Encroachment - 15-yard Penalty!

My next door neighbor -- the one who blows all of her leaves into my yard -- has removed my property line marker and proceeded to put her tacky-ass Christmas lights on MY property. I don't want to be petty at this time of year -- really, I don't. But first and foremost - who gave her permission to remove the property line flag? And second, what makes her think that I would want that trailer park yard art on MY front lawn?

Some people!

Time to say goodbye

After over a year of separation, I decided that it was time to have the conversation with Mr. Small about ending our marriage. I found myself thinking that I couldn't truly move on and even consider another relationship until I had closure with him.

I thought it was going to be easy. I had my words carefully picked. The reality was far removed from the calm, quiet resignation I imagined.

Of course, his first question was, "is there someone else?" For the first time ever, the answer to that was not so clear-cut. There really isn't someone else - but there is, for the first time, the possibility of someone else.

For the first time, he admitted to me his loathing of life, his thoughts of suicide and the utter abandonment he feels. There was a time in my life where I would have thought it my responsibility -- my duty -- to fix those feelings, to nurture and coddle and assure. Instead, I told him that I, too, have felt those emotions and that the answer to those feelings will not be found in anything exterior to himself - that he has to search within.

We talked for several hours about why and how and when this all happened. He once again asserted that winning the lottery would fix it all. When we were done talking, there was such a sense of sadness. I couldn't help but feel that if only I could have loved him enough that things would have worked... but I know that is not true - because the one person who needs to love him in order for him to be happy will likely never do so. I pray, though, that one day he may find inner peace and the joy that comes from being at one with your Source.

I wept for hours last night... my eyes still showing the signs of the "ugly cry" this morning - swollen, puffy and red. I wept for what could have been, I wept for the sweetness of his unconditional love for me and for my inability to love that way in return. I wept for the depth of his despair and for the little boy who's crying out to be loved and held and not sent away -- and I wept for sending him away once again.

It's time to say goodbye, my love. May you one day find peace.

Poetry -- it's what I do when I don't know what to do...

Talking for hours by a roaring fire
Dancing the dance of lovers
Advancing, retreating, all the while wondering what the other is thinking.

A tender kiss in the morning light
Frost on the ground
Feeling, reeling, not knowing what the future might be bringing.

A long drive alone with time to think
Has it gone too far?
Pacing, mind racing, is it just an indiscretion you’re not facing?

Days go by without a word
Emotions ebb and flow
Anticipating, heart aching, expecting too much? Is he reciprocating?

Too much to do
No time to think it through
Forgetting, regretting, I don’t know – do you?

(c) Oh to be a 40's Torch Singer.
All rights reserved.

This is your brain...

this is your brain on pheromones...

What is it about the mere thought of a person to whom you're attracted that causes all of your intellectual prowess to disappear? What is it about the memory of a kiss that short-circuits all logical function of the brain? How Pavlovian is it to become jittery and nervous each time the little letter shows up in the system tray of my computer?

I still haven't confirmed or negated the presence of a wife... but I have received a very sweet e-mail telling me what a wonderful time he had and promising to come visit in January or February. I fired back an innocent query about the person whose name I found in the article. Of course, in the hospitality industry, your weekends are not your own, so I don't really expect to hear back from him until Monday or Tuesday when the Inn is closed.

I really suck at waiting. It's not something I do well at all. I have way too active of an imagination and I create too many stories in my mind. It's sad, really... but it's just who I am.

How many hours til Monday?

Turd in a Punch Bowl

That's what I feel like tonight. I just can't help but feel that I've done something horrible and I just can't seem to let it go... I want him to call so I can know for sure... I want to e-mail him, but I don't know if anyone else has access to his account. This SUCKS! I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't think about anything else. Surely there's some OCD in my psychological profile somewhere...

I keep saying to myself: "let it go, Lauren." I can't change what happened... but I can't forget how I felt BEFORE I found out about the wife.

Tick-tock, tick-tock... It's nearly 12:30 am... I need to TRY to get some sleep -- after all, I still have a whole butt-load of business to write before year-end. I soooooooo don't need any added stress right now.

Rat farts!

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

It's been more than 24 hours... no call... no returned e-mail (yes, I sent an e-mail... it just said that I had a wonderful time and that I hoped he'd keep in touch).

Of course, since yesterday's post, I've located an article about his Inn that seems to indicate there's a spouse... at least there was a spouse in December of '05 when the article was written. Funnily enough, I seem to recall meeting a woman by this name when I first checked in (she didn't take his last name, apparently). Now, I want to hear from him all the more so I can figure out what the hell happened! I soooooooooo do not want to be "that girl" -- you know, the home wrecker, the floozy who messes around with married men. I've been on the other side of that equation and I wouldn't wish that experience on my worst enemy. Why can't things just be simple?

I did, however, receive an invitation to return to the Inn on business to write policies on one of the employees... comped room and all... I wonder what his reaction would be if he walked in and saw me standing there? He just did not seem like the kind of guy who would DO that... but then I've been wrong before... horribly wrong.

Ugh!

Giddy

I know you're probably going to get whiplash going from my last post to this one -- but I just can't help it!

Last evening, I drove up to Skyline Drive for an exclusive dinner hosted by my region's vice president for the top producers on her "Round Table." We went to a very cozy B&B (I won't name it here on the off-chance that someone might run across the post -- I wouldn't want to incriminate anyone!) and had a scrumptious dinner and great conversation. Afterward, those of us who were staying overnight gathered at the bar for a nightcap, when in walked the chef. We all applauded him and he was a very pleasant fellow, so we started talking. Over the coming hours, nearly everyone else wandered off to bed and left the two of us sitting at the bar - still gabbing like we'd known each other for years.

Now, I have not spent one minute with any other man since the ex and I separated a year ago (can you believe it was a year Thanksgiving Day?) and I never really expected to find myself having those giddy feelings again - wasn't looking for it at all -- then as I was about to turn in, he leaned over and kissed me and my knees went weak. Suffice it to say that the evening wore even longer as we tried to weave our way through the "I hardly know you, but DAMN, I really like you" rush of emotions that come along with the first blush of a relationship. (Is this a relationship? could it be? do I want it to be?) So, today, in the wake of my concern for my father, I'm feeling like a silly, giggly school girl and find myself facing the age-old question that I never thought I'd ask again... "will he call?"

Stay tuned!

Daddy's Broken

This week, my precious father nearly lost his life again. Save for the marvels of modern medicine, he would not be with us today. Once again, his heart rate skyrocketed to nearly 300 and he lost consciousness. It was his internal defibrillator that saved his life. At his doctor's appointment the following day, they told him that he should stop driving... they might as well have told him to stop breathing.

My dad's been a day-tripper for as long as I can remember. Whenever things got rought at work or at home, he'd jump in his truck and take off for the Eastern Shore, or one of the state parks in North Carolina -- or go for a ride on the beach in Corolla. It's his way of escaping and relieving stress. Not only has this outlet been taken from him, but now he'll have to give up his part-time job as well (which I think he does just to escape my mom's incessant chatter). You see, he drives hearses and flower trucks for a local funeral home and spends days collecting and delivering death certificates.

It is so difficult to watch the man to whom you've always looked up -- the one on whom you've depended to do the hard stuff -- like open things, move things, and fix things -- become feeble and dependent. My heart is just breaking for him -- he's fiercely independent and I fear that losing his independence will leave him devoid of joy and purpose, causing him to deteriorate long before his time. I'm not ready for that... not yet... not ever.

My Daddy's broken and I wish I could fix him.

Owner of a Broken Heart and other random musings...

Last evening I got a call from a dear friend. I could hardly understand her and at first I thought we had a bad cell connection -- but it turns out that she was sobbing uncontrollably. Her Prince Charming had just dumped her and she was inconsolable. So, out the door I go with a box of Kleenex and a bottle of wine. I hate to see my friends hurting and this friend in particular due to the absolutely horrendous childhood she had. Her mother is literally a crack whore and this dear, sweet girl rose above her beginnings, worked her way through college and has become an upstanding member of society.

I chose the name "Prince Charming" for a reason -- her love affair with this guy is really a Cinderella story. He came from old money -- one of the most prominent families in town -- she from the aforementioned crack whore. She spent two years of her life trying to prove to him that she was worthy of his love -- only to find out that it is an emotion of which he is completely incapable. I wanted to knock him upside the head last night as she sobbed in my arms. Despite all of her self-realization and therapy, still she couldn't help but think that if only she had tried harder, had a better pedigree, been prettier, smarter, or more patient that he wouldn't have left her. She is, unfortunately, the owner of a broken heart and I was completely helpless to do a damned thing about it.

In other news...

What the hell are people thinking? Yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight and on one corner was a Citgo whose gas cost $1.98 per gallon on the opposite corner was a BP whose gas cost $2.10 per gallon. There wasn't a soul at the Citgo and there was a LINE at the BP. I KNOW that it was not due to any type of boycott of the Venezuelan-held company -- the people around here aren't that politically aware -- so I just have to say, "what the fuck?" In my little economy, twelve cents per gallon, times 13 gallons equals $1.56 and THAT's one whole cup of 7-Eleven coffee!

In YNPFLN news, the lady with the yard full of plastic flowers has just traded out the purple flowers for a sea of bright orange ones. {{SHUDDER}}

And in the "What's the Matter with Kids Today" category... the little shits threw my carefully raked bags of pinestraw into the middle of the street, where someone collided head on with one of them, ripping it to smitherines. Don't they have anything better to do? Really?

And finally, in the "Life Ain't Fair" category... my favorite manager just told me that come January 1, she will no longer be my manager. That was bad enough... but I found out that she's being replaced by two... count them TWO pantywastes. There's not enough backbone between them to make a good cat. Grrrrrrrr

A Silly Break from the Wall-to-Wall Election Coverage

1. Explain what ended your last relationship? Negativity

2. When was the last time you shaved? Sunday

3. What were you doing this morning at 8 a.m.? Pouring my second 16 oz cup of coffee.

4. What were you doing 15 minutes ago? Reading Sheri's blog (thanks for the tag... I knew I should have stopped reading before number 30!)

5. Are you any good at math? I hope so -- I'm a financial specialist!

6. Your prom night? I had one... it was about three weeks after breaking up with a long-time boyfriend. I took a friend with me.

7. Do you have any famous ancestors? Rumor has it that we're related to William Lloyd Garrison.

8. Have you had to take a loan out for school? Yes. Thankfully, it's long since paid off.

9. Do you know the words to the song on your myspace profile? I ain't got no such thing...

10. Last thing received in the mail? An offer for Dr. Wayne Dyer's latest CD set. I promptly ordered it!

11. How many different beverages have you had today? Just two -- the above-referenced 32 oz of coffee and some bottled water.

12. Do you ever leave messages on peoples answering machines? Every day. It's part of what I do... being in sales and all...

13. Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to? Sheri, you ARE kidding right? You mean there's another definition for Concert Virginity than the group you saw at your first concert? YIKES! My first concert was Air Supply, followed shortly thereafter by the Doobie Brothers... I'm old too, Sheri!

14. Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach? Abso-freakin-lutely!

15. What was the most painful dental procedure you have had? Four wisdom teeth surgically extracted at the same time... two had roots wrapped around my jaw bone and I woke up in the middle of it all. I'm just saying...

16. What is out your back door? A yard and my neighbor's house.

17. Any plans for Friday night? R-E-L-A-X with a nice bottle-o-vino.

18. Do you like what the ocean does to your hair? Hmmm.. let me think about this... it gets salty, sandy and stands on end... uh, yeah... love it! (NOT)

19. Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different popcorns? Yes, my step-grandmother used to give me one every year for Christmas. Ho-ho-ho...

20. Have you ever been to a planetarium? Absolutely! I took an astronomy course as part of my junior high gifted and talented program. It was fabulous spending the summer in a darkened planetarium with that good-looking guy from Deep Creek with the dreamy eyes...

21. Do you re-use towels after you shower? Yep - I'm clean, so what's the big??

22. Some things you are excited about? My trip to Germany & Austria next summer, and the possibility of winning an all-expense paid trip to Cancun!

23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO? I don't really care for the stuff, personally.

24. Describe your keychain(s)? A blue hand.

25. (there was no question 25 on the original, so I'm making one up) How glad are you that the elections are over? Happy, happy, joy, joy... I'm so sick of the friggin commercials I could scream!!!!!

26. Where do you keep your change? In a big flower vase.

27. What kind of winter coat do you own? All kinds. It's embarrassing really... I'm planning to donate at least three of them to the Salvation Army this winter.

28. What was the weather like on your graduation day? It was gorgeous! It was sunny and warm, with a nice breeze.

29. Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed? Closed. If not, the pupster wanders around the house and barks at anything that moves.

30. Did U read this far? I hope you did! Now you are tagged!

I Just Don't Like the Way He Parts His Hair

My grandmother used this expression when referring to people for whom she felt an inexplicable aversion -- much the way I feel about the Democrat candidate for Senate here in Virginia (Jim Webb). Granted, I'm very much an independent and rarely align myself with the Democrat party -- still, this man just sets me on edge.

Unfortunately, his Republican opponent is far from a viable alternative -- at least not for me (George Allen). This is a man with whom I've sparred regarding the proposed Constitutional Amendment banning gay marriage. It's not that I'm a rabid gay-rights activist, it's just that marriage has always been a state issue -- not a federal issue -- and certainly not a CONSTITUTIONAL issue! I'm not comfortable with all of this talk about Constitutional Amendments to ban this or that or the other... not in a country founded on freedom of religion and speech.

Anyway, I didn't intend this post to be a political advertisement -- but when I went searching for an alternative today that would allow me to actually cast a vote without vomiting during the act, I found the Green Party candidate, Gail Parker. If her jingle doesn't make you want to run right out and pull that lever, or dangle that chad or whisper a prayer that your new e-vote really counted, then I don't know what will... check it out! Vote Gail "for Rail" Parker!!!

I'm just sayin'...

From Handel to Horror

Last night, I attended a professional choral performance entitled "Angels, Demons & Kings". The first act consisted of three pieces by G. F Handel, which were magnificent (save the one soprano solo by that blaring facial contortionist -- I swear the only other time I've seen a face contort like that was in The Mask with Jim Carey!).

I should have gathered from the title of the concert that not all of the music would be angelic. Still, I was totally unprepared for the second act of the performance. With titles such as The Morning Stars, Hail Mary, Christ, the Fair Glory and so on, I was expecting your typical liturgical fare. I couldn't have BEEN more wrong.

At first, we were treated to an orchestral prelude meant to evoke the Chaos of the time before creation. The tympani, organ and dissonant strings did a magnificent job and I thought we were in for a treat... then the reading began. There were two readers: a British gentleman and a local woman. He sounded dignified and stately, she like a bad Shakespearean actress run amok. On and on she droned in a sickeningly sweet sing-song voice only a deaf mother could love.

As the piece progressed, the speaking was only briefly interrupted by song - harsh and atonal -- names and phrases were hurled at the audience, who shifted uncomfortably in their seats. On and on the readers jangled until even the fair Brit's accent irritated... the songs growing increasingly strident. I found myself gritting my teeth and begging for the end - fearing that one more stanza would cause me to throw myself onto the nearest sharp object.

When at last we were relieved of the suffering I leapt to my feet to escape the scene of this atrocity. I pray only that my standing was not mistaken for an ovation, for I confess that Mr. Britten's Company of Heaven was reminiscent of a place much farther south.

NPFLN

At the end of my block is one of the most bizarre sights I've ever seen. The house itself is pretty ordinary -- a brick ranch circa 1970. It's the yard that causes people to do a double-take. You see, these folks have the oddest outcroppings of flowers in their yard that you've ever seen. Here it is October and there are tulips blooming along the driveway and Jonquils surrounding the bird bath. There are even crocus and forsythia surrounding the various and sundry pieces of yard art (ranging from the blessed Virgin to fake squirrels, bunnies and geese).

It's obvious from the turquoise trim on their red brick house that these folks aren't blessed with the best taste in the world, but why, pray tell, would anyone put PLASTIC flowers in their yard (and I DO mean IN their yard -- there's not a flowerbed to be found)? And if you ARE going to 'plant' fake flowers, you could at least go to the trouble to make them appear somewhat realistic -- these things are sticking out of the ground so far that you can see the big green spike that usually goes inside the vase!

I have half a mind to sneak over there one night, gather them all up and put them in a garbage bag on their front porch with a note and a gift certificate to Home Depot.

"Dear neighbor, please do us all a favor (and our property values too), and go to Home Depot to buy some REAL flowers! We'll even help you plant them in REAL flowerbeds!

Sincerely,

Your non-plastic-flower-loving neighbors.

P.S. You'll find the Virgin and her petting zoo around back. We thought they'd be more comfortable there."

I Remember

It was 7:55 am Central and I was driving down McNeil Drive in Austin, Texas on my half-hour, two mile commute to work. The usually comical group of morning drive-timers were saying, "CNN is reporting that a plane -- possibly a small commuter plane -- has hit the World Trade Center." They immediately went back to their schtick and play list and one stoplight later - at about 8:05, they came back on to say that a second plane has hit the second tower, to which I think, "that's a really tasteless joke - it's just not funny."

Over the next minutes, it became apparent to me that they were not kidding and my stomach dropped. By the time I reached the office, several of my colleagues were in the conference room watching CNN - there was video footage of the second plane hitting that's playing over and over as everyone tried to come to grips with what was happening. We all gasped in horror -- our country was under attack and our company's vice president was on a flight out of DC that morning! Of course, he was unreachable and we were all just sickened to think that we might lose this wonderful man!

At 8:59 when the South Tower collapsed, our owner and the management team decided that enough was enough and sent us all to our desks. Even though the Pentagon was hit at 8:37 central, I don't remember hearing about it until I was sitting at my desk later that morning. That was the most frightening part to me -- especially since most of the news agencies were reporting that there were still numerous planes in the air -- some unaccounted for.

I remained at work for several hours, finally hearing from the VP -- his flight had been diverted to Louisiana, where it appeared, he was going to be stranded for some time. We even worried briefly about our office in Austin, as one of GW's brothers worked in the building next door to ours.

I checked out of the office around noon - having been unable to reach my family on the east coast -- my brother in particular, who was a first responder, a member of the military reserve and a HazMat specialist. I spent the next 24 hours glued to my television -- searching for answers to how something so horrible could have happened in this country I love so much. I still don't know the answer to that, but I do know that life changed for me that day. I suddenly felt vulnerable -- fearing for my own safety in a way I had never known before.

I remember September 11, 2001 and I will never forget the families who lost loved ones and the brave first responders who lost their lives trying to save others. I pray for a world where we no longer feel the need to hurt and destroy one another -- a world of peace. Naive? Perhaps... but it's so much better than the alternative.

Perspective

Holy cow! Was I really sounding that pathetic just one month ago? Sorry to keep my faithful few in the dark for so long. I've been as busy as a one-armed paper hanger and it has paid off! I just got the end of month rankings and I'm currently ranked number 2 in the region and number 66 in the NATION in sales!

Thankfully, my back has been cooperating. I even endured an ungodly procedure called a discogram. They determined that (surprise, surprise) I have two bad discs causing radicular back pain. (Jeeze... I've known that since I was 16 years old!) If anyone ever recommends that you have one of these tests, tell them to go to hell! It was one of the worst experiences of my life.

In other news, Tropical Storm Ernesto dropped about 8 inches of rain in my area today. I spent much of the morning and early afternoon without power and several hours digging trenches to divert water away from my back door. My efforts resulted in a well-engineered series of gutters (which my ex was supposed to install on the detached garage four years ago) leading from the sidewalk to the drainage ditch that runs down the side of the house (I dug that three years ago during Hurricane Isabelle - the ex never got that leveled or had the walkway installed either).

In still other news, I am now officially into a size 10 (down from a bursting-at-the-seams size sixteen) and was recently told by a client that I look like Jamie Lee Curtis. I once had a boyfriend who said he originally asked me out because I looked like her - but that was 20 years ago. It made me feel good to know that I must somehow look more like I did back then - although I've never really seen the resemblance myself. One of these days I'll get around to posting a picture of the new me... but here's one of the way I USED to look!

EDITED TO ADD: That photo is from my blue period... I don't know what happened when I uploaded it from the CD... but it wouldn't let me re-load it or edit it. Perhaps it's fitting after all!

Blue

Do you ever have days when you just feel blue? When there's nothing particularly wrong... but nothing particularly right either... I have two offers of things to do this evening -- attending a concert (in which I SHOULD be singing, but couldn't bring myself to make the rehearsals) or going to dinner and a movie with a friend. Neither one sounds appealing to me at the moment.

There are days when I wish I could be a dog... sleep, eat and chase a few balls (okay, that sounds a bit risque)... no worries about mortgages or sales goals or surgery or pain... nothing whatsoever to think about but 'where's my favorite chew toy?'

I am really, really hating being without a partner in life right now... with a partner, the weight wouldn't be so heavy... a bad month wouldn't put me in the humiliating position of borrowing money from my mom or force me to choose between physical therapy and groceries.

(whine, whine, whine... how fricking pathetic)

Helpless

Just this past Wednesday, I was pain free. I was hesitant to tell my physical therapist that for fear of jinxing the whole thing and, lo and behold, within 72 hours of making the statement, I'm back where I was before the last batch of steroids.

The hardest part of having a herniated disc that's not causing constant pain is that you forget you have it and you start to do things you shouldn't - like picking up items that weigh more than a pound, or twisting and turning your torso. I spent three hours yesterday, with the help of my mother and my ex, organizing my office. The ex met me at the office supply store and carried my purchases to the office. He then put together the literature sorter for my 50 or so product brochures. All I did was sort papers and put them in the proper slots. My mom did all of the bending over and lifting of small boxes of brochures.

It is so incredibly frustrating to feel that you can't do anything! If I drop something, it has to stay where it falls. If my trash can is full, I have to call my dad to empty it. I can't even carry a load of laundry to the washing machine by myself or bend over to take the clothes out of the dryer when they're done. What's worse is that, with heat indices of over 100 degrees, I can't wear shorts or skirts in public because I can't bend over to shave my legs!!!

Feeling helpless is not something that sits well with me. It makes me angry... the kind of angry that makes me cry... which just makes me MORE angry. On days like today, when the pain is radiating into my hips and shooting down my legs and I can't sit down (thank goodness for wireless keyboards) and I can't bear weight on my spine for more than a few minutes at a time and I look around me and see all that needs to be done, all I CAN do is take my meds and sleep. Thankfully, that turns off my brain - if only for a while - and keeps me from feeling helpless. If only I could sleep until it's all better...

The Boy Who Broke-Up with Me

My sophomore year in high school was probably one of my worst years ever. My boyfriend from the previous year had graduated and my parents had forbidden me to see him. I had to have my wisdom teeth removed and my deviated septum repaired and then I got mono and was out of school for an entire 9 weeks. Once I recovered, I spent most of my time at home, reading and playing the piano, but even so, I got accused of sleeping with practically every boy in school and myriad other offenses for which I was SO not guilty.

I only dated a couple of boys -- very briefly -- and I always broke up with them... with one exception. His name was Jimmy and he was the first boy in my school to have an earring and long hair. Everyone thought he was wild, but he wasn't. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't do drugs, went to school every day, loved his mother, was thrify, loyal, brave and did not believe in pre-marital sex. I was smitten with him... but since he didn't believe in pre-marital sex, he also didn't want to do anything that might lead there. After one particularly steamy goodnight kiss, he broke up with me... supposedly because I was "getting too serious."

After graduation, he went on to become a police officer in our city - working vice for a while and eventually moving over to a uniformed job. My brother has seen him on occasion, as they both work for the city, and he always asks about me. The last time they ran into each other, Jimmy was newly divorced.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, as I was walking Caleb, a guy jogged by my house, with a woman riding a bicycle along side of him. I heard him say to her, "I think I went to school with her - I think that's Lauren." She yelled, "Are you Lauren?" and I replied, "yes" but they were too far away for me to ask who he was. Then, this morning as I was taking my pup out for his potty break, the same guy came jogging by my house and said, "good morning, Lauren." I said good morning and rifled through the file drawers in my brain trying to place him. It wasn't until he was out of ear-shot that it hit me... it was JIMMY! The hair's not long any more, he's BUFF AS HELL, and he's jogging down my street again! I made a mental note of the time and informed the pup that his new morning potty break will be promptly at 6:50 am from now on!

I wonder if he's over that "no pre-marital sex" thing yet? Inquiring minds need to know!

What I Want in a Man

Thanks to Jack, over at Sixteen Shades of Grey, I've found myself thinking about what I would want in a partner, if I ever decided to date again. Interestingly, my list looks very similar to Jack's... with a few exceptions and in a slightly different order:

-Loves me
-Affectionate
-Spiritual (NOT religious or narrow-minded)
-Intelligent/well read/well educated
-Good conversationalist
-Good sense of humour
-Well groomed (I'm not hung up on looks so much as just taking care with your appearance)
-Secure and confident
-Loves music and theatre
-Good listener
-Loyal
-Honest
-Romantic
-Nice smile
-Likes to go to new restaurants, movies, shows, museums
-Gets along well with my friends and family
-Considerate
-Generous
-Creative
-Understanding
-Open
-Good kisser (well, maybe that belongs higher up on the list! LOL)

So, what do you think? Does this man exist?

A Condo for Me

For the past eight months, I've been operating under the premise that I would sell my house next Fall and move into a condominium. There is some work that needs to be done to my house in order to get top dollar for it -- it is in need of some serious landscaping, the 1960's bathroom fixtures need to be replaced and the kitchen needs to be renovated. I was fairly content with my plan, until my mom mentioned that I could just hire a lawn service for the same price as a condo fee, upgrade the house to suit my fancy and just stay put (which just happens to be about 25 steps from their front door).

The concept has bugged me... simmered in my brain... made me question myself... made me wonder at her motives... made me wonder at mine. It's been disturbing... it's made me cranky... and as I write this today, I realize that I've had enough! For once in my life, I'm going to do what I want to do -- on my timeline and on my terms. I'm going to hire a contractor to do the bathrooms and kitchen -- hire a landscaper to do the yard and put up the fence and then I'M GOING TO MOVE AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!!! Don't you think 41 is plenty old to be out on my own!?!

We have the most complex relationship on the planet. I love my mother dearly. I consider her a good friend and a staunch supporter. Yet there's this thing between us that I can't quite define. Often, I feel like I'm suffocating and I just want to get as far away from her as I can. Then, something will happen in my life and she's the first person I want to call. I'm struggling with the church thing right now. I had been thinking of joining one of the small groups -- I talked to the host family and planned to start going in the Fall. Then, mom decided she wanted to go to that small group also and I felt violated... I wanted to have something that was just mine. I've found myself avoiding church all together... avoiding choir practice. Geeze-o-pete, I just need to get a life! (preferably one that doesn't involve my mother at every single turn) As Kahlil Gibran said, "let there be spaces in your togetherness"

I think I need more space and less togetherness. A condo it is!

When the Three-Way Mirror Becomes Your Friend

I never thought it would happen... truly, I didn't... but today, I actually stood in front of one of the dreaded department store mirrors and LIKED what I saw. Over the course of the last few years, I have lost 32 pounds and I am finally able to wear sizes that don't also appear in the Women's Department! I bought two new suits that don't look like gunny sacks or moo-moos! I actually looked like a professional business woman who's only 41, instead of like a fat, old frump!

I've also embarked upon a purging of the closets... tossing sizes with W behind them into a heap and gathering up everything with numbers that mark life events -- like driving, voting and buying beer!

What a glorious day indeed, when the mirror becomes your friend once again and what a startling sight to behold -- a closet with just two suits!

Those Wacky Virginia Senators

They've done it again! I just got this update from one of my Long Term Care brokers, notifying me of a bill the Virginia Senate has just passed, which will give people tax credits for Long Term Care premiums. A careful reading of the bill seems to indicate that this is much ado about nothing. Read on:

Virginia Senate Bill 786 was signed into law by the Governor and will take effect on July 1, 2006. The new law amends the state's tax code to provide a credit against individual income taxes for LTC insurance premiums paid on or after January 1, 2006. The amount of the credit for each taxable year equals 15% of the amount paid by the individual in LTC insurance premiums and is not to exceed over the life of any policy 15% of the amount of premiums paid for the first 12 months of coverage. If the credit exceeds the individual's income tax liability for the tax year, the excess amount can be carried over for credit against the income taxes of the individual for the next five years or until the credit is used, whichever comes first.

To claim the credit, the individual must attach to his individual income tax return proof of payment for the LTC insurance premiums.

-END OF SUMMARY-

Emphasis Mine

Now, is it just me, or does it say that all you'll ever get is 15% of the first year's premium? If you take the full credit the first year, you don't get any more credits. Am I missing something?

I'm going crazy... won't you come along?

I've stayed in the only comfortable position I can find (on my left side with a pillow between my knees) until I can't stay there any more. My left ear hurt so much, that I had to get up. So, I've been moving from desk to sofa to shower to bed (to make the muscle spasms stop) back to the desk (my office chair is relatively comfortable for five or ten minutes at a time). I feel like a caged lion.. pacing, pacing, pacing... and this damnable pain... the meds just take enough of the edge off to keep me out of tears... but it's constant, intractable... I feel as if I'm going insane.

I have an appointment with my doctor in about an hour. I'm hoping for some miracle drug... maybe a cortisone injection... something... anything to make this stop so that I can work. I just had to cancel two appointments that would have yielded several thousand dollars in commission because I simply cannot function... cannot drive... cannot sit... cannot sit anymore... have to pace...

I Believe in Miracles

Since learning of my dear friend's situation (see post entitled "Pain"), I have been communicating with all of my Prayer Warrior friends. I've been amazed at the encouraging words and unshakable faith of the (mostly) women who regularly come together in prayer before the Throne.

There was a period of time in my life when my faith was stronger -- a time when I was actually a prayer counselor for an international tele-evangelist. I received praise reports from so many callers who had joined together with other believers in claiming victory over death, disease, financial ruin and so many other things.

Just recently, I met a man who is a living testament to the power of faith over medicine. This man was born with Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus. His mother was told that he would not live to come home from the hospital -- but he did. Then, she was told that he would not live to be one -- but he proved them wrong. Then, she was told that he would be a vegetable, but instead he graduated high school. He's now 36 years old. He's able to care for himself, even though he's in a wheelchair. He is mildly delayed mentally, but is planning to move to a group home soon, where he'll have his own room!

When I met with his mother, she recounted the struggles she went through - almost taking her own life - when someone intervened and helped her through it all. This person led her to a personal relationship with God that transformed her life.

As I prayed for my friend today, the words of encouragement from a local prayer group echoed in my mind:

"Tell this mom that faith is believing the impossible. It is evidence of things not seen and believing that no matter what the test shows, no matter what the doctors say, this baby belongs to God, who knew him even before he took form in her womb. Speak life to this baby, declare that he will live in good health and he will not die. Stand on the word of God. He said that whatsoever you ask in my name and believe, that will I do. I want her to talk to Jacob Daniel - a powerful name they have chosen for him - talk to him all during the day and tell him that God has a purpose and a plan for his life and that he will fulfill it. God gave her this baby now she must believe God for him - speak life. Say what the Doctor said or found, say what the test results show but know this-when all else fails God is more than able to do exceedingly, abundantly above all that we could ever ask or think. He is the Lord God ALL MIGHTY."

So, I stood in the gap and spoke life to Jacob Daniel... I spoke healing to his head and his spine and his heart... and as I did so, I was overcome with emotion... I wept... I wept for this precious babe and his loving mother and father... and I wept for the faith that I have lost.

Once Upon a Tuesday Dreary...

while I pondered weak and weary...

It's been quite a day, bloggers. It started with my 9 am call to my doctor's office to get the results of my MRI. The nurse, who sounded like she was all of 15 years old, informed me that I had a herniated L5-S1 disc. "That's funny," I said, "I had that disc removed eight years ago." She spat and sputtered and didn't seem to know quite what to say. So, I gave her an assignment: "take this report to MY doctor (not one of the partners or one of the PAs) and have him call the radiologist for a new reading of the film."

When I went home for lunch, there was a message from dear, sweet Candy (not her real name, of course, but it fits). After hours of calling the poor radiologist everything from e to id, it turns out that our dear CANDY was the one who didn't know her butt from third base. She read the report wrong! I really have a herniated L4-L5 disc, with a narrowing of the disc space at L5-S1, indicative of a degenerative process (don't these guys ever read the patient profile? If he had, he would have known that there is NO DISC there to degenerate!). So, while this partly exonerates the radiologist, he's still scheduled to be dropped from my family and friends calling list, pronto!

So, as if that weren't bad enough, after going home to gulp down a pain pill and driving all the way across town in rush hour traffic to meet with a client, I've been stood up. I was worried about being a couple of minutes late because of a bad traffic accident and she didn't even bother to call to say she wasn't coming. Lovely!

Here I sit, in the agent's office, waiting for traffic to clear up a bit before hitting the road again. My Tramadol's working about half as well as I would like it to.

I think I'll go home and take an extra dose of muscle relaxers, wash them down with a bottle of wine and take a long, long nap. I don't have any appointments until after lunch tomorrow... can't hurt, right???

(How funny is it that spell checker keeps stopping on 'herniated' and giving me the option of changing it to 'urinated'? It must only be funny to people like me who spent several years peeing through a straw because of a herniation. Hysterical, this spell checker!)

Pain

Having been in constant pain for weeks now, I thought I'd reached the end of my rope -- I simply could NOT take it any more. Then, today, I learned of a tragedy that broke my heart and my pain seemed so superficial and silly and so BEARABLE.

Today I learned that a dear friend who has hoped and wished and prayed for a healthy child for years -- who has suffered three losses already -- and who was finally past the dreaded first trimester with her miracle baby... today, I learned that her precious baby boy may not live long enough to meet her. She received the devastating news that there are numerous abnormalities -- probably chromosomal in nature. The odds are not good and my heart is just breaking for her. Having lost several pregnancies myself, I know some of the pain... but to get to nearly 20 weeks and be dealt this blow... my mind just cannot comprehend the anguish she must be feeling.

Thoughts and prayers for strength and healing for my dear, dear friend.

======================================================

As for me, as if it really matters today, I'm scheduled for an MRI at 10:30 tonight. My back still hurts - especially when I sit for a while and then try to stand up. I'm walking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. What a dashing sight I make sweeping into a client's office! Yeah, I'd give me tens of thousands of dollars to fund MY buy/sell agreement! NOT!!!

Anyway, I'll update tomorrow on how it goes. I know I won't get any results tonight... it's just hurry up and wait for the doctors to decide what to do with me next.

Ugh!

Oh, I did get some better pain meds... Tramadol... it doesn't make me see monsters (did I tell you about that... hmmm... guess not). The other night, I took all of my meds before going to bed and woke up with these HORRENDOUS nightmares! There were monsters and spiders and things going bump in the night. I decided to ditch the painkillers and just stick with the muscle relaxers and prednisone. I finished the entire pack of the steroids, but it doesn't seem to have done much good.

Enough rambling from me... it doesn't seem to matter so much in the grand scheme of things anyway.

I swear, I think my heart stopped...

thankfully, I was in the ER. After struggling with back pain off and on since the week before the big show, I finally caved and called my doctor. The pain was shooting down my legs and I had burning and muscle spasms in my calves. Of course, it was a Friday and the only time they could see me was 20 minutes prior to a closing appointment I had that was worth five figures in commission -- so after the appointment, I went off to the ER (courtesy of the ex, who dropped me off at the curb and left me there). After a two hour wait (which I spent pacing because sitting was just EXCRUCIATING), I was taken back to a bed where I waited another hour -- alone. All I could think was, "If I have to have another back surgery, I'll go bankrupt. I can't afford to be out of work for a month. I'll have to move in with my parents. I'll be back to square one." And the tears escaped the corners of my eyes, despite my best efforts to contain them.

One of the reasons I decided to go to the ER and not a doc in a box was that I thought they'd give me an MRI and I'd be one step ahead of the game. I was amazed to learn that they will only give you an MRI for back pain when there is evidence of cord compression -- i.e. numbness, or the inability to pee or poop. Now, the last time I was in the ER for my back, I met all of those criterion. This time, however, I just got drugs... and that's where the title of this post comes in. They put in an IV and gave me Dilaudid, phenergan and a massive dose of steroids. When the Dialudid hit my system, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk, it felt like my throat was closing up and I panicked! The nurse told me that everyone reacts differently and that I must be uber sensitive. She took my BP and it was just 90/58, so I got to stay a little while longer. She told me that drug addicts live for the moment when the dilaudid hits their systems. I say they can have it! It scared the shit out of me!!! Of course, I felt like a wet noodle after I caught my breath and my heart started beating again! LOL

Anyway, I have to call my primary on Monday to get an MRI scheduled. For now, I'm on a cocktail of Hydrocodone, Robaxin and prednisolone (so you'll have to excuse any typos). Just pray that I don't have to have surgery. I'm not overly optimistic about my chances of avoiding it... because even on the drugs, I can't sit for more than five minutes... which are now up... so I'm signing off.

As American as Apple Pie is a Hit!

Critics are raving, people are saying...

"I haven't had this much fun in years!" ~Greta Snootytoot

"This is a top-notch group of performers... especially that belter... what's her name? Lauren something? WOW! Did they fly her in from New York just for this?" ~ Grizzy Grumpus

"HOLY COW! I had no idea there was this much talent right here in Great Bridge!" ~Mel Vance, Theatre Critic, the Great Bridge Post

"You should take this show on the road! I'm sure they'd love you in Peoria!" ~ Mr. Rich Britches

As you can see, last night's performance was a ROUSING success and a ton-o-fun! The whole crew headed to the local wing joint afterward for a celebratory libation and today, we get to do it all again! We raised over $3,000 for our choir's concert tour in Germany next summer (which is just fantastic!) and we expect to raise even more tonight.

Digital video and audio clips will be forthcoming in the next few days... so, keep those browsers pointed here!!!

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Any similarity to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental!

The Diva is BACK!

So, (damn, I sure start a lot of posts with that word... maybe I need to expand the vocabulary a bit)...

Take Two: Well, my faithful readers, tonight the Diva was in the house! We did a run-through of the show and, despite my unrest with my location and partner on the Irving Berlin medley, it seems I'm pretty much center stage for the rest of the show... it's almost embarrassing... okay, not really... I'm just trying to summon a shred of modesty.

It seems that the industrial strength bra I purchased today alleviated most of the bouncing booby problem (sorry to disappoint, Jack! LOL) and I even got some additional (special - just for me) choreography. Did I mention that I love to perform... yeah, I thought it might have come up a time or two.

Anyhooo... It's late and I'm exhausted... but it's a good kind of exhausted. This... THIS I could do every day... they wouldn't even have to pay me. Oh, to be a 40's Torch Singer...

The Curse of the Big Boobies

Oh, for the days of wearing Danskin leotards sans brassiere... they're long gone, I fear. Now, I'm strapped with 38DD honkers that just won't be still. I walk - they jiggle, I bounce - they bounce, I dance, they... well... they blacken my eyes if I'm not careful. I hate having big boobs... I didn't used to have them and one would have thought that my weight loss of over 20 pounds would have reduced their volume... but no such luck... my legs are skinny, my face is thin... but my boobs remain... only now more prominent because the belly beneath them has disappeared.

I just spent the last half hour standing in front of my mirror trying on every bra in my bureau and then jumping up and down (surely that would have made a great entry for America's Funniest Home Videos). The only one that even remotely tames them also causes the dreaded Uni-Boob phenomenon... one giant boob right in front. It's NOT attractive.

So, it's off to Sears tomorrow to see the bra fitter. I'm thinking perhaps cast iron or brass... If it worked for Brunhilda, surely it will work for me!!!

Broadway it Ain't!

Rehearsals for the upcoming cabaret are in full swing. I was feeling great about our group's sound -- we have a wonderful blend. We even have some nice solos. Well, tonight that all vanished -- poof -- went up in smoke. You see, tonight, we started adding choreography.

Now, that's no problem for me -- I was born dancing -- but for the vast majority of our ensemble, it's a MAJOR problem. You know the type: two left feet, rhythmically challenged, white men can't dance (or is it jump?). I ask you, if great dancers make bad ideas look good, what happens when you have awful dancers and mediocre ideas??? EEEGADS!!!

What ever made these people think that 60+ year old men and women should try to execute a uniform sway, or worse yet, do "Fosse"? And who, pray tell, EVER decided that I (one of the FEW who can walk and chew gum at the same time) should be coupled with an old man who has neither rhythm nor melody in his frail old frame and positioned at the farther-most point away from center stage? Who, I ask?

Ah... well, at least I have my solos.... and, well, we'll always have Paris.

(sigh)

A Brand New Day

Ah, what a difference a day makes. Last evening, my ex came over and brought me a brand-spanking new TV... told me "Happy Birthday -- a little early". Then, today, Wally-World (aka Wal-Mart) was having a sale on their camping air mattresses. I got a new one with a memory foam topper and a new pump for under $50. So, my Universe is a happier place today.

Now, for some Random Bullets of Crap:

• My back yard looks like the Thousand Islands - I still haven't been able to get it leveled and aerated enough to absorb the rainfall. I'll get there, though. Did I post about the butt-hole who came over to "re-grade" it for me and all he ended up doing was scraping off all of my top soil and packing down a bunch of clay? I swear I could have hosted Wimbledon back there. It may still take weeks to get it fixed and get some grass planted.
• I had another appointment cancel this morning. I don't know what it is with people. About 50 percent either don't show up for their appointments or cancel at the last minute. How inconsiderate! Anyway... I'm shooting for 100% of my remaining appointments for the week. I INTEND to meet with ALL of them... and I INTEND to meet my sales goal for the second quarter!
• So... Aras is the newest Survivor. Should have been Terry. Nuff said.

That's all from me for today. Make the day count!

Blue Funk

Happy @#%&* Mother's Day. NOT!

Warning: this is a pissy, pitty party of a post. Read at your own risk.

So... the tv's dead, my sales are in the toilet and now my $%&*)$ air mattress has a leak. By three o'clock this morning, my butt was hitting the box spring. I have neither the patience nor the money to purchase a new television or a new mattress and I'm pretty pissed off at the whole universe right now. I know this isn't the right way of thinking about things... I know that we attract into our lives those things on which we place our attention... but damned if I can remember contemplating not having a tv to watch or a bed to sleep on or even money to pay my bills.

Add to it all the fact that today is Mother's Day and everyone keeps wishing me Happy Mother's Day... thanks for the reminder of the one thing I'll NEVER be! Even today's scripture readings were like a kick in the gut: Blessed is the woman whose children and grandchildren praise her. Guess I'm in the "unblessed" line. Lovely.

Life Without

Yes, can I have my life without television, please? I don't remember asking for it, but that's what I've gotten this morning. I turned on CNN, as is my morning habit, and all of a sudden Tony Harris' face starts to distort... then the screen starts rolling... it fades to gray and then with a flash, the set goes black. My faithful Zenith has left me... bereft and floundering in a season finale frenzy.

My mind races... Sunday night is the season finale of West Wing AND Survivor... Shit! And what will happen with Dr. Brown and his neighbor on Everwood? And then there's American Idol (okay, I fell off the boycott wagon... so sue me!) Of course, now that Chris has gone bye-bye, I really don't care who wins that... as long as it's not Taylor! And the FINAL episode of Will & Grace...

So, after two months of abysmal sales, I start to calculate: maybe the mortgage company won't NOTICE if I skip a month... and if I use my AMEX to pay my Visa bill and my Discover to pay my AMEX and my Visa to pay my Discover, maybe I can afford to buy a new set! Not likely.

So, I'm left with the option of either sucking up to my friends and family who watch the same shows, or bar hopping until I find a friendly bartender who'll give me the remote! The sad thing is, this has made it abundantly apparent that this self-professed NON-TV addicted soul is in far deeper trouble than she ever imagined... it's an old song, with a new twist: I want my HDTV!

Happiness is...

As I prepare to leave town for a few days for a conference, the thoughts of leaving my puppy who worships the ground I walk on just breaks my heart. I've grown accustomed to him snuggling up to me every time I sit down... to his puppy kisses and his care-free, jubilant style of play. I often think that if I were half as joyful about my life as Caleb is about his that I would be the happiest person on earth. All he needs is a little food, a good chew toy and an occasional belly rub and he's so happy his entire body wags.

I'm reminded of the story of a frail elderly lady who, after losing her dear husband, was being admitted to a nursing home. As she was being led to her new room, her attendant was describing it for her. She exclaimed, "oh, I LOVE it!" The attendant said, "but you haven't even seen it yet!" Her response, "Oh, I don't need to see it to know that I love it. You see, happiness is something you decide on ahead of time."

Today, I have decided to be happy.

The Drive Home...

Retrograde Motion

Driving down the boulevard yesterday, I saw three very attractive young women in crack-hugging shorts and cleavage revealing t-shirts trying to entice male drivers into the local Hooters. The whole scene set the women's movement back a century. For so long, women fought to be seen as something more than sexual objects and baby-making machines... and here these young women stood, striking provocative pose after provocative pose... what a shame.

Intolerance

Two blocks away from the scene above, I see a pick-up truck bearing the following bumper sticker: "Kill 'em all -- Let Allah sort them out." This is the same grade of intolerance that defines the "Islamic extremists"... what a shame.

False Advertising

Another mile down the road, I nearly crashed my car at the site of a filling station with regular grade gas advertised for $2.92 per gallon. As I prepared to make a U-turn to go back, I realized that all of the Regular and Plus nozzles were covered with bags... they only had Premium for $3.19 per gallon. False advertising... what a shame.

Gas Wars

This morning, for about the hundreth time, I received the e-mail that encourages Americans to boycott American petroleum company ExxonMobil. For me, that's virtually an impossibility, because I've already boycotted foreign gas suppliers Citgo (Venezuelan), Shell (Dutch) and BP (British), in an effort to keep my dollars at home. That doesn't leave many other options, save the independents -- and I can't seem to find out where their gas comes from.

Perhaps I've become too much the nationalist here recently -- buying American whenever I can -- but given the significant impact that foreign products are having on my local economy (Norfolk Ford Plant to Close), I just can't see myself inflicting even the smallest of injuries to an American company. Perhaps I'm naive to think that my measly contributions to US companies could have even the slightest of impacts... but to sit idly by and watch industry after industry move overseas is frightening. We are already so dependent on foreign imports that our country could be paralyzed at the mere whim of a hostile nation.

I'm just saying...

Ohmmmmmmmmm

In an effort to reach a zen-like state and enhance my life experience, I have recently taken up meditation. The type of meditation I'm practicing (and I mean practicing, because I sure as hell haven't mastered it yet) is called Jappa meditation and it relies on sound to bring you into harmony with the universal energy. The sound for the morning meditation is "Ah". It is the sound of creation/pro-creation and manifestation. As pointed out by the instructor, the sound "ah" is a part of many of the different names for God, Allah, Buddah, Jehovah, etc. I do well for the first few minutes -- other than my obsession with matching the pitch of the man on the CD -- then, I find that I start to think about a zillion different things.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh... is my first appointment at 9 or 10? if it's at nine, I'd better cut this short and hop in the shower."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh... (affirmation - I am unlimited in my wealth -- all areas of my life are abundant and fulfilling)... I wonder when that case is going to be released for payment... I really need a check next week. Dang it -- concentrate, Lauren!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh... I am as successful as I make up my mind to be... I wonder if this stuff really works...

"Ahhhhhhhhhh... CRAP! I forgot to take the dog out -- I hope he hasn't peed on the carpet. Come on, Lauren, FOCUS, FOCUS!!!"

"Ahhhhhhhhh... hell, just forget it. I'm too ADD for this stuff!"

The nighttime meditation is working better... it's based on the "Ommmmm" sound... as in Shalom... or Peace. I actually manage to fall asleep doing this meditation. Somehow, I have the feeling I'm going to be a very peaceful person vibrating at odds with the universe and never fully manifesting the divine being that I am. Ah, well, that's life!

Blogger's Block

Sorry to have been away for so long, my faithful few! I must admit to staring quite blankly at the screen on several occasions thinking, "surely no one wants to hear these banal musings." I'm not entirely convinced that today's post is worth the bandwidth required to post it; however, I've determined that the only way to break through the block is to just DO IT!

Since last I posted, I have been cast in a dinner theatre show. It's small-time... mostly choral music with some solos and skits thrown in for good measure... and is being done as a fund-raiser for my choir's trip to Germany next year. I'm doing a couple of solos, a trio and a quartet. It's fun... and it's invigorating. I'd forgotten what a sense of wellbeing I get from being involved in creative endeavors -- especially where music is involved. I have to admit to a bit of nostalgic longing creeping in around the edges as well. I know there's no use in "if only, woulda, coulda, shoulda" talk, but I can't help but think what my life might have been had I taken the plunge and gone to New York against my mother's dire warnings of what the city would do to me. ("If you go to New York, they will CHEW you up and SPIT you out.") No good can come of these thoughts... so I try to banish them as soon as they appear.

At work, I closed my first quarter well short of my goal -- there will be no trip for me (at least not this quarter). I'm still working to hit the second quarter goal, but I'll have to practically triple my production. I'd much rather rehearse my music!

On the homefront, I'm planning some landscaping work for the spring -- if I can ever get the blinkin' contractors to return my calls. I have an appointment to have two trees removed and three others heavily pruned. Then, the back yard will be re-graded to alleviate the flooding problem and then a fence will go up. That should pretty well exhaust my home improvement budget for this year. Next year, I'll work on beautification!

Cheese and crackers, this is boring stuff!

Where's Paul Harvey when you need him?

I ask this because I (like my cyber-friend Kim) want to know the rest of the story on this Ports deal. It is a heaping pile of fertilizer that gives off a pungent odor, if you ask me.

I don't usually go on about politics on my site -- I have readers from both sides of the aisle -- some with very strong opinions I don't happen to share and I hate to argue! It's like my grandpa used to say, "never discuss politics or religion in polite company -- it's a sure-fire way to end friendships." This, however, has me feeling sick to my stomach. I have this sinking, gnawing feeling in my gut that this proposed deal is inextricably tied to the escalating nuclear "crisis" in Iran. If I didn't know better (do I know better?) I'd say that GW is trying to buy us an ally in the region so he can be properly positioned to strike when the time comes (and I believe the time IS coming... the war mongers are already beating their chests and making threats).

If this administration gets us into another conflict, I'm afraid I might just join the ranks of those with whom I've rarely agreed before and call for an impeachment hearing. We, the mighty Americans, who have weapons of mass destruction at our disposal... the ONLY nation that has ever used them against an enemy... we, the mighty, get to decide what free nations can do within their own borders, for their own protection? How is that fostering Democracy? And is it worth American lives to simply delay the inevitable? If a nation wants to develop these weapons, they'll figure out a way... be it now or AFTER we've blown up their cities and killed their families. Hmmm... I think they'd be more dangerous AFTER, don't you?

Can of Worms

Yesterday, I opened a can of worms. It was not my intent to open a can of worms... I don't particularly like worms in cans... I think they belong in the ground, tilling the soil and doing what worms do... but however inadvertently, open a can of worms I did.

I was having a conversation with a customer in his late-40's who seemed to feel that his $80k per year salary could be replaced with a $150,000 life insurance policy if he died. In trying to get him to understand that we are none promised a tomorrow, I mentioned the untimely death of Dana Reeve. The sermon that ensued set me back on my heels and I was so stunned that I could hardly speak.

Customer: "Well, I have religious issues with her and that husband of hers. The fact that they want to take stem cells from embryos and practically grow them as a crop to be harvested is just wrong" and on and on and on he went about the "evil" that Dana and Christopher perpetrated.

It sounded to my ears almost as if he was saying that the reason they both died was because of their beliefs about embryonic stem cell research. Surely that cannot be? Surely there are not people in this world who believe that God metes out a death sentence to those who dare push the bounds of science in an effort to save and restore lives.

Now, far be it from me to get into the bio-ethics of a concept so complicated -- that's not my intent here. I just never thought that in the course of doing business I would come face to face with such vehement, vitriolic "stuff" -- and this from a self-professed "man of God."

I guess I should consider the source, as this came from a man who referred to the prospectus for his funds as a precipitous.

Women

Overheard in a restaurant... (woman in her 60's talking to younger woman in her 40's):
"There are days when my husband is the perfect justification for why there are lesbians in this world."

I chuckled to myself when I heard this... and then I thought about it... and it made me wonder...

My best friends have always been gay men. I've never particularly gotten along with women -- especially groups of women -- whom I usually find to be petty, small and boring -- so that would seem to exclude me as a lesbian from the get-go. My most engaging and interesting relationships have been with my single female friends, gay men and older women whose children are grown and gone -- women who have outside interests like theatre, music and intellectual pursuits. Perhaps because I am childless, I am at a disadvantage with most women my age who talk about their kids ad nauseum and complain about their husbands daily. Neither subject interests me in the least.

But back to the lesbian thing... I notice that more often than not I am drawn to the female form. A recent example is this season's Dancing With the Stars -- I was completely enamored of Stacy Keibler and couldn't have given a rat's (*) about any of the men -- even the professional dancers. I remember watching Cider House Rules and saying out loud for my soon-to-be-ex to hear, "That is the most exquisite female body I have ever seen" as a nude Charlize Theron stretched out across the bed.

Maybe my newly acquired single status is getting to me... maybe I've had enough disappointments with straight men to last a lifetime... maybe it's nothing and maybe I'm just a well-adjusted hetero who is secure enough to appreciate beauty when she sees it... but I remember well the night in college when my best friend and I -- a little drunk and a little curious -- left the bar and headed back to the dorm where we pushed together two twin beds. Had she not had a serious boyfriend at the time, I think that something might actually have happened beyond passing out in each others' arms. I loved her -- that's for sure -- I still do -- I always will -- but she's one of my dearest friends, married with seven kids.

I know this is probably a shocking revelation for some of you who've known me on the "Trying to Conceive" and "TTC after miscarriage" boards. I don't know if there's anything to it... the statement just got me thinking. Tomorrow I'll probably be done with the inquiry. I have to say, however, that there's still something about a nice, hard... well... never mind (blush).

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

Last night, I visited a friend who lives in an apartment. As we sat watching a movie, suddenly, I hear shrieking, screaming, and the sound of violence from the apartment below. Immediately, I got a knot in my stomach... I think any woman who's experienced domestic violence does. I wondered at the choice to mute the television and listen to the exchange happening in the adjacent apartment... as the violence escalated, the child in the apartment started to cry and I heard the mother pleading, as if to prevent her child from being harmed. I urged my friend to call the police and was sickened at the response, "They fight all the time. I don't want to get involved." My mind was reeling... I heard what sounded like someone being forced up against a wall... a thud of human flesh against a solid surface... a sound I've heard before... an impact I've felt. I came unglued. I couldn't believe that we were sitting just yards away listening as if to the Sunday Night Movie of the Week and doing absolutely NOTHING.

Finally, reluctantly, my friend called 911. The police arrived and we heard them knock on the door. Within a few minutes they were gone -- things were quiet, save the muffled sobs of the woman wafting through the vents. Had our intervention accomplished anything? Were we right to call the police? I don't know... but I DO know that I view my friend much differently now... someone whose only thought was of the possibility of retaliation for being a "whistle blower." My only thought was that, if just for one night, mother and child were okay... I just wish I could tell her that it doesn't have to be this way... that she deserves better... that no one has the right to hit her or hurt her in any way. Her wracked sobs echo in my mind, "I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything..." and my heart breaks for her.

A bit o' fun for this balmy Thursday...

79 doesn't sound so bad... that's almost a whole 'nother life... plus, I really don't want to get TOO old.

A Sister for Caleb

I'm in a quandary today. A colleague took me to see a litter of miniature poodle puppies this week from the same mother as one of her pups. Her dog completely changed my opinion of poodles -- a breed I've never been particularly fond of. The puppies are adorable and, being my usual impulsive self, I put down a deposit on one of the little girls. Now I'm having second thoughts. Housebreaking a puppy while working 6 days a week and struggling with health issues and an irregular income stream... what was I thinking? Well, I was thinking that giving Caleb a little brother or sister would make his lonely days less so... but is leaving TWO dogs alone all day any better? Wouldn't the puppy be better off with a SAHM and some kids? Or maybe a retired couple who will love and pamper and cuddle it all day long? Is my guilt at leaving my beloved Caleb home alone clouding my judgment? Is that being MAGNIFIED by the cute factor of the pups? (Did I SAY how adorable the puppies were... Oh. My. Gosh. They're just precious -- this is what they'll look like in a few weeks) Is it possible to love TWO dogs as much as I love Caleb?

Oh, the questions... the sheer magnitude of the decision... I'm overwhelmed.

Cut to the Quick

Your best friend

The one you tell everything

The one who knows you best

The one who holds your heart in her hand

Can crush you with her words

Can shatter your dreams

Your worst enemy.

(c) L.M.B. 2006

All rights reserved

Yesterday, my best friend hurt me so deeply that I find myself floundering in a sea of mixed emotions. I am angry, I am hurt -- wounded to the very core of my being at her thoughtless, cutting words -- and yet I am unable to imagine my life without her in it. I want to lash out -- to say the things that love has never allowed me to say to her -- to lay low her dreams as she has mine... but what would that accomplish, save having her feel first-hand the pain she has caused me? I want to let it go... to move on... but I can't get past one question: why? Why would this woman I love so deeply, to whom I am connected not just by friendship, but by blood, betray me? Perhaps I will never understand. For now, I'm just keeping my distance... licking my wounds and wondering if we'll ever get back to where we were before this happened. The trust that took nearly twenty years to restore was destroyed with just six venomous words. That venom, though not fatal, courses through my veins, tainting heart and mind and spirit.

Married on Weekends

I have a friend who shares a unique relationship with her husband. He lives in another town -- about three hours away (he moved there for a job opportunity) and they only see each other on weekends and special occasions. They vacation together, they chat online during the week, they go to one another's company Christmas party. They're still legally married, with all of its benefits and tax advantages, yet sometimes they'll go a month or so without seeing one another. It seems to be working quite nicely for them. They're faithful to one another and have no plans to change their current situation.

She says that the sex is better than it ever was when they were living together -- kind of like early dating sex, where you can't wait to get one another's clothes off and then can't get enough of each other. She says the relationship is like getting the prize in the box of cereal without having to dig through the whole box to find it... she shares all of the good stuff with him and then they each go to their own homes and live the way they want to. Her home is decorated in French Country, his contemporary; she's a neat freak, he's a slob; she's a vegetarian, he's a steak and 'taters kinda guy; she loves opera, he loves Jazz; he lets the dogs sleep on the bed, she'd never hear of such a thing. All of the little annoyances of living under the same roof have been removed and all that's left is the good stuff. It's probably not for everyone, but it has me thinking... married on weekends... what a concept!

Black is Beautiful!

I just finished my 2005 taxes and I'm happy and ASTONISHED to tell you that I'm actually in the black this year! I was afraid that self-employment taxes would chew me a new one -- but thanks to the fact that I was a statutory employee for much of the year, it turns out that I don't owe any self-employment tax! (The reasons for that are sad -- I posted a loss for the year -- but at least I don't have to dole any moolah out to Uncle!) SE taxes will be a regular part of my existence for 2006, but today I'm celebrating a year of HAPPY RETURNS!

I think I'll celebrate with a bottle of bubbly and a nice hot bath... a little jazz on the stereo and some scented candles... yeah, that's the ticket!

Live and Let Live, except...

I'm pretty much a live and let live kinda gal -- except where rodents are concerned. It's not that I don't think little mice are cute -- they are -- but they're also NASTY and they carry diseases. Why is this important? Well, I partner with four agencies in my area and one of the agents is a member of PETA. Therefore, she will not do anything to get rid of the mice in her office, save trying to trap them and "humanely relocate them". This has resulted in quite a nice sized family of the critters taking up residence in this office (which, by the way, is FILTHY to begin with).

It's enough that I have to put up with the cigarette smoke, the dirty dishes in the bathroom sink, the smell of dog urine on the carpet, but I simply draw the line when, upon opening the microwave to heat up my lunch, I'm faced with...

MOUSE TURDS...

I tell you, I nearly tossed my cookies right then and there. Surely this has to be a health code violation. When does one draw the line? When does the hazard outweigh the income potential? And this woman wanted me to bring MY puppy in here today to play with HER puppy. I don't want my baby dining on mouse turds! ACK!

My skin's still crawling... I have to get out of here and go somewhere clean... preferably starting with a hazmat decontamination shower!!!!!

An Odd Compulsion

For the past 48 hours, I have felt compelled to set my affairs in order -- to write down my final wishes -- to appoint my executors and divvy up my goods. I can't explain this compulsion -- I'm not ill, I have no desire or plan to end my own life and I know of no plots against me... but not since the day of my grandfather's death have I felt such a compelling need to get something DONE. On that day, I was scheduled to attend a conference and I could NOT bring myself to leave the house. The prevailing thought in my mind on that day was, "I have to get my house in order" -- so I cleaned and did laundry and waited -- until finally the phone rang and my mother's voice on the other end made it all clear... my grandfather was gone.

So, this morning, I completed the document. My wishes have been made clear, my plans laid forth -- now I just need to get someone to witness my signature. I hope that I'll have a good laugh about this in a few months' time.

Funeral Reunions

It seems as we grow older that we often times only see our childhood friends when someone dies -- as our parents and grandparents pass, we all gather together, reminisce for a while and lament the fact that we only see each other at funeral homes and graveyards. Tonight was such a night... pictures of fifty years of marriage, children, grandchildren, memories shared... promises to keep in touch that will likely not be kept as we all get back to our busy lives. Still, it's nice, if even for a moment, to revisit those carefree childhood days... to laugh about our silly Halloween costumes, who believed in Santa the longest and to smile at the embarrassing tales told so often that we all know them by heart. Each death brings us all closer to our own mortality, which makes these forays into our childhood all the more welcomed.

Grace

Let me preface this post by saying that I don't think of myself as a "religious" person -- but I am a spiritual person. I'm also a musician and I express my spirituality by joining voices with other musicians in a choir -- a choir that presents beautiful expressions of God inside a church. Perhaps it's hypocritical of me -- because I obviously do not hold to all of the tenets of this particular church, as you will read below -- but the music draws me there and I find a connection with my Source within its soaring descants.

That being said, today's sermon was on grace...

Pronunciation: 'grAs
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old French, from Latin gratia favor, charm, thanks, from gratus pleasing, grateful; akin to Sanskrit grnAti 'he praises'


Webster's defines grace as 'unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification -- a virtue coming from God -- a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace.'


Also, (2) disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency -- a temporary exemption : REPRIEVE


Synonyms are APPROVAL, FAVOR, MERCY, PARDON

The New Testament reading was from Romans and the Hymn of Praise was Amazing Grace. I have to admit that the concept of grace is beautiful -- regardless of our sins, God loves us and forgives us. Isn't that what parents do? I think of the grace my parents have shown me... the grace I have shown others and others have shown me... but I get stuck on the whole "wretchedness of man" and "original sin" concept. I've always had trouble with that. You see, I believe that our energy (essence, soul, spirit) comes from the source of all energy (God -- "and God created man in His image and likeness and breathed life into his nostrils") and if that is the case, then man is NOT wretched simply because he exists... he is wretched when he exists out of harmony with his Source. I think that we are born with everything we need to exist in harmony with our Source and we spend our lives moving away from that knowledge with which we're born.

While I believe that we need to practice the art of grace (2nd definition) in our lives, I'm more inclined to believe that our 'salvation' if you will, comes from the knowledge of our Source and our willingness to become one with it (Him). Perhaps the path is similar -- turning away from things that take us away from our Source and concentrating our energy on being in harmony with that Source (turn from your sinful ways and follow God)... I just choose to believe that God did not create weak and wretched creatures, but beautiful, graceful expressions of Himself.

And it's a hit... hard and fast into left field...

Today something happened to me that hasn't happened for, oh, about six years... In fact, it's been so long, I wasn't entirely convinced that what I thought had happened had really happened. Meeting with a new client for the second time today, we exchanged small talk while I finished up some paperwork and made copies for him to take with him. As he left the office, he turned to me and said, "give me a call if you're ever down at the beach and we can meet for lunch." I stood there wondering if this was just a friendly gesture, or if he really was hitting on me. I mumbled something like, "yeah, I just might do that", which in retrospect and IF he indeed WAS hitting on me, was a green light answer, wasn't it? (Stupid, stupid me... I'm not the least bit interested, but was caught so off guard that I didn't know WHAT to say.)

At any rate, I ran the scenario by a few folks and asked for their thoughts... it was unanimous, "it was definitely a hit." I guess I've grown to think of myself as 'unavailable' and I really never gave a moment's consideration to how I might respond if someone showed an interest in me -- mostly because I didn't really think anyone would! I mean, I know I'm smart and can manage to be funny on occasion -- but I just don't think of myself as attractive to the opposite sex any more. Weird, huh? So, anyway, what do I do now????? I have to meet him again to deliver the policy. I'm leaning toward just pretending that it didn't happen. I'm quite the ostrich that way.

Oh, and did I happen to mention that he's SIX YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME?!? I don't know if he likes older women or if he thinks I'm younger than I really am. I'd prefer to think it's the latter, of course! LOL

Scenes from the Road

At seven this morning, I pulled out of the drive into a foggy street. My trip was filled with wonderful sights:

The morning sun reflecting off the water of the James River, while off in the distance, buoys were shrouded by silver fog.

The approach of the hills near Charlottesville... bare trees appearing like ghostly figures reaching out of the fog, as if to grab a passer-by and detain them.

The Jeffersonian, Colonial revival, neo-Jeffersonian or Greek Revival architecture prominent throughout the city... the stately buildings of THE University (as it's called here in the Commonwealth), with students scurrying to and fro.

Silver trees lining the roadway kissed by the descending orb of the sun... shimmering one moment and appearing as clouds of dusky smoke the next.

The waters of the James River at sunset -- silver with the reflection of the full moon and met by a dark, royal purple horizon, topped by pink and pale turquoise bands. It was truly stunning and made up for the image of the trucker who, when I passed him on the road, honked his horn, flashed his lights and then pulled up his t-shirt, grabbed his right titty and jiggled it at me... I swear, he needed a man-bra.

First Mouse

Standing at the barre is a ten-year-old girl in a black leotard and pink tights and shoes.
She watches intently as the regal Romanian prima ballerina leads the class...
First position, plie', second position, third, fourth, fifth, rond de jambe a terre
The instructor passes by and nods approval

The move to the floor brings the adagio, with developpe's and promenades in arabesque, attitude and passe'. At the end of class, the order at the barre is set for the following week and the girl is pleased to find herself in third position -- a real honor for one so young.

Finally, the day comes when roles for the annual production of the Nutcracker will be announced. The girl stands at the barre chewing her lip - a habit that annoys her instructors, but which she cannot seem to break. First comes the chorus of mice... the names are called and she waits... but does not hear her own. Her heart sinks. Then comes the announcement of the fourth mouse pair, the third, second and finally the first mouse pair. Everyone is staring at her... why is everyone staring at her? In a thick Romanian accent, her name is called again... she is a First Mouse! In her first year with the company, the girl has gotten a role, instead of being relegated to the chorus. She dances a little jig and tries not to be too proud of her accomplishment.

The part of the First Mouse is not extensive -- it consists of a ballet run to center stage to meet the other First Mouse, a furtive mouse-like gesture, a scurry back four steps, a turn and another mouse-like gesture, followed by a ballet run to the wings. Rehearsals are perfect, dress rehearsal is perfect and finally the night of the performance arrives.

The girl waits in the wings for her cue... she runs to center stage, makes her gesture and runs off... from the wings, she sees her partner executing the second mouse-like gesture and tears spring to her eyes. She has failed. Surely, she will never dance again.

And God Brought Forth Order from the Chaos...

Today, I decided to work in my office -- to get organized for the New Year. I'd been lax in my administrative duties and was beginning to have trouble locating documents and information. So, I started by gathering up all of the piles of papers and folders from around the house and emptying the closet of all of the boxes (the ones that have been sitting there since June of 2002 when I moved in -- no sense getting in a hurry about these things). Once these were all stacked about the room, I was horrified to see that there was barely a path from the door to my desk -- a fact over which I teased my mother mercilessly just the day before in her office.

Refusing to accept this as my fate (my mother's office has looked like this for years), I rolled up my sleeves and started to work. I began by bringing in the industrial sized garbage bags and firing up the shredder. There were electric bills from 1990, cell phone bills and instruction manuals for phones that are long gone, nearly every pay stub I'd ever received, college papers, letters home, birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentines and Easter cards. I found my English Lit book, my History of Western Music, my biology text book, my horticulture lab notes, theatre reviews, poetry, year books and journals -- all of which just extended the processing time, because, of course, I had to flip through them all!

After 10 hours of sorting, shredding, filing, consolidating and arranging, I have completed about 75% of my office project. I hauled out two -- yes TWO -- industrial sized garbage bags of shredded documents, junk mail and assorted papers and set up files for all of the remaining documents. All of my books are arranged by subject matter and size and EVERYTHING is labeled. (This was just standard operating procedure before I met my ex... for some reason, being married to him put an end to my penchant for organization.)

Since I no longer make resolutions, let me just make this PROMISE: NEVER AGAIN! I have put a sorter tray on top of the supply chest labeled, "SHRED." All junk mail and credit card offers will be destroyed immediately and I refuse to keep more than two years worth of receipts and seven years of taxes on file. (I had tax returns dating back to 1981 -- my very first job -- of course I had to keep that one!) I have also (gasp) thrown away all of the Christmas cards I received this year and all of the ones from years past, save a few special ones from my parents. Surely this is a major step in the right direction. Now, if I could only bring myself to get rid of my high school Spanish tests! ?Por qué?

What the *Bleep*?

Today I find myself in an internal dialogue about the nature of and the hypocrisy surrounding cursing. You see, I offended the sensibilities of a card-carrying member of the WMU by saying the word 'shit' in the office.

I have to say that I am vexed by people who feel that there is some vast difference between heck and hell, dang and damn, crap and shit and by those who invent all manner of alternate curse words... like dag-nab-it, cheese-and-crackers, gol-darned, crumbs, fudge, shoot, dookie and myriad other exclamations.

My theory is that the intent, emotion and underlying meaning are all the same... only you're using a different set of vowels and consonants. For example: someone crashes a grocery cart into your new car -- you have a plethora of options ranging from fuck to fudge-sticks -- but the meaning is the same, "someone crashed a grocery cart into my new car and I'm mad!" I find it hypocritical to wring one's hands over word choice, when the real issue is the ability to control one's reactions to adverse events. The issue isn't foul words versus frilly alternatives, but anger versus acceptance.

I ask you, is someone who chooses pretty words to express anger, rage, disgust, displeasure or frustration any better than the one who chooses words which match the feeling? Aren't they feeling the same thing? It's the heart of the matter, I say. What say you, bloggers?

Getting Old Sucks

Since turning 40, it seems that my body is just falling apart... what with my immune system attacking itself, a hole in my eyeball, an upper respiratory infection that's been hanging around for weeks, and now an abnormal "nevus" that will require some cutting and stitches, I just feel like my body is rebelling against me.

Isn't it bad enough that the laugh lines and crows feet are making their appearance?
Or that things that used to point up are now... well, NOT.
Shouldn't it be considered payment in full that cellulite has taken up permanent residence on my derriere and that the mere sight of cheesecake makes my pants get tighter?
I shudder to think what new milestones await me... what joys of maturity.

I'd often heard it said that getting old sucks... I just didn't think it would start sucking quite so soon!