Well I get to go on vacation in a week.

I’m not sure I remember the last vacation I took. It had to have been one I took 2-3 years ago. We went to Florida where I learned several rather important things: 1) Florida bugs are so large they should be forced to pay taxes. I’ve seen helicopters smaller than those things. 2.) If you don’t like a person that you spend very little time with, you’ll more than likely find yourself homicidal after being forced to stay in a hotel room with them. 3.) An amusement parks in Florida during the summer are very similar to a modern day form of torture. By the time you’re done, you’re ready to kick the next large furry creature in the head that tries to get between you and anything air-conditioned.

I had a good time during that vacation. I have to admit that I almost always have a good time on a vacation. I don’t care if I have to force people to have fun at gunpoint, we’ll have some fun. I don’t know how I couldn’t enjoy myself just because I get to be away from home for a while. I think that’s for two reasons. I’ve never quite grown up, and being away always gives me a sense of freedom, and being away from home gives me a reason to forget about problems that might be waiting for me. They go straight to the backburner.

Anyway, I’ll be heading to Reno with a few lunatics I’ve met online. I’m quite sure that their all the harmless kind of insane, but if you don’t hear from me for a month or so I’m either wandering the desert lost, or I won a million in blackjack. Have you ever met someone you know online? It’s a strange experience. You know them... hell you talk to them all the time. Yet you’re faced with a stranger. The beauty is that you’ve already decided what you think about them by who they are. How freeing to not have to worry about superficial crap.

So I’m glad to be going on a trip soon. It’s been way too long since I just had some worry free fun.

“VACATION: Two weeks on the sunny sands - and the rest of the year on the financial rocks.” -- Sam Ewing

Idiocy on parade...

You can have all the education in the world and still be completely stupid. If you doubt me, I have proof. Last night I was driving to PetsMart trying to buy a bowl that weighed more than a house. Why? Because I’m really tired of the puppy picking up her bowl and moving it over to wherever I am to eat. It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t leave a trail behind her. My theory is she just wants to remember where to put it back. For the most part she’s self cleaning, and goes back to pick up the trail. Sadly, she doesn’t do a very good job of it so I end up stepping on them late at night while trying to get some water.... but I digress.

Anyway while driving, I passed a brand new Mercedes SUV. The license place said, “ER DOC”. Inside with the light on was a lovely woman.... a lovely busy one. She had the nerve to be driving while reading a medical chart, and talking on her cell phone. How dumb can you be? It’s not like she doesn’t see enough accidents in her ER to know better....

That’s not to say I’m immune from stupidity... far from it. This morning I was talking to my mother... which can be a chore at times in and of itself... and actually found myself offering to cook the Thanksgiving turkey. I tried this last year.... you’d think I’d learn. Last year my brother and I had the grand idea to cook the turkey on the grill. Anyone who knows me knows that an open flame and I are a dangerous combination. There was only a small fire that time... thank god. And at least half the turkey was edible, if you didn’t mind the crunch. But here I was once again offering to burn the house down and mutilate a poor turkey.

None of us are immune from stupidity... I just try to keep it behind close doors and not in a moving vehicle. I’ll just keep it between me, my family, my friends, and the city’s fire department.

“The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits” -- Albert Einstein

What's up doc...

I think I just hate doctors. There’s nothing about the experience that I enjoy. I liked it more when I was a kid and they’d hand you a candy at the end of the visit. Personally, I wish they still continued this practice. I’d do a lot of things for candy. Hell who wouldn’t. Do you remember when you’d eat candy and you wouldn’t feel one iota of guilt? When did the guilt happen? Being an adult really just means that you recognize guilt when you’re feeling it.

I think there should be one day during the week where you’re allowed to feel no guilt about such little things. Maybe a Wednesday. I mean it’s smack dab in the middle of the week and by the time we hit hump day, we really could use a vat of ice cream and a bottle of our favorite alcohol. Going into the grocery aisle and nabbing alla the chocolate we want should be celebrated on this day. Saying phrases like, “That will just head straight to my thighs” should be reserved for those baby carrot sticks and yogurt. It would be a beautiful day where Ben n’ Jerry’s reigned supreme.

What happened to doing things because we enjoyed them? I don’t mean everyday, but what’s wrong with a treat now and then? Why do I feel guilty anytime I feel like making myself feel special? For me... my guilty pleasure is the movies. I love ‘em. I can’t get enough of them. And just as a random fact, I don’t like popcorn. I know... I’m weird. Anyway – I end up wanting to go to one at least once a week. But each time I go I tend to feel a bit guilty. I mean, that’s ten dollars that could have been better spent. Well not really ten. I tend to go to the dollar movies allot. The point is that I seem to find a way to feel guilty about something I enjoy. That’s silly. Everyone needs something... some escape.

So, today’s Wednesday people. It’s guilty day. Go find something that you enjoy... ice cream, pop tarts, chocolate, cheese, movies... whatever. I myself am going to a movie and while there I might just get some gummy candy... and I’m not going to feel so much as a twinge of guilt!

“Guilt is a rope that wears thin.” -- Ayn Rand

Along came a spider....

Towards the end of the summer and early fall here, the tarantulas are in season... everywhere. I spend about 2 months on high alert just waiting for one of those bastards to try to get in my place. I have this vision of them all huddled together creating a battle plan to breech my defense parameter. I’m convinced they enjoy this little game of scare the human. When I see them, my fear trumps any desire I might have to look sane.

I don’t just scream like a chick from a B horror movie.... No, I can actually be heard in the next time zone. Then I suddenly hop onto the nearest thing. Most often that’s a couch or table, but I’ve been known to jump on some poor fool standing next to me. There’s a lot of arm waving and pointing. It really is rather unattractive. All this happens while it stares at me, mocking me. Don’t let it fool you though; it’s just waiting for its opportunity to pounce.

Then the problem comes in. How do you take care of it while staying at least 30 feet from it? I mean these damn things are so big that if I threw my shoe at it, it would probably throw it right back. I’d think about a brick, but with my aim I’d end up putting holes in the walls. So I toss bowls. Now I know you think I’m insane... but they work. The key is getting to the kitchen without putting even my big toe on the ground. This can be tricky and it requires some skill. I suggest you practice before the invaders are attacking. If all else fails, just skirt alongside the wall and then sprint into the kitchen.

Eventually you can cover the thing with a lucky bowl shot. Then you have to put a book over it to hold it down. That’s really important. I found out the hard way. One instance of a moving bowl or an escapee, was enough to teach me that lesson. Then I call someone in to remove it. I don’t care if they kill it really.... I just don’t wanna get close enough to do it myself. Yes that makes me a horrible non-friend to spider kind, but I can’t help it. I’ve tried to reason with them, but they never listen. If the poor fool I call wants to shoo that creature out, then by all means... but just don’t let it escape behind a bookcase. Last time that happened I didn’t sleep for a week

So about a week ago, my puppy thought she’d bring me a huge tarantula (about the size of my whole freaking hand) as a present. I was touched... how sweet. Then I squirted her with the hose till she dropped the thing. What, you think I’d let her near me like that? God no. Poor thing was a tad confused... She ate the hose 3 days later so I think we’re even.

"I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot." -- Kevin James

Sanity...

Have you ever been driving around talking to yourself in the car? I do this. Don’t try to hide it, because I know you do it too. We all do. Often times I’m running over a conversation I just had. I’m always about ten times cleverer when in conversations with myself. I can even think of the one thing I wanted to say but it wouldn’t come. Finally I can think of exactly what I would say to the woman that scooted in front of me for the last parking spot, or the guy who cut in line at the grocery store while commenting on my current weight and parentage. In the car alone, I’m a genius. I can solve any problem, and I’m always right.

So today I was chattering to myself about what I had to do for the day. It was a laundry list of things that I’d probably never get around to. I could’ve been doing a few of them, but by making the list I was allowing myself to procrastinate on actually doing what was on it. It’s a clever trick that all of us procrastinators know. At the stop light I looked over and stopped in mid sentence. Someone was watching me from another car and looking at me as if I’d gone insane. I went insane long ago so that look wasn’t exactly foreign to me, but I fell silent regardless. Then in order to not appear like I was a half a step away from the padded room, I started acting as if I was singing to the radio. That’s more sane right? That should fool them. They didn’t know that I was talking and not singing. How could they know the radio wasn’t even on? Yes, that could be a good plan. So I started bobbing my head and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. For a little bit of added realism I made sure to have no rhythm whatsoever. Not exactly something I had to work at in the least.

I’d done it! I managed to fend off being embarrassed in front of a total stranger I’d never see again. It shouldn’t matter, but embarrassment doesn’t always care if you’ll ever see the person again. I was almost smug that I’d hidden my quirks from the eyes of the general public. That’s when something started nagging at me. As the stranger drove away I realized just what it was.... my windows were down and so was hers. So not only did this person know I was talking to myself, but she knew of my pathetic attempt to cover it up and *fake* sing. Now she thought I talked to myself, sung silently to songs that aren’t there, and had horrible rhythm to boot. Great! Now I was embarrassed. I tried to fight off the impending embarrassment and really only made sure that I’d end up being it anyway. Embarrassment can’t be fought... it’s far too sneaky.

So as I was mentally kicking myself for both my blunder and allowing myself to care what this person thought, I heard her while she drove away. She was laughing and talking to herself about me and my blundering. Ha! I felt better. Did I care that she was laughing at me or telling herself that I was a lunatic? Not one bit. Why you ask? Well because she too was talking to herself. Like I said, we all do it. Sadly I think we all will get embarrassed over something that someone else is sure to do. With that in mind I went back to my procrastination checklist, not bothering to roll up the window or care who heard me.

“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every 4 Americans are suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.” -- Rita Mae Brown

Pool Fiction.

I just read this book today. T’was rather nice and is what I call “fluff you read by the pool”. So that’s exactly what I did. Yes, it was a productive day of reading by the pool and drinking enough ice tea and pop to drown an elephant. It’s my favorite kind of day... that in and of itself amazes me because I used to be rather active and uninterested in books. Then when life happened and I was forced to sit still for a while; I realized just how much I love to read... to fall into a story. So I plowed through online fiction years ago and now I’m even hunting down new things to read. Too bad I’m too cheap to buy a book, and our local library has more books involving drunken rhinos going duck hunting while singing incorrect lyrics to “Louie Louie”, than they do ones involving *gasp* two women in love.... in other words... none.

I’m not sure why reading by the pool is an important part of the whole process. Probably because I can feel like I got out of the house without actually having to get off my duff. It’s not like I was sunning myself or even self-consciously squeezing into a swimsuit... parish the thought. Because really... the more skin I show the more likelihood that I blind some poor passersby with my glaring lack of a tan. Really, I just like the background noise. It was even better because I was alone and didn’t have to worry about children splashing me, or me having to pretend like I’m an adult and say something like, “no running...”

I even took the time to go to Circle K (A local convenience store) to by a pop the size of a small Midwestern city. While there I had to wait in line, not something I normally mind. What did annoy me was the total moron that was holding up the line. He went to the cooler, took a 12-pack of pop, opened it to take out one can, and then proceeded to berate the clerk because she couldn’t ring him up. It’s bee a long time since I’ve seen our stores sell a can of pop. She wouldn’t even know how much to charge. This whole concept seemed way over his head. I, being annoyed and misguided, decided to just politely offer to buy the man a bottle of pop.... Anything to get him moving and me closer to poolside reading pleasures. This wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. I should’ve known better.

He took me up on my offer. Hooray! One step closer to fluffy fiction....Not quite. He came storming back in after placing the bottle in his truck (a $50,000 truck I might add) ranting about how the price for bottles of pop would lead to the downfall of man... down with government! This was all just a nefarious way for Circle K to gouge customers into parting with their hard earned money. He then pointed to me. Oh goodie. It seemed I was a corporate plant sent in to move the process of Circle K’s world dominance along. Granted I am just summarizing and trying to put together what exactly he was saying, it’s hard to tell with alla that spittle flying at me and the arms waving franticly in the air. Now in steps the hero of the story. Well you wouldn’t know she was a hero by looking at her, but she was.

She had ripped jeans, a little purple streak in her hair, a few tattoos, and strangely not a bit of spandex normally associated with a hero. She slammed the case of beer she was holding on the counter, placing the change she had hunted around in her car to pay for it on top, and squared off with the lunatic. They then got in a verbal battle that the lunatic was severely outmatched for. Everyone else was sitting idly by while the man yelled at me and the clerk. Everything we were saying was doing no good, but they watched in fascination. She wasn’t interested in hearing this any longer. She talked rather calmly to him and just charmed him into stopping his tirade for the most part. Unfortunately, at one point when he saw he was losing ground, he grabbed the condiment tray for the hot dogs and flung it at me. Of course it hit me. I thought about ducking, but never quite got around to it. Next thing I know the woman had escorted him out and I was sporting a lovely ensemble of ketchup, relish, and onions. The color really matched my eyes if I do say so myself.

Anyway, to make a long story a tad shorter, the woman left with a hardy thank you and some free beer courtesy of evil institution set on world domination, better knowing as Circle K. I left a little more fragrant and a lot more eager to enjoy my quiet pool time. So what I remember about the day really isn’t the lunatic, but a person that didn’t have to get involved but chose to. She didn’t stoop to his level, but she talked him down. What I was saying back only made the man more enraged, and really in this day and age something like this could have turned out a lot worse. Only the pickles were harmed here. I’m not saying I was scared, because I really wasn’t. But then again you never really know. So often now people won’t get involved for whatever reason. They just don’t care anymore... but then sometimes they do. I’m glad for those who do... even if it getting involved is as simple as showing common courtesy or voting in elections. The point is that the people that are willing are a hero, if for only a moment.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” -- Oscar Wilde (Lady Windermere's Fan, 1892)

Fix me!

I wonder if it’s possible for me to walk into an auto repair shop and not have "sucker" written across my forehead in permanent marker. They see me coming... they know that I’ll probably sell my first born (assuming one day I have one) in order to get my tires rotated. I’m their dream come true and I don’t even know it. They could tell me that the fluxcapacitor in the walla walla bing bang joint was broken and I’d nod and pretend that I had a clue as to what they were talking about. I hate when my walla walla bing bang is acting up. I go in there to describe the problem with descriptive terms like, "clunk" and "ting ting ting blop". Their diagnosis is always the same... They can bleed me dry.

I’m not saying they’re all like this... I just have the eerie skill of finding the one bad seed in the bunch. As an aside that’s just the reason people refuse to let me set them up on a blind date. However, I have found that women seem to make better mechanics... well at least from my prospective. For some reason they know that when I make an embarrassingly loud squeak in the lobby of their shop as a demonstration, it means I need a new belt... not a new engine. A good mechanic should win the Nobel Prize in engineering. They should have their picture in the paper and be put on the news as a local hero.

A good mechanic probably doesn’t know how much I’d appreciate them. They rank right up there with a good plumber. I love them... I’m more than willing to fall to my knees in gratitude to anyone of them that crosses my path. The point is that regardless of what job you are doing right now... there is always someone somewhere willing to hand you the shirt off their back in appreciation if you do it well.

"Always drink upstream from the herd." -- Will Rogers

Movin' on Up.

I guess it’s been a long time since I was here and filling people in on the inane details of my life. I’m not sure that I have a reason. The world didn’t crash down around me, I didn’t win the lotto and head to Aruba, I didn’t get fed up with hearing about the election and start shouting on a street corner with a sandwich board draped over my body.... Nope I was just here not feeling like writing a whole lot.

I live in one of those places that aren’t really small but they always have that feel. I didn’t feel the need to write about this place that I live in. It’s like living in a steam room... sometimes it’s pleasant and comforting, other you feel like you are suffocating. There are always too many people in the room and you can never quite find the exit. Right now I'm desperately looking for an exit.

Why? Along with the familiarity of this town I also know that there are shadows lurking around every corner. There’re always memories best left forgotten ready and willing to tackle me when I least expect it. I see the people that haunt my nightmares, I see the places that make me shiver, and those that thought nothing of me. Sometimes you want to escape so that you can’t prove some of the people right nor disappoint those who believed in you. Either way you want a fresh start.

Why am I still here? Simple. A lot of the reasons that make you want to leave are also what make you stay. It’s so easy to sit back with the easy answer and tell me to just pick up and move. If only. It’s not like I could afford it... and finding a job someplace else wouldn’t help me get there in the first place. It’s all part of that quicksand feeling. So really it’s all a waiting game.

Isn’t it funny how much of our lives we spend waiting? I am waiting for god knows how long to be able to move. People wait all week for the weekend. They end up waiting 71.43% of their lives. Yes I did the math if you can believe it – and I didn’t even factor the time spent waiting for vacations or sleeping. The bottom line is that waiting is a part of life. So I will have to wait for what I want like everyone else. I guess I just have to remember not to stop living while I wait.

“We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.” -- Helen Keller

Olympics

I love the Olympics! Although I notice that I'm worse than any backseat driver. I'm the living room expert on all that is Olympic. It's just one of my many delusions. I don’t discriminate; I’m just as obnoxious while watching swimming as I am watching archery. Coincidently it’s also the only time of year you’d catch me watching 99.9% of these sports. That doesn’t stop me from being the be all and end all of synchronized swimming. Does it bother me that when I swim my limbs aren’t even synchronized with themselves? Not one bit.

So if you wander by my house you'll hear me yelling at my television or jumping up and down like a loon. You’ll hear me yell at officials and make comments about gymnasts who are doing things with their bodies that makes mine shudder in protest at even the thought. If I were to try to do the splits the scream I'd unleash could probably be heard in another hemisphere. The fact that I'm the most accident prone person to ever step into or out of an ER means that the only gymnastics apparatus that wouldn’t kill me would be the floor exercise, and that’s just if I stay perfectly still. But that doesn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at every step on every landing.

So now is the time where people get to see their Olympic dreams come true.... and couch potatoes like me can dream through them.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some hire public relations officers." -- Daniel J. Boorstin

New Tricks.

I have a longer entry coming, but I was in the mood to post a little something sooner rather than later. I was walking with my pup that’s almost too big for me to keep calling her that. I was busy randomly people watching. In Arizona you can go to a park but you kind of miss out on the whole grassy green experiences. If you’re lucky there’s some half dead grass and a lovely rock garden. So parks don’t seem to be a major meeting place for people. Can you blame them? They’re all scurrying for cover away from the sun. Most of the people are walking about with their dog or small child, who in a few mins will be burning themselves on the metal of the solar heated slide.

Off in the distance I watched some woman who had two dogs. These two animals listened better than the average toddler, and she had them doing more tricks that I’d be capable of. I mean is their any reason that your dog should know how to do a barking back flip on command? Is that going to scare off a burglar? Why not just teach the animal to use the pepper spray while you’re at it? I looked down at my puppy (that was just being praised for knowing how to sit) while she watched these two other dogs. She lay down in the dirt and just huffed. Can dogs get an inferiority complex?

So this woman came bounding over to me. Oh goodie. She had the kind of body that one would buy out of a catalog and the perkiness that reminds you of a hummingbird. She then proceeded to tell me *all* of her tips to make my dog the perfect companion. She complemented my girl in that condescending way that makes you want to see her fall into a large cactus. Ok so no my dog isn’t going to be featured on some reality show for amazingly obedient animals... but I’m sure at some point her pets have plotted her death. I’d rather have a pet than a circus performer. She doesn’t need to know that my puppy is really made of 60% cat thus is more likely to be batting something around with her paws instead of fetching. Getting the toys is my job, she trained me well.

I think what drove this woman is the same impulse that drives women to compare their children, or men to compare their sexual conquests. Somehow some don’t feel as if they have merit unless they can validate themselves by one upping you. Well I could care less. Kyla may not know every trick in the book, but she knows how to climb up on my shoulders and lay down while I’m on the computer. What more could I possibly need? So today when you see some woman or man that has something better than you, (car, body, whatever) just don’t bother trying to compare. Life doesn’t work like that... and the grass is always greener on other people’s dogs.

“Some folks are wise and some otherwise.” -- Josh Billings

Who needs sleep?

I went to bed a few hours ago content. Talking about everything and nothing and a few laughs before bed are always the way to go. Normally I would drift off to sleep right away. Sometimes I have to wonder if I’m narcoleptic. The only thing that leads me to doubt that are those times that things start filtering through my mind robbing me of sleep. They aren’t always bad things, far from it. Life tends to filter through my head when the safety of the covers and the darkness of my room demand it.

Sometimes the only one you have to talk to is yourself. Sometimes you are the only one who’ll understand, who doesn’t need the back-story, and who wont be hurt by said thoughts. How would you explain to someone thoughts that aren’t yet concrete? What if what you need/want to think and talk about involves the very people who you’d normally run to? Or what if you are like me, and reluctant to allow someone that close of an examination? They may not like what they see... I certainly don’t a lot of the time. Besides, sometimes I’d hardly know where to begin.

I’d like to think that I can be there for someone when needed. However in reality that’s rather selfish of me because I wont often allow them the same privilege. When you spend a lot of your life people watching you tend to shy away from that moment when the spotlight hits you. It’s easy to hide in someone else’s problem, and easy to hide if you’re content to observe. So this is me hiding in the open tonight and talking with the voices in my head. Heh.

“Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.” -- Fran Lebowitz

Crud...

Today I would have sworn that I was cursed, walked under 36 ladders, broke a few mirrors, and pissed off a testy leprechaun. I woke up to a normal day, until of course I tripped over one of the 3 billion puppy toys scattered about discovering that I’m too old to be attempting the splits. Half crawling half stumbling I made it to the shower... after cursing like a sailor and uselessly admonishing a curious puppy about leaving things all over. Once in the shower I thought I was safe... that the bad luck that loomed couldn’t touch me. I did what anyone does, I began to sing. If you didn’t already know, I’m the worst singer possible... apparently my shower agreed. One second I’m heading into a particularly bad rendition of “Hey Mickey” complete with a little head bobbing action, and the next second I’m being smacked between the eyes with the showerhead that popped off.... That shut me up... until I started cursing once again.

I escaped the shower with my life and started to search around on the back of the toilet for my glasses... I have the vision of a 90 year old. My hand was feeling around on the cold porcelain until I heard a *plop*. I froze.... And cursed. That could only mean one thing.... one disgusting thing. Fumbling towards the sink I managed to find my contacts and put them in. There was no way in hell I was going to go fishing for my glasses blind. I find it interesting that when I drop things into places they shouldn’t be I try to turn my head... as if that will make it any less disgusting. Um not really. At this point the puppy thought it was play time and dared to bring the toy I had tripped on into the bathroom.... TRAITOR!

The fact that I got to work without killing myself was a small miracle. However after almost falling asleep while typing (I’m just getting over that damn cold) I thought it would be better just to head home.... Too bad I lost my keys. So again I was cursing until I found them in the plant beside my desk. If I didn’t get home quickly I was scared that I would cause a major catastrophe... like setting my hair on fire.

Eventually I settled in for a nap. God I love a good nap.... unless the phone rings 65 hundred times. But thankfully my neighbor took the pup so I could sleep. Well that’s what she tells me. I think she just likes having something around willing to watch her “shows” with her. I think at some point I fell asleep... thank god. Then guess what... the phone rang. However at least this time it was a person that I love talking to so it was a much needed bright spot of the day of doom. Just then as I'm finishing my conversation, my dog was brought home... and she greeted me by scratching my nose off. I guess I didn’t need that anyway.

I finally got online later in the evening... and no I didn’t burn the place down making dinner. That’s shocking in and of itself. While chatting with someone I spilled my vitamin water. Crap. Standing up I tried to clean it up... messes by the computer are a big no no. Sadly the floor tends to get rather slippery when wet. So for the millionth time that day I found myself on my ass. This time I even tried to brace my fall.... unfortunately I pulled out half the cords in the puter out in the process. So guess what? That’s right.... I was cursing.

I think a good measure of the day is how often you curse. This one tipped the scales. But really, once I get beyond the moment I can see the humor in it. My sore rear can’t... but I can. So here I am hoping that you can see the humor in your day.... or at the very least you too have a bright spot that you can cling to.

“I have six locks on my door all in a row. When I go out, I only lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they are always locking three.” -- Elayne Boosler

Trivial

Sometimes life is about the little things. I’m a huge fan of the little things, and I wonder why so many people choose not to see them. When people point out how much I love something small I always jokingly say, “simple mind simple pleasures.” And yes it’s a joke. But really I am rather simplistic. I don’t mean my intelligence or personality, just in wants and needs. I figure it’s rather masochistic to sit there waiting for some huge complicated thing when something small can warm your heart.

There’s nothing better than heading to your mailbox and coming away with something that isn’t a bill or someone making you some baked goods. I love going to a movie and sitting there wondering where I know a voice from suddenly to realize that the voice of the fairy godmother in Shrek 2 was none other than Jennifer Saunders from Abfab. If you can make me laugh you immediately intrigue me. That’s so rare and such a small thing that it’s extremely powerful. I can spend hours with a web game or tinkering on my computer perfectly content with the world. Even hearing someone say in a voice that suddenly softens “goodnight” is incredible to me. It’s small yes, but whether it’s a friend or love it still makes you feel important.

Someone told me today, “Oh you’re so simple” in that scoffing and irritating way. It was as if they were saying I was incapable of deep emotions or thoughts because something silly amused me for hours. So what? I have serious issues and weight that sits on my shoulders. I wouldn’t want to know me if I didn’t use something good to balance it however small and trivial. Of course this is the same person, and we all have one of these people, that seems to make herself feel better if she can shred you down a bit. “How can you be in a good mood with blah going on?” It’s like they want to remind you to kill of whatever happiness you were allowing yourself.

This is how it is. The stuff has hit the fan, I know that... I don’t need your reminder. I don’t care if you think I should wallow or scream into the night. I don’t choose to live like you do and not find something.... ANYthing to be happy about or to amuse me if for a moment. I’m also not going to defend myself to you... I don’t much care what you think seeing as though your opinion of my life is so grand *rolling eyes*. I’ll just grab hold of those little things as my way of saying you can sod off. Not that you’d be bothering to read this anyway.

So really this isn’t about me asking for anyone to comment about me in a positive way... it's not needed. Just find something that will amuse you today for 10 mins and I’ll be happy. Spend your energy reading a good story, listening to some good music, talking to your friends, or just calling someone for no reason. Just do something that you’ll find enjoyable.

Oh and thanks for alla the well wishes folks... I’m feeling much better. Those who come here and read these words or are a part of my little online world are a good part of those things that bring me some happiness. So thank you.

“Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill.” -- Johnny Carson

Pass the tissues

Well this will be rather random and make no sense. That’s what happens when one uses an enormous amount of cold medicine and sleeps less than a bat with too much caffeine. I figure this could end up being either amusing or make no sense what-so-ever. Either way I blame the cold medicine.... too bad we can’t do that everyday of our lives eh? (And yes before anyone says anything I just have a small cold not pneumonia.)

First of all I have recently discovered that while sick I seem to lose the ability to think. And I’m not talking about deep philosophical discussions either... No, I’m talking about paying for my food in the drive through and then driving off. Nothing makes you feel more like a dumbass than some poor employee running after you to hand you the sub sandwich that you probably shouldn’t be eating anyway. What made this incident particularly bad was that I had to go inside and tell the counter person that yes I was indeed the moron that took off without their food. I really don’t think the snickering I heard was necessary, but I probably deserved it. However, if you think that this is an isolated thing you’d be wrong. Sadly I have done this several times. I’m also the person that walks into the drugstore with no clue as to why I was there in the first place.

Going to the drugstore while sick is an interesting experience. Now if you are lucky enough to live with someone you probably don’t have to do this. So let me give you a run down of what it’s like. First of all you wander in trying not to look like death. I shall steal one of my favorite lines and say that you look like you were on deaths door but the bouncer wouldn’t let you in because you don’t look sexy enough. Yet you try to straiten out your sweats that have at least 3 holes in them and tuck the Kleenex you stalked up on for the drive back into your pocket. Sadly your sense of direction seems to be hindered so you just kind of wander around with no clue as to where to find the drugs.... you hope they will be the kind that shoot out of a gun and could take down an elephant. They have to keep the elephant tranquilizers in there someplace right?

Finally you find the cold medicine aisle. You would have found it faster but the employees see you coming and scatter not wanting to catch whatever it is that made you look like the walking dead... that and the fact that you aren’t exactly Mary Sunshine at this point. You stand in front of what looks to be 8 billion boxes of goo, pills, sprays, liquids, and snake oils all guaranteed to take away whatever ails you. It’s the same feeling one must get when standing at the foot of a small mountain.... like Everest. You have no idea what to do. The music that is drifting over the speakers is making you want to sway. “I can do this” you chant to yourself. So you do what everyone before you has done. You pick up the most colorful box and attempt to read what symptoms it’s for.... a process that would be much easier if you hadn’t drained what was left of the last bottle of cough syrup a half hour ago and your swaying that is making the letters move about.

Here is where the real problem comes in. The blue box will fix your throat, the red your nose, the orange your sneezing and coughing but not the headache, the green will cure your runny nose, but yours is also stuffy which needs the yellow box. Here's where you just want to cry. What do you do? You can get them all... if you want to pickle yourself. No you need to make a choice. And there is no way in hell you are getting something that isn’t extra strength. Who buys something that might as well say, “This is a placebo, it won’t make you feel better, but it’s cherry flavored.” Then you have a sore throat so you know that if you get a pill it has to be smaller than a Buick... this leaves out 80% of your options. Now you just blindly grab a few options because you are getting rather tired and only one eye will stay open. You’ll just have to hope that when you get home you can figure out what the hell all these things do. You of course make sure to nab a package of cough drops even though in your kitchen drawer there is probably 3 others from the late 70’s. You are now ready to head to the counter and get home to your electric blanket and daytime television.

You head to the checkout line and realize that you need to blow your nose. Not the most pleasant thing for someone to witness. The problem is your hands are full. Now you have to become the irritating sniffer. Everyone knows what this noise means and gives you a 10 foot bubble of personal space as if your germs can’t reach outside your containment field. You get to the front of the line finally and plop everything on the counter. Looking up you notice that the checker looks like a camp counselor and you just know she will be chipper. For those of you that don’t know... sick people don’t want to deal with chipper. We want to kick you in the head, but we are too weak so we just sniff and fumble for a tissue and mentally curse your name.... Amber.... Bubbles... Kandy with a K... whatever.

We hand them the money with a shaking hand and nod to some asinine question like, “So are you not feeling well?” I should hope that people would assume that I'm sick and don’t just go gallivanting around town looking like an Adams Family reject. But you nod and attempt a smile as you snatch your bag away from them and their “have a nice day” smile. Stumbling to your car you start dreaming about being home already.

Once home you dump out your stash. It’s just like you used to do on Halloween except the candy on Halloween tastes better. You sift through just barely stopping yourself from taking one of everything. You find what you are searching for and take more than the recommended dosage. You don’t care now... What you're looking for is the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, favor, how the hell did I fall into this coma medicine. Now if you could just get the puppy to stop raiding the trash for Kleenex you’ll be happy.

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.” -- Erma Bombeck

Vegetate

The last couple days I’ve been a tad under the weather. Not a really big deal. What I find funny is that most people when sick vegetate in front of the television with a bowl of soup and a box of Kleenex. That would be a normal thing to do. I, because I am freakishly geeky, insist on spending that time with a box of Kleenex and tinkering on the computer. I was even looking for things to tinker with. There’s something about mindless work that makes me feel better. Oh don’t get me wrong... I was still able to catch 37 rerun episodes of the ‘Golden Girls’ on Lifetime. So I got my veg quota in. The reason I bother saying all this in case anyone was wondering why I changed the look of this here blog. It’s not really that I like this one better; it’s just that I needed a tinkering fix.

I’m not a very pleasant person when I’m not feeling well. I’m not saying that normally I’m a pearl of happiness or anything, but when sick I turn into a horrifying combination of a three toed sloth and Roseanne Barr. It’s an interesting combination and one that I’m sure will do wonders for my social life in general. I remember days when there was someone around when I wasn’t feeling well. And even though I was a pain in the ass and prolly resembled a groaning grumpy pile of Kleenex, it was still nice to have someone there. I’m not the type of person that wants to be coddled when sick. Toss the things I need at me and head for cover. I just wanna dwell in my own unhealthiness. But there was something about the knowledge that someone was within shouting distance. Maybe one day... Though half my problem is that first I would have to ask someone to be here even though the risk is that they can in fact say no. Until then I will happily continue to tinker about on this puter and try to discover if there is something really going on between Blanche and Rose.

“The New England Journal of Medicine reports that 9 out of 10 doctors agree that 1 out of 10 doctors is an idiot.” -- Jay Leno

No Potluck

I’m BACK!! Okay I have two things to apologize for here. First: Sorry it’s been so long. Sometimes we just need a break. Sometimes taking a step back is the only way to figure out where the hell you’re going.... Well that and a good map seeing as though I’d get lost going to the grocery store. Second: This is going to be a long post... so if you haven’t yet, grab a cup of coffee, hunker down, call in the children, get comfortable, and any other euphemism that means, this sucker is freaking long so be warned. (FYI: It’s 4 am so spelling and grammatical errors are a given tonight)

The Potluck Play

The 4th of July is full of them. All across this country this little tradition will take place. No matter where you are, where you go, who is around you, they’re all the same. It’s a strange phenomenon this potluck thing. I like to think of it as a play. Because no matter where you are the script and the characters are the same, much like life. Above all, as amazing as it sounds, you can tell a lot about someone if you look past their character in the Potluck Play.

Let me give you the basics shall I? There’re several groups of people that will attend every potluck. There’s a group of women that live for these events. I’ll call them the peacocks. They make a dish in an attempt to outdo another. It’s the same type of measurement that must take place in a men’s locker room. You’ll always have another group of people that love to be social, they’re the humming birds. They’ve brought an easy dish as they had to squeeze it in between their son’s soccer match and their daughter that needed to go to a birthday party. There’s an older category of people, the eagles, which are old enough to be grandparents. They love to bring in their old family recipe for some dish like enchiladas or fried chicken. There’s the lone soul, the crow, who comes to eat and run. They often forget to contribute food, but are always the first in line to get some. The last group, apart from the partners that were drug to the event by another, is the sparrows. They’re the average Joe. They bring something simple, try to be polite, make some small talk, and then get the hell outta Dodge. This is the largest group in the Potluck Play.

Now you are wondering why I am going into all this? Well, there’s a lot you can learn about people from these little socials. I’m not really a fan of the potluck. That probably has something to do with the fact that I would never subject someone to my cooking unless I was planning to kill them for the insurance money... I jest people stop worrying. So I sit there and do what I always do... I people watch. I watch as the peacocks strut about asking everyone who couldn’t escape their approach if they had tried whatever it is that they brought. Then of course you have to tell them that it was wonderful and could you please have the recipe. The crow chows down on his food in a desperate attempt to get the hell out of there without having to say a single word and just before the button on his pants pops off. The peacocks whisper about him and make snide remarks about him just being there in order to eat. The eagles are after the sparrows to eat more... we are either too skinny or haven’t had a home cooked meal in way too long. They want to see your face as you bite into their special dish. They pinch our cheeks and call us honey. The poor humming birds are running after their children who are on a little high because the hit the dessert table first.

That’s what you see if you look on the surface. No huge meaning... just normal potluck pandemonium. What would happen if we as people took a step back and bothered to look a bit deeper? It’s so easy to scoff at the crow that came just to eat. It’s easy to say he is rude when he eats more than his share and doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Would your opinion change of him if you knew that last year at about this time this man lost his wife of 30 years to cervical cancer? Would you bother to see that he was just so lonely he just needed to be around people but couldn’t bear to be social himself? Would the peacocks that judge him and cut him down care that this was one of the first times in a year he had something that wasn’t heated in the microwave oven? Would you now scoff or leave him to his sorrow and to his fledging hope that there is life after her death?

Would you find the humming bird more social and give them credit for attending if you found out that this was the first chance they had in weeks to attend a function that would involve adult conversation? Would you cut them some slack when their child ran past you spilling your soda down the front of your shirt if you knew that this was the first time in months that they didn’t have to worry about dinner? They could relax knowing where their children are and be able to breathe that rare relaxing breath that only a young parent appreciates. Would the peacocks hold back their bitterness that they brought something store bought if they knew the humming bird hadn’t sat down in over 13 hours?

If we really took the time and bothered to see, wouldn’t we see the eagle isn’t annoying in her tendency to nag or play mother hen to the sparrow? They aren’t being snobs for ignoring the strutting of the peacocks. Would we understand them a bit better if we knew that their own children only call on holidays as they now have families of their own? Would we let them pinch our cheeks if we knew they had so much love to give and only an empty house to give it to? I’d like to think that their dish, that had been handed down through generations of their family was a gift that they are bringing. They drew on their roots to create something that has been on their own family’s tables for years for a group of relative strangers. They in essence are looking for an outlet..... any outlet for their love.

The peacocks who have been so judgmental will be the butt of many jokes after the potluck ends. People will talk of their insanity and their caustic words. What if we knew that they just simply craved attention and don’t know of a better way of getting it? I’ll bet no one cared to know that Janet, the lead peacock, is stuck in a loveless marriage... Or that peacock #2 had her husband leave her after 7 years of marriage for another woman that made him feel younger. Would they gain our sympathy when we realized that they had nothing of their own, that these two woman need something to cling to, some small victory to give them some confidence. Yes, they show it in a horrible way... but does that make them any less deserving of a second look?

What about our little sparrow, folks like me? They hear the snickering and can see the eye rolling over the fact that again they just brought paper plates and cups. They are the losers that have no respect for authority and aren’t willing to put forth enough effort to even cook something. If you looked again you would see me. You’d see that I’m just fumbling around looking for my wings. You’d see that I don’t have the money to pay all of my bills or enough to eat any meal over $5. Would it matter to you that I spent way too much time in the store looking for just the right plates. That maybe I was not taught how to cook and really have no talent for it. That maybe I am learning how to be on my own and taste life. Would it matter to you that the cups and plates you scoff at cost me more than I would spend on groceries for myself in 2 days? Would you call me lazy behind my back if you know I made sure at the store to get the kind that won’t drop the peacock’s famous baked beans in everyone’s lap?

That’s the thing. We all have problems. We all have a hole people will peg us into. We all have our reasons for playing the part we do in the Potluck Play. Somehow, someway, if others knew the reasons they would be less inclined to pigeonhole us. We would all just be birds. So this long freaking ramble is to help me remember today at my Potluck Play that everyone has their story. That if I judge them I will never get those wings that I’ve been looking for. Happy 4th everyone.... please remember a designated driver if you need one.

“Never trust a thin chef.” -- Anonymous

I can't sew

If life were a quilt it wouldn’t be attractive. It wouldn’t be the kind that hangs on some wall with no real purpose other than to look pretty. It wouldn’t be in a museum or even locked away in an old cedar chest. It would be the old tattered raggedy looking thing than you love to pull around yourself when sick. The one worth having wouldn’t be the display model, but would be the one that has a stain in the corner from where as a child you spilled a touch of grape juice. It would be the one that was made up of patches from old loved articles of clothing. It would be both dark and light, have varying textures, would smell like childhood, have one or two holes, would have tear stains, and its tattered form would be held together by a thread.

There are some days where you wish you could hide away with the quilt pulled over your shoulders. These are the days that you run your hands along the fabric of your life. You see a light blue patch that brings you happily back in time to a single moment where you remember twirling in the kitchen wearing the blue dress that the patch was cut from. Your fingers brush across the frayed edges when your mind travels to the moments that you wish you could forget and to the current struggle you are having within your life. Eventually though your hand will travel away from the frayed edges and back onto the whole, onto the colors and patterns of your life. If you’re lucky, in that moment you can see the whole. You can see that your life isn’t made up of the edges, but rather the various squares of color. Sometimes you just have to move away from the edge.

As you can tell from my melodramatic wanderings, it’s the end of the month..... Bill time. It’s the time where you sit down and have to add up your wins and failures. You have to find a way to stay afloat when adrift. You have to prepare for the next month, when you will begin the cycle of treading water once again. Have I mentioned that I hate bills and bill collectors? I realize that you have to make a living, but upon accepting that job you are also accepting that I refuse to be polite when you call me in the early morning hours asking for something you know good and well I don’t have. If I did, you wouldn’t have to call. So I’ll just tinker online tonight (heh you can’t call if the phone is busy) with my blanket over my legs and forget about you for now.... well that and come up with a sure fire way to pick the winning lotto numbers.

“The wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out, it's just sort of a tired feeling.” -- Paula Poundstone

Doh...

Have you ever had a day where you have to stop because you come to the realization that you're monumentally stupid? I’m talking about those moments of clarity when you discover that those moronic acts that annoy you are also the ones you’re guilty of. We don’t tell people of our insanity or odd quirks. No, we tuck them away as if they were a national secret until someone stumbles on them by accident. If we would have been upfront and told people that we were insane they wouldn’t be shocked, but no we wait until they can witness it for themselves. Today I had one of those moments of clarity.

It seems I am one of those people that will moan and groan (not a pleasant sight) over the price of gas and will go so far as to drive around town looking for the lowest gas prices. So in other words, I will drive, thus using gas, an extra 20 minutes out of my way to get gas that's 3 cents cheaper. Have I saved anything? No. Especially if you factor in the time I spent along with it. So what I end up doing is probably spending an extra buck with the delusion that I’m saving money. On the other hand I wont even bat an eye when I then go and spend money on a lotto ticket. Again I’m seriously thinking that I have a chance to win. In fact it’s my master financial plan. I’ll even spend money on silly putty (I kid you not). I’m notorious for over tipping, yet I will drive 45 mins longer to find a grilled chicken sandwich that is one dollar cheaper. Who the hell am I kidding? It’s not like I don’t have the ability to do simple math.

Now I’m sure I’m not the only one that does these things. So why do we hide our quirks from others? I find them to be the most interesting things about someone. None of us are perfect, so isn’t the meat of a person in the imperfections? Hell, I say we celebrate our quirks! The next time you're talking to yourself in the car and you realize someone is watching form another car... Don’t pretend like you were singing along with the radio... Roll down your window and ask them for their opinion. When you trip because for some reason your legs thought there was another step... Don’t get upset.... Point out to those around you that there isn’t a stair there and someone must have stolen it. Wouldn’t it be better if we enjoyed and laughed over these supposed faults or goofs? I’ll start... As I type this right now I have a *huge* blue smudge on my cheek because I had the cap in my mouth while I tried to recap the *permanent* marker one handed. So now I’ll go into the grocery store for a Mountain Dew tonight with my head held high and blue on my cheek. LoL.

Pup-Date:

I told you yesterday about the hippopotamus that the puppy of doom was trying to teach to swim. I refuse to think that she was rejecting my gift seeing as though at the moment she is sleeping with it. So I thought I’d post a picture of the little mongrel and her buddy... As you can see her ears have started growing independently. They use to be tilted the same... now they each are doing their own thing. Yes I know she looks a bit silly, but it couldn’t fit her more... It's not the best picture in the world, but it's not easy to get that thing to sit still.

“When you become senile, you won't know it.” -- Bill Cosby

U giv SPAM?

So here it is... the truth of all truths. It’s the inescapable universal fact... sometimes life sucks. It’s true for everyone, so why is it that some people seem to believe that they alone have to deal with this? Or there are people that think there’s some kind of cosmic tote board that tracks the number of good days you’ve had and at some magical number unleashes a rip-roaring bad day? Where would we be if we didn’t have one of those days that make you want to run and hide under your bed? You’d never appreciate the mundane day that isn’t exciting and tends to be the majority of your days? So there are people out there who can only see the bad in everything and will inevitably grab hold of a dip in their road and turn it into the fall of civilization as we know it. Sometimes I want to freak out like that.

I want to hide under my bed with a bottle of water, a can of spam, and duct tape until the storm passes. (Of course there has to be duct tape... duct tape is essential for any kind of quality of life). I’d crawl under there when, for example: my hair looks like a cyclone hit it, I find out that a friend really isn’t, I spill a cup of coffee that cost more than a tank of gas all over me, find out that what I’m eating had been expired for a few days, my puppy eats my drivers license, I do my budget and discover that I wont be making my rent this month, I blow up the kitchen while trying to make mini muffins, my car breaks down and will cost me my first born to fix, I get a traffic ticket, I have to run the judgmental gauntlet AKA family get-togethers, or I just woke up late. But no... I have to be an adult.

Here’s the thing. We spend our childhoods waiting to be an adult able to make our own decisions. Once we become an adult we realize that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We actually find that we wish we didn’t have to be one. I don’t want to have to choose what I’ll be doing with my life now. I mean it was great when I used to be able to say, “When I grow up I wanna....” Now I am grown up and I don’t have an answer.

Oops. I shouldn’t have snickered at Penny Mitchell in 5th grade when she unveiled her 5 year plan. She’ll prolly be the first female president, and I’ll be her chauffeur. Okay maybe I’m exaggerating, but my point is that I wanna be a kid again. I want to be able to look at the world with eternal optimism and not have to think about the leader of our nation being a complete incompetent. I want to be able to go back and correct some of my mistakes. The thing is, I can’t.

Where is all of this going? Well I ran into someone I hadn’t seen for like 6 years the other day. I was back in a place I hadn’t been in a while doing something I wasn’t sure I could still do. Vague enough for you? Well the details don’t really matter the point was this person hadn’t seen me in so long that I realized that she had no idea of the mistakes I’d made or the path my life has taken. I had a choice here. I could be the person that embellishes everything and makes it sound like the only reason they have not been nominated for sainthood was that they weren’t dead yet. Or I could tell the person a sob story making them and those around them need a handful of antidepressants.

I chose to go another way. I said a noncommittal answer, something like, “Oh this and that, no big news.” Leaving them to tell me all about their life... which I loved hearing about don’t get me wrong. But hello? It had been 6 years... did this person really think absolutely nothing had happened in my life? Maybe they thought I was living in a hole or something. Who was I kidding? The better question is why would I be embarrassed to tell someone I never see about my life? If they don’t like what they hear who cares? We all make mistakes, no one is perfect. So why do I expect that of myself and not others?

I realize that this post is rather scattered and lacking in a basic theme, but it’s been so long since I posted I think my brain is just unleashing my chaos on all you unsuspecting souls. The point is that I hide or try to.... I want to hide from the decisions and their consequences, and I want to hide my failures from others. But really who am I kidding? The only person that I am fooling is myself and the good parts tend to fade when you try to conceal the bad. For at least one moment of everyday we should all be forced to stand before ourselves and others naked.... um wait I take that back.... The next thing you know people would take that literally and show up at my place with a camera. I really don’t need a citation for indecent exposure.

Pup-date:

The puppy of doom is growing up. Why can’t we keep them small and fuzzy? On the plus side this means she is getting the idea of how the world works and what she can and cannot do. She’s even lost a few teeth. She still has her two front teeth but not the ones on each side. So really she looks like a large gerbil. So now I’m left with a dog who thinks she’s a cat, yet looks like a rodent. The other day I got sick of having to move the couch every time she tossed her toy under there (about 347 times a day) so I bought her a hippopotamus that was too large to fit under the bed and just small enough for her to still pick up (even if it does make her a bit top heavy). So I thought I had done it, I solved the problem. Ha! That’ll teach me to make an assumption that I’m smarter than a dog. So I wake up this morning to find that the toy she loved last night had a new home.... the toilet. That’ll teach me.

“Even god passes gas once in a while... so why can’t we?” -- My Dad.

Questions can be stupid too...

Some things just are; they’re absolute. The moon will always rise, the sun will always set, the hot water will run cold in the shower as soon as my head is good and soapy, my mother will always nag, Steel Magnolias will always make me cry, Absolutely Fabulous will always make me laugh, and I will always question everything. Why is that? Oh crap there I go again. Why can’t I stop? See, it’s a sickness really. I’ll give you a few examples. I’ll only give you a few for fear you’ll see just how far my sickness goes:

Why are infomercials on only late at night? Is the plan that people will be tired thus lowering their ability for rational thought? Do they realize that the people asleep at those times are probably the ones that can afford the 6 easy payments of $69.95 for the thingamabob that’s not only a vegetable chopper and fruit juicer, but could improve your television reception and become the newest fad collectable? I mean they have to wake up in the morning for work. So really what you’re left with that late are sleepless fools like me, and the occasional college student with no money who’s cramming for a test the next day they’re bound to fail because they just began studying an hour ago and are still on the table of contents in the textbook. Why can’t infomercials have their own channel? QVC has one, why not them? And really if fishing, car racing, and knitting can have their own channel why not everything else?

Why does the city charge you per bag for your garbage? Wouldn’t it be better if they charged by weight? Have little scales on the back of the truck and then bill you per month? Wouldn’t that convince people to recycle more? I mean glass is heavy stuff. Maybe that would stop people at apartment complexes from tossing their old couch next to the dumpster. Do they really think that thing will fit in the truck? Um... no. So then it sits there for ages becoming not only an eyesore but a home for who knows what. Maybe that’s just here, but right now by the dumpster there’s probably an old couch from the early 60’s, two end tables, and a rather odd looking fake tree. Why not give them to goodwill? You already had to haul that sucker out there... at least get yourself the tax deduction. I often wonder if those were all placed there by an angry wife who caught her husband cheating so she put all of his things out by the dumpster.

Why do people do all of their shopping at the convenience store? First of all, they really aren’t all convenient, and second they are so over priced it’s insane. They don’t have carts so these people walk about with their arms full, trying to figure out how to carry the last item with their teeth. They then pay $327 for gas, a gallon of milk, some soap, something from the frozen foods that might have been their since the turn of the century, toilet paper, and various other things. How hard would it be to go across the street to the grocery store? Not to mention that someone has to wait in line behind you with a bottle of pop while some checker needing a smoke break checks you out. It makes no sense to me. I mean I’m all for getting a few things there, but I really don’t think it’s all that sane to consider that intelligent one-stop shopping.

How can people remember an order at Starbucks that’s more complicated than deciphering lost text from some ancient city? I’ve seen people that are ordering one cup of coffee that has 39 steps. These are the same people that then cannot remember what time they were supposed to be at work so they rush out of the coffee house (only after taking that cup over and doctoring even further with various sprinkles of some substance) and then speed past you in traffic cutting you off while they yell at their stock broker on the cell phone. Of course they end up at the very same light as you only now they’re pounding on their steering wheel and honking their horn at the person in front of them. Where do they think this is going to get them? It’s a red light. Maybe we should all just pull over and let them on by because they couldn’t leave their house sooner or make their own damn coffee. Just once I want to be able to give these people a ticket. All they're doing is stressing themselves and everyone else out in order to make it to work 30 seconds faster. Why not just turn on some music and enjoy the drive?

I wonder about a lot. There’s always some random question with no answer running around my brain. I’d love to ask you the questions I wonder about, but sometimes it’s not the right time or place. Sometimes the answer isn’t something I’m ready to deal with. Sometimes I just fear your answer or I think that it’s silly for me to be questioning something in the first place. So I keep them to myself. Some things should be certain like friendship, love, trust, family, and intentions. (When I say "you" I mean all the people in my life, I don't discriminate with my neurosis.) So why is it I feel the need to question everything and perhaps put that the things important in jeopardy? I guess that is just another question for me to think about on my drive to work this morning.

“Skill is successfully walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls. Intelligence is not trying.” – Anonymous

Thief

I stole from you. You thought you’d won. I can see it in your eyes when I have the misfortune of looking upon your face. You first see me and the pride is sickening, but if I hold your gaze I’d swear I could see shame. Maybe it’s just my imagination, or maybe I just like to think that there is some good in everything even if it is hidden under a landslide of darkness. But you didn’t win. I’m not broken. I stole back the life you tried to smother. I no longer hide in the dark from the memory of you. Your fist holds nothing over me; I no longer cower at its memory. So when I saw you today you must’ve realized that I’m the thief and you are nothing.

“Dignity consists not in possessing honors, but in the consciousness that we deserve them.” -- Aristotle

Pants of doom

In school I *hated* poetry. It drove me nuts that there was no right answer yet they seemed to expect one from you. I could never pinpoint why I liked something or why I didn’t; it just was. Trust me; that answer never worked on any essay question. There’re so many things in life that don’t have an answer. Some things you just have to accept as is. People are like that. You can’t change them, and they are never all wrong or right. Yet for some reason it’s as if you are supposed to see others as one or another.

I tend to see people as the good and overlook the bad. This isn’t necessarily a good thing as it tends to bite you in the ass at a later date. There are also people that can point out flaws in any person from 400 yards away like some kind of judgmental sniper. You tend to wonder if that person will ever be happy with anyone let alone themselves. After all, they do have to look at themselves in the mirror everyday. Then there are the rare people that see your faults and accept them as the whole. They see what you hide and embrace it. I want to know how they do that, and thank them for it.

So today I was in the mall. Normally I love the mall and people watching because I enjoy making up stories about all the people that I see. Unfortunately I couldn’t enjoy myself because I was on a mission. I had to buy some dress pants. God I hate trying on clothes. If you’re one of those perfectly shaped people stop reading right here as nothing I am going to say will make any sense; It’ll all be over your head. Now if you stopped reading we can talk about you. Because really, who is perfectly shaped? What the hell would that be? Aerodynamically you should be a walking triangle with a point for the front of your body; that would be perfectly shaped. Anyway, that wasn’t my point. My point is that I had to run what I like to refer to as “the gauntlet”, or the dressing rooms.

I want to find the person that designs dress pants and ring their scrawny neck. I want them to have to go through this process of trying on pants after pants only to find out they’re still too small. I want them to have to carry an armload of the same color of pants around a busy department store. I want them to inhale and suck in with all their might only to find out that “loose fitting” is anything but. Then and only then, do I want them to head to their little drafting table. How hard would it be to stop designing for models the size of a designer lamp and start doing it for real people that have *gasp* curves.

So there I was cursing myself out and looking in the mirror at my ass. I couldn’t miss it thanks to the three mirrors in there specially designed for me to *have* to look at it. Of course it didn’t help that one limb was always forced to hold the “door” closed because of the broken lock as to not display all my secrets to passersby.

To be honest I was *not* happy. In fact, I’m sure that if that horrible woman hadn’t kept knocking on my shingle of a door to ask if everything was alright, I probably would have been crying. Why you ask? Well because I remember how things were. I remember enjoying shopping for clothes. I remember when I fit into a pair of fucking pants without using the Jaws of Life. I was mentally beating the crap outta myself. No one can say anything worse to you than what women seem to say to themselves at times like these. You might say I’m being melodramatic. Not really, I was looking at the personification of all that was wrong with my life. It was just another thing.

Then suddenly I realized what I was doing. Here I was worried about some of the more unpleasant things that people have said to me, and that I had said in my own mind. No, I’m not perfect. God, I’m *so* not perfect. And you know what? So what. It isn’t me. I’m more than the sum of what I see under bad lighting and poorly fitting pants. I realized that frankly I don’t give a fuck what those people who can only see the bad think. I don’t want them in my life anyway. I realized that by getting upset and berating myself, I was only making myself into the kind of person that I hate. I don’t judge others that way so why would I do it to myself?

So this is me... If you don’t like it I can’t worry about it. I need to worry about who I see everyday in the mirror not what. Was this epiphany enough to make me stop looking at myself in a negative light entirely? Well no of course not. But I did walk out of that dressing room with a pair of pants. I’m tired of this place I keep trying to aspire to be closed off into like a caged lab rat just to fit into someone else’s version of beauty. I am just me. And one day I will have the courage to show you who that is.

“The absence of flaw in beauty is itself a flaw.” -- Havelock Ellis

Pupdate

Oh to be a dog. This little puppy of mine has no shame. She is still scared of men for the most part, but has no fear in walking right up to a woman and rolling over in hopes of a tummy rub. Wouldn’t it be great if life was like that? I would try that, but I’m sure I’d end up getting arrested. She also discovered something that could be useful later in life. She can swim. She has a strange fascination with leafs, and so when she saw one floating in the pool she thought nothing of pouncing on it. Imagine her surprise when she came up sputtering. That leaf actually got the best of her. So she frantically swam back to the side of the pool.

She wouldn’t let me help her out. Apparently it was my fault. How you ask? I have no idea, but just from the scathing look she flashed me I knew that somehow someway it was all my fault.

She forgave me when I slipped her a treat. As I have said before, I’m not above basic bribery. Again something I could be arrested for if given other circumstances. Wouldn’t it be great if we all could forgive as easily?

Here is a picture of her after a bath, but it should give you an idea of what she looked like... that or you can just as easily picture a drowned rat:

“All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible.” -- William Faulkner

My poor toe...

Where does coordination go when you're sleeping? I don’t know about you, but when I wake up I look like a robot that has lost all directional control. I’m amazed I have yet to kill myself in the shower or that I can even find the shower. I am like a toddler that has lost her way. You would almost think that I was sleep walking to my local bar for a pint of vodka. That and my IQ is non-existent. I will answer the phone and have a full conversation and not remember one single thing about it. Later people will ask me a question about the elephants in tutus that I was talking about when they called, and I'll have to feign that I have a clue of what they are saying. It’s the same feeling you get when someone tells you the *real* lyrics to songs you have been singing wrong for years.

The color of money

There are several phrases that when first spoken sound good or intelligent. They sound like something you can get behind until that is you actually sit down to think about them. One phrase that comes to mind is, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” That sounds rather simplistic and it could be true, unless of course a pact with enemy #2 would be like making a deal with the devil. But the phrase that I’m thinking about now and gets tossed around by people who think it sounds idealistic is, “Money can’t buy you happiness.” Sure at first glance this sounds realistic because the things that *do* have real meaning in life tend to be relationships and emotions. However, when you really look at it, this phrase is inherently flawed and is utter crap. In fact the first people that will say this phrase are those with money. The bottom line is that you could have all of the things that people strive for and be miserable if you don’t have enough money to survive. Money may not be able to *buy* you happiness, but without it you will surely buy yourself a heap load of misery. Now before you get your britches in a bunch and hit that comment button to point out where I have gone wrong listen to the rest of this post.

Not to long ago I had everything. I had friends, a decent relationship with family, health, and love. What I didn’t have was money. Now I’m not talking about enough money to buy you alla the geeky toys you drool over at the department store. I’m talking about the kind of broke where words like eviction, bill collectors, reposition, and overdue balance; become part of your everyday vocabulary. I’m talking about when you have to sell your plasma for something to eat for the next few days, lie to family to get a few dollars, have no place to call home, bounce from friend to friend looking for a place to sleep, and find all the places in town that might serve some kind of free food. I’ve done all of these things, I have been the person that is hated because they are a walking breathing drain and burden to all that they know. I wasn’t the kind of person you would have wanted to know. I didn’t really even want to know me. Even with the best of relationships you are miserable. It is a feeling like none other. You do things that make you cringe and you have little in your life to take pride in; it changes you. You are drowning while walking, and the weight of your worry is like an elephant sitting on your back.

Eventually I had to almost sell my soul for a loan to find an apartment in the worst area of town. It doesn’t end there. No, now my girlfriend at the time and I had to decide what bills to pay and what to put off. What bills can go one more month? You make sacrifices like shutting off the gas so you can have electric. Who really needs heat or hot water in winter? Eventually those things that are important like friends and relationships become so strained that they snap and desegregate into the pit you have dug for yourself.

At this time I knew a man that was in his 70s. He worked 50 hours a week at Burger King and had wild silver hair and the most amazing sky blue eyes you’d ever see. He was homeless. He couldn’t get a bank account without an address, so every time he cashed his check he would either be hit up or jumped for his money by others that were just as desperate. I don’t think this man would agree that money couldn’t buy him at least some relief from his current troubles.

I say all this because today someone I was walking with saw me give a homeless man some money. They started in on how this man was lazy or that he would just go and buy beer with it. Well my response was that it is none of my business what this man chooses to spend this money on. He is an adult. What *is* my business is to give that man the opportunity to buy something that for a moment will bring him joy. I didn’t care if he bought food or tossed the money out a window. That’s not the point. What right would I have to judge him or dictate what he does with what he is given? I am not in his shoes.

The ironic thing is something I have said before many times. The people that really can’t afford to give often are the ones that give the most simply because they understand. I’ve seen homeless people pool their money or give it to another. What I don’t see often are people driving around in cars designed to show off their money with their hand stretched out the window to the woman selling papers. Am I better than these people, god no far from it. The thing is that I have been there and I know what it is like to live in a daily struggle. I was never even as far as them so I don’t even know what they have to live like. The people who gave me hope and inspired me were those that had so little yet they were giving and were courageous for just getting up in the morning.

So today I sit here again deciding what bills I will pay and what can be put off. I don’t have the same pressure or weight on me but its memory is never far from my thoughts. I have to force myself to have hope and to continue to dig myself out. After all, my actions were a large part of me being there in the first place. Like I said yesterday, I am learning to again wish upon a star. I’m living in yet a different place and am working to move on. I still have a road to travel, but it’s nothing like where I was. But I also choose never to forget that experience even though I hated it, and didn’t care for who I was at the time. I’m totally different today than I was then, and I don’t think it would be fair to those I hurt at that time to forget.

My point today is that the next time you are driving around town and see someone that is selling papers at an intersection, think of what you would do if your life suddenly changed. Most of us are a pay check away from being there. So why not part with the few dollars that will make little difference to you but every difference to them. Most importantly look them in the eye. They are there; they are a person that deserves that respect. Whatever you do don’t pretend as if you don’t see them or judge them for their life’s choices. You haven’t earned that right, none of us have. I would just love for people that have money to understand how powerful it is and how very lucky they are. Take a step back and be thankful for all that’s around you. You might feel a loss at a relationship that brings you pain or stressed over something or other, but at least you have a home to shelter yourself in and Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer.

“One must be poor to know the luxury of giving.” -- George Eliot

I wish I may...

When I was younger I used to make wish on a star every single night. They weren’t huge wishes like to win the lotto, but rather something small and secret. I remember wishing for something like the ability to make someone laugh the next day. I know that sounds odd for someone to wish for something like that, but I always thought that a wish should be something meaningful but not so large as it would be impossible for them all to come true. Doable dreams. And what do you know? About 90% of the time the wishes would come true.

For about a year I spent at least one night a week in a comedy club attempting to do stand-up; it was always fun and lent itself well to those little unspoken nightly wishes. I had confidence, I had motivation, and I had the energy to reach out and grab whatever it was I was looking for. Being busy wasn’t a chore; it just was how things were. But for several reasons things changed, and I stopped making those nightly wishes. Now, I’m not saying that those things aren’t still a part of me, just that life changes you, sometimes for the better, but it’s still a change. I wonder how much some of that correlates with me not looking up.

Around October I was feeling lonely for whatever reason. I’m sure we all have those times. So for the first time in what must have been 6 years I looked up and made a wish. I wished for a change and for the chance to make someone laugh. There’s nothing that feels quite the same as doing that. Well I did end up getting sucked back into an online world I had taken a break from for a few years and posting some silly story. I had always had an addiction to online fiction partly because I’m cheap and partly because the library is rather lacking in lesbian fiction. Its weird how life changes, I went from a tad lonely to being sucked into friendships and creativity.

I guess my rather long winded point was to let you know that if you have the chance maybe you too should look up and wish for something small and secret. You may have a walking dream in your arms, or you may have that empty ache that can occur at 3 am, but we all could use a bit of hope. That’s really what it is about, hope. Do I think that the stars have the power to change my life? No. But I do believe that when you choose to open yourself up to the possibilities life can change you. So I'll be out there tonight, I have a few things I'd love to wish for.

Pup-date: The little mongrel has now learned to jump on the bed and couch. I’m not one of those people that insist their dog not ever know the feel of furniture, but I do think I should get first dibs on where to sit. Anyway, she has these little sporadic bursts of energy that leave you wondering if she was on speed. I used to be safe if I just ducked and waited for the blur to settle down. Now, I’m in the path of the tornado. She will launch herself off the recliner right onto me and the couch. This would be endearing if she didn’t always have the remarkable ability to land right on places of my body that object. But for the most part it’s great because when she wants a nap she just climbs on up like a cat and sets up camp on what ever part of my body she deems acceptable. She seems to be a breast girl… that’s my baby!

“Hope is a waking dream.” -- Aristotle

Who do you think you are?

It’s always about the little things; they’re what matters most in life. Often I think people forget about them. They look past them in hopes to find something huge. There really isn’t a big billboard that people will use to show you they care. No, they will show you in the things that often get overlooked. Let me give you a few examples of what I’m talking about:

There is a woman that oftentimes bakes things for people who live hundreds of miles away just so the person can enjoy them and smile. There are people who seem to always say the most important thing at the time you need it most. There are those that will drop you a line to say hello, or to let you know they appreciated something you said. They make you smile, or let you bitch. You hear their voice as they tell you goodnight, and hear their laugh when you say something amusing. It’s the fact that they remember the little things you mentioned, and nonsense stories you told. They think beyond themselves and are careful of how they say things. These are the things that seem to help them find a place in your heart and life. They are friends, family, and lovers. Regardless, they understand that it’s those little things that make all the difference in the world.

I wonder why more people don’t seem to understand this? I mean I’ve found this quality rare in people so I wonder why that is. Why do people seem to live in some kind of tunnel where they can’t see the people around them or the affect they have. Don’t they understand that their life will inevitably affect someone else’s? This makes no sense. I don’t understand how they can park in the handicapped spots, hold up lines without a care, insult you without a backwards glance, or forget that you too might need someone to listen once in a while too.

I guess I am trying to figure out how to tell the person that doesn’t think before they talk to me that it does bother me. I also have to find a way to tell those that remember the little things, and make me feel like a valuable person, that I appreciate it. So, if you have a chance today to find a way to say the things you need to, what are you waiting for? Everyday I see this couple here on Xanga, who don’t ever let a day pass without a post saying these things. It really is an inspiring sight. I have no idea what stops me from telling people that their late night words are special, but maybe it’s time I did.

Pup-date: I think that Velcro must be made in part with puppy hair. I mean the stuff sticks to you like nothing else and this pup can just walk by a bush and be covered in leaves. She ends up looking like the swamp thing. I guess it doesn’t help that she follows behind you and digs little holes everywhere she goes. At least she doesn’t mind the bath afterwards… though why after she takes it she has to go romping through my clean clothes pile I haven’t gotten around to folding yet is beyond me. That will show me for being so lazy with my chores.

“The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.” --- Socrates

Puppy of Doom

Oy, today has just turned out to be one of those days. The kind of day where you’re sure someone out there hates you and has been plotting against you. Now, you may think I’m exaggerating or being a wimp, but I bet by the time I’m done telling this story you all will want to come over and give me a cookie or something. Now, while telling this story you may feel as if you want to laugh, go ahead. I’m sure in about a month I will find this whole episode incredibly amusing.

Okay I woke up late, not really surprising seeing as though I stayed up ridiculously late yet again last night. After a few snoozes I eventually tossed the alarm across the room, but it wouldn’t stop the freaking thing from going off. I even tried the whole head under a pillow thing, but even that couldn’t stop that noise. So without any other choices I drug myself out of bed and stumbled to the puppy’s cage and then we made it outside without any major catastrophe, which is surprising considering that my puppy is a magnet for havoc.

Then I left the puppy to romp around while I took a shower. She made the mistake once of trying to follow me into the shower… she won’t make that mistake again. The look on her face when she realized that it was raining in just one spot of the room was too funny. She didn’t appreciate me laughing and pointing at her so she ate a roll of toilet paper and strung it across my whole place, but I digress. Anyway I was merrily singing badly in my shower while putting the shampoo in, when there was a knock on my door. You’d think I’d just let that go, but I can’t. I also have a hard time letting a phone ring unanswered. So I grabbed a towel, prayed the soap wouldn’t drift into my eyes, and went to answer the door. By the way, they really should make towels bigger, but that’s just me.

At the door was the woman that does the welcome wagon stuff for the neighborhood. She just wanted to give me a flyer for the spring potluck. You’d think that wouldn’t sound so bad, but I went to one of those things once and I found out that the average age of those attending was 65. If that wasn’t bad enough one man kept pinching my cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones on my face. So you can see how excited I was to be standing there at my door soapy and in a towel getting a flyer for one of these things.

Just as I was about to say goodbye to this woman, of course that’s after she went yammering on forever, the little havoc doggie ran through my legs and out the door. Crap. Now there’s a fairly busy street not too far away, and the puppy hasn’t learned that cars are bad yet. So of course I had to run after her. Now to her this was just a larger version of the “catch me if you can” game. To me it wasn’t that much fun, and I was muttering things to the doggie that the ASPCA wouldn’t be too fond of. She thought it was a hoot to have me trailing after her desperately clutching my towel in a pathetic attempt to avoid showing the whole neighborhood all my goodies. Just as I was close enough to grab her she would scamper off barking with her butt wiggling. Evil creature.

This went on for about a half hour with me promising treats I didn’t have while I had only one eye open. The other would probably never open again just for the fact that it had a ton of soap in it. And I was also now limping because I stepped on a piece of glass from a bottle. I was beginning to think I was going to have to go back to my place, get dressed, and maybe find a big net or something when I heard it. From behind me I hear a “whooo”. Now, I have begun to like hearing “whoo” from a friend that does it when she is happy, but this wasn’t that kind of "whoo". This was the kind that occurs behind you in traffic just before you start to curse and pray that you didn’t miss a payment of your car insurance. Yes, that’s right, it was a cop. Shit.

Thankfully after convincing the man that I wasn’t drunk, he decided to help me catch the puppy of doom. I don’t really blame him for thinking I might be drunk. I mean I only had the one eye open, I was wearing only a towel, I was limping, and at this point I was finding it difficult to speak without cursing. But the barking puppy having the time of her life tipped him off to what was really going on. Eventually we ended up catching her, and yes I even thought of taking my towel off and using it as something to toss over her to catch her, but with the cop there I didn’t think it would be wise. Anyway, he ended up herding her over to me where I could scoop her up.

So I thanked him and headed back to my place but he stopped me. Can you believe he wanted to give me a ticket? A freaking *ticket*! So now I have to go to court to explain to a judge why I was wandering around the streets of Tucson half nekkid. Oh for crying out loud! That pissed me off. Then I limped back to my place only to find out that guess what? That’s right, I locked myself out!! Fuck. Now I had to wander around looking for a hide-a-key that I didn’t quite remember where I hid it. That does me a lot of good.

So eventually I ended up back inside and the puppy wanted to play. Um… fat chance you little mongrel, you’re lucky I love you so much. That puppy is so not getting any treats tonight. Heck, she’s lucky I don’t put her little cute butt up on Ebay. That cute face of hers will save her every time. Man, I’m a sucker for a brown eyed girl.

“Some days you're the dog - some days you're the hydrant.” -- Unknown

Furball

In random puppy news: The puppy is having an identity crisis; she thinks she’s a cat. I swear the other day I heard her say, “Meow”. It’s not just that. She plays with her paws more than anything, likes to sleep on the back of the couch, and likes to sit on the desk so she can see what alla the “tipity taping” is about. The poor thing has to try about six times to make it onto the couch in the first place. I feel a little guilty about laughing when she flops back onto the ground, but her little butt wiggle, determined face, and warble is just too cute. Now if only I can find my wallet… I just know that little critter nabbed it, and I’m sure that little innocent face is anything but.

“The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.” -- Sophocles

Catch me if you can

If you were to peek into my windows you’d see that about 15 times a day I do an amazing imitation of a matador. It really isn’t my fault. You see everyday I have to play “catch the creature”. That’s right, I have a little ball of fur that runs around trying to play “catch me if you can”. You wouldn’t think it was that hard to catch a little bit of fluff. The problem is that this little thing has legs of lightning. So the only way I can catch her is if I maneuver her into position and then toss a blanket over her. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. I seem to be out witted at every turn. I just know by her little warble she gives me that she is laughing and mocking me.

Don’t let those innocent brown eyes of hers deceive you… she’s diabolical. She follows behind me just to steal whatever it is I leave behind to stick it under the couch. I have no idea why she does this, but just yesterday I found 3 of her toys, two mismatching socks, a paper airplane, the VCR remote (though I’m not sure she was the culprit there), a shoe, my toothbrush, and my keys. When I found them and started picking them up, she looked at me as if she was offended. How dare I pilfer her stash?

The little monster enjoys victory laps around the living room at supersonic speeds. Luckily she only falls every now and again. Her puppy paws haven’t gotten down the concepts of traction or coordination yet. Most of the time she does well on these little adventures… well, until she hits the tile that is. Then she looks like a spinning fur covered top sliding across the floor like Tom Cruise in “Risky Business”.

She has a bark that could rupture your eardrum and these cute little whimpers that guilt me into giving her a puppy treat. And just as an aside, she also likes to eat human hair. How do I know this you ask? Well as I am catching a long overdue nap, I was awoken by a searing pain and a barking dog with a wiggling backside. It seems giving my hair a nice tug is about as much fun as an amusement park. Who needs the Tilt-a-whirl when you can chew on some hair?

You may think I am complaining, but really I wouldn’t change a thing about her. She’s incredibly frustrating and the sole reason that I walk around town with a pooper scooper, but she is mine. She loves to fall asleep on my chest and wiggle when I walk in the door. She’s overjoyed to see me and doesn’t expect things of me I can’t give. She doesn’t need me to be someone I’m not, or judge me by my failures. All I have to do is come home, feed her, chase her around with a blanket, toss her ball around, and let her eat my hair. Seems like a fair trade to me. Well that and the fact that no woman could resist her little face… now to get that to rub off on me.


“You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that!’” -- Dave Barry

Dreamer

Ever since I was little I’ve had the same reoccurring dream. Don’t worry; I’ll make this short as to not reveal the insanity of my psyche. But it’s always the same dream. I was about 7 and living where I grew up in a valley in Colorado. I peered out my window and caught a glimpse of something white moving with grace. Running out onto the porch I saw what it was. There, in a grass field between the trees was one unicorn. He stopped and stared at me, through me. He knew I could see him, yet he allowed me to stare. I knew without reason that this animal knew me; he understood what brought me to that porch seeking his comfort. I walked backwards into the house to tell my family that I’d seen him. They were all eating dinner as I told them of my incredible sighting. They all laughed, mocking me and my fantasies, but I knew better.

So I ended up alone and heading out again to see if he was still there. He was. I began to follow him until he led me into an open area flanked by pine trees. There before me was a small herd of the magnificent creatures. They allowed me to spend time with them, even run my hand along their bodies. It was always peaceful there, like the world had stopped to lend me a moment in that sun filled meadow.

I still have this same dream about once a month. It has changed a bit over the years and I can’t pinpoint when the change occurred. Now when I leave my disbelieving family in the kitchen and run to meet the unicorn he is there waiting as always. He turns to leave, looking back to make sure I follow him. I don’t move. He stops and paws at the ground in frustration. I turn my back on the beautiful animal. After all, he isn’t real right? When I glance back he is gone, disappeared into the trees. There is nothing left there to prove he ever existed. Every blade of grass is in its rightful place. I am left alone in my disbelief with only the comfort of the wind.

Why is it so hard for us to believe as we get older? Do we even realize the things we miss because of our cynicism? I have become quite adept at using sarcasm to hide from anything unwanted. The sad fact is that every time I hide I slip a little farther away from being able to believe. Turning my back can only leave me standing alone. I can no longer wonder what your intentions are, if you are a true friend, what it is you are trying to get out of me, why you’re here, if you really do care, if you remember, if you ever did love me, or if you'll be there. No, tonight I will stand and face you.

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” -- James Baldwin