Rock-a-Bye Sweet Baby Jesus

Dang! I was all set to come on here and share a couple nuggets from the homefront, but then I discovered that my profile pic (Michaelangelo's David, slightly more discreet) had been hijacked by Photobucket! Instead of the pic, there was a lovely note saying I hadn't signed on to Photobucket in 90 days and they had removed my image. Granted, I hadn't actually been on Photobucket in more than 730 days, but still...

Well, I signed on, ignored some ads, and my pic has reappeared. Guess I'll be doing that every 90 days or so. Hmph.

So, where was I?

Traveled home to NJ on Tuesday to spend the holidays with my mother and great aunt. Coming 'home' here is a little strange since it's not where I actually grew up. I had hoped to see some high school friends while I was up here, but it became too much of a production to pull that off. I'm seeing another aunt and cousins for the first time in ages and also my bff who I missed last Christmas, so that's good...

My elderly Irish Catholic great aunt lives with my mother and while she has gotten much more subdued in her old age, she's still mighty entertaining at times. Yesterday she provided us with two new Christmas traditions...

Seems she wrapped her hearing aids up in some facial tissue and placed them on the bathroom vanity before taking her shower -- and then apparently tossed the tissues into the bathroom trash when she was done. Then she emptied the bathroom trash into the kitchen trash bag -- which unfortunately had just become the dumping ground for the turkey packaging and the 10 paper towels my mother used to sop up the turkey juice that had fallen on the floor.

My aunt went through each and every piece of trash in that bag twice yesterday looking for her hearing aids. Yes, I offered help, but she declined. Mom finally got in there on the second pass. My favorite part was overhearing this exchange from the other room:

Aunt Jean: "I found one!"
Mom: "Are you sure that's a hearing aid and not a giblet??"

Aunt Jean did in fact find one in the trash (and popped that bad boy right back in her ear) and then strangely discovered the other one in her bedroom, near the cat toys. I didn't have the heart to ask how that had happened....

Not too long after, I was in the living room and the nativity caught my eye. I remembered that we had lost baby Jesus quite some time ago and wondered if a substitute had been obtained. Sure enough, something was wrapped up in swaddling facial tissue -- a Werther's Original!

Yes, my aunt substituted a butterscotch candy for the Son of God. My friend Colleen remarked on Facebook, "Oh sweet, sweet delicious baby Jesus."

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas (if you're so inclined)!

Typing to Warm My Hands

Well hello there! How the heck are you? Sorry I've been away for so long. I kind of fell off the blog planet there for a little bit. For those of you who aren't my facebook friends and haven't seen my status updates, they've gone something like this:

I don't have heat.
I have heat.
I lost my heat.
I'm freezing.
Heat's back.
Oh, now it's gone again.

Outside of that, I don't know what I've been up to quite frankly. Well, I have an idea, but nothing I can or will go into. Just know that I lost my way a little bit. I also did some growing, but not quickly enough, I guess. So yours truly has some work to do on herself. I'm tired and scared, but I surrender to the universe. Cognitive therapy and lots of running, here I come. :)

I hope you're all prepared for Christmas. I haven't done a lick of shopping and had planned on going out this weekend, but lost heat once again. My money is currently being thrown at service techs who can't help me. The last hope is coming sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, I haven't been able to leave the dog in the ice cold house, so no shopping for me this weekend. What a strange trip it's been of late.

I've missed some parties and events due to various things lately but hope to get back out there when I return from NJ. Going up on Tuesday to spend the holidays with Mom and guess my new homework for myself will coincide with the New Year.

Well, this is just a rambly blog, isn't it??

Just wanted to check in. Hope you're all happy and healthy and well, and perhaps we'll speak more frequently in the coming days and weeks...

Love Yourself

What a difference a day makes!

Last time I checked, it was November 30th and I had gone two solid months posting a blog every day. And then...

Well my blogging bottom fell out!!

Coincidentally, (ironically, Alanis?) I got my internet access checked and repaired on Tuesday, December 1, and haven't been back.

Sorry about that...

I was a little busy last week and away from home most nights and I felt that my more-than-occasional "phone blogs" of October and November were pretty lacking. So I decided that unless I could flesh something out at my computer, I wouldn't write.

Well that was a huge mistake. At least I didn't make it, "Unless I can flesh something GOOD out at my computer, I won't write." Might as well shut the darn thing down...

I've had a rough couple days and only today discovered that they miiiiight be coinciding with my menstrual cycle. (Listen, I told you the Crimson Tide blog wouldn't be about it, I never said I wouldn't mention it again). I've spent the last two days wondering if I just checked out on some basic socialization lessons in nursery school and kindergarten. And that of course, led me to Robert Fulghum's All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten:

"All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand pile at school.

These are the things I learned:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don't hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don't take things that aren't yours.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.

And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Think what a better world it would be if we all - the whole world - had cookies and milk at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together."

While I love this and think there's great wisdom and whimsy in it, I have to say that I guess I didn't miss out. The lessons I didn't learn weren't covered in kindergarten. Not sure when or how I was supposed to pick them up. So I'll have to take a deep breath and try -- once again -- to teach them to myself. I'm stronger on some than others, but I could use a little reminder on all:

Trust in others and yourself.

Be energized by the unknown, not rattled.

Embrace change.

Be a liquid, not a solid.

No good can come from insecurity.

Jealousy is insidious.

You have value and worth.

Don't live expecting the other shoe to drop.

Listen to your instincts.

Love yourself.



Goodnight all, maybe I'll see you tomorrow, maybe I won't...but regardless,

To be continued..........

Crimson Tide

You’re more than a little worried that this is a blog about my menstrual cycle, aren’t you??

Relax, you’re dodging a bullet today. I’m actually referring to the 1995 movie of the same name, which I just stumbled upon while channel surfing.

I took my Dad to see it when it was out. My father had suffered a stroke during a science fiction surgery several years earlier and as a result was more than a little off behavior-wise. My Dad had been stationed on a nuclear submarine for four years in the late 60s and since Crimson Tide took place on a nuclear sub, he was tickled to see the movie.

I remember that and am happy that I was able to give him something enjoyable on those so very difficult days for him. But my fondest memory was the joy he had during the movie when he would recognize things or explain them to me. Unfortunately, thanks to the stroke’s effect on his behavior, he would yell these things to me and I had to keep shushing him so he wouldn’t disturb the other movie patrons.

And anyone who knew my father knows that was an incredibly strange position for me to be in!

My Dad was very much all about proper appearance and behavior while I was growing up. For reasons I won’t go into now, my grandmother tried to make my father perfect and my father tried to make me perfect. He would have been absolutely HORRIFIED if I had behaved the way he did in that movie theater when I was a kid!

I have to admit, at first I was a little embarrassed… But when I saw how happy he was and when I thought about how incredibly lucky I was that he had even survived his surgery to go to the movies with me, I could care less about how loud he was. This amazing man -- who had survived 31 hours of surgery over a two-day period and emerged blind in one eye, disfigured, and damaged by stroke -- went through it all so that he would have more time with us and so we wouldn’t have to go through the pain of losing him. And in doing so, he lost nearly everything that had guided him and been so important to him. He let go for us. I never loved him more than I did then.

Steam Cleaner 1, AJ 0

Monday's lurking around the corner, isn't it??

Oh well.

Twas a strange four-day weekend for me. Some great times, some not-so-great times, some misunderstandings, and some growing pains. But ultimately, some evolving as well, so that's AWESOME.

Alas, I was reminded once again tonight that I'm a bit of an idiot. I think one of the reasons I procrastinate on projects at home is because I know they always snowball into other issues. Voldemort and I had to replace a broken toilet bowl handle arm thingy one time and when all was said and done, we had replaced the toilet seal, reseated the toilet, painted the bathroom, and put down vinyl tile!

So when I decided to steam clean my Bodhi-victimized couch cushions around 6 o'clock tonight, I should have known something was going to come up. I haven't used my carpet cleaner in eons because I have hardwood floors here. The cleaner's been out in my garage for the last four years, just sitting idle. I brought it in the house, filled her up, and........discovered the upholstery attachment wasn't working. I futzed around with it a little bit and decided to check to see if the cleaner was working at all. But since I don't have any carpeting and didn't want to shoot water all over the floor, I put the upright cleaner on the couch cushion, and turned it on. It worked all right. But it also shot four years of muck and mire onto the cushion!

See, I'm an idiot.

I just shook my head and walked away. I did some other chores, added "go to Costco and buy upholstery cleaner" to tomorrow's To Do list, and then for the heck of it gave the upholstery attachment another try.

Well, something must have gotten jiggered because the darn thing came alive. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm going to be able to clean those cushions in my lifetime, however. I'm thinking I'll have to buy some new upholstery foam and can hopefully wash the covers.

Anyone interested in a ten-year-old beagle mix with a propensity for urine leakage and vomiting??

Happy Sunday, all!

To be continued...

Oh, that's another thing! I finally bought a new modem and called my cable company to give them the new modem address. After 30 minutes on hold and 20 minutes of troubleshooting, I still don't have internet! Lo and behold, there's something going on with my internet connection. So it was never my old modem. And I've been paying 40 bucks a month for MONTHS for absolutely nothing!!

See, I'm a moron. :)

Queen o' Procrastination

Totally unproductive day. Hate days like this. Was supposed to be cleaning my tornado-victim house but only managed to futz around, do some laundry and drill through my DVR'd shows.

Phlagh.

I'm supposed to go to the movies tonight, but part of me thinks I should go to bed early, get up early tomorrow morning, and try again...

My last frustration was finding a photo I wanted to scan and blog about, but I was having internet issues again and could neither scan nor blog.

Phlagh.

Hope you all had a better day!

Until tomorrow...

Look Out!

Note to self: large quantities of beer and five hours of sleep before running 6.2 miles is not recommended.

Whoof.

Long day, my friends! Long, good day. The Turkey Trot was a struggle from start to finish and I was dragging most of the day, but I had a great dinner with great friends and their family and got to tickle the belly of the cutest little girl on the planet, so all is well.

Cutest Little Girl on the Planet heard her Uncle Don making a 'booping' noise and seemed a little startled by it. It sounded like the alarm large trucks make when backing up and I joked that she must have a fear of construction trucks. Which reminded me of a Grace story...

Grace is my dearly departed maternal grandmother. For most of my life, she drove a 1970-something green Chevelle. And teenage boys used to salivate over that thing. With a little tweaking, it would have been an awesome muscle car. It was a moderate-sized boat.

Her mechanic convinced her at some point that there was too much wrong with it for her to keep it alive. It had lived several lifetimes over because my grandmother rarely drove it faster than 25 mph. I can remember her giving me rides home from school and my friends walking past her car faster than she was driving...

Anyway, my grandmother and our neighbor, Keith, went off to find her a replacement. She was in her late 70s at the time, so they settled on an economical, compact car. I believe it was called the Pontiac Smurf. This thing was a Smart car before Smart cars were invented. It was essentially pocket-sized.

Noticing my grandmother's age, the dealer suggested a special accessory -- a literal bell and whistle, if you will. He installed an alarm on the back of the car that emitted a shockingly loud "boop boop boop boop" when she drove in reverse. It sounded exactly like the alarm on those giant trucks!

So my grandmother would be backing out of a parking spot at the grocery store, for example, and all of a sudden people would hear this alarm and start looking around for a huge truck to avoid. And instead what they'd find was this little old lady in her little blue car, moving at the speed of molasses.

I thought it was absolutely hysterical -- until I had to borrow her car to commute back and forth to college for a week or two. I drove around and around and around trying to find parking spots that wouldn't require me to put the car in reverse.

Boop boop boop boop...

So embarrassing!

PS -- Happy Thanksgiving, you turkeys!! Hope everyone had a great day. To be continued...

And for that, I am very thankful. ;)

May I Trouble You For a Cup o' Internet?

Crap! Phone blog; phone blog -- all hands on deck!

I really need to get my modem fixed or convince my neighbor to upgrade his wireless signal. I've been having a hell of a time glomming his internet lately... Fixing the modem seems the obvious choice since I've been paying for unused cable internet access all this time AND it's a wee bit illegal and ethically wrong to "borrow" my neighbor's.

Of course, if anyone in law enforcement is reading this, I'm just fabricating this whole story so I'd have a blog entry. Steal my neighbor's internet?? Pshaw! Nevvvvver...... Heh heh heh.

Please Send Chicken Soup

Greetings and salutations!

I'm feeling punky tonight and will have to keep this brief. I'm sorry... I've been feeling a little under the weather all day and I'm not sure if I'm getting something (sinus infection?) or if I'm just run down.

Bodhi took off like a shot at the donut run on Saturday and for about the first half mile she had me flying at about an 8 minute mile or so and that's just waaay too fast for me. Consequently, I was sucking wind and my poor asthmatic lungs weren't too happy about that. Add very little sleep this weekend, a bit of partying Saturday night (in and around cigarette smoke -- phlagh), and a rapid Sunday and I'm wiped out. Hope I'm not getting sick. Although I do have a tendency to do so when my doctor's office is closed, so that makes Turkey Day a good candidate!

I'm running a 10K Turkey Trot on Thursday, so I hope I'll be ok. I can't believe how quickly time is flying! I thought I had more than enough time to get up to a comfortable and regular 10-miler which would help condition me for the start of Shamrock training, but dang if time hasn't flown by! I really have to get started on my training. Another reason why I'm hoping I'm not getting sick...

Sorry for the fascinating blog post. :)

Hope you're all doing well and I'll catch you tomorrow.

Every Picture Tells a Story

What started as a great weekend has kind of devolved into my getting cranky and having a headache, so I'm not in a storytelling mood. Fortunately, yours truly and her faithful companion were in a picture accompanying a story of yesterday's donut run in our local newspaper this morning. Enjoy!

Turn on Your Hot Light

Has anyone else noticed that Bert has been suspiciously quiet this week? I'll have to shoot him an email...

Today was the big 2nd Annual Krispy Kreme Invitational here in Virginia Beach. I missed the first one two years ago and then last year's didn't happen because the organizer had some pithy excuse -- he was running from Maine to Florida to raise money for the Ronald McDonald House...

Anyway, I was very excited to be able to participate this year and more than a little nervous. The rules were simple enough: start at Mt. Trashmore in Virginia Beach. Run approximately 3 miles (it was more like 2.2-2.4) to the Krispy Kreme store (home of the infamous "Hot Donuts Now" sign). Purchase and eat 6 glazed donuts. Run back.

Runners could gain advantages by eating additional donuts and/or drinking pints of milk. However, any runners caught puking would be assessed a penalty.

Hence my nerves. I was pretty much convinced that I was gonna be a puker.

And now I can say that I'm a little disappointed that I didn't. Outside of dodging speeding cars while running across six lanes of traffic on a major thoroughfare and almost losing my dog (Bodhi ran with me!) in some primordial ooze underneath an overpass, the event was pretty darn tame. I did find myself stroking my belly and apologizing to it over and over again for the first hour after the race's completion.

To give you an idea of just how awful I felt, I didn't go out with everyone afterwards for beer.

I know!!

Tommy (the organizer) sent an email out earlier saying our next event is going to be a scavenger hunt and I know we've discussed a beer/hot dog run. I'm thinking we might be able to give the Nathan's hot dog eating contest a run for its money! Competitive eating events are sooooo boring. Throw some running in there!!

Still Crazy After All These Years

Unless you've been under a rock all week, you should be aware that Sarah Palin, Wasilla Barbie herself, is doing a huge tour this week for her new book, Going Rogue: An American Life.

And if you're from my hometown of North Plainfield, NJ, you're probably also aware that she apparently spends a good deal of the book pointing her moose hunting rifle at John McCain's former campaign manager, Steve Schmidt. One of Steve Schmidt's less mentioned points from his lengthy political resume is that he graduated a year behind me in high school.

His mom, who stumbled upon my blog last year and became a regular reader, is probably breaking out in a sweat right now. It's OK, Mrs. Schmidt. I promise. :)

She has good reason to be nervous. Someone in this room (and it's not my dog) went a little crazy last fall during the election and skewered her son often by posting unflattering news and blog stories about him, of which there were quite a few. Something about the liberal media or somesuch... ;)

BUT what I want to share with you guys today is this...

I was listening to our local radio station's "9-at-9" show this morning, in which a year is featured at 9:00 am and nine songs from that year are played. I get a little giddy when the year falls in the 70s because they were happy musical times for me. Today's year was 1976 and one of the songs was Paul Simon's Still Crazy After All These Years -- and I was immediately transported to a charter bus in France in 1985, sharing a dual set of headphones and a single Walkman with none other than Steve Schmidt.

Steve and I both liked Simon & Garfunkel and I had brought along the cassette tape of their 1981 concert in Central Park on the trip. If I remember correctly, we spent about 80% of our tour of the Loire Valley on that bus. And Steve and I listened to that tape over and over and over and over again. We listened to it and laughed about different parts. Something about our English teacher Ms. Gannon being irritated by the line, "...all the crap I learned in high school; it's a wonder I can think at all..." We both got a little homesick every time we heard America and its mention of the New Jersey Turnpike. And I distinctly remember one or both of us falling asleep to the tape many times, resting our heads together or on each other's shoulders.

And so I'm glad a year has gone by and everything has settled down. I'm glad Steve's mom sent me an email and I had a chance to apologize. I'm glad Steve to this day doesn't know about my blog and has never read the posts from last fall. And I'm glad that enough time has passed that when I hear an old Paul Simon song, I can think back on my time in France with an old friend and just smile.

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Two X Chromosomes, No Waiting

Holy unrecognizable Jennifer Grey on New Adventures of Old Christine, Batman!

Sure, we've all known about her disfiguring nose job of many moons ago, but now thanks to some apparent Botox and over-tweezing of the eyebrows, I would not have known her were it not for her voice! Poor Baby...

This is going to be a hodgepodge, my friends.

A female coworker posited the following earlier today:

FC: "Jerry, I have a question. I need a man's opinion."
AJ: "Then why are you asking Jerry??"
FC: "Why is it men think it's appropriate to send pictures of naked women to other women?"
AJ: "I have no problem with that!"

This started a lively debate and by debate I mean, a bunch of wisecracks from me, Jerry, and Luke.

When the dust settled, we found out the real question should have been:

FC: "Is it appropriate for my brother-in-law to send me pornographic photos via text?"

Yes, seriously. Ah, good times!!

I helped out a friend today by babysitting her friend's daughter for about an hour while she had a doctor's appointment. Since it was a girl-child, with whom I almost certainly had nothing in common, versus a boy-child, with whom I not only have much in common but a lot of practice, I decided to shore up my entertainment reserves. I dug up some construction paper and markers and colored pencils and Jerry offered me a deck of cards. He suggested we play Go Fish and I had to admit that I didn't know how to play.

Yah, the joys of being an only child...

I have a vague memory of maybe my mother or grandmother playing Go Fish with me when I was really young, but I guess this is a skill set I just didn't retain. So around 4 o'clock this afternoon, Jerry, Anne, Don, and Leslie were teaching me how to play Go Fish. And I couldn't help but laugh when I had to ask follow up questions and ask them to repeat certain things. Who knew the game was so complicated?? How the hell do children learn how to play this thing?

Fortunately, the babysittee was quite content to play with some Legos at the doctor's office and then draw. We banged out a couple of hand turkeys (mine had a pink polka dot bikini which babysittee decided to copy on her second pass) and the time flew by. As best I can tell, she didn't know I was terrified of her. :)

More Tales from the Communal Shower

I made my triumphant return to the YMCA over lunch today and had a pretty good run. I've lost some weight recently and am actually running much faster than I should for the amount of running/conditioning I've done. Consequently, I can't really maintain the faster pace for very long. I kept telling myself to slow down over and over again so that I could get a longer distance in. Too funny. I have to really kick in my marathon training soon, so this could be interesting!

I got back to the Y after my run and was happy to be the only one in the communal shower. Please see Communal Shower Etiquette Lesson #1 for my earlier views on this matter.

Anyhoo, I was alone in the shower until a rather large woman walked in. And planted herself immediately next to me!! Once again, she had five other shower heads to choose from... Had I not already pushed mine off to the left a little bit, we would have definitely been crashing into each other during the course of our showers. WTF??

I began composing this little rant in my head and finished my shower. Just as I was turning off my faucet, another woman walked out of the steam room. I walked across the shower room to get my towel and began to towel off -- just in time to notice her turn on my shower head and start showering in my spot -- where my toiletries and puff were still present!

????!!!!

So I then had to walk over to this lathered up woman (again, of a hefty sort) and say, "Uh, excuse me, can I get my stuff?"

To which she responded, "Oh, it's OK..."

Gee, thanks for forgiving me for disturbing you!

What in the hell?

Toll Ahead! (What else would you expect from a Jersey girl?)

Have you guys been checking out the Google ads that pop up on the left side of the screen? They're generated by the content of my blogs (in case you haven't figured this out yet) and I have to laugh because the greater majority of the ads this week have been for mold and mildew removal.

Google knows I have a flooded crawl space!

My other recent favorites include ads for Swatch watches, Smurfs, and 70s television. Google, you may be my soul mate. :)

Gloria was under the impression that something had to be purchased through the ads in order for me to receive payment. This is in fact not true! All you fine folks have to do is click on those things and I get some semblence of payment. They won't disclose how much, so I'm assuming it's pennies per click. But, if you're so inclined, click away. I'm unsure of Google's screening, so be careful. I'd hate for anyone to contract a computer virus because of my greed. :)

This reminds me (albeit obliquely) of the brilliant idea I had while staying at my grandparents' house as a child. I tacked an envelope up on the bathroom door with a note indicating that it cost 10 cents to use the facilities. And my dear, dear grandfather, God bless him, paid to use his own bathroom. I can only imagine what he was muttering under his breath as he jingled the change in his pocket looking for a dime. Come to think of it, that incredibly kind and loving man, who had a never-ending amount of patience for me (which I unfortunately only realized in retrospect, after he was gone) probably put ten dimes in for each visit.

If you've ever seen the movie "Arthur," my grandfather bore a strong resemblence to John Gielgud's character in speech, mannerisms, and attire. My grandfather was known to wear a shirt and tie to mow the lawn. We have some pictures of him in the 70s when he fell victim to plaid pants and jackets and white belts and shoes, but for the most part he was one dapper dude.

Quick witted, a bit of a beer lover, and well spoken. It's been an honor to share his birthday and name. :)

Neither Christmas, Nor'easter

Ah, where to begin.............

Well, my head hurts a little bit. It's still raining here and the wind is blasting by every so often. It's the storm that doesn't know when to leave.

I finally looked under my house a couple hours ago and was more than a little shocked to see several feet of water -- especially since the crawl space is only several feet high. I'm a little surprised the water didn't start coming up through the floorboards! All I could think of was the retractable gym floor that reveals a swimming pool during the dance scene in "It's a Wonderful Life." I was tempted to go in the house, cut out a hole in the floor and start fishing.

I'm a little worried that my heating unit -- which has been submerged under water for who knows how long -- won't be operational even after I get all the water out. This would change my To Do list a little bit. The two leaks that sprung up during the storm helped me re-org the list as well. So theoretically, we're at: move heat pump, new roof, new windows, siding.

Does anyone happen to know of an elderly gentleman with quite a good deal of money, preferably in ailing health, with a penchant for tomboys??

I seem to have thrown a wrench in my personal life as well yesterday. It was a perfect storm all around. I just wonder when I'll truly understand myself and my motivations. I seem to see through everyone else pretty clearly and have such a low tolerance for BS but am a mess when it comes to myself. So it sucks for me that I've got a good friend of mine who can apparently see through all of mine. And by "sucks" I mean, "she calls me out on stuff." Ultimately, that's a good thing, but it makes me nauseated in the meantime. Hopefully I'll learn from all of this and she won't give up on me.

Guess that's it for now. They're insisting we play our kickball tournament tomorrow, so I have to run out early to get propane for my portable grill that is almost certainly going to sink into the mushy, muddy earth at the kickball fields. You'd think it was the Olympics for crying out loud. Half the league's members are without power or flooded in or out of their homes, but dangit, we're going to play some kickball!!

Until tomorrow, my friends.................

Wishing I Was in the Third Little Pig's House...

Greetings! I'm going to bang out a quick blog post to satisfy NaBloPoMo and then go back to my terrified praying.

A Nor'easter has been bearing down on us in the Hampton Roads area for three days and while the flooding hasn't affected me too much, the wind gusts up to 60 mph have me in a little panic. Oh wait, the flooding did affect my heat pump under my house and I don't have any heat. So Bodhi and I are freezing to death and while she seems pretty calm about the storm, I'm more than a little worried that a tree is going to fall on my house, a giant branch is going to come through a window, and/or the house itself is going to fly away, a la Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz...

And so, I say goodbye. Hopefully tomorrow's post will be happier. Hope everyone is safe and secure...

Smurftastic!

I'm unsure of the quality of this one. I haven't done much today and am desperately trying to get this down on...........well it's not paper. What do we call this?? Anyway, I'm trying to get this stuff down but my friends Jeff and Ruthanne are babbling in the same room with me and I'm having a hell of a time focusing on this.

Not much has happened today, what with the Nor'easter that's blown into town. I went out earlier to Costco and had a heck of a time traversing the streets o' Norfolk thanks to all the flooding.

Fortunately, pictures from the last race I ran were waiting for me in my email and this gem was included:

I guess this would be mildly funnier if the race wasn't on Halloween and the runners were encouraged to wear costumes... But regardless, my slow arse is being chased by a Smurf!! How fantastic is that??

I guess you fine folks don't know of my long-standing love affair with the Smurfs. It's okay, I'm a complex, multifaceted person. I don't expect you to know everything about me. Anyhoo, the Smurfs and I began our lopsided love affair back in the late 70s at The Thoughtfulness Cottage in Middlesex, NJ. At the time, my mother had an obsession with greeting cards and felt the need to visit a (Hallmark, of course) card store at least once a week to stock up on cards that she would ultimately forget to give to anyone. I'm not sure who spotted the Smurfs first -- me, my mother, or my cousin Lori. All I know is that Lori and I wound up in some sort of unspoken competition to collect Smurfs. So every week when my mother would drag me to The Thoughtfulness Cottage, she'd pick up one or two Smurfs for me. And since my grandmother was always with us, there was a good chance I'd get one or two out of her too.

Somehow, I wound up with 180 Smurfs. All shapes, sizes, and various sizes of mushroom houses (if you're not up on Smurf housing, it's ok). The gold mine occurred when my mother gave me about 50 one Easter, each one placed in a separate plastic Easter egg. The collection was so extensive that it was featured in the display case at our local library.

Yes, I realize how embarrassing that is.

My love of the Smurfs continued into the early 80s and extended to their TV show, a cassette tape of their collection of songs substituting most words with "Smurf" or "Smurfy," and my 7th grade Halloween costume. My poor mother banged that thing out the night before Halloween so that I could walk through the halls like a big blue goober. But I loved that costume.

Imagine my chagrin in discovering that I was being chased by one of my favorite things on the planet. Their 50th anniversary was last year and Mom sent me a commemorative Smurf package. Additionally, my good friends Anne and Don came back from Disney World with what was essentially "Drunky Smurf" -- a Smurf with a giant bottle of Champagne.

If only I had turned around. I'd love to know why dude man was dressed like a Smurf. Perhaps he was a kindred spirit. I'm bummed I didn't get the chance to find out, but am THRILLED that I have a picture of me at 40, being chased by a Smurf. :)

Morel of the Story

My bff Lauren and I were visiting a friend of hers in a neighboring college (Lehigh, I guess?) wayyyy back in the Stone Age when we were still in school. Lauren's friend Louise told us this silly little joke and when we got back to our school (Hell University), Lauren relayed it to our dorm mates:

"This mushroom walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a beer. The bartender says, 'I can't serve you, you're a mushroom!' And the mushroom responds, 'But I'm a fun kind of guy!'"


{crickets}



AJ: "You didn't get that joke, did you?"
Lauren: "No, no I didn't. That's why I told it. I wanted to see if they got it."

Herewith, the actual joke:

"This mushroom walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a beer. The bartender says, 'I can't serve you, you're a mushroom!' And the mushroom responds, 'But I'm a FUN GUY!'"

Get it?

Fun guy?

Fungi...fungus...........

The mushroom is a fungus.....

Yeah, it's a knee-slapper all right. And it will FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER bring a smile to my face because it's the only time in the last 20 years that Lauren has been wrong about something and it endeared her to me SO MUCH back then and still does! :)

"But I'm a fun kind of guy!!"

Hahahahahahahaha!!!

Love ya, Laur!!

The Aging of Sally Field

This is probably going to appeal to less than 1% of my readers and the ONE person I know would enjoy it is still stuck with the abacus of internet access and will be unable to watch the videos. Sorry, Moo....

So for the other random person who Googled "Sally Field" earlier and stumbled on my blog, are you the least bit concerned about her appearance in the Boniva commercials? It just struck me the other day -- and hard -- and here's why...

Thanks to an endless loop of syndicated sitcoms during summer days in the 70s and 80s, I was able to develop a couch potato obsession with the TV show, Gidget. To this day, I find myself humming and/or singing the theme song:

Catchy, isn't it? Gidget was an awkward tomboy with an awesome Dad and I just ate up every episode.

Next up for Sally was The Flying Nun, which thanks to the wonder of TV reruns, was seen by me years before I ever saw an episode of Gidget. And frankly, I couldn't tell you what the premise was beyond the fact that her character's name was Sister Bertrille and she could fly thanks to the giant wings of her habit's cornette (yes, I had to look that up). Oh, but check out these special effects!!

When we next saw Sally, she shocked the world by doing a little sexy turn in Smokey and the Bandit and by bedding the film's very hairy man-whore lead, Burt Reynolds, in real life. Scandalous!

This movie is also notable for single-handedly starting the Trans Am and CB radio craze of the late 70s (for more on this, please see Breaker Breaker 1-9).

And now......... Sally got old. She's a constantly meddling, constantly worrying matriarch on Brothers & Sisters and she's doing Boniva commercials. I was hoping to find the current one, where she's sitting on a dock and they've got her in a pair of Chuck Taylors in a desperate attempt to distract us from the fact that she's selling an osteoporosis medicine, but couldn't. But this one'll give you the general idea:

I don't know why it's bugging me, but it is. Who knew I'd start to sense my own mortality from the aging of Sally Field, Sesame Street's 40th birthday last week, and spotting my old Swatch watch in an antique store on Friday. Yes, it's true. How the hell did a Swatch from 1985 become an antique??!!

Chicken Pot Pie and I Don't Care!

And so a fabulous weekend comes to a close. It's a blur of consignment shops, college football, bars (conga lines!), brunch, and good, good friends. There are some moments in time that I know I'm truly blessed and this is one of them.

We ended the weekend with about 12 friends sharing Sunday Dinner together. It's something I've wanted forever and so appreciate finally having. I think we may try to make it into a regular thing -- I hope so...

And, it's time for me to snooze, my friends.

To be continued...................

And hey, what's up with the swatches?!

Ack. It's another iPhone blog post. I'm so sorry, you guys! But I will say that I'm out with good friends and having a good time, so you're just going to have deal.

Hunter adds, "Big D, little r," relative to a Punnett's square... :)

Sense and Cents-Ability

I'm sleepy after an absolutely great day and had planned on writing about that a little bit, but I just activated AdSense for my page and may babble about that for a minute instead...

A friend asked the other day if I was using it on my blog. I admitted that I had heard of it, but did not have it on here. She encouraged me to check it out, so I did. Essentially, I allow Google to run advertisements on my blog and if people click on the ads, I receive money.

Seems like a no-brainer, right? Except look at my blog now. It's all messy and I feel like I've sold out. So what are your thoughts, dear readers? Part of me feels like I'd be stupid to not receive some financial compensation for all this writing, but another part of me knows that I have the blog because I enjoy it, not for financial gain.

And again, look at it! I'm not crazy about this. What say you?

As an aside, in case she ever reads this, thanks dear friend for a great day. I look forward to fixing up my house and stocking it with the hundreds of treasures you showed me today. And I will never buy those cheesy-ass disposable grocery store salt and pepper shakers again! :)

185

And.......here we are again at New Belmont, despite all my protestations to the contrary. I was really looking forward to a hangover-free Friday and am going to do my best to accomplish this even though I'm hanging with the kickballers!

I got stumped earlier by an old improv game and must redeem myself! So here we go...

The suggestion is "Navy."

185 seamen walk into a bar and ask the bartender for a beer and the bartender says, "Holy crap, talking semen!!"

OK, they can't all be funny, but once again I've satisfied my blogging obligation on a Thursday night... :)

My Own Private Idaho

My coworkers, Jerry and Luke, and I were coming back from lunch today when I spotted this short older woman who works for one of the other departments in our building. I said, "Eh, there's the woman who saw me pooping..." and Jerry chuckled. Luke, who apparently had never heard the story said, "Whaaat??"

And herewith, Tha Poopin' Story:

I am normally physically unable to defecate if there are other humans within a 5 mile radius of my tuckus. So it takes a certain emergency for me to even consider doing so at work. Imagine my glee when I discovered a single occupancy terlet two floors below ours at work! I called it "My Own Private Idaho" and only told a select few of its location for fear word would spread and I'd lose my beloved privacy.

So it came upon an afternoon clear that I had to make a somewhat speedy jog down to my restroom of respite. Now, trips down there weren't entirely without stress as anyone spotting me coming or going knew that I didn't belong on that floor and therefore probably knew what I was up to. I'm paranoid about my pooping, can you tell??

I pulled a little "Mission: Impossible" down the back staircase and zipped in undetected. For reasons still unknown to me, after locking the door I decided I needed to check it by turning the doorknob. The door was locked and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took my appointed seat on the throne and discovered that my shyness had gotten the best of my bowels.

I have a little theory in times like this -- I think it's best to align the plumbing, as it were. So I sat back a little bit in an effort to get a straight chute going and turned to my left to read the packaging on the extra roll of bathroom tissue resting on the handicap rail. "Hmmm....safe for septic tanks," I thought, just as the door popped open and this incredibly short woman sized me up -- and down.

I'm guessing she exclaimed an "Oh!" as she hurriedly closed the door. Well, there was no chance I was going to be able to take care of business at this point! Not only had some woman just busted in on me, the damn door was unlocked so it could happen again!! (FYI, if you're ever in our building -- the doorknobs unlock when turned from the inside. When I checked the lock, I unlocked the door. Poopie!)

But in the meantime, I said the first thing that popped into my horrified brain: "I'm sorry!!! I thought it was locked........." trailed after her as she scurried down the hallway in horror. (I didn't actually see this part, but I think it's a fair assumption).

It's a true reflection of my sense of humor that once I had composed myself I started laughing and COULD NOT WAIT to get upstairs to tell my close friends Anne and Don! When I relayed the story to Voldemort and told her about Anne and Don's reactions, she was appalled that I had told them. And that, my friends, is an example of an uptight wet blanket.

Don was kind enough to take a really bad photo of me and place it on a doorknob sign he created which read, "Shhh...Pooping in Progress" for my and my building-mates' protection.

I see the little poop-buster on occasion and I always wonder if she recognizes me. I had to have appeared much shorter to her the first time we met and I'm hoping she was mildly blinded by what she witnessed and that the image wasn't instead burned on her retinas. I just can't tell when I see her. I'm hoping I don't become so obsessed with knowing that I finally break down and ask her. 'Cause how's that going to go?

"Hey, remember that time you walked in on me pooping?!"

And no, I've been unable to seal the deal at work ever since. And we have Indian food at least once a week. Sphincter of steel, baby, sphincter of STEEL!!!

Are You Talkin' to Me?

Day 3, baby!! And it's gonna be a lean one. I've had a day from H-E-double hockey sticks (I'm thinking I need to keep it relatively clean after yesterday), have a raging headache (this is actually news since this may be my 7th headache in 40 years), and despite the length of this sentence, am not in a writerly way this evening....

Has anyone else noticed that children today are at a decided disadvantage when trying to evaluate the sanity of someone in public? Back when I was a kid -- when a phone was a telephone and maize yellow and hefty and mounted to the wall and the receiver could be used as a weapon -- anyone seen babbling out loud in public was clearly mad. That was a no-brainer. You didn't have to evaluate their clothing, their hygiene, the volume or content of the discussion... You knew if you saw someone talking to himself or herself and coming your way on the sidewalk to CROSS THE STREET.

The advent of cell phones and connected ear buds required a split second check for a wire hanging from an ear. I wasn't crazy about the loss of flight time, but I evolved and began a two-step process: hear the person, check for the wire. OK, not that big of a deal.

But then along came Bluetooth. Now when someone's carrying on a conversation with their imaginary friend -- and if they have a decent head of hair -- it can take MINUTES to evaluate whether the speaker is on the phone or stark raving mad. Some poor kid is going to get knifed by a wackadoodle stranger because they will have NO IDEA that it's not normal for people to talk to themselves loudly!

I was at Costco today and some woman was yelling at the conveyor belt in front of her. My fight or flight response was immediately triggered -- because I grew up when I did -- but then I eased up ASSUMING that she was on the phone. But was she?? I don't really know.

Maybe there should be an "I'm not crazy, I'm talkin' on my Bluetooth" hat that people have to wear to assuage the fears of the rest of us...

Or at least mine. :)

It's No 2-4-6-8-Who-Do-We-Appreciate...

Day 2 of NaBloPoMo. Feeling strong. OK, that's a lie. I'm feeling more than a little sick to my stomach, but that has nothing to do with NaBloPoMo.

You always hurt the ones you love. Spread the word. ;)

In the meantime, here's a sweet little story from Saturday night:

My friends and I went to the ODU football game on Halloween. Two of my friends, Michele and Greg, dressed up as Daphne and Fred from Scooby Do for the game. They looked pretty damn funny actually -- especially when so few people were dressed up at the game.

We were walking back to Michele's house after the game and we ran into a pack of people that they know. There seemed to be a delay of game due to one especially drunken female and when I circled back to find out what was going on, I discovered Drunk Girl had stolen Greg's Fred wig and was wearing it. Michele said they were trying to get it back to no avail and whispered to me, "Get the wig."

Well, I'm Michele's official Lesbian. There are certain duties (yes, I said doody) that come along with this. I threatened Greg within an inch of his life when they began dating. I've gotten involved in fights for Michele with no information other than the fact that someone was bothering her. I play tough girl to her delicate flower on occasion. And on Saturday night, I had to go in after the wig.

It seemed simple enough. I walked up to the girl, plucked the wig off her head, and took off running down the street, waving the wig as if it was a flag. I heard her screech, "Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!!!!!" after me as I went running, but I apparently missed the best part.

She turned to her friends -- including the true culprits, Michele and Greg -- and yelled, "Get the wig back!!"

And when someone asked who had it, she screamed the following:

That bitch!
That cunt!
She smells like fish!!








Really, what is there to say after that? I apologize for the coarse language, but if I had thrown in an asterisk or two, you wouldn't have gotten the full effect.

Yeah.

Michele, not being anyone's Lesbian and therefore under no obligation to defend, apparently doubled over and busted a gut laughing after Drunk Girl's pronouncement. I have to say, I laughed pretty damn hard after they told me about it as well. And I did enjoy everyone back at Michele's house chanting over and over again, "You bitch. You cunt. You smell like fish!!"

For the record, I don't think I smell like fish. There's a lesbian dating joke in there, but I'll let it go since I've obviously already offended your sensibilities.

The good news is, I think my kickball team has a new cheer!! Woo!!!

Until Day 3, my friends. :)

NaBloPoMo Mad Libs!

Dang, it's only 5pm and it's dark out. All hail the end of Daylight Saving Time. Poopie.

In other news, I successfully completed the October blog posting challenge and today is the offical beginning of NaBloPoMo!!

Alas, I'm not feeling so hot, so I'm going to need a little help from you folks today on the first entry. I've decided to make it a Mad Lib. Fill in the blanks with the recommended word type and see what you and your friends can come up with. Oh boy! :)

Today is the first day of [noun]. I will be [adjective] to write a [noun] each and every day in [month]. I've submitted my [noun] to www.nablopomo.com and will be [adjective] to win random [noun] as a result. There's also this cool [noun] called the Randomizer that [verb] people to [verb] other blogs at random. This little [noun] in Mad Libbing has [verb] me out and I'm going to finish watching The Sandlot now.

Wicked 10K Ramblings

Whoof, I'm tahred, as they sometimes say down here...

I just got done running a 10K (that's 6.2 miles for you civilians) and learned two important lessons in the process:

1) I cannot hang out with people who smoke. I know this is incredibly hypocritical since I smoked for nearly 20 years, but since I've quit and developed exercise-induced asthma, running after being around smokers is absolute torture. I use an inhaler before races when I think I'll need it and sometimes carry it around during the race (mostly in the humid summer) but didn't think I'd need one today. Whoops.

Thanks to our crazy weather down here, it was actually pushing 80 degrees earlier today. Great weather, not great for my lungs. I struggled through much of the race, but was doing ok until I decided to sprint at the finish. I crossed the finish and nearly collapsed. I could not breathe. I was sucking wind but it wasn't really going past my throat. I saw a friend who was working the beer tent and managed to choke out, "INHALER?!" but no one had one. So I covered up my face to breathe in some carbon dioxide and just walked it off. But I'm not willing to go through that again. So if my friends can't quit smoking, I'm just going to have to quit them while they do....

2) My recent weight loss has led to a lowering of my alcohol tolerance. I could not figure out how I had gotten drunk Thursday night when I really only had a handful of beers and then this afternoon I was pretty well gone after 4 beers following the race. And then I remembered -- I've dropped some weight and I'm guessing that is the reason. So I guess I'll have to start sucking down waters with my beer. Which will require me to socialize a little less and pay attention a little more. I think I can do it. :)

Hope you're all having a great Saturday. I'm off to another ODU football game which unfortunately have been somewhat dramatic in the past (off the field among me and my friends) but at the very least maybe I'll get some material out of the evening... :)

Oh! Someone remind me to write about families and drama and how life's too short. It came up today and I'd really like to talk about it. OK, as you were. :)

Moomoirs of a Gay-sha

As if my mother's internet struggles weren't already enough (she still has dial-up and is waiting and waiting and waiting for her development to upgrade to FIOS), she has somehow lost the ability to sign in to Blogspot and leave comments.

This may be a good thing for me, however. ;)

I've mentioned a couple times that I crashed and burned on a kickball field two years ago and knocked myself out. My head hit the ground so hard at second base that people on the sidelines heard it. I had a nice bout of amnesia for the rest of the evening and never regained any memories of the actual accident or most of that night. And that was after one beer.

Unfortunately, there seems to have been some permanent damage. My memory was getting a little fuzzy anyway, but it has been markedly worse since then. One of my best friends has a pool going at work as to when the full-blown dementia kicks in -- I believe she's given me less than two years.

I'm beginning to think I'll be lucky if I last that long. I was re-reading some old blog posts on here and had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN that I had an ulcer issue last fall and a misdiagnosed ovarian cyst that wound up being a mystery pain. Seriously. And that was only a year ago.

Sigh.

So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I received the following email from my mother:

"Just read your blog. OMG, you are tired. It was Mom he told to keep buying lottery tickets, which you have mentioned many times over the years, and she did as she was told until she couldn't remember what the lottery was!!!!!! Sleepy [AJ]...Ha.

Love,
Moomories Are Made Of This"

Ah, so much in one little email. "Mom" is my maternal grandmother. I overheard my mother calling her parents "Mom" and "Dad" as a baby and I guess decided to do the same. We got some curious looks when my grandmother, mother, and I were shopping together and I'd ask my mother, "Where's Mom?"

The reference to my grandmother forgetting what the lottery was is because she unfortunately developed Alzheimer's. I believe that's Strike 2 against my poor noggin'.

And my mother's signature is a little game we've played forever. I had a history teacher in high school who used to talk about whiny kids who went crying to their "S'Mum-Mums." I began calling my mother "S'Mum-Mums" which eventually morphed into "S'Moo," and then finally, "Moo." (I didn't escape unscathed, by the way. I became "S'Aim-Aims"...)

I started working Moo into her name on card envelopes that I mailed to her and occasionally she'll bust one out on her own. Excellent work, Moo!! :)

Guess I should be thankful for NaBloPoMo. Maybe if I get enough of these stories out, my mother can correct the ones from my childhood and I'll have the current ones to review in the years (months? weeks?) to come when I don't remember them anymore.

Wonder if I can mainline ginkgo?

Desperation blog!!

I'm exhausted and went to the kickball bar anyway -- and am nearly the last Hi Baller standing. Woo!

And now I've satisfied my blog obligation! Whew! :)

Yellow Roses

New feature at Cranial Vault! New feature at Cranial Vault!!

Whew, now I'm exhausted!!

It's late, it's been a long but amusing day and unfortunately, that's all I can say about that. So here I am under the gun and without a topic. I decided to try something different and am introducing "Improv Blog"!

I know, I'm all atingle too...

The rules are simple: I have no blog topic, I turn to my friend and ask her to pick something random, and then I write about it.

And so, here we are at "yellow roses."

My immediate thought was about my maternal grandfather, Joe. The only flowers he wanted when he died were yellow roses. I was born on my grandfather's birthday and was named after him. I have far more to say about him, but it's late and I'm exhausted, so I'll just cut to the chase.

My grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer, cancer of the liver, and cancer of the adrenal glands during the fall of my senior year of high school. Of course, my grandfather's illness, rapid decline, and death were awful enough, but my reaction to it all was magnified due to my age. Why is everything we experience as teenagers so much more intense and melodramatic?

I do want to tell this story in more detail down the road, but I literally can't keep my eyes open right now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

What I'd like to share with you tonight are my grandfather's dying words to my mother. I had expected him to tell her to look after my grandmother and herself and me, but should have known better. He had far more serious words to impart with his last breath......

"Keep playing my numbers."

Yeah. That's right. My grandfather's last words to my mother were for her to keep playing his lottery numbers!!

I have to wonder if he had some sort of message from the other side and we totally blew it. 'Cause last time I checked, not only did we not keep playing his numbers, my mother doesn't even remember what they are anymore!!

And there, in a nutshell, is "yellow roses."

Thank you...........and good night. :)

Count Your Blessings Before They Hatch

Driving home after a long, tiring day, I was reflecting on my evening and its inherent and unfortunate drama. More of the same, but I'm feeling growing pains. Not to leave, no not to leave, but to change. Say it with me -- the only thing I can control is how I react to things...

I popped in Stevie's Innervisions and listened to Golden Lady for the 20th time since Sunday. And I couldn't help but smile. This is going to sound horribly narcissistic, but when I heard it at the concert, I didn't think of my crush. I didn't think of past loves. I didn't think of my future love, whoever she may be.

I thought of myself.

And I did so again tonight and I smiled. I can't shake the feeling that someone out there will one day think of me -- or maybe already does -- when she hears that song. The thought of it brings me an immeasurable amount of calm.

And then I thought about all the wonderful, unexpected things that happened to me today. Bert sent me an email containing some words of encouragement and love and song lyrics. (He also posted another beautiful song after yesterday's blog). My dear friends Anne and Don surprised me with a mug they hunted down in Disney World because they knew it would make me laugh and according to Don, "We just wanted you to know we were thinking of you." And then Michelle, my crazy hairdresser, called out of the blue and left a message because she got a feeling that something was up and she should call me. And as usual, her rambling message contained at least one moment that made me laugh out loud, literally.

There were many such moments of laughter and underlying love (not the least of which was Anne, Don, and me crying with laughter over the latest "People of Walmart" photos...) throughout the day.

And so, I wrap up my long and tiring day thusly: thank you -- all of you -- for making my life lighter and happier and warmer. I just told a friend earlier tonight that the beauty of aging is that you come to a point when you get to pick the people you hang out with and how you spend your time. You're less inclined to do things just for the sake of doing things. So for those of you who enrich my life, I thank you. I hope I do the same for you -- at least occasionally! :)

Sweet dreams, all.

I Sing the Body Electric

Well, I'm at a loss.

As has become customary of late, I've got a ton going on in my head and heart, but nothing I'm prepared to put out there for human consumption. Huh, some writer I'll turn out to be!

It's days like this that I long for my super-secret blog. I've got all sorts of things going on -- some good, some bad -- and in the meantime I feel like I've somehow absorbed the universe and it's screaming to come out.

And no, I haven't taken any drugs to achieve this feeling. It's hard to explain, quite frankly. All I can say is that it stops me in my tracks and makes my want to scream at the top of my lungs at everyone and everything. It makes the commonplace business and minutiae of everyday life almost excruciating. It makes me want to climb the highest mountains and dive to the deepest depths of the sea and just LIVE.

And instead, here I sit. Struggling with things that shouldn't warrant struggling and just suffering.

All suffering is desire. Eliminate the desire, eliminate the suffering.

Where's my saffron robe and wooden bowl?? :)

Fingertips Part 1 & 2

Someday I'll hopefully understand why I was made this way. In the meantime, I'm glad I can provide the universe with so much laughter at my expense...

Blue mood today, but trying to rally for a Stevie Wonder concert tonight. I love, love, love him and I'm beyond irritated that I'm sad today. Guess I should have taken steps to avoid getting to this place. But if you know me and/or are a regular reader, you know that I'm a fully-fueled train without functioning brakes on a slick set of tracks...

So let's just fall back on one of my favorite Stevie songs, shall we?

"Everybody's got a thing
But some don't know how to handle it
Always reachin' out in vain
Accepting the things not worth having but

Don't you worry 'bout a thing
Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama
Cause I'll be standing on the side
When you check it out

They say your style of life's a drag
And that you must go other places
But just don't you feel too bad
When you get fooled by smiling faces but

Don't you worry 'bout a thing
Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama
Cause I'll be standing on the side
When you check it out...
When you get off... your trip
Don't you worry 'bout a thing...
Don't you worry 'bout a thing...

Don't you worry 'bout a thing
Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama
Cause I'll be standing on the side
When you check it out...
When you get off... your trip

Everybody needs a change
A chance to check out the new
But you're the only one to see
The changes you take yourself through but

Don't you worry 'bout a thing
Don't you worry 'bout a thing, pretty mama
Cause I'll be standing in the wings
When you check it out

Don't you worry 'bout a thing."

Have iPhone, Will Blog -- Poorly...

It's another blog-by-phone, I'm afraid. And you know what that means... Sucky blog post!! Wah wah wahhhhhh.

Yeah, sorry about that folks. I'm back at the patient's house and I think the incarceration of her right arm is -- understandably -- starting to get to her. I remember the feeling well from when I broke my arm. Normally I'm a slug, and a happy slug at that, but as soon as I was told I couldn't do anything I was all motivated and frustrated...

Well, I've fulfilled my NaBloPoMo obligation and am going to skedaddle. I should be back on a computer tomorrow, so hopefully that entry will be better. But remember, no guarantees!! :)

She Keeps Going and Going and Going...

Greetings and Salutationzzzzzzzzzzzzz...........

Please forgive me. After not sleeping well Wednesday night and only being in bed for about 5 hours, I had a pretty similar night's sleep last night. My Friend with the Dislocated Shoulder (FWDS) decided to defy medical convention and stay wide awake pretty much all night even though she was hopped up on pain meds. I think I got about 4 hours of sleep and it was pretty shallow since I had one ear perked in her general direction in case she needed anything.

But off we went to run errands and get breakfast at 7 this morning. And she still hasn't stopped. She's pretty much an Energizer Bunny in an arm sling. Picture him thumping that big bass drum with one arm and you get the general idea. I probably shouldn't tease her this much though since I know part of the problem is that her shoulder is so uncomfortable. Hopefully she'll start healing soon and will get some relief.

And as much as I tease her about being an independent, obstinate patient, I am the same exact way -- as my mother can attest to anyone within earshot. My poor mother drove all the way down here to take care of me when I had surgery on my arm two years ago (broken during kickball -- such a dangerous sport!) and I don't think I let her lift a finger to help me the entire time.

But what I did appreciate (and I hope she knows) is that she was here. That she was here if I did need something and that she loved me and cared about my well-being. And that's what I think I did for FWDS. Yes, she could do 95% of the stuff herself, but I think she was relieved to know that someone else was around to help with the other 5% if need be. And I'm really happy that she knew she could depend on me and that she had her friend call me when she was injured.

I wanted to wrap this up with something mildly profound, but I'm fading fast. Have a good night, folks, and keep taking care of each other. It's win-win all around! :)

The Return of ER on Thursdays

And just when I thought I'd have nothing to write about today....

I was on my way to our very late kickball game tonight when one of my friend's teammates called to say she was in the emergency room. Caller failed to mention WHY my friend was in the emergency room, so I quickly went through the various kickball-related injuries I could think of. Unfortunately, I was on my scooter and had to run home, ditch it, grab the car, and then blow through any number of stop signs on my way to the ER.

Well, Friend dislocated her right shoulder. She had injured it slightly during her game and for some unknown reason, one of her teammates high-fived her as if he was knocking down a tree and popped her damn shoulder out!!

After some nice drugs, two rounds of x-rays, and several hours in the ER, we're home at last. Her boyfriend and I are hovering off-and-on and she's trying to be a good patient, while also asserting her independence, albeit an independence soaked in pain killers.

I was pretty damn impressed with her doctor, though. He bypassed the old "tie a sheet around the victim and pull with all your might" routine and gently finessed her shoulder back into place. I'm pretty sure she'll survive.

As for me, I'm exhausted and mildly worried and fighting my natural tendency to take care of her. Between her self-reliance and her boyfriend's presence, I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. Except that I know I'm supposed to be and I can't imagine being anywhere else. You know me, it's always complicated! :)

Until tomorrow, my friends. Be well and watch out for large kickballers attempting to high-five you -- they can be dangerous!

Communal Shower Roulette

Dang it!! Just when I begin to forget that God's got a wicked sense of humor...

I go cruising into the shower at the Y this afternoon and discover I'm not the first one in this time. AND there's someone standing in the middle of the warm wall o' three! (See Communal Shower Etiquette Lesson #1 for clarification).

So where do I have to go? To my usual spot, but right next to her. So now I'm the inconsiderate biznatch who takes the shower head right next to the other person. Curses, foiled again!!

I'm sure you're all finding these shower updates absolutely fascinating...

Volvo Day

Very quickly, let's continue where we left off last night. And just for the record, even though this is a continuation of a thought, it counts as today's blog post. Let's not forget that I'm not just being productive this month -- I'm actually embroiled in October's NaBloPoMo, even though I abandoned the theme of "haunted" quite a few blog posts ago....

So the afternoon was fairly quiet. I'd elaborate more on work, but I'm not allowed to... This should make for an excellent stand-up career if I ever start putting stuff together:

Work? Interesting, great stories, some incredibly stupid/funny people... Can't talk about it.

Relationship? Not in one.

Children? Nope.

Huh.

You see why I'm stuck, don't you?? :)

OK, let's get back on topic, shall we? (As if this little detour was your fault...)

I had to hit Walgreens after work yesterday to pick up a prescription. I took the Vespa on a bike path leading from work, cut through West Ghent, and got spit out a couple blocks from Walgreens. On my way there, a Volvo ran a stop sign and cut me off. As I approached Walgreens, he got stuck waiting for a light and I was pulling up next to him to make the left into the Walgreens parking lot. It was then that I noticed he was digging in his left nostril. Fortunately, his window was open and I was on my scooter, so I was able to yell,

"Thaaaat's right. Run that stop sign! Pick that nose! GIT IT!!" as I turned into the parking lot.

I'm not sure why that brought me so much pleasure, but it did.

I pulled around to the drive-thru. There were two cars in the left lane and none in the right, so I pulled in to the empty lane. The first car on my left pulled away at that moment and the guy who had been waiting pulled up in front of the window. And we sat. I thought for a second they might try to help me first and I was going to tell them that window guy was here first. But I didn't get the chance. We just sat. And sat. And sat some more. We looked at each other. I checked Facebook on my beloved Mildred. We looked at each other again. And sat.

I considered going inside, but I had gotten in a fight with one of the cashier's the last time I brought my backpack in with me and didn't want to go through that again.

After what seemed like 5-10 minutes, someone finally appeared at the window and offered help to dude-man. I heard him say his name and then after a minute or two, the pharmacy worker asked if he had a new insurance card. And that's when he said, "No. It's my Cialis. It's not covered."

I must be five. There's no other reason to explain why knowing he was picking up a prescription for a male enhancement drug would tickle me so. But it did. Maybe it was knowing that he knew that I heard. I don't know. It's just stupid. I'd probably giggle if I had to buy condoms...

And I'm ok with that. More laughter, people. That's my prescription for every day.

So I finally get helped at Walgreens and leave. I'm now making a left at the very same traffic light Nose Picker was sitting at earlier. And I hear, "Excuse me, Ma'am?" from my right.

I've become accustomed to people asking me about the scooter, so I turned and smiled and saw an older woman in a 1970s Volvo (because Volvos outlive their owners 10-1). I was expecting a question, but instead got, "Turn your lights on!"

"I'm sorry?"
"Turn your lights on! You should turn your lights on so people can see you better. I took a class once."
"My lights are on. I can't turn them off."
"Oh. I couldn't see them."

Fortunately, I got the green arrow at that point and was able to turn. I really don't know where we would have gone from there.

Have a great day!

Et Tu, Nekkid Woman?

The dog is asleep in my lap (dreaming and therefore twitching wildly) so it's going to be another short, literally phoned-in blog post tonight!

Couple things from today...

Yet another woman entered the showers at the Y today and chose the spot immediately next to me when there were 5 others available!! What the deuce?!

Of course, I forgot to point out something in yesterday's blog that should be obvious: my disdain for this practice does not apply to cute chicks. :)

Shoot, I have a couple other things, but it's just too hard on the phone. If you'll be patient, I'll bang them out tomorrow morning.

Have a good night, everybody!

Communal Shower Etiquette Lesson #1

Let me just take a moment to clear something up for any of my readers who may find themselves in a similar situation. I've been an avid Miss Manners reader for ages and have never seen her address this, so it would be my honor.

When entering a communal shower (for example, at the Downtown YMCA) which contains 7 shower heads -- 4 on one side of the 'room' and 3 on the other -- try to not plant yourself next to the only other person in the shower. It's more than a little skeevy.

Now I understand the other bather's desire to get on the wall of 3 where I was standing. If she's a regular, she knows that the water on that wall gets warmer much more quickly than the other wall because it shares the adjacent steam room's pipes. But seriously, I was the only person in there. Was it really necessary to take the spot immediately next to me?

There's got to be some etiquette book somewhere that would advise leaving a shower head in between each person until it becomes absolutely necessary to fill in. This just seems like common sense to me.

If you crowd me in the shower, I will fight back the only way I know how -- I will place excess shower gel on my puff, lather the hell out of myself, and fling it all over you in the process.

Bert, this is not supposed to be an appealing visual. Stop that.

Be My Little Baby

Less than twelve hours after writing my Getting Ready to Piss blog, I found myself having a mini panic attack over the prospect of not having children. Strange. They just hit me completely out of the blue sometimes. The whole point of the blog was that I was ready to move forward with my life and what I think is my real 'career,' and then here I was having an unexpected, infuriating Ally McBeal moment.

I was thinking about it at our kickball bar that night and then I had a flash of inspiration. One of my friends is a perfect sperm donor candidate and he didn't hesitate in saying "Yes," as long as he has absolutely no legal or financial ties to the child. His girlfriend, my good friend Michele, laid down the law and said there was no way this was occurring the natural way unless there was a sheet between us with a hole in it and her face plastered on the sheet where Greg could see it...

I have no idea where this leaves me. I'm still not 100% sure I want children -- especially alone -- but I'm terrifed I'll wake up when I'm unable to have children and know at that very moment that I really do want them.

We were talking about it at the wedding and my friend Weeble was getting ticked that he wasn't asked. Then he told my Fest Husband, Jack, that he wasn't asked either and a ridiculous conversation ensued, with the boys all arguing about the benefits and strength of their sperm.

So I proposed that we make a sperm cocktail from the three contributors -- Greg, Jack, and Weeble -- and then we could take bets on who the best swimmer would be! We could open it up to everyone and have a pool going and maybe get some sponsors. I'm thinking reality show... I'd also like to see Michael Phelps' swimmers get in there to give the boys a dark horse challenger. We're thinking Vegas might get involved in the betting as well.

Doesn't this all sound like a beautiful way of bringing a baby into the world?! ;)

Illuminate Their Way Home

Morning! Hope everyone is feeling fine. I'm trying to rally for a cold, wet, and blustery Wine Fest this morning. I'm supposed to be there by 11am, so I've got to get a move-on...

I attended the wedding of two kickball friends last night. The groom is new to our circle of friends and I don't really know him that well. He's a Senior Chief Petty Officer in the Navy and had an enormous number of medals on his uniform -- I was afraid he was going to tip over at one point. It was a beautiful ceremony and reception, with many men and women in various Navy uniforms. Living in this area, I really should learn more about this stuff.

Before the reception began, one of Jayson's groomsmen took to the mic and said the following. By the time he finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the house among the civilians. I thought it was worth passing along.

"Before we begin our activities this evening, we will pause to recognize our POWs and MIAs.

We call your attention to this small table, which occupies a place of dignity and honor near the head table. It is set for one, symbolizing the fact that members of our armed forces are missing from our ranks. They are referred to as POWs and MIAs.

We call them comrades.

They are unable to be with their loved ones and families tonight, so we join together to pay our humble tribute to them, and bear witness to their continued absence.

This table, set for one, is small, symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner, alone against his or her suppressors.

The tablecloth is white, symbolic of the purity of their intentions to respond to their country’s call to arms.

The single red rose in the vase, signifies the blood they many have shed in sacrifice to ensure the freedom of our beloved United States of America. This rose also reminds us of the family and friends of our missing comrades who keep the faith, while awaiting their return.

The yellow ribbon on the vase represents the yellow ribbons worn on the lapels of the thousands who demand with unyielding determination a proper accounting of our comrades who are not among us tonight.

A slice of lemon on the bread plate reminds us of their bitter fate.

The salt sprinkled on the plate reminds us of the countless fallen tears of families as they wait.

The glass is inverted - they cannot toast with us this night.

The chair is empty - they are not here.

The candle is reminiscent of the light of hope which lives in our hearts to illuminate their way home, away from their captors, to the open arms of a grateful nation.

Let us pray to the supreme commander that all of our comrades will soon be back within our ranks.

Let us remember and never forget their sacrifices.

May God forever watch over them and protect them and their families."

Another Breeder Event

Greetings and salutations! I'm blogging from my beautiful iPhone, Mildred, as I need to get ready for a wedding and don't have time to fire up the 'puter...

Needless to say, this one's-a gonna be-a shortie!

It's cold and rainy here and yours truly is sleeeeepy. I can only hope the prospect of the goofy looks my kickball friends will have on their faces when they see me in a dress will help me rally.

Hope everyone's having a great day and I'll catch ya later!

Shortest Blog Post

Jesus wept.

Hauntingly.

:)

HAUNTED

If you're paying attention, you know that the NaBloPoMo Jingleheimer Schmidt topic for the month of October is "haunted." I've decided to go for broke and see if I can't bust out a blog a day for both the month of October and November. I know, I feel the excitement in the air too... ;)

There's really no guarantee that I'll keep to the topic, but I'm going to give it a whirl.

First off, the "haunted" or scariest part of this is that I'm writing it on a kickball Thursday night. I should be off at our sponsor bar terrorizing the patrons with my karaoke singing, but I'm home doing laundry instead.

Yeah.

I'm road-tripping tomorrow to NJ and realized yesterday that I hadn't done any laundry and I need to pack and not be completely hungover tomorrow, so...coming home after our game seemed like the wise thing to do. Forty years in and I know my limitations. No, I can't just go for a little bit. No, I can't just have a drink or two. No, I can't keep myself off the karaoke stage....

Herewith, today's entry:

It's absolutely beautiful tonight. There's a full moon, the temperature and smells are fall-like and I know exactly where I'd like to be. You mentioned how you see yourself down the road. I can't remember if you asked or if I just offered, but I admitted that I've never been able to see into my future. It's amazing I've gotten where I am in retrospect. I have no five-year plan. Never have. I talked a good game in high school about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be, but I was really clueless and flying by the seat of my pants the whole time. Most people who knew me then see a direct line between my stated goal and where I am, but it's still a shock to me. And I know it's not why I was put on the planet.

But back to tonight. I'm haunted by a future I want but might not obtain. I may not see who I'll be or what I'll be, but I can see what I want and who I'd like to be with. I wish we were out in the mountains right now, camping under the full moon. It's a beautiful night for stars and dreams and depth. I can think of no one else I'd rather share it with. And it doesn't really matter if you feel the same way or not. Thank you, my friend, for making me see it at all.

Boo!

Sit tight, sports fans....

I was going to check in anyway and let you know that I'm going to fire up the ol' fingertips so that I could start practicing for NaBloPoMo, but now I have another reason for writing.

For those of you who don't know, NaBloPoMo is National Blog Posting Month, it's held in November, and it's how I got wrangled (pretty willingly in retrospect) into starting this blog. The goal is seemingly simple: blog each and every day for the month of November.

NaBloPoMo became so popular that they began having the contest every month, with a monthly theme suggestion. On the high of successfully completing last November's NaBloPoMo, I attempted December, but didn't fare so well.

I've just received an email that October's theme is HAUNTED.

And folks, am I HAUN-TED!! On so many levels. And potentially soon-to-be-haunted by Patrick Swayze. So I may give October a whirl... I can't promise the blogs will be good, or enjoyable, or will hold your attention. But I never have. Yes, that's my guarantee -- no promises on talent!

You're welcome. :)

Patrick Swayze!!

PSYCH.

Not yet, my friends, not yet. I appreciate your patience. :)

Hello!! I'm alive!! How is everyone??

Yes, yes, I know I've been remiss in my blogging. And this brief update will be unsatisfactory as well, I fear.

BLOG TOPICS ABOUND!! I've been taking notes and emailing myself. And yet, I haven't had the time or inclination to flesh them out. 'Tis the story of my life, I'm afraid. Let me unearth my trove of book/play/screenplay/TV show ideas for you.......

Anyhoo, just wanted to stop by and say, "Hello." I hope to be back soon.

In the meantime, heard of any good celebrity deaths lately? ;)

You Had Me at "Pedro"

Say what you will about The Real World, I have always appreciated that part of their formula is the inclusion of gay and lesbian "characters." I only saw an ep or two of the first season, but have been a fan/follower since the second. And by the time Pedro's story came around in the third season, I was hooked.

I'm watching this week's epidsode and parts of it warmed my heart. CJ, the stereotypical good looking boy-next-door jock, has become such good friends with Derek, the somewhat fem gay guy, that he not only defends Derek but also invites him to his NFL tryout!

Granted, CJ defends Derek by punching some guy and winds up in a Mexican jail as a result and almost misses his NFL tryout, but that's not the point. :)

Maybe this doesn't seem that earth shattering to anyone else, but it does to me. It wasn't that long ago that I was closeted and living in terror of whether my friends and family would want anything to do with me if they knew I was gay. So just imagine getting to a place in time when the captain of the football team is best friends with the effeminate gay guy. For CJ to invite him into the uber-masculine world of professional football is pretty damn amazing. That he didn't even seem to think twice about it is FANTASTIC. Evolution may be slow, but it's occurring. In little steps each and every day. And maybe, just maybe, someone else out there will view Derek -- and other gay people -- differently because CJ openly likes and cares for him. I know the target audience probably isn't watching The Real World in the first place, but I can hope. And at least it's out there in the universe.

So thank you, Real World, for giving kids a forum for discussing their likes, dislikes, prejudices, and fears for over 20 years. I've watched people affected by the opportunity on the show and I know they've left knowing themselves and their fellow man just a little bit better. Maybe we should all do internships where we're filmed interacting with people and then have to watch ourselves! Hmmm...or maybe we should just go through life as if everything we say and do is being broadcast into millions of homes. I'd like to think we'd all strive to live a little better, but we'd probably just all look at each other and say, "See, we're all freaks!"

Babbling over, my friends. Be the person your dog thinks you are. :)

Are You There, God? It's Me, Patrick Swayze

This one might even be a little too tasteless for me, but here goes.........

And I'd like to just remind everyone once again that it's GOD, not me. I just noticed the trend.

Um...........

Los Angeles -- with perhaps the highest concentration of celebrities in the world -- is...

ON FIRE.



Swayze?

I'm just puttin' it out there. You'll have to decide for yourselves...

True Friends

A friend of mine made the painful drive so many parents are making at this time of year -- she just dropped off her only daughter at college for the first time. Her daughter posted a pic of them in her new dorm room at school and while my friend was smiling, the pain in her eyes was obvious. I asked her to please let me know if she needed a diversion this week and we could go out for drinks or see a movie or whatever. She just responded saying, "That would be awesome. :)"

And it dawned on me how nice it is to have people in my life who are constant and dependable. Who are always happy to hear from me or spend time with me. It takes friendships like the one I've been embroiled in lately for me to really see the stark difference. Alas, I've been here before. Several years ago, I wrote the following and it just popped into my head. It was true then and it's true now...

A true friend would never turn on you and bad mouth you to others intentionally.
True friends do not make you feel bad.
True friends do not make you jump through hoops to be their friend.
True friends appreciate you.
True friends are consistent in their behavior towards you.
True friends do not attempt to humiliate you in front of others.
True friends do not dictate the rules of the friendship.
True friends forgive.
True friends give you the benefit of the doubt.
True friends believe you and take your word for it.
True friends do not keep score.
True friends put others above themselves occasionally.
True friends encourage a balanced friendship.
True friends show up.
True friends make time for you.
True friends work at the friendship.
True friends value your time, energy, and compassion.
True friends do not use you.
True friends do not take advantage of you.

And I'd like to add...

True friends don't constantly tell you that you don't know them or understand them. If it's true, you have no business being friends in the first place. If they're just feeling frustrated and misunderstood, they take the time to explain themselves or to show you their true nature and character rather than talking over and over again. They don't make you feel like your inability to crash through their walls is a deficiency on your part.

As my friend Denise used to say, "Don't talk. Do."

Actions speak louder than words, my friends.

Great Balls of Fire

I met my friend Butch at his house near the beach yesterday to go for a run. My muscle memory seems to be kicking in and I'm enjoying running again -- enough that I asked Butch to go for a run at 2 in the afternoon when it was in the mid-80s. We started off and right away I noticed something was different. Damn, I've got two sore, bouncing canteloupes on my chest! Must be PMS...

I told Butch about my problem and he laughed. And then it dawned on me -- "Oh, laugh it up...you're just lucky your balls don't get huge every month! I'd like to see you run then!"

Geez, is there anything they don't get away with? I'm still bitter about the peeing outside anywhere they please and now this. I was telling the story to one of my friends last night and she said, "Yeah, if they bled out their penises and their balls swelled once a month, we'd never hear the end of it."

Ain't that the truth!

:)

The Swayze Liveth and the Lord Taketh Away

God's hat trick:

Ted Kennedy
Dominick Dunne
Ellie Greenwich

"Bring me SWAYZE!!!!!!!!!"

And in the meantime, poor Michael Jackson can't get in the ground! He died 2 months ago and they've just postponed his burial once again. I hope they've got him on ice. I've had chicken go bad in the fridge in far less time.

Is anyone else surprised that Joe Jackson hasn't tried to take Michael on tour one last time?

Obama vs. Kennedy?

Is it just me, or are they blaming Obama for Kennedy's decline and death?

"Then, risking his own health, Sen. Kennedy traveled to the Democratic National Convention in Denver, where Obama accepted the presidential nomination, to give a rousing speech on Obama's behalf. It was almost exactly one year before Kennedy's death. The senator also returned to the Capitol in January to see Obama sworn in as the nation's first black president, suffering a seizure at a celebratory luncheon afterward."

~ GLEN JOHNSON and PHILIP ELLIOTT, Associated Press Writers

God vs. Patrick Swayze

The celebrity death match between God and Patrick Swayze continues....

Ted Kennedy, dead at 77.

I'm sure Mary Jo Kopeckne is angry that God has finally avenged her death but waited until His pissy little fight with Patrick Swayze to do so. It reminds me of a friend from high school -- her stepfather abused her physically and her mother just stood by. But her stepfather pissed her mother off by leaving the cap off the toothpaste one too many times and she finally left him. Right outcome, wrong reasons.

Meanwhile, Patrick's just getting stronger and stronger... Although I'm unsure why he's beginning to look like Corey Feldman in the process.

Patrick Swayze

For those of you dear readers who aren't on Facebook, this blog may rock your world a little bit. I give you..............AJ's Patrick Swayze Theory:

Patrick Swayze, as we all know or should know as dedicated pop culture junkies, is suffering from pancreatic cancer. This, coupled with the defiant celebrity interview, should have sealed his fate many, many months ago. History has shown us that within 48 hours of giving the "I'm going to beat this thing" celebrity interview, most celebrities succumb to their illness. Please see Freddie Mercury, Bill Bixby, and Michael Landon for more information.

So you can imagine God's dismay when Patrick gave his interview and then had the balls to keep living!!

Many of you may have noticed a few months back that celebrities seemed to be dropping at an alarming rate. It wasn't long before the answer became crystal clear to me: God is picking off a celebrity-a-day until Patrick Swayze surrenders. I think we can all see Him thundering, "Bring me SWAYZE!!!" with each victim He acquires. And Swayze? He just keeps getting stronger and stronger.

Herewith, the list of Swayze's collateral damage:

David Carradine
Ed McMahon
Farrah Fawcett
Michael Jackson (this is when my theory first began to materialize)
Gale Storm
Billy Mays
Fred Travelena
Karl Malden
Steve McNair (this is when my friend Butch began blaming me for celebrity deaths -- it's not me, it's GOD!! I just noticed the trend...)
Oscar Mayer
Robert McNamara
Walter Cronkite
Frank McCourt
Gidget (the Taco Bell chihuahua -- hey, gotta spread it around so people won't get suspicious!)
Corazon Aquino
Budd Schulberg
John Hughes
Eunice Shriver
Les Paul
Don Hewitt

Frankly, I can't believe people-of-note haven't stormed Swayze's house with torches, pitchforks, and Michael Jackson's doctor!

What, too soon?

So now I think The Swayze is on to me and trying to silence me. Hence my hellish week a few weeks back. Which makes me question my decision to go skydiving last week. Seems to me I shouldn't be jumping out of a plane while taunting Swayze. The jump got cancelled, but that's probably just to give me a false sense of security...

In the meantime, I don't wish Swayze any ill will. I'm not hoping he dies. I am a little concerned about Hollywood's numbers, but this is God's doing, not mine. Don't shoot the messenger, people.........