us.
“I’d better be going,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
I walked him to the door.
“Neecee?” he turned to look at me one last time, “Don’t worry about things so much, okay? Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.”
“You promise?” I said smiling.
“Hey, I kept this one, didn’t I?” that mischievous grin I knew so well flashed back at me
“Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

And then he was gone.

I picked up the photo album and stared down at a photo of us taken over forty years ago. His arm around my shoulder and mine around his; two ten-year-olds just goofing around. It was taken by my father just days before the accident. I remember after my dad’s funeral, Roddy and I sat on the back steps of my house and he’d put his arm around me as I cried for my father.

“Don’t cry Neecee. You’ll be together again in heaven,” he’d said softly.
“What if there’s no heaven?” I’d sobbed, “What if he’s gone forever? I’ll never see him again.”
“Look I tell you what,” Roddy said, “If I die before you, I’ll go see your dad and then I’ll find a way to come back and see you. That way you’ll know we’re both okay.”
“You promise?” I squeaked, though I hadn’t really thought it was possible, I’d just needed to believe it.
“I promise.”

***********

Slammin’ The Spammenters

2005-08-11T16:01:00.000-07:00

Since I’m feeling very surly today I thought I would rag on some of the drive-by ad spam we’ve all been seeing in our comments lately. Yeah sure, I could turn off my anonymous comments but then I’d miss the opportunity to beat on these guys properly. I know you all have been hit by them. I’ve seen ‘em in your comments. In fact I decided to do us all a favor and cull a few of the most notorious. I have listed the best of the Anonymorons here (and one with an actual name) in order to allow us all the opportunity to shred them to our hearts’ content. Feel free to add any others to the comments along with a good ripping. Enjoy!

Anonymoron #1
Anonymous said…
Amazing job on your Blog! I'll definatly be coming back. If you're interested, check out my PS3 vs XBOX360 blog that shows unveils all th secrets there are to know between these two mecca systems.
AND
Anonymous said…
Amazing job on your Blog! I'll definatly be coming back. If you're interested, check out my easy money online blog that gives all of the top resources for the easiest money online.
Clearly you are the same Anonymoron as you duplicate the same intro and spelling errors. It’s “definitely” by the way and there’s an “e” at the end of “the.” Now does your PS3/Xbox blog show or unveil? Which is it? You seem conflicted. Tell you what, don’t come back until you know for sure. Oh, and did you mean "mega" systems or are they special Islamic versions of the games?And just so you know a page full of links on how to make money by marketing products through spamming other bloggers with annoying comments is not the best thing to be linking to in your comments. In fact, it’s like house-of-mirrors confusing and just makes me hate you more.

(Although you gotta hand it to this spammenter for keeping his promise to come back – both of these spamments were on the same blog.)

Anonymoron #2
Anonymous said…
Excellent blog! I give it an A+ with a Gold Star!! If you want, you can check out my corvette central blog that reveals many things that nobody knows about how the new Chevrolet Corvettes.
You are either a former kindergarten teacher or perhaps a current kindergarten student; since the grammar is severely challenged here I’m thinking the latter. “...reveals many things that nobody knows about how the new Chevrolet Corvettes…” How they what? How they look? How they drive? How they smell? How they can be used to reaffirm one’s sagging manhood? What?! What?!! And no, it doesn’t reveal a thing by the way. It just has a bunch of stupid links to Corvette sites that I could find on my own by googling... if I cared... which I don't.

Anonymoron #3
Anonymous said…
I love your blog! You did an excellent job! My website is about xbox360 cheat codes if you would like to come and give me a review!
I could care less. Besides I don’t associate with cheaters. And no, I will not be reviewing it. Why don’t you just make up your own reviews? Shouldn’t be a big ethical leap for a cheating spammenter like yourself. You could just leave yourself a bunch of anonymous positive comments and no one would ever know or care. Mainly, because no one but other cheaters like you would go there. See, what do you need me for?

Anonymoron #4
Anonymous said…
This blogging is great fun! Lots of interesting stuff here.chocolate cheesecake recipe
Yes, jolly good fun, it is indeed! Where did you come from? Who talks like that?

By the way when you click on this silly link you find a blog with (currently) 2 posts that are only links to sites that sell recipe books. And between them there are (currently) over 80 comments all from morons who actually believe this person was a genuine blogger and ONE sane comment from someone who “got it”:
tshsmom said…
People, GET A CLUE!!This is a SPAMMER!There is NO CONTENT to this blog, other than an order outlet for the cheesecake cookbook.This IDIOT didn't read your blogs.He said THE SAME THING to EVERYBODY
Hooray for TSHSMOM! Can’t put anything past a mom who’s home-schooling her kid.

Anonymoron #5
Anonymous said...
10Shows Jeff Jarvis started a meme aksing bloggers to list their top 10 television shows and use the Technorati tag 10Shows .Wow! I like your blog! I be back and so will my friends. Looks like you've found your niche. I have a health and science site.
Come and take a look when you get time.
Am I supposed to know who Jeff Jarvis is? Am I supposed to care? And what the heck is a “Technorati tag 10Show” I’m glad to hear you “be back” but really, don’t. And please don’t bring friends especially if they’re advertising something. By the way just what do you mean by that niche comment? This who I am, it’s not a niche. I’m not some little web boutique selling myself to the blogosphere; unlike some people (i.e. YOU.) I have no time for someone who's so scattered he jumps from TV to niches to health and science without a decent or at least a humorous segue. I will never look at your site. You annoy me.

T&H:
'Thought & Humor' said...
You have a riveting web log and undoubtedly
must have atypical & quiescent potential for
your intended readership. May I suggest that
you do everything in your power to honor
your Designer/Architect as well as your audience.
Please remember to never restrict anyone's
opportunities for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence.
Best wishes for continued ascendancy,

Howdy Editor'
Thought & Humor
'Cyber-Humor & Cyber-Thought
http://ilovehowdy.blogspot.com/
Harvard Humor Club
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Harvard_Humor_Club/

Whoah there cowboy! Put down the dictionary and back away. Now WTF? You have irritated me in a Jehovah’s-Witness-at-my-door kind of way. So please stop. I can't tell whether you've just complimented me or chastised me for something. I know you're a Christian cause the links lead to some pretty fundamentalist reading but honestly this comment makes you sound like a spaced out new-agey freak or maybe somebody who's starting his own cult. I half expect to see a countdown to the next appearance of Hale-Bop on your site.

(Now to be fair, T&H isn’t selling anything… exactly. But he’s a spammenter because he’s constantly leaving the same damn comment on every friggin’ blog he visits, with little variation. But he’s a busy guy – no time to personalize each spamment. He apparently writes a free email newletter. So he is kinda selling that, only it’s free. And he does have a lot of cartoons and riddles on his blog that are somewhat entertaining. ‘Course woven into the mix is a lot of fundamentalist proselytizing. [See, I got a dictionary too.] But that’s cool. It’s his blog, he can say what he wants. I just wish he’d be a little more original about inviting us all there - I feel like I have to ignore him on principle now.)

HNT: MY ROCK

2005-08-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

Hehehehehe... typical bride.
Always flashing her bling in everyone's faces.

Although seriously, is it time for a manicure or what?
Happy HNT everyone.

UPDATE: John's comment inspired me to add a Haiku to my HNT. I'm not good at haiku; but here goes.

Title: Rock Steady
Glowing in his love
To the universe of blog
I reveal my hand

Dream #2: GWAA of Arabia

2005-08-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

I’m not kidding. I had this dream.
The other night I dreamt I was in the desert tent of a Middle Eastern Sheik. We were having an intense but polite discussion the subject of which I can’t recall. But I remember feeling like it was really important. Almost like a negotiation. So I was trying really hard to respect his customs and not insult him.

I was sitting in a chair and the Sheik was sitting on a cushion that was laying on a rug. At some point his cushion sunk about 6 inches. The sand beneath the rug had developed a sinkhole. I helped him up and a he told me that this sort of thing happens a lot in the desert and not to worry.

As he talked, he walked to the other side of the rug and instantly sank straight down into the sand up to his shoulders. I quickly grabbed his hand and managed to pull him out before he was swallowed up in the quicksand sinkhole. At this point we both became concerned but before we could do anything the whole rug we were standing on sunk into the sand. I was able to grab onto something to keep from being buried but the poor Sheik tumbled into the hole and a large couch or bed that was on the rug fell on top of him.

I jumped down into the hole to rescue him, all the while screaming to his men to come and help. Before they arrived I did discover the Sheik all tangled up in his robes and the rug. I couldn’t see his face so I didn’t know if he was alive. In trying to figure out where his head was I accidentally uncovered his butt. Realizing that this would be a grave insult worthy of death if his men discovered me looking at their leader’s privates, I quickly covered him up and began looking at the other end of the lump that was the Sheik.

His men arrived and pulled the unconscious Sheik and myself from the hole. At this point I realized that the sinkhole was really a cave-in of a tunnel that some mercenaries had dug underneath the Sheik’s tent. You see apparently the Sheik kept his treasure buried in the sand beneath his tent.

Somehow I instinctively knew that the culprits were American. I suspected they were government sanctioned and I was certain that they were backed by big money forces who wanted the Sheik’s gold. The dream ended as I rode along side the Sheik’s horsemen following a sunken trail in the sand to find the thieves and bring them to justice. I just remember feeling that if they found out that they were American I’d probably be dead by association. That’s when I woke up

So anyway last night I told Michael my dream.
“Don’t you see,” I said waving my arms in the air dramatically, “I think I represent the American people who want to make peace with the Sheik. But there are people in America who want the treasure the Sheik has. Which... well, that would have to be like oil, you know, since it was buried in the sand. And the theives would have to be the government and the oil companies. So these undermining mercenary, or military or whatever guys are literally pulling the rug from under peace talks by trying to steal oil from the Middle Eastern people. This is like a dream EPIPHANY, honey! I feel like I’ve been given a REVELATION!!!”

“You have the weirdest dreams.” Michael said dryly, “but do you think when you go to sleep tonight you could have a dream revelation about something we don't ALREADY KNOW?”

Yeah, well we can’t all be Nostra-friggin’-damus, can we?

Roll Call

2005-08-10T07:45:00.000-07:00

I’ve been lurking and drive-by posting on a bunch of blogs lately and a few have gotten me addicted enough to add them to my blogroll. Because my bookmarks at home are different from my bookmarks at work, I’ve decided it was time for an update to the roll. In addition to the lovely Bren; some other names being added to my newly alphabetized blogroll this week are....

Babbling Brooke
Sense of humor, intelligence, beauty, kindness, creativity and passion for life all rolled up into one woman. (And I didn't even know I had a twin. ;D) She's single, Guys! What are you waiting for?

Go Fug Yourself
Wonderfully catty and absolutely hysterical. When I’m missing superficial L.A. life, it’s where I go.

Blue Matt
A fabulous sense of humor amped up by ADD. And a great interviewer too.

Purgatorian
JJ, creator of Flash Fiction Friday. And if that’s not enough he’s a damn good writer and story teller.

81 Vaginas
I suppose I should be offended. But well... I’m not. And besides I love the way he writes.

Osbasso
I have dubbed him the Lord of HNT. Through this one tradition he is bringing blogospherians closer together than ever before.

100 Reasons Why I Hate My Husband. If your man pisses you off. Go visit Christine. You’ll suddenly realize you’re married to prince charming.

(Note: these are just from my office bookmarks. I have one or two at home I want to add later.)

Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't...

2005-08-10T06:43:00.000-07:00

but it's not screwing with my blogroll so here it is.

You are dependable, popular, and observant.
Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness.
In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do.

You are unique, creative, and expressive.
You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while.
And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Brightly in the heavens...

2005-08-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

There are times when I pass a stranger on the street or in a store and I am drawn to say something kind or do a gentle deed. I don't know what it is. It's as if at that moment I must be there to give them that gentle nudge. That little bit of encourage that they didn't even think to pray for. It's been done for me too. But I feel incredibly alive for that fleeting moment when I know I am sowing a seed that I may never see blossom.

Other times a person will come into my life and I know instinctively that our paths were meant to cross. It is for me so clear an evidence of the hand of God that I am surprised that we can't dust ourselves for prints and discover evidence of His touch.

In both of these situations I feel as if I am watching a star being born in the heavens. Blogging has made me realize that this curious and beautiful phenomenon is not limited to physical contact. I have felt it here in the Blogosphere among many of you. Frequently in fact.

And this weekend I felt it very powerfully. Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you to a lovely star. Her name is Bren. She shines with a bittersweet light. If you have moment stop by and see her and let her know that you see how wonderfully she shines.

Personality Tests

2005-08-09T11:51:00.000-07:00

I had to delete my last two personality test result posts because they both fell into the category of one of my blogging peeves. I hate it when you paste something into your blog that inserts large quantities of white space and has so much cell padding that it displaces your side bar with all your post links and blogroll.

Just a note to all those folks writing the personality-test-results code: Smaller is better in this case.

What Lies Beneath...

2005-08-08T13:06:00.000-07:00

We moved to our new house back in November. Foolishly, we didn’t hire a moving company. We did it ourselves with the help of family, friends and friends of friends. It took us four days and we ended up begging help off anyone who had free time.

One of the people who came to our rescue was a man named Ron. I can’t begin to tell you what a sweetheart this guy was. He was one of those facilities guys at a local company. You know the kind, the ones who have to do all the thankless heavy lifting and yet always have a smile on their face. Ron borrowed a truck and came and helped us move for two days straight. We tried to pay him for his time. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He thought so highly of our mutual friend that he simply couldn’t take money from us. His generosity, humility and graciousness were deeply moving.

We did get him to accept an old but in excellent condition sofa bed. He was grateful because he was in the process of furnishing a tiny house across the border in Mexico that he had just built for his elderly, infirm mother. He financed it from his meager pay, odd jobs and excess lumber that he’d been given for free from construction sites here in the US. Even co-workers at his company donated what they could. He was just that kind of guy. The selfless kind who makes others feel as if they are in the presence of a saint.

Helping Ron during our move was Danny. Danny is the 12-year-old son of Ron’s “girlfriend” Corine, who works for the same company. I put that in quotes because it was one of those ‘nice guy’ relationships. From what little I gathered from my friend, it appeared Corine was guarding her heart closely and was afraid to let herself admit her feelings for Ron. But Ron was good to her son. He helped her out with babysitting. Took the boy to sporting events, made sure he did his homework and encouraged him the way you want a man to encourage your son if you’re a single mom. Very fatherly. In fact the only way we did finally get Ron to take money from us for the move was to ask him to put it in a college fund for Danny. This long suffering man who’d been wooing his sweetheart for three years, was clearly thinking long term

And Danny was a just a doll. Energetic, bright, eager to please and very obviously fond of Ron. While they were helping us move Danny had a little accident and cut his cheek really bad. Michael freaked out and wanted to rush him to the hospital. Ron was very calm but insisted that they didn’t want to be any trouble. He administered a little first aid, compressing the wound until the bleeding stopped and then bandaged it up. After that and a Tylenol Danny was running around happy as a clam.

I spoke with my friend today. Ron got fired from his job a few weeks ago over Corine. Or more accurately over Danny. It seams Corine found blood in her son’s underwear. Since she doesn’t speak much English she went to the legal department at her job for advice. They did a thorough background check and quickly learned through Megan’s Law that Ron is a registered pedophile. The company moved quickly to fire him (since he’d lied on his application.). Ron moved quickly to get across the border before Corine had a chance to alert authorities (he's got a house there already remember.) Danny is in therapy. Where I’m sure he’ll be for a long time.

My friend was practically near tears as she has been friends with this guy for years. I’m sick to my stomach. There was no sign. I’m telling you none! I keep going over it. On the first day some of the other guys helping us had quietly joked that Ron seamed a bit effeminate. But this guy radiated goodness, I’m telling you, he RADIATED IT! After the first day we all just took it for granted that this guy was an Angel. But we didn’t know that he was raping the little boy who appeared so devoted to him. We didn’t know that the man who built a house for his ailing mother was telling Danny that if he told anyone that his mother Corine would go to jail and he’d never see her again. We didn’t suspect that this patient hardworking church-going man had been pretending to pursue a single mother’s affection for three years while he sexually assaulted her son.

How in the hell are you supposed to know? Was that why he didn’t want to take Danny to the hospital? Was he afraid to have the boy examined by a doctor? Should we have suspected? Was the whole spiel about Corine not wanting to commit (which my friend got from Ron) really a cover for the fact that Ron was more interested in the boy? Should we have read between the lines? And then I think, Jesus, did he agree to take that sofa bed for his house across the boarder because it would a nice comfy place to rape young boys? God, is that house even for his mother or is it some perverted NAMBLA love shack? Does this sick bastard even have a mother?!!

Was there something, anything that should have made us stop and say, “something about this feels wrong.” I keep thinking about it. But I can’t come up with anything definitive that wouldn’t require me to be a raging paranoid busy-body in order to pick up the phone and call the authorities. Because for every meager “clue” (and there weren’t many) there were five reasons not think anything of it. How in the hell are we supposed to protect our children when the pedophiles and predators are so good at duping us? God, I feel sick.

I prayed for Danny and Corine. I truly hope that his therapist, his mother and God's love can help heal that boy. Because he truly is a sweetheart. And even in my anger I have to pray for Ron. This man is truly sick. And it's very possible and even likely that he himself was a victim of this kind abuse at one time. Of course, if he ever shows up around here, I'm pretty certain that Michael's gonna deliver him a good ass-whoopin' between the time I pick up the phone and the time the police arrive. My man may be forgiving but not that forgiving.

FFF#2: Speak No Evil

2005-08-07T19:33:00.000-07:00

I put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, shut it, locked it, and turned around to find my angelic nephew in a puddle of goo on the floor. Oh yes I said “goo” with all the stickiness that that little word implies. But it wasn’t a repeat of this morning’s projectile pooping diaper catastrophe. No, this was different. There was a thick sweet smell that I immediately recognized as my $22 bottle of Vermont's Finest Pure Maple Syrup.

In the time it had taken me to fill the ice bucket and flirt ever-so-briefly with the cute bellhop; the little monster had gone into my suitcase, pulled out the bottle, peeled off the protective quality seal (how DO you do that when your mother has clipped your tiny nails down to the quick?) and dumped half the contents on his head and the other half into his pampers.

The demon child (his mother’s nickname, not mine) was sitting there giggling up at me as he sucked on his syrup slathered fingers.

“Darius!!!! What the fried zucchini did you do?” I screamed substituting the first thing that came to mind for the forbidden “F-Word”

He yelped happily and laughed as he explored his gooey diapers with one hand.

“Ugghh!”

I carried him at arms length into the bathroom and plopped him down on the bare tiles. I sat on the edge of the tub and started to run the water. But apparently this was a mistake. You see that left him 30 inches away from me. The length of my left arm is only 26 inches. My overnight bag (the one with travel sized bottle of talcum powder that was not quite closed) was only 15 inches away from him. Now, calculating the speed of toddler and multiplying that by the angle at which my head was turned away, divided by the 2.5 seconds it took to turn on the faucet… well you do the math.

The result was one sticky powdered baby and one face full of talcum powder for Aunt Jenny.
“Fuh, fuh, Flying SQUIRRELS!!!, Darius, dance you!”

Now let me explain. I am single and childless.

Not enough? Okay my sister, Abbey, is one of those moms who like to remind people how tough it is to be a mom. Well, okay, she likes to remind ME. Now since I had nothing better to do this summer than be reminded of this daily, I decided to tag along with her, her husband and my nephew on their trip to Vermont. Two days ago I made the mistake of saying “hell” in conversation. A "not-nice" word which my 15 month old nephew instinctively seized upon and began repeating. My sister took me to task for my language and I stupidly defended myself by saying that it’s easy for her because she only has to deal with sweet little Darius every day. I deal with pain in the “nether-quarters” adults in the world of high fashion, thank you very much.

“HA! You’re kidding me right? I love my son, but he is a handful. It takes a lot of self-control not to curse like a sailor from sun up to sun down. Believe me, Jenny you don’t have that kind of self-control. One ice cream stain on your Juicy Couture jeans and you’d be cussing like a mafia princess,” she sat back and "harumphed" matter-of-factly after this smug tirade.

“Puuh-lease, I have self-control!” (I have none, but it’s the principle of the thing when you’re accused like that.) “Just leave him with me for one day and I’ll show you self-control.”

At this point my brother-in-law John perked up, “whoah! Did she just say what I think she said?”

“Yeeeeesss,” purred my sister and her eyes narrowed as a thin maniacal grin spread across her face.

Now at that point I should have known something more was up beyond stepping into a steaming pile of free baby-sitting duty. But you know, my pride was in play now, so I had to follow it down the path to certain destruction. And that’s how I came to be sitting on the cold hard tiles of room 1420 of the Hilton with talcum powder in my eyes and a squirming sticky dough boy in my arms.

You have to understand it had been a long day. Let me break it down for you in prêt-a-porter casualties and near curses:
- Projectile pooping destroys Donna Karan blouse: “Son of a biscuit eater!”
- Mustard stains on new Coach bag: “Fire-me, you little BOOGIE –BOARDER!!!”
- Flying tonka truck obliterates Fendi sunglasses: “God-double-it, shirttails!!!”
- And oh yes, chocolate ice cream on the white Juicy Couture Jeans that dribbled down to the equally white Prada sneakers: “FUCSIA POP-ROCKS-SUCKER!!!!”
I came way too close with that last one and got some really weird looks from the counter staff at Baskin Robbins. “Whadda-you-lookin’-at? You-godda-problem?”
Aw, jeez, I WAS starting to sound like a mafia princess.

At this point I figured it was time to head back to the hotel and kill the rest of the afternoon with some mindless kiddie tv drivel and some frantic calls to hotel drycleaners.

Everything seemed to be going well. Darius knows what he likes, Franklin the Turtle, Dora the Explorer and something called Vegi-tales that quite frankly disturbed me with all the phallic-looking anthropomorphic vegetables. But, hey I’m not his mother? Besides after about two hours my sweet little nephew nodded off to sleep.

I thought that naptime would be the right time to dart out for some ice. Big mistake. Hence the syrup and powder predicament I now found myself in.

Anyway, I now had only an hour to get us both cleaned up before Abbey and John got back. I bathed and dressed my sticky nephew with lightening speed and I think even he was impressed with how good he looked. Then I got out his “craft sack” the one that had the special markers that only worked on the special coloring book pages. I sat him on the bathroom floor and bade him color and “sing Auntie Jenny a song” while I showered. I wanted to make sure I knew where he was at all times.

I disrobed behind the shower curtain and showered as I listened to his sweet voice singing me the abc’s in dubious order. He never stopped. Never a change in cadence. Never a pause. Never. Just that sweet innocent voice.

So it was a big surprise when I stepped out of the shower with the towel wrapped around me to see my brand new Marc Jacobs silk dress on the floor in front of him. It was a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions to see him holding an uncapped bottle of Elmers glue and a handful of sparkly stars that he was apparently using to “bedazzle” the only dress on Earth with the magical ability to make my ass look small and my boobs look big.

“dook!” he held it up for me and smiled proudly, ”pwetty!!”
*Gag* * choke*
I grabbed a spare towel and ran out of the bathroom.
I sat down on the floor of room 1420 buried my face in the towel and groaned as softly as I could.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Then I felt a soft little hand on my knee.
Shit, did he hear that? No, he couldn’t have. No.

“It’s okay honey. It’s okay,” I said to the deeply concerned little face.
I dressed quickly and finished my hair and make-up just as Abbey and John arrived.

“So how’d it go?”
“Great!” I said but my voice cracked a little. Abbey raised an eyebrow and John stifled a knowing laugh.
“Did Auntie Jenny teach you any new words today, sweetie?” Abbey cooed.
“Shirttails!” laughed Darius.
“Hehehe, we did a little shopping,” I stammered.
“Anything else?” Abbey fished, smelling a rat. (I knew that if he were to blurt out pop-rock-sucker then the jig was up.)
“fied shookini,” Darius offered.
“Uh..lunch?” I submitted to Abbey’s puzzled look.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Abbey looked at me approvingly.

Yes, thank you God. I was home free.

“tirsty, popa!” Darius whined.
“okay baby-boy,” John said and pulled a juice box from the snack cooler that they carried everywhere.

Darius was thirsty. So thirsty that he squeezed the juice box too hard and the juice went all over his face. He let out a wail and began to sob hysterically.
“It’s okay baby,” Abbey said and grabbed a small towel from the cornucopia bag. As she wiped away the tears and juice a muffled sound came from the little face behind the towel. It was so quiet we almost missed it. Almost.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

[Dedicated to my nephew Darius who only deserves the name “demon-child” on rare occasions and who thankfully has never done any of this to me... though I wouldn't put it past him.] Join the Flash Fiction Friday fun.

Inspired by Unseen Bloggers “Foul Mood” Rant.

2005-08-05T14:06:00.000-07:00

5 Things That Annoyed Me This Week…

My Local Organic Market: They are selling Escolar without warning people of the side effects. Escolar if you are not familiar with it, is a Fat Free fish with a mouthwatering delectable taste and an almost buttery consistency. It owes this addictive flavor and fat free status to a natural, non-toxic oil which cannot be digested by the human body. The result is that your body expels it. How? Well let’s just say if you look it up on the internet you’ll learn that Escolar’s nickname is the “Exlax Fish.” But it should really be called “there’s-oil-leaking-from-my ass fish.” I KNOW they had to know about this. Cause apparently it wasn't available for a while for precisely this effect - people thought it was dangerous (but it won't kill you -- unless you die of embarrassment from smelly oily/crap stains on seat of your pants -- oh yes- it happened to me.) Seriously they are supposed be a health-conscious business. Now I know why the guy at the meat counter was evasive about the fish when I asked him how it tasted.

A Co-Worker Who’s Turning Into a P.I.T.A.: I like the guy I really do. But he just got promoted and he decided to implement new procedures which are actually really good procedures. What annoyed me was he didn’t tell anyone his new procedures. So apparently I’ve been breaking them left and right. So he sends a mass email (clearly directed at me) establishing the new procedures. I kind of took it personally. I think if you’ve got a problem and you’ve established new policies because somebody (like me) is messing things up; go to that person and discuss how you are going to make those changes and then let everyone know. Be a man and don’t hide behind an email. Because frankly doing things his way is gonna make my job harder (though I still think the procedures are sensible overall) which means I’m going to demand a lot more from him since one of the folks he’s there to support is ME. (That was very non-specific I know but I just needed to get it out.)

My Wedding Planner: Last week I called and left him a frantic message because I still hadn’t nailed down a reception space and invitations go out on this coming Monday. All the places he gave me to check out were not available. I wanted him to get me a list of AVAILABLE places to look at. That was last Thursday. Because I’m too anal to wait for a reply I continued to call on my own and by Monday I secured a place. On TUESDAY afternoon he called me to say he was preparing a list of possibilities that he was going to check into (in other words, no he didn’t a call to check availability.) He said his phone was out so he didn’t get my message for a few days. Whatever. Fortunately for him he’s a master of floral arrangements so I’ll give him a second chance. Though he still hasn’t responded to the email I sent yesterday asking other questions.

Another Co-Worker: Again I really like this guy. A real sweetheart, he’s in my department. Now in our department (advertising) there’s the production folks (i.e. graphic artists) and the copywriter (me.) This co-worker is responsible for the production folks. So Tuesday he comes into my office and says, “hey, I’m taking my guys out for an extended lunch.” Now I immediately expect him to say “do you want to come along?” cause otherwise that would mean I’m the ONLY person in the department not going. I even started to reach for my purse. But then he says, “if anyone’s looking for us can you let ‘em know where we are?”

Oh, so let me get this straight! Not only am I not invited, but I get to be your personal secretary while you’re gone too – gee thanks. Maybe I was planning to take my guy (me that is) out for an extended lunch! Ever think of that?! HUH?!! I pretended like it was all cool (I did bring some 3-day old chicken salad so I could get by on that.). But the worst part was that someone from outside our department noticed that I was the only one that didn’t go. I didn’t think fast enough with a lie so I just said “it was just the production group.” “So, isn’t that everyone except you?” she replied. Yup. That about sums it up.

Michael: Yup that’s right the love of my life, kinda pissed me off. And it’s weird that I’m mad about this, because it’s the direct result of one of the big reasons I love him so much. Michael has a huge heart. I mean just gigantic. He wants to help everyone. And he is unbelievably forgiving. Astoundingly so. About 9 months ago he hired this Mexican dude named Victor to help him tame the wilderness that is our backyard. For the first few months everything was great. Victor worked hard the yard looked great. Michael rewarded him generously paid him $20/hour cash, bought him new shoes, gave him a bunch of clothes and some of his extra tools. One night while Michael was in the garage, I was looking out the kitchen window and I see Victor and another guy run from behind our garage into the darkness down the road. I go outside as Michael emerges from the garage. “Wasn’t that Victor?” I ask. Michael has no idea what I’m talking about. I tell him what I saw and he grabs a flash light and runs up the road just in time to see Victor’s car backing down the hill in the dark with the lights off. The next day he asks Victor about it and the guy flat out lies and swears he wasn’t there. To top it off Michael’s brand new table saw was missing. (Note: Our house is the last one at the end of a dead end road at the top of hill. No street lights. No way they were coming from anywhere but our house. Besides what are the odds of another person of the same height and build wearing Victor’s black and red sweatshirt and driving his car just happening to be running from behind our house.) Yeah I must have been imagining it, sure that’s it.

Over my objections Michael let him work for another whole month. Finally, he stopped. While Michael was in Hawaii Victor came around like once a week even though I told him repeatedly that Michael didn’t need any help. (I didn’t say Michael was out of town, only that he was working. It made me nervous that he kept showing up when I told him not to; so I didn’t want him to know I was home alone or that the house was empty all day.) Well last week Victor was back from Thursday to Saturday (at $10/hr this time). But Michael promised me it was only for 3 days. Well guess what! Victor was back again this week. I DO NOT trust this guy. I don’t like being lied to. I don’t like that he brought a friend to snoop around our house and possibly steal. I don’t like that he just shows up and starts working on our yard even before we are awake as a way of pressuring Michael into letting him work. And while I didn’t see him take anything I don’t like that he left on Friday with the keys to our shed. I love my man but he is way too forgiving. I can forgive Victor too but that doesn’t mean I want to put our home or safety at risk. Plus, Michael’s been taken advantage of by others and I don’t want that happening again. I know he doesn't like being mean and saying no, but I just want him to stop being so NICE!!!

#####
Well I feel better now that I vented. Have nice weekend ya'll! And remember... say no to Escolar - unless you're constipated in which case, go for it.

Okay Steph here ya go...

2005-08-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

A picture of me, though admittedly somewhat incognito. And just in time for HNT. Believe me my mom would say I was half nekkid in this picture. My grandma would be covering the picture with a blanket. My dad would be building a concrete wall around it.

Just meandering through the blogosphere...

2005-08-04T13:11:00.000-07:00

I found this. And laughed my ass off.

Love Him, Love Him, Love Him!

2005-08-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

My Honey

This was back before his buzz cut. His mom almost cried when he cut off all those curls. I think he did it so he'd look less like David Hasselhof (though I think he had more of a Greg Evigan thing going here). But he's gorgeous, no? (Actually, he used to be a model. For a really brief time.)

And his heart is even more beautiful.
I just love him to pieces.

A long time ago I was a different person...

2005-08-02T07:40:00.000-07:00

Well to be honest, I was the same person but you wouldn't have recognized me. I think some of you will hate me after this but then omission can be a lie. And this blog isn't about lies. Besides, I respect you all too much to lie in any case.

14 years ago I moved from NJ to CA. It was the gutsiest thing I'd ever done -- so, of course, I panicked. I met a guy the first week. A strong, confident, opinionated guy that was from NJ too, but had been out here much longer so he really knew his way around LA.

To make a long story short in less than a month we became engaged and moved in together. My family was -- let's just say, "shocked." My friends were like, 'WTF?' It was not a pretty thing. I argued with everyone who loved me and alienated pretty much everybody.

Within 3 months I realized I'd made a HUGE mistake. It's not like I wasn't warned. His own sweet saintly mother told me in our very first phone conversation, "Don't let him RULE you." I laughed when she said it but it haunted me later. This guy was a controlling manipulative, bastard who battered my self-esteem at every turn. His lies and berating even caused me to stop writing; which is for me tantamount to suffocation. He monitored my every move, wanted a report on every phone call and didn"t like the fact that my mother calls me "daughter"when she leaves messages on my machine (why not, I don't have sisters so she doesn't have to specify a name.) He'd go through my things and read my journals. He'd lock the door and make me stand in the bathroom with him while he took a crap because he thought it was funny to make me smell it - "C'mon it smells like roses!" He'd actually lean his ass up against me and fart any time he felt gas coming on even if he had to run in from another room to do it. He said his father does it to his mother and it's sign of love (nevermind that his father used to beat his mother too, so for her that was probably an improvement). "There's so little love in the world, you shouldn't be picky about how it's expressed to you," were his exact words. (Which my therapist laughed at when I told her. That would be the therapist he sent me to near the end of our relationship because "I" had problems; and then told me to stop going to when I finally stopped taking his shit. But all that came too late. )

He "changed" my every opinion to match his own by manipulation, told me I'd be a bad mother because I was too "cold" and he was the "nurturing one", and badger me until I cried if I didn't want to do exactly what he wanted to do. He made me write lists of things to do to make me be a better girlfriend to him, post them on the fridge and read them every single morning. He made me buy most of the groceries even though he made more money. He did everything BUT hit me. In retrospect, I wish he HAD hit me, because that would have woke me up sooner and I could have avoided the path I ultimately took. To top it all off he was a bit... well I guess Sociopathic would be the word. To everyone else he was the sweetest, most generous , most romantic guy and I was "such a lucky girl". He put on a good face. So good I didn't think anyone would believe me if I told them how bad things really were. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I'd gotten myself into this and I made the fatal mistake of not running back to my family and friends for help. I thought they wouldn't take me back. I know now that they would have been my lifeline.

I kept trying to lay in the bed I'd made for 5 more months. Then about 8 months in I got pregnant. By this time I my growing hatred for him had taken root very strongly. But I still didn't admit that to anyone or ask for help. I did not think clearly. I know that. There was only one driving feeling. That I had to eventually get away from him. I could not allow any child of mine to have him as a father and I could not let myself be tied to him forever through my own child. I just refused to do it.

There you have it. My dark confession. The big issue of abortion that's raging all over the news and the blogosphere is my ugly past. But let me be clear. I am fully convinced that this is the single most horrible thing I've ever done. It haunts me. I sometimes wonder if the child I threw away was the only one I was meant to have. Maybe I threw away my only chance. Worse still I now realize I was a lot stronger than I gave myself credit for. I could have done it -- been a single mom. But I didn't even try and I hated myself for a very long time. In some ways I still have a lot of resentment.

I want you know that abortion is not just an "issue" it is an "experience." People don't talk about what it means to go through it. They talk about wrestling with making the choice beforehand and whether you have the "right" or not to do it. They talk about the feelings of loss, guilt and sadness that flood your being for years to come. But they don't tell you about the gripping fear that you suppress and go numb to while you're laying on a medical table fully conscious. They don't mention the sights, sounds and sensations that swirl about you. I guess, it's because so few people debating it have ever actually done it and those who have, really don't like talking about it.

For me it was this: A day or so before I went in. They had to put something into the opening of my cervix to make it dilate. The B-friend told me I was on my own for the procedure. Fine with me. But I had to talk him into picking me up afterward since they told me I'd be too groggy to drive. On the day of, I had to take some drugs ahead of time, I don't recall what for. I got there and they gave me more drugs.

It was a women's clinic so there were lots of women coming and going. I wondered if any of them knew why I was there? I wondered if any were there for the same reason. None of the staff looked me in the eye. (Or was it that I couldn't look them in the eye?)

They took me back to a room and left me alone to strip from the waist down and climb onto the crinkly white paper that lined the padded vynyl medical table. I laid there alone for an eternity of five minutes waiting. The stoic doctor came in and explained the procedure in sanitary monotone. Basically it was going to feel like I was having menstrual cramps and a machine was going to vacuum the "contents" of my uterus. I wasn't shaking. I was very still. It was a "get it over with" stillness. The machine started up and they began; the doctor invisible behind the sheet and two nurses on either side of me averting their eyes from mine as much as possible. (But I didn't want to look at them anyway, did I? Of course, I didn't.)

It was NOT cramps. At least not like any I'd ever had. It felt like my guts were being ripped out -- and mind you I was on a lot of drugs. A tall nurse with long dark brown hair took my hand and held it. I don't think anyone had touched me until that point (other than the obvious and that didn't count.) I just focused on her hair and tried to breathe. That nurse is burned in my memory, her impossibly straight dark brown hair cascading down her back past her waist, standing in the ammonia sterile room, holding my hand so very gently and whispering softly, "just squeeze as hard as you need to."

In less than 10 minutes it was over. Up until then a white sheet across my abdomen and legs had blocked my view. But it slipped down my thighs and I glanced down. I saw the doctor carrying what looked like a large glass mason jar out of the room. It was filled about 1/4 of the way with blood and tissue. That's when I died. Every little bit of feeling just shut down. I stayed like that for a few days. And when I started to feel again the first emotion was anger and the second was guilt.

Even though the b-friend knew EXACTLY when to pick me up he didn't show up on time. The nurses kept coming into the waiting room and asking if I was okay and if I wanted them to call me a cab. I refused. Even when the fucking drugs started to wear off and I thought I could risk driving myself, I just sat there and stared at the god-damned door. I was going to stay there until he came. Eventually he did... 3 1/2 hours later. He took me home and then got pissed when I asked him to make me some tea. He really wanted to go for a bike ride and I was slowing him down with my request - my selfishness always annoyed him.

Now it wasn't really over yet. You see they wanted me to come back in 3 days. Because, get this, they had to make sure they'd "got it all" in case there was like some random baby parts growing inside me. So I had to spend 3 days with the idea of a mutilated fetus in my belly. But my check-up showed everything was a-okay. Right, sure it was. The b-friend asked me 3 questions when I got home.
- "Are you okay?"
- "What did the doctor say?" and
- "Did she say how soon we can have sex again?"
Let's just say that even though it took me more than a year to get my self-esteem back to a level where I could get away from him, the sex was officially CUT OFF!

I could tell you about the aftermath in the sickening waves of alternating guilt and numbness. But I won't. I will tell you that I kept it from everyone for a very long time. Upon my conversion to Catholicism I did confess to a priest. His response was this: "God loves and forgives you. You owe no one any explanation nor does anyone have a right to pry. You've punished yourself enough. Your penance is to go and do a kindness for yourself. Buy yourself a gift, treat yourself to a bubble bath, something, anything. It doesn't have to be indulgent. Just be kind to yourself." Not at all what I expected him to say. But then again he was a Jesuit. While it did provide a certain level of relief, the only thing was, I can't really wash an abortion away with a bubble bath no matter how much God loves me. And even if I don't really owe anybody an explanation I feel like I'm hiding something whenever the subject comes up in conversation. I have some very close friends that are strongly against it and I just don't want think about what their reaction might be. I think they'd still love me, but I don't know if they'd still respect me.

There are about 3 or 4 friends of mine who do know, Michael knows. And my mother knows now too. I didn't tell her for a very long time. And when I did I was terrified. But like the priest her response was wonderfully unexpected. "I love you. I love you more than anything," was what she said over and over as she held me while I sobbed. And I'm crying even as I write about it because I think that was the moment I really began to feel like I could eventually be healed. She said she didn't blame me for doing it, but I don't pretend it was the right thing to do.

Here is the thing. I am NOT the rape victim, the incest victim or the woman whose life hangs in the balance of her pregnancy. I am NOT any of those compassionate reasons why abortion should remain legal.

I AM one of the other ones. The ones they blow up clinics because of and shoot abortion doctors over. No I AM the one they scream "baby killer" at while waving signs of depicting the bodies of aborted fetuses (I'll pass on the souvenier t-shirts folks, I had a backstage pass to that show.) I AM one of those who made the CHOICE for entirely selfish reasons. I know that. I told you about my Ex-boyfriend only so you understand my mindset at the time, not so you would sympathize. I AM one who did it as a form of birth control so that I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. Well guess what. I was wrong --I still had to deal with them. I still am dealing with it. I will until I am able to hold my first born child in my arms -- if God is willing. But I'd be lying if I said my life hasn't been easier because of it. I've traveled, I have a great job, live in a beautiful house and I'm marrying the most amazing man on the planet. Oh, yeah I've benefited, but that doesn't mean it was worth it. If I could do it over -- well I'd have a 12 year-old right now wouldn't I? But I don't. I wish I did though, even if he or she was being raised by somebody else, I sure wish it. I sometimes wonder if I'd had someone in there with me, someone who loved me, if maybe I would have had the courage to turn around. But "what if" is pretty sharp little knife and you can bleed yourself dry with it if you're not careful.

Abortion is the only sin besides Suicide that I believe is its own punishment. And yes I think it is a sin because it tears down the spirit and anything that does that has a very high "sin" potential. Whether it's a crime or not is up to the courts. For now they say not, and I agree. So here is my position: If a woman who was considering abortion came to me and asked my advice, I would do everything compassionately possible to change her mind (no bloody fetus photos allowed.) But if she still chose to do it I would go with her and hold her hand through it and tell her "Just squeeze as hard you have to." I would drive her home and make her tea or soup or whatever she wanted. I would check on her every day and make sure that she showed herself some kindness even as she dealt with her guilt. In short I would remind her that she is still worthy of love. Because quite frankly that is the first thing you forget.

But how can someone like me, who knows the cost of abortion, support the right to choose? And Catholic at that? Well, maybe I'll try to answer that in a future post if I can. It took me a while to summon the courage for this one.

I know some of you may be disgusted with me now. It's okay. I have days like that, too.

Flash Fiction #1

2005-07-30T11:28:00.000-07:00

Here's my Flash Fiction entry... (thanks to Jacob for the tip) Mine is a short story in poem form. (I hope that doesn't break the rules. ;) I was trying to do something a bit different. So here it is.

The Goddess

Of course, hindsight is 20/20,
But in reflection not having any money
Dan could not have kept her anyway.

His mother always told him that a man
Should love a woman as fully as he can
Silly boy he took her at her word.

Rita’s hair was dark but captured light
And he believed that sometimes in the night
Its silken strands could hold back the day.

Her eyes were pearls of amber fire
What she wished, he could not deny her
Such recklessness he could ill afford.

She was lonely and he made it easy
But in her heart she felt a little sleazy
And tried to tell him she didn’t feel “that way.”

He said “just friends” was all he wanted
But she could see his eyes were haunted.
And such a fierce desire caused discord.

She begged and begged him not to love her
But for his obsession his occupation suffered
And soon he’d lost his only source of pay.

As she watched his world begin to crumble
She knew she’d caused a noble man to stumble
She withdrew, though against it he implored

As devoted as he was, her heart was silent
In the end rejection made him violent
And his treasure soon became his prey

They found her lovely body sad and broken
With a sparkling lock of hair shorn off as token
And flowers at her feet as one adored.

A Poem

2005-07-27T20:03:00.000-07:00

This is over 10 years old. I think perhaps it is one of my better efforts. Too bad the inspiration for it had to the shittiest thing I've ever done.

THE HISTORY OF A CRIME

confession
Regardless of what I may do in my dreams,
I cannot change what has been.
Although I may say:
"If I could start over"
I am fully aware that the sands have run out.

It is a painful thing to bear the words
"If it were I"
Again and again once the hour is gone.
Yet I understand the judgment and acknowledge it as
RIGHT AND TRUE(amen)
For I have explored the alternate universes of
"If I had only"
As one explores the points on a bed of nails.

history
So here I lay the burden at the feet of God:
to be judged by Him alone.
to be judged alone.
the blood of my enemies still warm in their veins
(who knew He would be so thrifty with His vengeance)

To share with you the history of a crime
Is to put my trust in you.
But I see now I cannot expect you to be without question.
I cannot expect your faith to go unshaken,
Nor your respect to stand as tall.
It would not be fair to ask you for such things.
(but wouldn't it be wonderful)

Perhaps I can never help you understand.
But know this:
What was too great for my hands
Now rests beneath the heel of God
And I have neither desire nor power
To bring it hence again.
To hold the knowledge from you feels like a lie.
So I offer my apologies for this poor excuse for an act of faith.
But I have seen even the strongest swimmer test the calmest sea,
Before diving into the water.

7 Favorite Parts Of A Man

2005-07-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been bogged down by deep thoughts over things I have read on other blogs. Some dark truths are trying to bubble their way to the surface. But I'm still trying to figure out how to voice them. So since my contemplative side is occupied I thought I'd let my randy side come out and play for a bit...

Posting the sexy pic of Vin got me thinking. What is it that makes a guy sexy(in a physical sense)? Every woman’s got that one set of attributes that really turn her on in a guy. – And, no fellas it’s not always the size of your, uh,tool box.

Smiles & Dimples:I’m a sucker for dimples, they go hand in hand with a fabulous smile. There’sa picture of my grandmother’s youngest brother; my Uncle Travis. It used to hang in the upstairs hall. He has this absolutely glowing smile and dimples so deep they seem to cut through his cheeks. When I was a child I’d look at that picture and think he was the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
Hip Divots a.k.a. “The Groove of Apollo”:That wonderful curve of muscle and bone on a well sculpted man that just makes a woman melt.*SIGH* The elegant definition of the muscle structure that implies so much power. Let’s be honest, ladies, we sort of start imagining ourselves on the receiving end of that power, don’t we? No? Just me I guess.;-D
Beards:I hated facial hair when I was akid. Now I can barely stand clean faces. What changed? I discovered that there were some delightfully kinky (and ticklish) benefits to beards and mustaches and that’s all I’m gonna say about that… use your imagination.
Chest hair:Making out with a chest-hairless guy is like making out with a 14 year old…and I didn’t even do that when Iwas 14. My first serious “grown-up” boy friend in college had wonderful soft silky chest hair. Caveat: when it doesn’t stop at the chest and runs rampant and wooly over the shoulders back and ass … then it’s not so sexy. (A few strays are okay but not when you need to use extra shampoo in the shower to take care of things back there... eeeew! It's like, man-up and get that stuff waxed!!!)
Rough But Graceful Hands:Michael is a Contractor so he works with his hands. They get really rough and tough looking. But his fingers are long and thin and graceful when they move. Something about that combination just gets me totally hot. When he touches me, I’m basically gone. I love hands that you know have DONE something. I need a few callouses to convince me I'm gonna get spanked by a REAL MAN. MmmmHmmm!
Hairline: You know that soft, almost dewy spot on a man’s brow just where the hairline starts. I love that spot…mmmmwah! Made for kissing.
Long Lashes:Especially long dark lashes on a guy. I don’t know one woman who doesn’tadore men withlonglashes. It’s that moment when he looks down at something and you see them laying all tender against the top curves of his cheekbones… and in that instant you can see what your future babies will look like when they’re sleeping. *double sigh*

Now mind you. All these delicious qualities put together mean NOTHING if he’s not sexy on the inside. That takes intelligence,a sense of humor, honesty, kindness, imagination loyalty and a whole hostof other qualities that you can’t get from a plastic surgeon.

I’m really serious about that. I once dated the manager of my health club back in NJ. This guy pounded all 7 of these points with hammer and DROVE ‘EM HOME, BABY! YEAH!!! But as a person he was shallow, vain, insensitive and basically a prick. So that lasted less than a week. Besides that I’ve noticed that guys with all of these traits tend to be “pretty boys” who go through women like a dog through a pack of T-bones. However, they are perfectly acceptable for random lusting and drive-by fantasizing.

Fortunately, my man has all the good stuff plus a healthy 6 out of my 7 faves. We’re working on the hip divots, but otherwise he’s Golden. Plus he’s got a naturally cleft chin which is like a Hunk Bonus Point.

Mmmm... Ponds.... Yummy!

2005-07-23T19:05:00.000-07:00

because I promised a few days ago in the comments of my interview with Jacob -- Here it is. My most embarrassing childhood photo. I hereby share it with the world. ENJOY.

My Interviewees

2005-07-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

Here are my interviewees so far:

John the Triathlete Dad

Questions are available here.

Why I Love: My Cats...

2005-07-17T23:50:00.000-07:00

10:34 am Awww... they're so CUTE! 10:34 am & 42 seconds.....
YOWZA!!!!!

Jacob Interviews Me

2005-07-15T09:56:00.000-07:00

I'm just cut'n & paste'n...
This could be considered a meme of sorts, but you need to invite yourself to the party. Here are the instructions:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "Interview me." "Blow me" or "Eat me" are not acceptable substitutes.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. I'll post the questions in the comments section of this post.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.Got it? You have to ASK to be interviewed, and I promise I will try and be clever.

(I'm only gonna promise to interview the first 3 people as I don't know if I have Jacob's energy to interview everyone who asks.)

Anyways here are my answers....

1. You are travelling for a day trip, north to LA or south to Mexico? L.A. no question! In fact I am doing that tomorrow (which is kinda creepy that you asked that question, actually... jacob? psychic?). All my friends are there. Better restaurants. And if I want to shop for cheap goods, there's always Santee Alley in the Garment District (which is part of the reason I'm going... the other part being my darling Godson's 1st birthday.)

2. What is more embarrasing for a new boyfriend (hypothetically speaking) to see...baby pictures or your underwear drawer? Nothing especially embarrasing about my underwear (ceptin' maybe that pink thong I just bought that says "hot cocoa" and that's only embarrassing cause it's the only remotely sexy thing in there..) so I guess baby pictures. There's one pic of me after I attempted to eat a jar of my mom's face cream. I'd just woken up from a nap so my hair is like Phil Spector-scary and my mom caught me. She yelled and gave me a swat on the bottom. But because I looked so funny she took a picture. Way To Go, Mom!

3. Beach or swimming pool? Depends. Right now its beach cause I don't have an option. But if I had a pool and it was heated and it had one of those cool disappearing edges and some kick ass landscaping with like a waterfall that had a hidden swim up bar in a man-made cave behind it, and a jacuzzi that was just steps away from a polished teak and brass outdoor shower and we had a massive stainless steel grill with a mini cooler for the steaks and beers next to it, And we had like tree house palapas with a hammock overlooking it where we could invite our friends to climb up for drinks and jenga... then DEFINTELY POOL. (Did I mention we have subscriptions to like TWELVE different home improvement/design magazines?)

4. Tell us, what do you REALLY believe? I really believe that one of the single most important spiritual lessons you can teach your child is how to properly tilt his or her head back in order to receive a mouthful of Readi-Whip Whipped Cream. Everything else is secondary. (btw: that's the secret test St. Peter gives you to get through the Pearly Gates you know. If you over fill and "foam" at the mouth you're in Purgatory for at least 1000 years. And if you air blast it and get nothing it's straight to the firey furnace for you!)

5. You say you are figuring it out as you go...what have you figured out thus far? I have figured out that I cannot eat junk food all day and expect to feel good. I discovered that lack of sleep is a drag. I now know that people who watch "24" from week to week are masochists (I've been renting the full seasons from Blockbuster and I'm obsessed I'd kill somebody if I had to wait 7 days to see what happens next). Also I am looking for opportunities to use new vocabulary ("craptacular", "freshly-fucked-hair","bumpernuts" and "HNT") that I've gleaned from other blogs. Besides that I have figured out that there are a lot of smart people out there with really interesting thoughts some of which I agree with and some which I don't ... and oddly enough I am one of those people (except for that I always agree with myself.... NO I DON'T!!!.... YES I DO!!!)

And Now For Something Almost Completely Different

2005-07-14T11:58:00.000-07:00

For me and many other women
(and perhaps a few men)
this is proof enough that there is a GOD.

As Steph (who I lifted this image from) says, "There is a God and she loves me very much apparently."

A-Vin... I mean, A-men to that, sister!!!

What Do I Believe?

2005-07-13T08:19:00.000-07:00

I believe God is perfect, that He created everything and that He loves us.
Yes life sucks sometimes. I think God allows us to get sick with horrible diseases, diseases that He created. I think He does it for a good reason. I don't know what that reason is for sure, but here's my guess: We are basically hedonistic. It's all about pleasure. If everybody were healthy and never got old we'd never know true compassion. We'd never know the overwhelming love and strength it takes to care for someone who is helpless. We'd never know how deeply we were loved in the physical world unless we were totally helpless and had to depend on a loved one. And then we get a glimpse of God's greater love to have given us someone like that. That's not explained well. And I know some people would rather be healthy than experience love that deeply. But God apparently thinks it's important so He lets/causes that suffering to come to us. At least that's what I think He thinks, but I could be wrong. Maybe it has nothing to do with Him and it's just some deal He's got with Satan where they each get equal time (kind of like with campaign advertising during elections.)

But life also sucks because People kill each other, they murder innocents and they commit unspeakable acts against each other. But quite frankly that's our fault. We screw each other over. That's our choice. Choice. That's a key word. We have free will. You can't be free to love God (or anyone for that matter) if you are a Stepford human programmed to be a bundle of Love&Joy. You have to be free to be hateful and ugly too if you are going to be free to love. I think God is totally free to hate us. But He chooses not too. I believe He will never choose anything but Love. I'm pretty much betting the farm on that one.

I believe that Jesus Christ is the literal son of God.
Not just some prophet. Not just a rabbi, or a holy man, or a sage. Not merely some reactionary who created a hubbub. Yes, he was all those things but he was also God’s Son. I believe His mother was a Virgin. I believe the Holy Spirit of God impregnated her. I believe He died on the cross. I believe He rose again from the dead. I believe He did this for the whole world to remove the guilt that blinds us from realizing we're loved in the most spectacular way. Don’t ask me to prove it to you. I won’t. I can’t prove it to YOU, because I don’t know what evidence would suffice. I could tell you how I know (and it ain’t just cause the Bible told me so) but you wouldn’t believe me. You'd pick it apart and call me crazy, stupid or worse... gullible. Suffice it to say that my evidence is supernatural, decidedly intimate and personal in nature. If you want proof, you’re going to have to ask for your own. (But I warn you, be careful what you wish for.)

I believe that the Bible is the inspired word of God… for the most part. But probably not the only one.
That’s going to piss my Christian brothers and sister off but that’s how I feel. The Bible like all historical accounts was written by the winners. These people were God’s chosen ones but they were still human. No matter how divine the inspiration we as humans will sully it as soon as we touch it. Even the most holy of us will not embrace guilt and hold it up for all of history. We will confess but we will seek to justify it at the same time. The men who recorded God’s works also recorded their own. And where God may not have condoned their actions I think they appropriated His approval even when He did NOT, in fact, approve. They had prejudices and bigotries that they sought to justify. Just as men do today, they often put words in God’s mouth. Just because we don’t have a bunch of verses crossed out in the bible don’t assume that all the misinformation has been excised over time. I think it's arrogant to assume that the human race got the message perfect ONE time. We all know how damned subjective we are. Let's be honest.

For this very human and fallible reason I believe that an infallible God wouldn’t put all His eggs in one divinely inspired basket. I believe that the Torah, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching, the writings of Chaung Tsu, the writings of Native American Shamen, the orations of many of our great philosophers, and the discoveries of our most brilliant scientists and mathematicians are also inspired by God. (Sorry for misspellings in that last sentence.) I’ve read most of them except the Native American stuff, some of the philosophers and the uber-Geeks but I’m getting around to them Like the scribes of the Bible they too were human and probably didn’t get it all right either. So I look for themes. Overriding, prevailing truths that bind them all together like pearls on a string. And they ARE there I assure you. Chaung Tsu a student of Lao Tsu writes of the perfect man or the great sage as one who among other qualities would be able to lay down his life and take it up again. Sound like somebody you’ve heard of? And he wrote that more than a thousand years before anyone ever thought of Easter Sunday. But that is just a coffee table point. The truths that run through the room up and down the walls are: honesty, kindness, generosity, forgiveness, peace, moderation, courage, sacrifice, compassion, sharing and the greatest of all, from which all the others flow: LOVE.

I believe that all these written works along with music, art, history, sex, laughter, the birth of a child, the death of each of us, the life we live in between and what we discover of ourselves on that journey must all link together somehow to show us the wonder of this Infinite Being whose limitlessness is inextricably bound to His unfathomable Love for us. I know this somehow, instinctively but I have not been able to put two pieces of the puzzle together without discovering 10 more. That experience both thrills and frustrates me. But I long to continue it and I feel my soul shrink when I am not engaged in the search.

I believe that HELL is a state of being not a place.
Hell is the choice to live outside of God’s presence. It comes back to CHOICE. I believe that hell is God next you but you having no sense of Him. It is being a spiritual vegetable, you could say. Only you are aware of nothing but your own loneliness. The only thing that can save you is the one thing you cannot reach out to. Hell is the ultimate tragedy of being. There are people alive right now who are on the brink hell only they still have their physical senses. They still have God present in nature, in good things around them, the people they love, in love itself, in laughter, in physical pleasures. God is in those things. When those things pass away they lose God. The best example I can think of is that movie “What Dreams May Come.” Watch it if you haven’t seen it. The hopelessness of the wife in that movie, where she cannot even leave the darkness when her husband comes for her; she cannot even recognize hope and love for what they are. That is hell. It is not God torturing or punishing a person. The person does it to themselves. We must grasp onto the love of God that is around us now. It is the lifeline that ties us to heaven. Without it we fall utterly into ourselves. And that is just not enough; it is quite simply... hellish.

I believe that some, most or almost all of what I now believe could actually be wrong.
But I am willing to learn. I am willing to question any one of those beliefs but one… I believe God Loves Me. Nothing else is set in stone (wet cement perhaps, but not stone) I simply cannot know it all for certain, but I trust that God does know; and it doesn’t seem to be troubling Him in the slightest.

I don’t ask to you to believe me, convince me, be inspired by me or limited by me. I offer you ZERO proof. Sorry. Not gonna engage you beyond my own experience. My faith is no greater than anyone else’s. I am just a sparkling bit of Almost-Nothing searching for the Something Wonderful that I think is already holding me in the palm of His hand.

A Poem: Are You Home?

2005-07-12T12:53:00.000-07:00

I run away from the screaming.
The chanting throbbing mob.

It was only a question.
A simple question.
Not a test, or a challenge, or a call to arms.

Just a question.
Father, are you home?

They come down like stones
An avalanche of opinion
An inquisition, a trial, a demand for obedience

So I run from the voices.
Those who insist on eyes always forward.

I am looking everywhere
But I still cannot focus.
To the left, to the right, above and below

Why must it be so hard?
To go back to where you started

Let me lie down in a field
Wide open spaces under a sky
Let my mind find quiet, let my heart want nothing

Let the question rest at my fingertips
Father, are you home?

May the sky open up
May the stars shine in daylight
May the warm wind descend upon me with His answer.

Dream #1

2005-07-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I have been known to have weird dreams. From time to time I will share them with you.

Dream #1
Last night I dreamt that Michael ran into an old friend. She had been arrested unjustly because of her boyfriend who Michael also knew. He felt bad for her and said something to me about how he and she almost dated; but she decided to go for the other guy. So I said, "well I'm glad she did, because now I have you." or something like that.

For some reason this really hurt his feelings and he got all silent. I apologized right away cause I knew that I had hurt him somehow, but he just walked away. Then I tried to find him and I couldn't. I was running around asking everyone where Michael was and trying to figure out what I could say to make him forgive me when I found him.

All night long I was waking up and checking to see if he was still next to me. Then I'd go back to sleep and fall into the dream again still looking for him.

So this morning before I leave (I get up early so he's usually still in bed when I leave) I sit next to him on the bed to kiss him goodbye. Only I'm still unnerved by the dream and I'm looking at him sleeping and my eyes well up...

He opens his eyes and after a moment says "what's wrong?"
"If I ever say anything stupid to hurt you, will you forgive me?"says me, blinking back tears.
"Why? What happened?"
"I had a bad dream."
"Oooh," he surpresses a grin cause he now knows where this is going; having had much experience with my dreams. (I once woke up and hit him because he pissed me off in a dream.)
"Well there was this girl who you knew..." I tell him the whole dream and now I'm crying like a baby, "..I cccouldn't fffind you and (sniff)... and I kkkept waking up and grabbing you all nnnight!"
"I know, it was kinda nice. I thought you were checking to make sure I wasn't working in the garage." (That's usually what I do, cause he sneaks out there to work and eat monster-sized bowls of ice cream.)
"bbbut then I'd fall bbbback to sssleep and look for you again."
"Honey, I love you. I'm not going to leave you."

By now I'm laughing as much as I'm crying because I know how ridiculous it sounds. So I dry my eyes. Kiss him goodbye and head off to work (still kinda weepy though cause now I'm on a "HE LOVES ME!!!"-high. I'm sure he was shaking his head and laughing to himself as I left.

How on earth does he put up with me? I do LOVE that man.

Why I Love: Angelina Jolie

2005-07-07T18:24:00.000-07:00

From time to time I'm going to offer reasons why I love something that a lot of folks dis. My first topic is one of my favorite actresses....

Angelina Jolie

I absolutely adore Angelina Jolie. I really do. Okay, the snuggly/kissy-face with her brother was a tad disturbing and she could probably use some counseling on her relationship with her dad. But, hell who doesn’t have a dysfunctional family in one form or another?

Here’s 5 Reasons Why I Love Angelina Jolie...

1. She’s a humanitarian: Sure the world is teaming with celebs and their causes. But I honestly believe she really cares about the poverty that plagues the world’s children. When you’ve been blessed with that much wealth and success it is far better that you should try to make a difference in the world and suffer the slings of public criticism than it would be to just indulge yourself J. Lo style. And she's done it without jumping on the Scientology or Kaballah band wagons (at least not yet, thank heavens).

2. She’s a solid actress: I don’t say great actress, although I think she has the potential, she’s not there yet. But she’s solid in that I honestly enjoy watching her in just about everything, even the stuff that sucks. She tends to take creative risks by choosing some rolls that are bound to go nowhere. But I like that Johnny Depp style of role choosing because you can really see an actor grow and get better. I hope she does more of that in the future.

3. She dumped Billy Bob: Really she had no business with that old coot. (Please note that I think he’s very talented as an actor/director/producer ….but as a husband? Eww! And the vials of blood… well I hope she’s past that. But hey, I’ve had my share of questionable relationships too, so I can cut her some slack.) What I love about the fact that she dumped him is that she did it for her son. The kids come first no matter what, in my book. Any guy who doesn’t love and respect your kid, who wouldn’t lay down his life for your kid, kick that sucker to the curb! That’s how I feel. Go ANGIE.

4. She’s adopting an AIDS orphan: I think adoption is one of the coolest things anyone can do. Who gives a fuck where the kid is from? A motherless child doesn’t know borders. Why the hell should a mother who has love to give a child bother with them. I’ve often thought that I would love to adopt a baby girl from India. I once read an article about how some lower caste Indian families felt that having a daughter was such a burden that they would kill them at birth (or even abort them if they found out the sex ahead of time.) I imagined myself rescuing an Indian baby girl, bringing her back home and raising her as my own. So just I love that A.J.'s adopting an AIDS orphan.

5. She doesn’t apologize for her sexuality: She has stated that she will take lovers and not get into any committed relationships until she knows she’s found someone that will truly love and respect both her and her son. She’s a beautiful woman, incredibly sensual and she doesn’t hide that. But she’s not trashy. Too many women in our society are forced to suppress their God-given sexuality and sensual beauty under the guise of nun-like propriety. Or else they go to the other extreme and become Anna Nicole. It’s the Virgin/Whore dilemma. A.J. doesn’t get sucked into that bullshit. She’s a woman, she’s a mother, she’s a vixen… deal with it. (I’m not surprised that a man would be tempted to leave his wife by that kind of honest femininity. Assuming that’s why the Bradster dumped Jen. Which I don’t entirely buy, but who cares why, really?)

Lost respect for me, have you? Too bad. I don’t take it back. A.J. is cool. Assuming she doesn’t go off the deep-end she’ll keep my respect. There’s a few other notorious celebs that I like even though they don’t always get the best press. Maybe I’ll post those in the future.

Conversations With God

2005-07-06T07:43:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking about this communications impasse I’m having with God. And something Jacob (aka "cannot be trusted)" said in his comment on my last post triggered some memories. There have been moments in my life where I’ve been convinced that God was trying to get my attention. The Venus thing I mentioned previously is one. But there have been others. Here are a few of note.

The Rear View Mirror: I was working on a movie in the costume department. I think it was “Sphere” so this would have been circa ’97-‘98. It was a particularly shitty traffic day and I was bitching at every other car on the road. I think I was having a shitty day in general but I don’t recall why. It was the end of the day and I was trying to get back to the costume house. I think I started blaming the traffic on God or something because I suddenly got the impulse to check my rear view mirror. There behind me was the single most spectacular sunset I have ever seen. I just started laughing and then yelled out, “yeah okay, show off. That was worth slowing down for!” (I only call God “a show off” when He does something really impressive like that.) The rest of my drive felt like a vacation.

The Joke: I was living with my Aunt in View Park. Now if you don't know, View Park/Baldwin Hills in Los Angeles is known as “the Black Beverly Hills.” It’s very upscale. (In fact I heard a story once that there was a fire in Baldwin Hills back in the late 70’s and a helicopter cameraman captured the residents on tape trying to put it out. A white newscaster commented about how all the “servants” were trying to put out the blaze. His black co-host cut him off with a terse “those aren’t servants, those are my neighbors!” I don’t know if that’s true, but it made me laugh) In any case I was driving down a quiet street and out of nowhere a chicken stepped off the curb and casually crossed the street in front of me. This completely incongruous farm animal strolling along a million dollar street caused me to begin laughing uncontrollably! I now know who made up the “Why did the chicken cross the road?” joke. God did. And like a 6 year-old who's just discovered the joke He keeps telling it. I guess nobody told Him it’s old… then again I did laugh.

The Beggar at Laundromat & Horatio: People are a useful tool for recognizing God around you. Back when I was still in that relationship I had no business in I had two very special run-ins with human "Angels." One was a beggar outside the Laundromat. I had just had a fight with my then boyfriend who we shall hence forth refer to as "Evil Dave." I was barely holding it together on the verge of tears but trying to focus on getting my laundry done. A beggar outside the Laundromat saw my expression and approached me. He didn’t ask for money he just said with complete sincerity and compassion “are you okay?” Those three words were more precious to me than I can describe. I said I was fine and then walked away. But it touched me and I’ll never forget it. I probably should have given him a buck or something…

The second was similar in nature. I had just lost my job, I was desperate to leave Evil Dave and I was feeling lost and scared. I went to church and sat in a pew to pray. And then I lost it. I cried so hard I thought I would fall apart. I wanted God to tell me what to do but I was too distraught to hear Him. Suddenly an older man of about 50 or so came and sat next to me. “What is wrong? Why you cry? It is breaking my heart to see you cry so,” he said in a thick accent. At first I denied anything was wrong but since I couldn’t stop crying I wasn't very convincing. He assured me that whatever it was God could help, that I had only to pray to the Blessed Virgin and she would intervene to assist me. Well maybe she would but as it turned out I just needed the intervention of a perfect stranger. His name was Horatio, he was a businessman from South America (Brazil, I think) in Import-Export. He was in town for a few days and he had a few hours between meetings so he’d come to the church for a few moments of silence and prayer. (Can you believe there are people who do that?) He talked with me, prayed with me and managed to calm me down. Then gave me his address and we parted with a hug. Years later I found his address and recalled that day. I wrote him a letter thanking him for his kindness and about six months later got a phone call. He was back in town on business. We met for coffee and conversation. And although I got the distinct impression he was hitting on me, it really felt like I was catching up with a much loved old friend. I will never forget him, and if I find his address again maybe I will write him again.

The Big Shut Up: My best friend freshman year in college was this guy Adam. We argued constantly about stuff, which is why I liked him. You'd have thought we were married except there was no sex involved (actually that's not necessarily an exception is it? hahaha). One of the things we argued about was religion. Adam was an atheist. And the worst kind too. A logical one. No matter what evidence I tried to present of the existence of God he broke it down and made it sound like utter nonsense. At the end of the school year he went to visit his grandparents in Hawaii. I got a letter from him a few weeks later. Apparently his grandparents had taken him on a helicopter ride over the volcanos of one the islands. The astounding beauty of the island triggered a spiritual epiphany. He suddenly "just knew" that it all could NOT have been a cosmic accident. There IS a God, he concluded. So he found God in a freakin' helicopter while flying over a big smokey pit. I was floored. All those wasted hours trying to convince him and that's what it took. I felt very stupid. I could almost hear God saying. "I actually don't NEED your help to prove Myself. You get most of it wrong anyway, so if you wouldn't mind, just Shut Up and let Me handle My own introductions."

Well that's just some of my experiences. There's more but I'd rather not go through them all. Besides I'm finding this post lacks edginess and I don't want folks to think I'm going all soft. It's good to reflect on the past, to look behind you. But I still wish God would help me out a little right now -- when I'm struggling to get through to Him. I mean sheeesh, He should be happy that I'm at least trying. A lot of folks are perfectly happy to ignore Him on a regular basis. Shouldn't He cut me some slack and help a sister out?

Well, my quest for spiritual enlightenment continues... which, I suppose, is exactly as it should be.

All Alone In The World

2005-07-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

I had posted this on another blog which I have since decided to delete. But I thought I'd share this little bit of my history, since I will be hard at work on wedding related crap today. I'm seriously thinking of writing a book about breakups. So this would be like the prologue or something. Is that a weird topic to be interested in when you are planning a wedding? I guess I just feel relaxed enough about it now that I don't have to deal with it anymore, that I can laugh about it.

Anyway, have a great 4th of July everyone. And to those international blog visitors -- have a nice regular old weekend.

It all goes back to my childhood. My first and probably my most devastating breakup happened when I was just a tiny girl all of 4 years old. It was the day my mom first dropped me off at Preschool. Of course, it wasn’t romantic, but a mother’s love is the archetype for every form of love a child will experience in life. It’s the foundation of affection, the cornerstone of relationship and the basis for all things emotional. And she betrayed me!!!! Why?!!! Whyyyyyy??!!!

Okay, okay. I’m calm now.

As my mother tells it, it goes something like this. The two of us walk hand in hand one bright fall morning to the schoolyard. I, blissfully ignorant, am babbling back at her all the cheery expectations she has been planting in my head for weeks about ‘school.’ I am going to play all day, meet new friends and have a wonderful kind and caring teacher at my beck and call. There will be snack time, nap time, play time, story time, crafts time… all sorts of delightful times. We enter the schoolyard teaming with the potential playmates who'll soon come to love and adore me. And there is my new teacher beaming with barely contained joy at my arrival.

After a few sparkling introductions my mom bends down to hug me and give me a kiss. The words, “mommy’s gotta go to work now” don’t quite register in the dreamscape of my new utopia at first. She stands up. The glorious teacher takes my hand. And then inexplicably my mother turns and walks out of the schoolyard.

Wait a minute! Something’s wrong. Where is she going? This isn’t right. She never said anything about me going through Preschool ALONE!!!! NO, NO… this can’t be happening!!! I pull away from the sweaty-palmed teacher but the gate to the schoolyard has been closed and latched. I’M TRAPPED!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

My mom is walking away. Her back is to me. I run to the fence and grab the chain link screaming, “MOMMEEEEEEE! COME BACK MOMMEEEEE!” Inconceivably she does not stop. For a moment I think I see a hesitation. Will she turn? But no she doesn’t, she’s actually walking away faster. Hot tears are streaming down my face. “MOMMEEE, DON’T LEAVE ME MOMMEEE, DON’T LEAVE ME!!!!!”

And now she’s turned the corner. She’s gone. The evil, soulless, child-eating teacher is by my side trying to console me with empty promises that my mother will return for me in a little more than 8 hours. I want to believe her, but all I see is the empty sidewalk and the lonely corner that has led my mother out of my life forever!

Now mind you, I don’t actually remember any of that. That’s just what I see in my mind when my mom tells the story. She can tell it easily these days, but back when I was still a kid she would get a little choked up when she told it. That’s because when she was walking away to the agonizing screams of her only child, she was crying like a baby herself. She couldn’t turn around, because if she did she’d never have been able put me in school. She’d have probably ended up home-schooling me or something. That really wouldn’t have worked for her as a single mom at the time.

Abandoning me to preschool was torture for her and for me. But we got through it. And honestly I don’t actually remember the clinging to the chain link part. The funny thing is my real memory picks up the moment I turned around and faced the SCHOOLYARD. A vast expanse that was writhing with the unknown; a seething new universe that I had been thrust into. I was overwhelmed by the crushing loneliness of it. I didn’t know where to start. I felt defeated and terrified.

I remember huge 7-year old boys racing what looked like bicycle wheels through the schoolyard. I thought that looked like fun, but they’d never let me play, I was certain of that. I remember vague clusters of children laughing, children who didn’t know me and probably didn’t want to. There were balls being tossed around in games that I didn’t know how to play. I wondered if anyone would teach me. There was the serpent-teacher cooing, coaxing and comforting, but she couldn’t be trusted.

And then there were the swings. The one thing I recognized and was good at. I could do the swings. I could always impress Mommy with my swinging skills… "Mommy, look at me!!! Look how high!” Yes, the swings. I could do that, for now. But they were all taken. I had to wait. The troll-teacher persuaded another child to let me take a turn. That was nice of her I suppose (or maybe the other child was terrified of her and obeyed only out of fear of being tortured or worse, eaten alive.) When I finally did swing it was only numbly comforting.

Sometime during the day my iron walls sagged. Maybe it was story time -- or more likely nap time. Maybe it was my charmingly insightful teacher recognizing my artistic genius with flour paste. Or maybe it was that first kid who invited me to play something. I don’t remember. But at some point I relaxed enough to let it be alright. Not that I believed it was all right, or would ever be again. But I could let it BE alright even if I didn’t believe it WAS. Eventually I started having fun. Real fun. And then as suddenly as it had begun the emotional rollercoaster day was over. Mommy was back. Time to go home.

The first glorius day of preschool was over and I had survived. But you can bet I was relieved that she had come back for me. The best part was, she blinked first. She couldn’t live without me! I won! Maybe she THOUGHT she could just walk out on me and never come back. But when she had to face the cold hard loneliness of being without me she couldn’t even last one whole day - HA! But really the break up was complete. From that point on we would never "be back together." I had discovered that there really were "other fish in the sea" of human relationships. And as lonely as it might seem, I could swim in it by myself and manage to keep my head above water.

Ever since then whenever I was on the verge of breaking up with a guy the thing that scared me most wasn’t so much losing the guy as it was the idea having to face the world alone again. I could never shake the feeling that the boys wouldn’t want to play with me, that I wouldn’t fit in with a new group of people or that I wouldn’t know how to play the singles game anymore. I’d retreat to the familiar to comfort myself. I’d do the things I used to do with my ex. And then time would pass, a little healing would begin. Maybe some creative burst of writing or a day just hanging with my best friend. Eventually I’d relax my jilted-lover-pessimism and start letting it be alright, even if it didn’t feel that way. Gradually I’d start having fun again, I’d get back to being myself. It might feel like was only treading water at first but after awhile I could just lay back and float along the current. And that's when it would happen. A crush, flirtation, infatuation, romance and, if I was lucky enough, love. It would be like the first day of preschool all over again. So I guess that for me, in a way, breaking up is kid stuff.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! ...

2005-06-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

Bank of America to Buy MBNA in $35B Deal

CHARLOTTE, N.C. - Bank of America Corp. on Thursday said it will acquire MBNA Corp. in a $35 billion cash and stock deal that will result in 6,000 jobs cuts but transform the nation's third-largest bank into one of the world's largest credit card issuers. ...

After the deal is completed, Bank of America will have 40 million active credit card accounts, making it one of the leading worldwide payments-services companies and issuers of credit, debit and prepaid cards based on total purchase volume, Lewis said. ...

The merger also gives MBNA a more powerful distribution channel, Hammonds told analysts.
"We can solicit (nationally) through the mail, but we don't have personal contact with potential customers," he said. "Bank of America has that contact." ....

As if the Bank of Avarice (Absurdity, Airheads, Assholes, All-Your-Money or what ever "A" you want to use) didn't already have enough power! Satan is truly incarnate in this world people... and he is A BANK. THIS IS PROOF!!!!

Why do I still have an account with this evil organization? Why? Because they have a lot of atms that's why. And because I'm used to being in an abusive financial relationship... but there's hope for all of you!! Join a credit union my brothers and sisters before it's too late!!!!

I'm going to go cut up my credit cards and beat myself with reeds now.

Gay Dog At The Four Seasons

2005-06-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

Michael had a lousy time in Hawaii. He was so happy to come home. The condo they were working on was in a town called Hilo. He says it was the "armpit" of Hawaii. Let's just say there was no Aloha Spirit to be seen.

They were miserable the whole time. So while they (him and our friend Justin) were there they created this fictional character, Gay Dog to entertain themselves. It's a rainbow colored mutt that is incessantly happy. And depending on how they draw him he looks like a dog or a pig.

Don't ask me how they came up with it. There's a whole story that's not that funny but the little voices they do are hysterical. So he's been going around all week talking in a falsetto voice saying, "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."

So any way we are splurging this weekend. One night at the Four Seasons. We are getting the Jazz package which includes dinner and a private guests only Jazz Concert. It's worth the $600 Michael says, "because we get a concert, dinner, we can drink alot because we won't have to drive and we get to have sex at the Four Seasons!" Okay, I'm sold! Now mind you, we can't actually afford the Four Seasons but that's not stopping us. Last year we had no fun at all so we are going for broke (literally) and dedicating ourselves to fun.

But I can just see us having beers on the veranda in the Four Seasons restaurant listening to Jazz and every now and then a little voice piping up out of nowhere "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."

Suggestions Needed

2005-06-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I'm preparing a preposal for a corporate blog for my company and I'm trying to show my bosses how we can do one basically for free (or very cheaply). Also I'm hoping I can just add blogging to my job description since that's what my ass has been doing a lot lately anyway. Can anyone offer suggestions of other blog services and tools that might be interesting and cheap?

Obviously I have Blogger.com. I also have statcounter.com thanks to Sara. And now Pollhost.com thanks to the Invisible One via Sara. But I'd be interested in similar services from other sites as well as unique services. Maybe a design/template site... I dunno... free stuff basically would be good.

Post away... and thanks in advance!

Some of My Favorite Foods (In No Special Order)

2005-06-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

1. The little egg custard tarts & roasted duck from 99 Ranch Market: It’s an Asian market that has the yummiest things you can imagine. I like the little custard tarts. I can eat like 3 of them in one sitting. In fact I just did, cause I went there for lunch. I also got the 2 item combo which consisted of a mountain of fried rice, vegetables and roast duck for just $4.30. You can buy a whole roasted duck there too for about $6. Cheaper than any other place.
2. Crème Brule & Burgundy Beef Tri Tip from Seaside Market: I can’t go into that place with out coming out with both of these items. Sometimes the guy in the deli/bakery department sees me coming and starts getting a Crème Brule ready. They used make chocolate Crème Brule too but not any more. I miss it. The Tri tip will make you moan with passion it’s so good. That is NOT an exaggeration.
3. Comice Pears: Back in college one hot spring day, I bought a pear from a street vendor. It was the sweetest, juiciest pear I’ve ever tasted. It took about 12 years before I found out what kind of pear it was. If you’ve never tasted one, you don’t know what you’re missing.
4. Cakes & pastries from Sweet Lady Jane’s: It’s a bakery in LA. They make the most orgasmic cakes you’ll ever taste, hands down. They also make a kind of canoli called a Janoli which has a crispy, nutty, caramelized shell.
5. Apricots from our old tree: At our old house we had an apricot tree. I had never tasted apricots until I lived there. They were like God’s candy they were so good. Unfortunately we sold the house to bunch of pseudo religious freaks who ended up screwing us out of thousands of dollars. So they get to have those apricots from now on. Grrrrr.
6. Cheese steaks sandwiches from Donkey’s: Donkey’s is a bar in Camden, my home town. Their steak sandwiches have a devoted following. They will even ship them to you in dry ice if you can’t afford the plane fare and the personal security force to escort you into the no man’s land where it’s located.
7. My own French fries: I am French fry Diva. I can’t tell you how proud I was of my baby cousin when my aunt told me his favorite food was French fries. He and I have a special bond because I was one of the first to hold him when he born. I think I had just eaten French fries so he probably imprinted on the scent of fries like a baby bird or something. My fry secret is simple. High. Low. High. Get oil really hot with the flame up high. Throw in the fries, let them crisp up on the outside for a few minutes. Then turn the flame down for a few minutes to let them cook through. Finally turn it up high until they’re golden brown. That’s the secret. Use it wisely.
8. Creamed Mushrooms & Creamed Spinach: I love mushrooms. I love spinach. I love cream. What can a gal do?
9. Garlic: I’m a garlic-aholic. I’m addicted to it. I have to be careful when I cook because most people, especially my man, don’t have as high a garlic tolerance as I do. I once ate a whole head of roasted elephant garlic in one sitting, by MYSELF. (one head of Elephant Garlic is like 3 regular garlic heads) It was wonderful but I paid dearly for it. Let’s just say a whole bottle of Beano could not have saved me.
10. Bread & cheese: I love breads and cheeses in all their forms. I especially love warm loaves of country French that are hard and crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. And soft cheeses like brie.
11. My mom’s sweet potato pies: I know some people think pumpkin pie is all that but frankly I’m nonplussed. My mom’s sweet potato pie is light and custardy not dense and heavy like some recipes. Mom RULES!!!
12. My Dad’s Collard Greens: I can not for the life of me figure out how to make collard greens. I’m genetically predisposed to it coming from a black family in which virtually every member seams to excel at it- but I just can’t do it. I love my dad’s recipe the best. Followed a close second by my grandmother’s. But don’t tell her that.
13. Carmen’s Pink Potato Salad: It’s made with beets. I thought it was weird when she described it to me. I actually asked her not to make it for a party. Then I went to a party that she made it for. It was so damned good, there was not one forkful of that stuff left. So damned good! I have since apologized to her for doubting the superiority of The Pink.

I could go on and on…I love food. How the hell do I not weigh 300lbs? Don’t even get me started on butter!!!