Meet me in the Middle

I would love to stand at the peak of Mount Everest, but I have no desire to do the climbing.

Put me in a plane and drop me off at the top. I’ll stab the icy ground with my flag pole and declare shameless victory. I’ll raise my arms in the air, do some fancy foot work, and soak in the amazing beauty that very few have seen. Some may call it cheating, but I call it avoiding avalanches, falling rocks, frostbite and lack of oxygen.

To some people the dream is the process. It’s gathering all your climbing gear. It’s the training and the focus. It’s the expectation of surviving with the chance of death. It’s the sweat, strategy and teamwork. It’s inhaling the freezing air and being warmed up by the adrenaline. It’s overcoming fear and the feeling of triumph. It’s pushing yourself to the limit and then pushing it even farther. It’s the experience of it all.

I don’t camp, much less climb mountains. I would rather be forced at gunpoint to listen to eight hours of rap music than sleep outside in a tent. And I really hate rap music. Sure, I’ll show up for the campfire and s’mores. I’ll even hold your hand and sing Kumbaya. But when it comes to nite-nite time, I’m headed either back home or the nearest hotel. Be sure to call me in the morning when you’re fixing breakfast over an open flame. But once you break out the hiking boots, backpacks, and ropes, I’m gone again.

All of this to say, every one of us has a different dream. Some of us just have larger dreams than others. While one strives to reach a mountain peak, another might desire to tackle the smaller hills. One might want to buy a Lamborghini and another to finally pay off the Pinto they bought five years ago. One person might dream of packing up and moving their life to Europe, while another might yearn for the security and stability of a family and home.

I say whatever makes you feel alive… do it.

However, my advice is to always take a keen sense of observation and level headedness. Problems follow us no matter where we are. Whether we wave our freedom flag on that mountain or choose the stability of the solid ground, if we don’t see things for their truth they will always have us in a suffocating headlock. They don’t disappear just because we’ve changed the scenery.

And yes, I’m talking about something that I have a hard time doing as well.

I have dreams. They may not be as big as yours, but they’re still dreams. They’re not financial or material. I don’t have any political aspirations. I have no desire to be a spokesperson for any particular movement and I don’t have any goals to be a CEO (pappa ;))). I might ride in your pretty Lamborghini and may even think you’re cool for having it, but I’m not going to save my pennies to buy one.

Even though I’ve been told my emotions and thoughts are complex, I live a simple life.

I want a simple life. I do best with structure. The more structured my life, the more fun I’ve had jet setting to France, Thailand or even a road trip to Tunica. I can fly by the seat of my pants as long as I know that I’ll eventually come home. That I have a home.

I’m going skydiving soon and I would have never thought of it if my friend hadn’t mentioned she was going. Although we’re waiting for her hectic schedule to let up, I look forward to the freedom and open air while strapped to someone who has already done it a few thousand times. I didn’t even know that skydiving was a dream of mine. It kinda just happened. That’s the way most things happen in my life. I don’t know that I want something until it’s presented to me.

I’ve only had one job interview in my life. And that was almost some years ago. Every job I’ve had before and since has just fallen in my lap. I’ve left jobs for better offers. I’ve turned down jobs. I’ve wished for a new job and it’s somehow found me. I’ve never been without an income. I think this is a true representation of how I live my life. I sometimes don’t know that I need or want something until it’s in front of my face.

I wish my dreams were more concrete.

I wish I had a list that I can check off. As much as I would love to stomp grapes with my bare feet at some winery in France, I’ll go if the opportunity presents itself. I’m not booking my flight just yet. But if you want to go, call me. Seriously.

If I had to pick one dream, it would be love and acceptance. That’s no shocker, I know. I realize that sometimes my own fear jeopardizes that opportunity. But sometimes I feel like it will happen similar to the way my career path has. I mean, I didn’t have to suffer through climbing Mount Everest to find friends… why would I to find a guy?

I’ve done some amazing and crazy things in my life and I have no regrets. And the things that I didn’t take a bold chance on have turned out for the best. The only two things I ask for out of life are loyalty and understanding. Two things that I hopefully have proven myself of having time and time again.

And if my “big dream” in life is love and acceptance, then this is what I expect out of those closest to me. I will give it back ten fold. Promise. There are no one-way streets in my dream.

No big, tall, icy mountains to overcome. No smoke and mirrors hiding a truer meaning.

Like I said before, whatever makes you feel alive... do it.

Just look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t run with scissors. Wear clean underwear. But above all, while floating down this river of life, don’t forget those who love and accept you… no matter what.

Orgasm types...

Just wanted to share this funny mail I received from a friend of mine..

Sex in a boat = Oargasms,
Sex with a nerd = Dorkgasms,
Sex at the entrance to your house = Doorgasms,
Sex on the carpet or linoleum = Floorgasms,
Sex at the supermarket = Storegasms,
Sex with wild pigs = Boargasms,
Sex at a Stephen King movie = Horrorgasms,
Sex with a prostitute = Whoregasms,
Sex with a storyteller = Loregasms,
Sex with an accountant = Boregasms,
Sex while sleeping = Snoregasms,
Sex with Arthur = Dudley Mooregasms ,
Sex while broke = Poorgasms,
Sex with a lion = Roargasms,
Sex for hours and hours on end = Soregasms,
Sex on a golf course = Foregasms,
Sex with a nymphomaniac = Ready for Moregasms,
Sex in a gold mine = Oregasms,
Sex with a dermatologist = Poregasms,
Sex with the ex-vice president = Al Goregasms,
Sex with chocolate marshmallows = S'moregasms,
Sex with a bullfighter = Toreadorgasms,
Sex with a masked man carrying a sword = Zorogasms,
Sex on the beach = Shoregasms,
Sex when you get an award = Honogasms,
Sex at an all you can eat buffet = Smorgasbordgasms,
Sex on a cruise ship deck = Shuffleboardgasms,
Sex in Asia = Singaporegasms,
Sex among the wonders of the world = Outdoorgasms,
Sex in the vicinity of garbage can = Odorgasms,
Sex on the way to the train = All aboardgasms,
Sex that isn't very satisfying = there's the doorgasms,
Sex during hay fever season = Sporegasms,
Sex with a Medieval poet = Troubadorgasms,
Sex in an adult theatre = Hardcoregasms,
Sex with conquering Spaniards = Conquistadorgasms,
Sex with someone not paying attention = Ignorgasms,
Sex with a competitive partner = Scoregasms,
Sex in a firehouse = Firedoorgasms,
Sex with an Icelandic singer = Bjorkgasms,
Sex with a cookie = Oreogasms,
Sex while flying = Soargasms,
Sex with a bugle player = Horngasms,
Sex with an astronaut who didn't make it into space = Abortgasms,
Sex with a beloved partner = Adoregasms,
Sex with a meat eater = Carnivoregasms,
Sex with a person who's got a really bad hairdo = Pompadoregasms,
Sex with someone who has really bad taste in clothes = Velourgasms,
Sex while sightseeing = Tourgasms,
Sex with a big dog = Labradorgasms,
Sex with Beavis and Butthead = Gonnascoregasms,
Sex during an earthquake = Tremorgasms,
Sex on farm implements = Tractorgasms,
Sex with Thomas Edison = Inventorgasms
Sex with a construction worker = Contractorgasms,
Sex at a symphony orchestra = Conductorgasms,
Sex on the stairs at the mall = Escalatorgasms,
Sex while hopelessly drunk on shooters = Liquorgasms,
Sex with a possessive partner = Yourgasms,
Sex with Frankenstein's assistant = Igorgasms,
Sex with three of your friends = Fourgasms,
Sex with a Norse God = Thorgasms,
Sex without a climax = Nogasms.

Gosh! So many gasm's in one spot.

I guess "nothing" really means "a lot"

I have nothing to write about.

Really. I have been banging my head all week trying to think of some cool topic that moves me enough to put into words. Notta. A couple of times an idea would pop into my head and then suddenly I’m bored with it and shrug it off. So, I have no idea where this blog is headed. 

And that might be scary.

Here’s the thing: I’ve entered into this weird-makes-no-sense “I don’t care about anything” phase and it’s about to drive me insane. I strongly believe that it is a direct result of being sugar-free for almost three weeks. No joke. It has been H.E.L.L. To my knowledge, not one ounce of sugar has entered my system since I inhaled that most beautiful Snickers Bar sitting in moms car in the airport parking lot on Thursday, January 23 at approximately 8:30pm. And not the small Snickers. The big ass one.  

Chocolate. I miss it.

As I sit here typing, I can actually taste that now-long-gone scrumdiliumptious chocolate melting in my mouth.

I went to a birthday party last week and there was homemade chocolate cake. You have NO idea how much control it took me to NOT just lick that yummy chocolate icing off the top and sides of the cake, slowly and seductively, from one side to the other, back and forth, until it was all gone. <sigh> I didn’t because I didn’t want to be a failure in my quest… and NOT because it would have truly disgusted the whole entire party.

I thought I had the most marvelous idea the other day by buying some sugar/fat free chocolate pudding. Never again. I sat on my couch and ate the whole entire freaking bowl. Consuming small portions of chocolate is something that is foreign to me. If you and I were stuck on an island and the only thing we had to eat was a box of anything chocolate... well, let me just apologize in advance. I don’t fight pretty. 

I’m even afraid to light my fudge scented candle. It might just push me over that scared-she-might-kill-people ledge. Don’t worry. I don’t own a gun. Yet.

But back to the whole “I don’t care about anything” phase that I’m going through…

I’m not sure what the deal is exactly. I just don’t care. And that bothers me. I can’t tell you how many obstacles I’ve had to run around, through or avoid these past couple of weeks. Now that I think about it, I wonder if this new phase came about after I royally screwed up at work. And I mean royally. I have a wonderful boss who graciously didn’t fault me, but he and I both know that I’m the one who screwed up. There was nothing I could do but stand there and watch the train wreck happen. God, I felt bad. Horrible. All I could do was sincerely apologize and then move on. But… apparently I didn’t?

Maybe I’m punishing myself? I love my job and have a huge sense of loyalty. And to screw up that badly just crushes me. I found a huge problem today where someone (don’t know who) accidentally messed up a whole bunch of my files on the network. And we’re talking a couple of hundred here. I now am in the process of fixing them each – one by one. A co-worker has been kind enough to lend a hand. 

I tell this story for this reason: I didn’t get mad. I didn’t yell. I didn’t accuse particular employees of sabotaging my files. Normally this would have just sent my blood pressure sky high. However, today? I just didn’t care. It’s not like I handled it in a “mature manner”… I just didn’t care. I said, “well that sure does suck” and then proceeded to waste the entire afternoon fixing it.

What’s wrong with this picture? Sheesh. Someone do something QUICK to piss me off! Maybe it’ll snap me out of it.

I’m just so fed up with so many things right now that instead of going postal, I’m doing the opposite. Maybe I’ve entered some sort of crazy self protection mode. A modern day twilight zone. I can hear Rod Serling now…

“Peacer, you're traveling through another dimension -- a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land where there is no place for logical thinking. Where you willingly place your desires and emotions on hold. You've just crossed over into... the Twilight Zone.” 

I think another issue holding back my emotions is the fact that I’m really worried about my oldest dog, Pepper. She’s 16 and isn’t doing well. I won’t go into her specifics, but it makes me incredibly sad. She’s my baby. My princess. My most loyal companion for nearly all of her sweet little Chow life. She has been my protector and confidant. Over the years she has given me great boyfriend advice – ok, technically, she’s bitten the ones she didn’t like. She has rapidly gone down hill the past 6 months and it’s tearing me up. It’s too the point that when I come home from work everyday, I stand over her tired, sleeping body on my bedroom floor waiting to see if I can see her breathing. I pray everyday that I am not forced into any decisions regarding her life and I pray that I’m not alone when I find her gone. I know this day – however it unfolds – will happen. And it will happen soon and I am not prepared. You would think that assisting her frail body up and down the front steps or helping her find her way when she blindly runs into walls or making her get up and walk when she’s slept all day, would prepare me… but it doesn’t. It makes me love her even more because she is mine. She belongs to me. Just as I have relied on her protection all these years, she now relies on me to help her find her water bowl. And that is something that I don’t want to go away. Loyalty is what loyalty does.

With all that said, please no one leave comments about what the “right thing to do” is regarding Pepper. I just can’t listen to that right now.  That is one decision I will avoid.

Ok, well now that I’ve unloaded.

At the beginning of this blog, I said I had nothing to write about. Guess I was wrong.

I Could Be Apathetic, But I Don't Really Care!!!

So I've had no desire to write of late. In point of fact, I've had no desire to do anything. It's actually starting to get a bit worrying, because I really can't get into anything at all. I have a fairly extensive list of hobbies, but I just can't seem to get interested in anything. I love reading, but I've started and given up on about a dozen books. I love movies, but I can't remember the last time I got excited about something, even old favourites. I love playing online games, especially puzzle type or poker, but of late I'm finding I actually turn it off before I solve the puzzle or making wild "all in" bets on a high card 8 because I don't care if I lose. Even reading blogs has lost its spark. Normally I could lose my whole day in front of my computer reading blogs, but I'm just not compelled. It's not you guys, that's for sure. On the odd occasion I have clicked a blog it's been as well written and interesting as I always expect. I just can't seem to be bothered to click the links. I could go on, but it would only bore you.

I looked at my blog today and thought "I can not face not having anything new on this page. I am a writer. It's what I do. For heaven's sake, force yourself to write! You will only break this pattern by forcing yourself to do it!"So I set off looking for a topic. Over the last week I've been reading the "Odd News" which is usually good for something that will get me giggling and set the wheels in motion, but nothing. On the odd occasion I've stumbled across "something that would normally get me "all riled up" I've thought "nah.. It's all been said". It just feels like too much effort to say it again. So I went so far today as to start digging through lists of writing topics. This has actually produced a mildly interesting blog previously, so I thought, maybe... But still nothing sparked my interest.

Finally I thought, "you're so apathetic about everything, apathy is obviously the topic" and set off to look into that.

They say "learn something every day" and what do you know, I did! Here's what Wikipedia has to say about apathy.

Apathy is a psychological term for a state of indifference — where an individual is unresponsive or "indifferent" to aspects of emotional, social, or physical life. Clinical apathy is considered to be at an elevated level, while a moderate level might be considered depression, and an extreme level could be diagnosed as a dissociative disorder. The physical aspect of apathy associated with physical deterioration, muscle loss, and lack of energy is called lethargy — which has many pathological causes as well.

So you see, it's no wonder really. I know very well that I struggle with depression particularly through the winter months. I also know that loss of sensory perception can lead to depression. For the best part of a month I have been fighting a cold which has been robbing me of my senses of smell and taste and culminated last week in a double ear infection which left me with about 90% hearing loss in one ear and about 50% in the other.* So I really shouldn't be surprised to find that I've lost my enthusiasm for just about everything. Actually, I'm not surprised at all. It would take entirely too much energy to be surprised.

Well, to quote Forrest Gump (which seems appropriate, because I'm feeling distinctly like my IQ is somewhere around 75) “That’s all I have to say about that”. Perhaps you've learned something too, and this blog hasn't been a complete waste of cyber-space. As for me, I hope it's at least broken the pattern a little. I'll try to care again tomorrow.Be well!

*Thankfully the antibiotics are starting to work. I got most of my hearing back over the weekend, but I know the infection still isn't gone entirely. I still have 2 days on the course of antibiotics, so fingers crossed I don't have to go back to the doctor again. Getting an appointment there is like trying to get an audience with the pope!

Dear Diary

As I routinely laid my day’s jewelry in my small antique bowl, my eyes moved upward noticing the row of books I had placed on the shelf a few years back. Books that range from biographies to Paris travel guides to Robert Frost poetry. Also in that collection are my old journals. Journals that I haven’t written in or read in years.

As a child I was obsessed with blank books. Unfilled journals. I was constantly buying them. I had this idea that one day I would fill them all with words. My words. Words that I would creatively orchestrate into a poem or a personal essay. To me, my written word was proof that I was here. That I existed.

I guess I’m still that way.

All throughout my childhood I often felt invisible. Skipped over. Not worth the effort. Looking back now, that contradicts how my life really was. My parents showed me unbelievable love. I was popular with my friends. I won awards and was fed compliments. But yet I somehow still felt undeserving.

I removed my journals from the shelf, sat on the couch and began thumbing through the pages. Reading my own words written by the younger me. Remembering how I felt as I wrote each entry. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Not unlike the feelings that motivate the writings of this older me. It’s just more alarming when it comes from the mind of a 13 year old. Somehow when you’re older, being bitter is expected.

I notice some of the entries are quite powerful. After finishing a page, there are no questions left to ask. Feelings are clearly explained. I've discovered that my words were more raw and forthcoming as a child than they are as an adult.

There are also pages full of love and hope. Ideas for my future. Wants, needs, desires. Most of which make me smile since they are totally unrealistic. I wrote confessions of love for some stupid boy and then admitting hurt when the feelings weren’t reciprocated.

I have my grandmother’s diary from the early 1930’s. She mostly wrote about school and washing her hair. She mentioned a few times about being ill and staying in bed. After she died, I selfishly and sentimentally gathered several of her old things – her diary being one of them.

I’ve read through it many times and enjoy her innocence. I love knowing her at that age through her words. However after reading my own childhood journals… I wonder who will possess them after I’m gone. Who will be the one to thumb through my personal thoughts? My words reveal much more than my grandmother ever would have dreamed.

If as a child I viewed my journals as proof that I existed, then I must let them be exactly that. No need to hide how I felt. What I was. What I am.

I suspect this blog is a mere continuation of me proving that I exist.

Anonymously Mine

These tulips were delivered to me at home today, in the early morning.
The note attached simply said…
“Happy Valentine’s Day”
I’m not quite positive who sent them.
No name on the card.
You know what? It doesn’t matter.
They’re beautiful.
Someone thought about me.
And that’s all that matters.
Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Kinda makes me wanna cry.

The ABC's and 123's

Things that I love
Including, but not limited to...

• Chocolate: any type except tootsie rolls.
  
• Tivo: couldn't live without it!!
  
• Laughing. Hard. The kind that makes your side hurt.
  
• When people make a more stupid mistake than me. Obvious reasons.
  
• Hugs. Makes me feel loved.
  
• Flea Markets: good ones, not the ones that just re-sell rejected merchandise.
  
• Being trusted.
  
• Receiving cheques in the mail.
  
• Spending time with friends. Doing absolutely anything. Or nothing.
  
• Clean bed sheets - although I don't like making the bed.
  
• Alfred Sung: not much smells better. Every day fragrance.
  
• Roller Coasters: love that feeling of thinking I could die.
  
• The ocean: mesmerizing. I could stare at it for hours.
  
• Text messaging
  
• WWW
  
• When I screw up and no one finds out.
  
• My dogs. They love me unconditionally. I wish people did.
  
• Riding on a motorcycle. It's a rush.
  
• Dreaming. Nice escape from real life.
  
• Toes. Fingers. I'll stop there.
  
• Seafood
  
• Mexican Food (homemade is SO much better)
  
• Pizza
  
• Ok, food.
  
• Hot Bubble baths
  
• Massages. Wish I could get them monthly.
  
• Writing. Free therapy.
  
• Traveling to places I've never been.
  
• New shoes. Love that feeling of wearing cute shoes!
  
• Sleeping late.
  
• Tattoos. They tell a story.
  
• Having deep conversations with people.
  
• Watching people in action - doing what they do best. Seeing them in their element.
  
• The feeling of belonging.
  
• Being understood and accepted anyway.
  
• Sleeping in a t-shirt

Apparently it wasn't as funny as I thought.

Yesterday at 3:11pm…

Starbucks guy: What can I get for ya.

Me: Ohhh… I think I’ll take a Venti Miller Light.

Starbucks guy: [no reaction]

Me: [waits for reaction]

Starbucks guy: [looks at me and says nothing]

Me: Ok, well change that to a sugar free vanilla fat free latte. Thanks.

Some people just have no humor.

Let it shine. Let it glow.

The following is part of a conversation I had Sunday night in the back seat of a car as a group of us were driving back from a posh dinner. For some reason, I had Neil Diamond’s song “Heart Light” stuck in my head….

Me: (singing loudly and totally off key) “Turn on your heart light. Let it shine wherever you go. Let it make a happy glow for all the world to see…. Turn on your…”

Him: What’s a hard light?

Me: What? A hard light? What are you talking about…

Him: You’re singing “turn on your hard light”…

Me: It’s “heart light”… “turn on your heart light”… Neil Diamond. What, never heard the song?

Him: Ohh, I though you were saying “hard light”. I couldn’t figure out what that was.

A few seconds of silence.

Me: Hard light. Sounds kinda like hard on, no?

Him: Well, I wasn’t going to go there, but yes.

A few more seconds of silence.

Me: (singing loudly) “Turn on your hard on. Let it shine wherever you go. Let it make a happy glow for all the world to see”.... you know, I kinda like that version better.

Him: Figured you would.

One bad and one good

Bad first

In my usual life I normally ask for the bad news first as the good news can cheer me up a little after. Been really busy the past week and I haven't been able to post for the past few days. With this in mind I started a post and was editing, everything seems or sounds perfectly normal. Until I feel my eyes start to close without me blinking, it gave me the hint - "go to bed, got to bed". Well I did, or I was trying to but suddenly I smelt something burning. It definietly felt like a cartoon scene, you know each time bug bunnys bottom burns and the way he reacts, that's what took place with me sitting on my comfortable leather chair half asleep and started to panick. I thought I was in fire and was urging to get up. Then I realised that it wasn't me that was burning but actually it was my lovely leather chair. I got up and started to look around the chair and see what was burning it.

Oh Ohh...

Yep, oh ohhh indeed. As seen in the picture above, I realised it was the new floor lamp with creme shade that mom bought me 2 days ago and now it was burning my chair and causing a horrible smell in the room. Well it was wrong when I decided to put the lamp right behind my chair. And it was also is dangerous, the whole house could of burned and me and mom too, cause I leave the lights on while I sleep because of my darkness phobia. Well you found another thing of me...

I moved the chair far away from the lamp, so it cannot touch each other again. But what made me panick apart from getting burned was my mom's reaction. As she bought the lamp for me, and the chair of course and I put both of us in danger - not a great payback was it??!!

Aim

I still haven't mentioned to mom about my adventure last night, thank god it was past 1 am in the morning and she was fast asleep. She hasn't noticed the burned lamp shade and chair as I've put clothes to cover the chair and moved the lamp to a safe empty corner and twisted the shader around so it can't be visible. My aim is to replace these goods with fresh ones without her knowing it. Thank god again she doesn't know that I'm blogging so there's no way she can find it out.

The good thing is...

I donated my organs just few hours ago. Not that anybody cares but I do. I had it in my mind for the past few years but everytime I saw the leaflet i said "oh I'll do it later". But as i was watching tv this morning and eating my cereal there was an advert about organ donations. It mentioned that 90% of the population supported being a donor but only 23% have actually singed up for it. It was giving the message of gifting someone with life after your death. The reason for many people not signing for it is b/c of the same excuse as mine, and I really do not like filling in forms and posting them to be honest. But I realised that it actually has a website which you can go and register to become a donor. You can even choose what to donate and what not to, which is a good thing too.

You are more likely to need a transplant than become a donor...

And the day is still not over...

Peep all you want. It's legal

Blogging.

Everyone has a blog. You can get them for free or really, really cheap. Anyone can be important now. Even the little people like us.

I’ve been doing a lot of blog reading lately. I’ve pretty much been all over the world and back in search of the perfect blog. I plead guilty to the charges of peeping into other’s private lives for personal entertainment. Guilty of living vicariously through those I will never meet. I may have even read your blog. You never know.

It’s amazing what dirty laundry you people will air. You’ll talk about what/who you did last night, your pets, your children, your husbands, your girlfriends, your boyfriends, your husband’s boyfriend, death, illnesses, political issues, social issues… it’s all right there ready for us to read. And frankly… I L.O.V.E. it. Your curtains are wide open. Blinds are pulled up. Our legal binoculars positioned. We can peep all we want. It’s legal.

You people want us to look into your life and see what’s going on… juicy or not. It’s as if it is your own personal version of Reality TV. Your own 15 minutes of fame.

Hello. My name is Peacer and I’m a blogger.

Ok fine, I’m guilty. I’ve been sucked into it as well. I’m out here right along with the rest of you people. And the crazy thing is… I like it.

I was a little late in the blogging game. In my first blogging attempt I was loyal and dedicated. I posted my views on life and even talked about helping mom with her boring laundry. I talked about my relationships… the good ones and the hopeful ones. I talked about it all. And then… I stopped. I forgot to blog one day and then it turned into another bloggless day and then another. Before you know it, I had abandoned my millions of internet fans… okay, maybe just a few. Ok, one. Just one fan. Are you happy? Just one.

I thought about the ole' blog fondly. I even went to it and looked at it. Re-read my entries and self-servingly chuckled at my own witty ways of wording. Thought to myself, “I really ought to start this thing back up” - only to then click the red “X” at the top right corner of the opened window. I have to admit, there was a certain amount of guilt. I had taken the time to make my blog look pretty by choosing the right colors and formatting. I had taken care of it as if it was tangible, but then I just packed up and left. Moved out with no “good bye” note or “Dear John” letter. That was until . . .

I can’t help it. It's his fault.

It all started with an email from a long time friend of mine. He was diving into his own blogging pool just as I had only a few months earlier. An email with hopes in rallying up an audience. This stirred something inside me. A blog renewal, if you will. I started to remember the good times we had. I thought to myself, “Maybe it will work this time. Maybe if I adjust my priorities, I’ll have more time for it.” I hesitated, but eventually clicked on his emailed blog link. There it was: His Blog. My addiction developed again and soon there was a new blog in town. Not the old one. A new one with new stories of my boring life.

So here I am. Here you are. My imaginary audience who have been there with me since the beginning. God bless your loyalty. I want to thank you for keeping my exposure minimal and not spreading the word too fast. You know, I hate to get too famous too quick. I'd hate to bring the site's server down due to overwhelming traffic to my blog. I also don't think I could handle the paparazzi. Being put on the Forbes Top 100 Blogs list might just send me over that emotional cliff. The pressure of forced daily creativity might just prove too much for me.

Girl Power = More Power Than I Realized

I’m not really sure what "Girl Power" is exactly.

A friend of mine’s eight year old daughter likes me. I mean, really likes me. I took her to paint pottery on Saturday which only escalated her fondness for me. When my friend, the father of the reigning Miss Girl Power, inquired about her affection, she responded with the attitude that only an eight year old girl can have: “cuz she’s a girl.”

She’s all about the Girl Power. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who has liked me just because I’m a girl. I hope I have other characteristics that someone may consider first when deciding if they want to be my friend. I would like to think my wittiness or accepting personality would rank higher than just simply being a girl. I may not be the smartest fish in the bowl, but I hope that someone would admire my intelligence before persuing a friendship based solely on the fact that I’m a female.

She threatened my life the other day.

On Sunday morning Little Miss Girl Power’s father emailed me an invitation for an early dinner.
Normally I jump at the chance to eat his culinary concoctions since they are incredibly delectable. Plus I’m growing tired of eating cereal for every meal. However on Sunday I had a scheduling issue. In my emailed response, I noted my conflict and waited for his reply. And waited. And waited.

Later in the afternoon I emailed him a second time with a sarcastic remark and within minutes I received an email saying “answer your freakin phone!” It seems that I had left my cell phone in my car the night before.

I fetch my phone and… there they were. Five missed calls from the president of Girl Power herself. Five very important voice mails that were impatiently waiting for my retrieval. How dare I not have my phone next to me at all times? How dare I miss even one phone call from her royal highness?

The first voice mail was sweet. She politely introduced herself by name and gently offered the invitation for dinner. The second voice mail was still sweet, but had a very slight hint of urgency. By the fifth voice mail… she was pissed and passed out all kinds of threats. With the sound of high irritation, she s-l-o-w-l-y reiterated her full name and the full name of her father just in case I was too stupid to realize the matter at hand. She then explained to me how I w-i-l-l be there for dinner. Will. And then she hung up. No closing salutations. No “I’d love to see you.” No “hope you can make it.” No “I hope you’re not dead.” Nothing. Just a click. I felt my ranking in the office of Girl Power rapidly declining.

Until Sunday I somehow managed to live 20 years with my life being threatened only once. Considering the places I’ve been and the things I’ve done, being threatened only once is a huge accomplishment. A triumph worthy of recognition. The first time was by a crazy man and now... it's by an eight year old girl.

Girl Power: Zero Tolerance.

I guess I didn’t realize that aggravating the social structure of Girl Power resulted in being reprimanded. I didn’t know that this multi-level organization required that I remain alert and on my toes in case my recruiter beckons me at any given second.

Like how all Girl Power members should, I quickly gathered my things and headed over to the castle. She was pleased. And that’s all that matters. She soon forgave me and we had a lovely conversation over dinner about how she enjoys chocolate covered ants much better than chocolate covered crickets.

Girl Power. It’s an eight year old's world and I’m slowly learning how to be worthy of it.

The Perfect Guy

I read an article recently titled “Shopping for a Spouse”. The author wrote about how most of us create a “list” when shopping for a companion. I’m guilty. I have a list. It seems that the older I get, the longer my list will get, too. It’s not like I have it actually written down. It’s a virtual list. Somehow that seems less pathetic. I guess, for most of us, we begin writing our list when we are teenagers. When I was in high school I didn’t realise that I was forming a list, but I was. It probably didn’t actually take on the list form until I am in my early 20’s. God knows what will it turn into when I reach my 30's.

Teeth.

I’ve been described as picky. Although I extremely deny it, I guess there’s probably some truth to it. There are those times when not being picky has seemed to backfire. Once I found myself on a date with the eternal college student. You know the type: it’s been 20 years since they graduated from college, yet, they still party and carry on as if they are still part of the fraternity. Another time I was on a first date with a guy who felt the need to tell me all of his medical problems . . . and that was just during the appetiser. Bad situations like these send me into the edit list mode. In fact, the list has seemed to now fork into two different lists: the “gotta have” list and the “no way” list. Thankfully the content of the list has changed since I was a teenager. I no longer require my man to like Duran Duran or to take me to Taco Kid once a week.

My list has matured along with my age. I require that he have good hygiene, a good sense of humor, financial stability, taller than me, and, above all, the ability to put up with me. I guess he also has to have teeth. Can’t forget the teeth . . . which reminds me of story that I won’t share with you. My list is obviously quite a bit more detailed than the six examples before mentioned. But just in case my future husband is reading this article, I'll refrain from going into much detail since I don’t want to scare him off.

SWM ISO

Do guys make lists like women do? It makes me wonder what’s on it. I hope the next poor sap that I date doesn’t show me his list. I have no doubt that I will never be able to live up to it. Not that I’m putting myself down, it’s just that if everyone wore their list on the back of their shirt, would anyone get a date?

There are the general polite terms that we apply to our future mates: compassionate, funny, gentle, goal oriented, funny, good job, assertive, funny, etc. If a guy had his list displayed on the back of his shirt, I’m pretty confident that I would be able to check off several of them. However, I would definitely have to take myself out of the running if his shirt said he was looking for someone who is 6’2”, 24, a red head and wealthy. But you know, I guess it would be nice to know that up front before I waste my time, huh?

It's raining men.

I don’t know if you know much about this E-Harmony Internet thing, but I have a couple of friends that are members. They seem to be happy with their cyber success so far. My friend, Bubba (name has changed to protect the guilty), joined the site a couple of months ago. He’s been chatting it up with several women and has narrowed his focus down to five. The reason I bring this whole thing up is because when you register for the site, they ask you a jillion questions about who you are, what you like, what you’re looking for and what you’re not looking for.

I have no intentions on becoming a member of the E-Harmony family, however, I did fill out the questionnaire. It was really interesting to sort through my “kind of man I want” mental filing cabinet and transferring the data into the computer. I went as far as I could without paying for anything. And, believe me, the questionnaire is pretty detailed. It took me about an hour to fill it all out. They’ve matched me up with more men in the central Arkansas area than I would know what to do with - how and when will I ever get there to met my matches, a big crazy thing. So, if you’re matched up with someone named ME in WonderLand, chances are you’ll never hear from me because I ain’t payin’. I’m just too much of a traditional girl to go that route. I wish Bubba all the harmony luck in the world.

Great expectations.

So, you’re asking yourself, “What’s this babbling blog all about?” Frankly, I’m not sure. It’s a
mixture of things really. For one, I feel it’s okay to have a list - just as long as you don’t shut out all of us nice gals because we’re vertically challenged. I can always change the color of my hair, but I can’t make myself grow taller and no way I will legally change my age. Not even for you. Secondly, make sure your list is healthy. I’m pretty sure that mine is, although I’m sure I have friends that would disagree. There are things on my list that I will not budge on, but generally I feel that it’s a guideline.

On E-Harmony you answer specific questions about what type of person you’re looking for. The problem is this: The more specific you are, the less likely it is that you’ll get a lot of matches. This is the problem in real life as well. There should be a give and take on some stuff. I won’t be able to live up to someone’s list (a.k.a. expectations) 100% and neither will he on mine. But isn’t that okay? Do we want someone perfect or do we want someone perfect for us?

I saw a random penis yesterday evening...

Thought that would catch your attention. I figured while everyone blogs about 9/11 memories, I would relay an interesting tale that happened to me yesterday.

And, yes, I saw a random penis.

Here are the facts:

I left my house approx. at 5:40pm yesterday evening.

I began approaching the corner gas station.

I looked towards the station and saw a man standing at the side of the building.

I then realized that this man was urinating.

Right there. Daylight. Near the street. Urinating.

He glances over at me and sees me staring at him, driving slow, shocked.

He’s staring at me and I’m staring at him peeing.

He finishes his business, zips up, and walks behind the building.

Now, why did this man find it necessary to relieve himself right there next to traffic? Did he just have to pee soooooo badly, that using the gas station’s restroom was too much of an inconvenience? If he had to go behind the station anyway, why didn’t he just do it back there?

I don’t understand this and not sure I want to.

Shhhhh......it's a secret ;)

People have secrets.

They carry them around with them every day. All day. They do whatever they can to make sure that no one finds out. So no one can judge them. Pitty them. Humiliate them. Maybe it's so no one will have ammunition against them. They try to control it, but it's more like the secret controls them. They become a slave to it. It gets to the point where the secret is almost tangible. It lives and breathes and haunts them.

Not just "them". Me, too.

This is something that everyone can relate to. I don't think there is one person on this earth who doesn't have a secret. If you tell just one trusting person, isn't it still a secret? You're still controlling who knows and who doesn't. I guess it depends on who you tell. Maybe if you tell just those who are directly affected by it, then it's not a secret anymore. Thank God we don't have to wear t-shirts with our biggest secret printed on the back. Thank God! That would not be good. I would never leave the house.

There are small secrets and then there are big honker secretes. Of course, the bigger the secret, the juicier it is.

Public admittance.

I bring this all up because one of my favorite websites is Post Secret. I love this site! It was such a brilliant idea. Sure wish I had thought of it first. It accomplishes two things: a way for someone to let their secret out... tell the world...release themselves from any guilt; it also is a marvelous way for us to see other people's secrets... compare them to our own... see if someone else is more sick.

Sometimes there will be a secret on there that really just brings it all home. It'll be the pinnacle of secrets. The one that makes you wonder how this person can function every day knowing this about themself. It makes me wanna be the guy who started the site. Receiving all of these pieces of broken lives. Pieces that were sent in - in hopes that it will heal them. I also wonder how many of them are made up. I wonder who would make up a secret. What type of person would this be? I wonder if making up a secret is a secret in itself. Do you make up a secret because there's not enough juicy gossip in your own life? Pretty sad, but I'm sure it's done.

Some of the secrets aren't that bad, in my opinion. Some of the secrets I've actually done myself and don't consider them secrets. But then I have to realize that everyone is different. Ashamed by different things.

“Hi, my name is…..”

If I were to mail the PostSecret guy, I wonder what secret I would tell. Which one would it be? Which secret is the one that is harming me the most? Which one am I most ashamed of?

My Thought Bubble...!!!

You know those weird, random thoughts that go through your head? I’m sure that if my “thought bubble” was visible, everyone would run screaming. Even I don’t say everything I think – and that’s scary because I already get weird looks.

So I’m taking a shower this morning…

Don’t worry. No need to cue to porn music. I’m doing my normal girl routine. You know. Shaving the legs and underarms. And so I randomly think to myself, “Why do I do this? I mean WHY? I live alone. Nobody’s here to even care! It just takes up time.” But I keep on shaving anyway. And THEN I say to myself, “Maybe I’ll just shave half my body. Just one leg and one armpit. Like forever. I wonder what that would look like. I wonder how long my hair would grow. No one would have to know. If someone found out, would they think I’m a freak?”

What??????

So I’m at church last weekend…

The preacher is up there talking and doing his thing. The moment is serious. Suddenly, I have the overwhelming need to stand up, scream and start running around flapping my arms like a crazy girl.

What is WRONG with me???

So I’m celebrating a co-worker’s birthday the other day…

On birthdays, everyone gets their favorite choice of bday cake. Her favorite is white cake with white icing. First of all – B.O.R.I.N.G. So we’re all surrounding the cake trying to get a piece and someone describes it as being “white on white”. I think to myself, “I wonder if that’s anything like girl on girl.”

An oath to myself:

No matter what the inner-ME tries to tell me…

I will always shave both legs and both underarms. I will not scream and run around at church like a crazy girl. And next time I think of a porn reference, I will say it out loud so everyone can appreciate it.

Marley & Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog

I just finished Marley and Me last night. I picked it up last weekend at Barnes & Noble as I was walking near the magazines. The adorable photo on the cover caught my eye....they had a display of the book out in the open. Being an avid animal and dog lover, I couldn't pass it up.

Needless to say, I devoured the book in two days. I loved it. To me it was so refreshing to see such commitment in another dog owner. I have always believed that when you adopt a pet it should be part of the family, and it is a lifelong commitment. You don't give up and get rid of them, just because of hard times or problems.

I applaud Mr. Grogan, and his family, for being the kind of people who love and care for their dog friends and for writing such a heartfelt tribute to his pal, Marley. Pets ask for so little and return so much.

I have had many dogs and I always get a kick out of the commercial on TV for a new ziplock dogfood bag for a certain chow...they use the expression "Dogs Rule". How perfect. There is nothing quite like having a dog, whether they have impeccable manners or not.

I laughed and I cried and I understood everything that Mr. Grogan had to say. I also live in Florida so I felt a special connection to the Grogans when they were speaking of the culture here and the thunderstorms--and how dogs hate them.

All in all, Mr. Grogan's writing is clear and interesting and down to earth. I couldn't put the book down. It is a joy.

I even went so far and to visit the website he has listed in the book. There was an email address to write to him, which I did, and I was absolutely amazed when Mr. Grogan wrote back to me three hours later to thank me for my nice comments.

Do yourself a favor and read the book...you'll close it in the end and your heart will feel like it is too large to fit inside your chest.

There's this guy...

So, there's this guy I know... I found him in my office on Friday which I came back to get my umbrella that I left on my desk, and he was there - on my computer, being all nosey in my stuff. During his trip to "Girl's Land", he found my writings. All two of them. Rude, huh? He found this one which hadn't been updated in a while and he found another one that hasn't been updated in an even longer while.

I think I might have shot myself in the foot.

For some crazy reason... maybe it was a mental lapse... maybe it was me trying to appear "easy going"... maybe he put a spell on me... for whatever the reason... I gave this boy my e-mail password. Why? Like I said, I don't know. Maybe I'm just too stupid. Maybe I trust him (too much?).

I'm not smart.

I can always change my password. This I know. This would be the logical next step. This would be the action most people would take. This would be smart.

This guy who shall remain nameless (G.a.l.e.) has threatened to take over my literature world. Move in. Take control. Revamp it to be HIS world in girls's clothing.
Now that I'm thinking out loud here... What else did he see? Was he looking when my daily online newsletter "Stupid.Women. Smart.Men." arrived in my inbox? Are my secrets exposed? Is my heart exposed? I feel the sudden need to check to see if my slip is showing.

The waiting game.

I'm going to sit this one out and wade out here in the shallow waters before I dive in and try to do any damage control. Who knows, maybe he'll behave himself. Maybe he'll just toss this memory aside and go on to bigger challenges. Maybe he'll just blow me off and find a more interesting piece to take over.

I feel, however, that empty threats are for cowards. Don't you think? Of course, this did provide me with an excellent reason to update the piece. For that, I thank him.

Green Kermit

Kermit's very birght and green

I like to see him on my t.v screen

I love Kermits song

I loved Kermit for so long

He's so cool and will never die out

Always has a smile never a pout KERMIT !!!

I'm High Points

These kids I know had a scavenger hunt today. Boys against girls. They had this crazy list of items to acquire. Funny thing is... I was on the list. I was to be acquired. Their instructed quest was to locate me somewhere in the city during my daily excursions and have their picture taken with me. Doing this got them 5000 points. Both teams successfully accomplished this. I wonder what all on their list they didn't get. They weren’t able to spend money so they had to rely on other resources. I wonder what obstacles they had and how they maneuvered around them.

This makes me think.

How awesome would it be to have an itemized list right in front of you of things that are possibly impossible, but yet being determined to check each item off.

I wish I had a life list that motivated me. Encouraged me. Challenged me. What would my strategy be? Would I accomplish the items on the list that give me the highest points? Or do I do all the smaller, easier ones in hopes that it totals up well. I wonder.

Knowing me, I'd do as many of the smaller tasks first. Give me a little confidence boost before I tackle the larger, scarier ones. It's those scary items that make me stop. They are the ones that make me doubt myself and my direction.

Good thing each team had fellow members to help them out. Good thing they had each other to rely on for some attaboys or attagirls.

Maybe I should get me a team to wonder through life with.

Motivation, Being Happy and Good People

It's Sunday and it's just past 4pm. I've hung around on the couch all day thinking about things that I need to do. Things that would probably make my life easier. One of the down sides of being single is that there's no accountablilty. There's no one to motivate me. I would think that having someone else in the house would be encouragement to keep the kitchen clean. Who knows. Would I change to make someone happy? Or would I change because they make me happy? Time will only tell.

In about an hour I'll need to start getting ready for a party. I was actually invited to two parties tonight. Shocker! One of them would be with a crap load of people that I don't know and the other one is with old friends celebrating a birthday. Hmmm, wonder which one I'll go to. I'm in the mood to be with old friends. To relive memories of days past. To remind myself of strong friendships. These are good people. These are the people who make me remember how to laugh.

Say "YES" to Drugs.

I was doing what every normal person does.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that made me use my super human strength. No saving people from a burning house. Nope. I wasn’t doing anything impressive. Although receiving a medal of valor would be nice, I would be more likely awarded a medal of stupidity.

I threw my back out.

Many of us have been here. We’ve all experienced this mind numbing pain. The kind of pain that makes you shout out various colorful obscenities. I think I even made up a few. It’s the kind of pain that will cause the average person to crawl to the street corner and beg for illegal pain killers. Any kind will do. Really. We'll pay high dollar.

I was getting ready to go have lunch with a friend.

And since that’s what I was doing, I’m blaming him. It’s all his fault. If I wasn’t leaving to meet him then this wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t selfishly asked me to lunch then I wouldn’t have been laid up and out of commission for the past 12 hours. Sounds good, right?

Ok, maybe it’s not his fault. Plus he’s the one who gave me the pain killers. Which I have enjoyed. As I type this, I have no feeling in my body and life is good. Of course it’s 4:30am, but somehow I’m okay with that. I think I would be okay with just about anything right now.

Yes, I still haven’t revealed how I gracefully threw my back out. That’s because I’m avoiding you. I’m trying to avoid the public humiliation that I know for a fact is headed my way. But since the pills I just took are starting to make me tad loopy, I best end this blog before I admit way more than how I hurt myself.

Ok, fine. I was putting on my shoe. There. Happy?

I was sitting down and putting on my left shoe. How uninteresting is that? One that I can tell people without being snickered at. Maybe one that might cause me to be featured in the local newspaper.

Ok, I’m starting to see double and my brain and fingers have lost their connection. Gotta go.

Taboo: 1

I'm about to embark on some sensitive territory here.

{I have written this blog sometime ago but just didn't get the chance of publishing}

There are certain topics that people don't discuss. For whatever reason. They are private issues that make people uncomfortable. The topics are taboo. Announcing your point of view sometimes can either ridicule you or make you a hero. It depends on the audience around you.
Why is it that we can’t talk about them? Is it because we carry so much shame? Was the shame ignited by our own hands or are we carrying around the shame of others?

Do we not talk about these issues because of our fear of stepping on toes? Because it’s politically incorrect? Can’t offend people? I personally feel that today’s society is too sensitive. I find it funny that everyone gets in an up-roar when something off-color is said, while the stuff we watch on TV makes those statements look like a nursery rhyme.

Sex, religion, abortion, homosexuality, politics
… fill in your own blank. There are many more to choose from.

There’s this 26 year old guy from Michigan who’s causing a stink in the court system about reproductive choices for men. He’s fighting for an equal level of protection under the “freedom of choice” law. He wants men to be given as much a choice as women if there’s an unexpected bun in the oven. He says that women have complete control… they can abort, keep the kid, or put it up for adoption while men are left having to put duct tape across their mouth and accept the choice. Apparently his ex-girlfriend ended up preggers and he wasn’t ready to fulfill any fatherly duties.

Ok, so here’s my view point:

I agree with him.

I’ve actually wondered about this for many years. I’ve often wondered about all those men who actually WANTED their kid, but then having to surrender to the baby’s momma’s choice for abortion. And then there’s the flip side… the women who choose to have their baby with men who have no desire to be fathers.

Now don’t get me wrong, if two people are married, I think you are both responsible. That's just the contract of marriage. I know of too many women who have gotten knocked up on purpose just to trap their boyfriend into a life long miserable commitment. I also know too many people who have gotten pregnant waaaay on accident and it always has been the woman who makes all the decisions.

I’m an “equal rights” kind of gal. I’m a “freedom of choice” kind of gal.

I have never had an abortion. I’ve never been faced with that type of gut wrenching choice. But to be honest, I personally couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abort my baby – embryo - fetus – whatever you want to call it. However, I’m not going to judge another woman’s choice to do so. I’ve had friends who have had abortions. Shoot, I drove someone to an abortion clinic myself many moons ago. We were both very young, she was scared, and it was the only option she felt she had.

But so much attention is on the woman. What about good ole dad? The child is part his, too. That kid may have his eyes and nose and DNA, but Daddy has no say so in whether this child lives or dies. And what if he doesn’t want to be a father? Doesn’t matter. He’s forever stuck with the label of dead-beat-dad when the truth is he was just trying to get laid. If the woman doesn’t want to be a mother, she has two options. He? None.

Ok, I’m going off on a tangent, I know. That’s what happens when I start writing without a plan.

Ok, fine. I never have a plan.

If I were to ever find myself in that situation, I would hope and pray that it would be with a man who will love me and our child. If he chooses to leave, I would be pissed and heartbroken. I guess the solution is to always play it "safe" – both guys and dolls.

I would love to go into the other taboo topics, but I feel that I’ve said enough in this little blog entry. Who knows, maybe I’ll tackle one of the others later.

Incorrect? WTF?

I consider myself a writer. Not really a good one. I don't do it for money. I don't do it for praise. I don't do it for judgment. I do it for myself and myself only. Have since I was about 13. It helps me figure stuff out... not to mention it's a great way to spend the time and feel like I'm doing something worthwhile.
With that said.

I came across a poetry website. I found it interesting. It's a large website with something like 20,000 members thus far. People come and go... posting their poems... getting feedback... leaving feedback on other writings. It seemed to be an excellent way to meet other poets (classically trained and not). Another creative outlet in such a serious world. I browsed around for a couple of hours before I tested the waters.

Beware of sharks.

I know I can be sensitive. Overly sometimes. I can be tender hearted just like you. I'm easily wounded at times. Nothing new. In this website, there is a place where the beginner poet can post their written word and expose their heart for some constructive, gentle and hopefully helpful criticism.

This was what I was looking forward to. I was NOT there in order to receive praise. I was NOT there in hopes that someone would say "You are the best poet since Poe!" I was NOT there to be secretly discovered and rushed into a book publishing contract which would sell millions and be in the Top 10 for a year straight. Got it?

I simply and humbly posted a poem in hopes to get some sort of feedback from these more established poets. People who I would assume would know how to help a gal out. The discussion board guidelines even said that beginners would receive "gentle" help. If someone feels they are more advanced, they are to post on the more advanced discussion board.

Got it? Gentle.

Apparently I need to work on my sensitivity. I poked a hole through my emotional wall and I popped out a poem. A poem - that I thought - was pretty good. I'm not one to ring my own bell. I'm not one to say that I'm The Top. I don't think I'm all that and a bag of chips, or donuts or chocolate or whatever your craving might be. When you are first presenting yourself, you tend to put out what you are most secure about. Right? If I have a date (this is a hypothetical comparison obviously), I'm not going to wear torn up sweat pants and not have showered. Get my point?

I do have to say that there were a couple of comments by various people who did like the poem. I hate to not give them air space. I like those people. They are the nice ones. I'm going to hang out with them more often. They like me. I adore people who like me J

However.

I've had one S.O.B. that has stirred up trouble for me since I first hit "enter". I've checked out his own poetry. He's good. I don't understand the conflict between the two of us. I find him rude... but he does it in a pleasant way. It's like imagining someone saying to you, "You are so stupid and ugly", but with the most pleasant of voices.

Son of a... Mother...

He basically is saying that I have no rhythm and that my rhymes are forced. Like I said earlier in this rambling... I don't mind constructive criticism. I really REALLY don't. It's just his rudeness and attitude that has totally pissed me off.

I accidentally misspelled his name and he got mad. He said that he was hoping I wasn't being insulting to him. Whatever. I freakin misspelled his freakin name. Sheesh. Good grief.

There are other people who have posted some suggestions to make the poem better... and to that I'm very grateful. I think this is wonderful. I'll think more on what they suggest and I'll take them into high consideration.
But that one guy just needs to take his poetry and go home.

Ok, I feel better.

Not sure if I'll post another poem on there. Maybe I will. Depends. I don't like fighting with people... face to face OR on the www. The one funny thing is that I can't be rude back to him because I'll get booted from the site. Sucks. He's been around for a while, so I guess he can do whatever. So basically, I defended myself and put him in his place with the same "pleasant voice" attitude that he gave me.

I really just wanted him to bite my ass.

Blank Page

Here I am sitting down trying to think of what to write
It came easy to Robert Frost - I tend not to be that bright
A poets words can be so beautiful -they just flow with ease
Here I am banging my head, practically praying on my knees
For the good Lord to send me words
Words with rhythm and rhyme
Words that cause your heart to skip a beat
Words that completely stop time I could write about love or laughter or dying of old age
But that would take up too much space - I only have one page
So I guess this will have to do - writing about what to write
It came easy to Robert Frost - he tended to be that bright

Sushi, Dating and Expectations

As far as Mondays go, this one was good. It was pretty uneventful, which is always welcomed. Stayed consitantly busy at work. I ate sushi for lunch and for dinner. I'm hooked on sushi. Kroger now has sushi masters preparing easy take home boxes. Good stuff. I went to Colorado a couple of weeks ago to visit my friend, Teresa. On the way to the airport for my flight back to NY, we stopped by a sushi bar in Colorado Springs. We ate our weight in raw fish. I would have never considered myself a sushi lover, but now I hold the title proudly.

A friend told me today that he broke up with his girlfriend. He's not necessarily upset about it, just dissapointed that it didn't work out. Dating sucks. When you begin to date someone that you really like, you have no idea if it's long term. I sure don't want to waste my time investing my energy into a relationship that's not going to work. Of course, you never know the future. I guess it's always good to take a chance, but it sure does hurt when it comes crashing down. This was their second go-around, so chances are probably slim that they'll get back together. I'm sure she was a lovely person, but I think we need to be sure of what we want and expect out of a person. She probably needed something that he couldn't provide. He needed something that she wasn't able to give. Just the way it goes. He's a great guy so I'm sure that the dating hat won't be hung for very long.

Billy

Billy's leaving today (don't know where he's going).
Holds his head in disgrace (he can't escape the truth).
He knows the price that he's paid.
He admits that it's too late to admit that he's afraid.

Tomorrow comes.
Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done.
The prodigal son is too late.A
ll doors closed but he's always open, To hear the time in his mind.
Oh Billy.

Billy's leaving today (don't know where he's going).
He's got lines on his face (they tell the story of his pain).
He accepts it's his fate.
He admits it took too long to admit that he was wrong.

Tomorrow comes.
Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done.
The prodigal son is too late.
All doors closed but hes always open, To hear the time in his mind,
Oh Billy.

Once he was a lover sleeping with another.
Now he's just known as a cheat.
And he wish he'd had a mirror; looked a little clearer.
Seen into the eyes of the weak.

Once he was a lover sleeping with another.
Now he's just known as a cheat.
And he wish he'd had a mirror; looked a little clearer.
Seen into the eyes of the weak.

Tomorrow comes.
Sorrow becomes his soul mate.
The damage is done.
The prodigal son is too late (too late).
All doors closed but hes always open, To relive time in his mind.
Oh Billy.

Song by James Blunt

Anytime I listen or hear this song I remember my dear old friend Billy...Miss you very much my friend. Loved you with all my heart and will love you forever.. Rest in peace.

Shoes, No Life and Soap Operas

I can't stay away. This blogging thing is pretty cool. Such a simple idea and it's taken over the world. Kinda like shoe laces. Who ever invented those was a very practical person with a great idea. I guess technically people have been blogging since the beginning of the Internet - there's just a name for it now.

I really should be cleaning my house. Wait. It's Tuesday and I'm concerned about having a clean house? I should be more concerned on why I'm not out painting the town PMS 194. Sorry, a little graphic designing humor. PMS 194 is a dark red for those in the dark. Graphic designing is my life. Even though it isn't my career path, a great hobby

That and writing. I actually have an article due on Monday for an online newsletter. I have no idea what I'm going to write about. I've been pondering all evening on various topics, but nothing has hit home. I'm sure something will come to me by Sunday @ 10pm. That's usually how it goes.

I've got three episodes of "All My Children" tivo'ed that I haven't watched yet. Maybe I'll go do that. I can always clean and write tomorrow. Let's just hope that I stick with this blogging thing.

Foreword

This is my second attempt to blog. I have another blog out there wandering around in blog space. I haven't updated it since July. Why is that? Not sure. I love to write. Love it. I consider it free therapy. I must just get too busy and forget about it. I find it much easier writing on this computer than taking out a spiral notebook. Finger cramps are not fun. For most of us we type faster than we write. Of course, if you're one of those people who type with two fingers, you probably ought to stick with lined paper.

We'll see how this goes. If you see me slacking, you might want to give me a nudge. Tell me to get up off that couch, quit watching my Tivo'ed programs and get blogging. I love reading other blogs, so maybe someone will come across mine and find something interesting.

You just never know....