Living Vicariously Thru...

Taking Up Hope and Giving Up Weakness

2010-06-09T19:36:00.003-05:00

As I write this I am exhausted but I know not nearly as exhausted as some who enjoyed last night's Reading, Writing, and Rhythm concert with me. It's a concert Chely Wright puts on each year to raise money for schools and this year it was for one of our local elementary schools that lost everything in the flood...nothing but walls standing. It was an awesome night started by a silent auction and then lots of performers. Buxton Hughes, Jamey Johnson, SHeDAISY, Justin Moore, Bucky Covington, and special guest, Trisha Yearwood. However, aside from Chely, the real special guest for me was Jann Arden. I became a Jann Arden fan in college, 1994. She is a wonderful singer and songwriter and has written a couple books, too. Her humor is OFF THE CHARTS! She is just so dry and extraordinary.

Some of you know that I used to work at Opryland and then for the Grand Ole Opry. I've been around many music stars, talked to them, escorted them, wanted to slap some of them... I have never been star struck. In Nashville, it is very common to run into a singer in the grocery store or mall. The only fan club I was ever in until now was the Judds, in high school. I actually sent a tape cover to their fan club with a self addressed stamped envelope, along with a letter asking for an autograph. Months later, after forgetting about it, I actually got it back and was thrilled!

I ended up moving to Nashville, attending school to be a publicist, but secretly only wanting to drive a tour bus or sell t-shirts. I hated school and that's when I went to Opryland to work and eventually the Grand Ole Opry. To this day, it was the most interesting, exciting job I ever had. Sure beats the engineering world I'm in now.

Anyway, I went all the way around that to say this. I had hoped to meet Jann Arden last night to tell her that a couple of my Twitter peeps want to be on her radio show. I don't even know their real names but their creativity and enthusiasm is catchy. I didn't get to meet Jann but the most amazing thing happened when I returned home at 2:30 this morning. I opened my email and I had a message that she was now following me on Twitter. How cool is that? Again, I do not get star struck but that was effin' awesome! I am honored.

Back to not being star struck..... Several of my friends had come with my mom to visit me here in Nashville in 1995. They were doing the whole tourist thing and one of them was hanging out the window with a video camera while stopped at a traffic light on Music Row. This pretty young girl pulls up beside us in a Saturn and starts talking to us. She tells us her name is Chely Wright and we should go buy her tape at K-Mart. She talked to us until the light turned green, and while it was cool, we really didn't believe what we had heard. Eventually we made it to K-Mart and sure enough, it was Chely Wright, and on that day she made a carload of fans.
Aside from seeing her backstage during my Opry employment I never met her again until a couple weeks ago at a book signing. And you know what? I was star struck. I told her the story and she remembered the car. But what else I told her, I can barely remember. You know in "Notting Hill" when Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts for the first time and he says it was surreal? That's exactly how I felt. I couldn't tell anyone because I couldn't remember the moment myself!
Anyway, I thought when I met Chely again last night I would be much cooler and know exactly what and how I wanted to say it. Nope, choked again. Aside from explaining an "agape" tattoo, I did get out that I was very thankful she didn't pull the trigger. She said, "I'm glad you're glad I'm still around." Honey, you have no idea.

Again, I'm not going into deep thoughts in my notes, they are best saved for personal conversations, but I'm using a line from Jann Arden's song "Free" to title this note... I'm taking up hope and giving up weakness. I'm using the lyric as a testament to the life of a wonderful woman who has changed so many people's lives by saving her own.

Peace my peeps

Lamenting A Brother

2010-04-03T09:00:00.003-05:00

On Sunday, April 4, 1993 my world changed.

It was the typical Sunday morning. I attended church and afterwards dropped my friend Lee off, then rushed to the nearest mall. There was a pair of shorts I just had to have at Champs and I knew I had a short time to get to the mall and get home before my mom did. I would catch her wrath for spending the money and going to the mall period, so I had to make it quick. I rushed back only to see cars parked in front of our house and for a very short moment I wondered if we were supposed to have company.
I pulled around the back and there was a man in a Marine uniform standing beside a white 15 passenger van. I don't even remember what my first thought was but when I stepped out of my car, and he asked if I was Jennifer, I knew something was very wrong. He told me I needed to go inside and see my mother.
I ran to the door and as I opened it and stepped in I saw my pastor standing at our dining room table. He told me my brother had been killed in a car accident and grabbed me in a strong embrace. I remember screaming "No!" and I heard my mother screaming in the hallway. She came in the kitchen and grabbed me, crying, "Billy is gone."
That moment was so unreal. I remember thinking,"this cannot be happening".

Our community was very small so it didn't take long for the word to get out about my brother's death. In what seemed like minutes hundreds of people were coming in and out of our home. I remember standing at the back sliding glass door, staring out, and hearing those behind me saying I was in shock. Maybe I was. I was heartbroken. I was angry. I was absolutely crushed. The person who had been with me since the womb was gone.

To those that don't know, Billy and I were twins. My mom, nor her doctor, knew she was pregnant with twins. It wasn't until her blood pressure dropped dangerously low and the nurse screamed to the doctor that there was another one that anyone knew. Thru all the tests available in those days, there was only one heartbeat ever heard. Unexplainable.

Billy and I were constant companions. When we lived in South Florida we were always seen riding our bikes and building forts; skateboarding; swimming until we looked like little Latino raisins; playing ball; wrestling....you name it and we were doing it together. When we moved to Central Florida we became even closer because there weren't many kids around to play with. We had to be very creative out "in the country". We were city kids, used to lots of other kids and open streets....not cow patties and barbed wire. We had to keep each other entertained. He taught me how to ride our dirt bike and how to shoot his B-B gun....he even shot me with it once.

Our childhood went by so fast and before we knew it we were driving. At that age we weren't so close, unless he had brought a handful of his friends over and wanted me to make hamburgers and fries for them....then I was his best friend again. He had all his beautiful girlfriends and buddies to keep him busy. I was busy playing softball, working a part-time job, and hanging out with my own set of friends. All we really seemed to talk about was what route each of us would take on the way to school and then race each other to get there. He always seemed to win even though I had the faster car. I let him win. ;o) And of course, when he would come home at night and ask for his messages....the girls really liked him.

Next thing we knew graduation was upon us. He had decided to join the Marine Corps and I was headed back to South Florida for college. We didn't see much of each other but wrote one another often, or when Mom would get on us to write each other.
He really enjoyed the Marines and I was hating college so I moved back home in December '91. I couldn't have made a better decision, for over the next year I would develop some incredible friendships; those that would make what was soon to happen a little easier to bear.

I remember the last time I saw Billy. He had come home to buy a new truck and I went with him to the dealership to pick it up. I'll never forget riding home with him, looking out the side window, crying. I remember worrying that he would be sent off somewhere and having this awful feeling that I may never see him again. He didn't see the tears falling...thank God. He would leave within a couple days to go back to North Carolina and as it turned out, my greatest fear came true.
In March '93 one of our great uncles passed away and Mom didn't want to tell Billy because she knew he would drive home for the funeral. She was and still is always worried about us traveling. When Billy found out he missed the funeral he was so upset. I remember talking to him on the phone, explaining what happened and why we didn't tell him. That was the last time we ever spoke. Who knew?

In less than a month he was gone.

While standing at the sliding glass door that Sunday afternoon our whole lives went thru my head. I relived our last moments together and the last conversation we had. I thought this was so very wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen in our family. My mom had already endured such a terrible marriage and now I was wondering how God could possibly put this tragedy on her.

Over the next few days those incredible friends I had wouldn't leave my side. My Mom had friends constantly with her, as well. They would stay the night with us so that we wouldn't be alone. I remember listening to my Mother weeping in the middle of the night and wondering how in the world she would ever get through this.

April 8 was the day of the funeral. I had asked to pick a few songs that would play as people filled the church and one of those songs was "Heaven" by Michael English. I had listened to that song many times in the months before Billy's death for no other reason than its beauty. I ask that each of you who read this note get that song on your iPods and listen to it. It is a beautiful, peaceful song.
I remember sitting at the service between my Uncle Ken and Aaron, one of Billy's closest friends who had joined the Marines with him. My cousin, Todd, gave the eulogy and while I'm sure it was beautiful, all I remember during that time was praying, "help me be strong". Before the end of the service I was to place the last letter I had written to Billy in his casket. I needed to be strong for that moment...I needed to be strong for my Mom.
I can tell you everything about that week but I cannot tell you what was in that letter. I do know it was everything that I carry in my heart.

I share these moments with you because so many of you knew Billy. So many of you shared with me that week that is forever engraved in my memory.
I've often wondered why there was only one heartbeat ever heard during my Mom's pregnancy. Sometimes I get carried away in my thoughts and think that God put me there at the last minute because Mom would need me. Sometimes I think that it's because Billy and I were one even before birth.
It's been 17 years and aside from only seeing him in pictures and very often in my dreams, it's like he's never been gone. I guess that's because we really did share one heartbeat and it still beats in me.

Beauty and the Beasts

2010-03-30T21:21:00.001-05:00

I've mentioned in my notes before how I'm the only woman in a department of men. Fact is, in my building there are only 7 women and a little more than 100 men. Some optimists may think those are incredible odds for a woman looking to get a little lucky.
Not.

I'll be the first to admit there are some lookers (well, maybe 4 or 5) and I do my share of flirting but the majority are funk-E and/or neurotic. Let me share an example of each demonstrated to me just today.

The first example is that of funk-E. This guy comes in my office today and wants to ask me a few questions about some work I do. He pulls up a chair beside mine so that I can show him some examples and suddenly I feel that he is much too close and within my personal comfort zone. I take a deep breath and decide to tough it out. It's close to lunch time and he shouldn't be around very long.
As I'm explaining a process he starts to dig in his ear. I'm used to these men burping and making odd noises with their bodies so this digging didn't really take too much of my attention.....UNTIL he took whatever it was he was digging for and flicked it on my floor. I just looked at him. No, I'm pretty sure I was looking thru him. He just kept on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
It's one thing to do that in the privacy of your own office but to do that in front of someone else, and to flick the evidence on the floor is funk-E.

The second example happened this afternoon when the most neurotic person I know came to my office. He too pulled up a chair right beside me, invading my comfort zone. The difference with this man and the other is this guy smells really nice and dresses really sharp. However, scent and fashion cannot help those that suffer from this disorder.
He asked me the most simple question. I gave him the most simple answer, one that I had been answering the same way for the past 10 years. He stood up, put his chair back, and WENT OFF. I'm sure there was pure disbelief on my face but my mind was rapping a Will Smith song....swallow your pride, don't let your lip react, you don't want to see my hand where my hip be at.....

He continued to rant for about two minutes when he made the most incredible statement. "I looked for that for four hours today!" Keep in mind his voice is loud and rising. If I wasn't already aware of his neurosis condition I would have sworn he was yelling at me, but I know better. Let me rephrase...HE KNOWS BETTER.
I asked him why he didn't come ask me this question when he first started his search and he responded by yelling and shaking his fist, "There is nothing I hate worse than asking for help!"

My previous look of disbelief was overtaken by a smile. A very large smile. Actually, it was probably a smirk that he wanted to slap the sh*t out. I then calmly stated, "You are such a man."
And as a man would do, he stood there and fed me a line of crap about how he intends to make my job easier.
I wanted to let him know that there is help available, whether it is in the form of a licensed professional or by simply asking me before wasting half his day on his ego.
Men....

Peace my peeps

Changing The Drapes And Ripping Out The Carpet

2010-03-13T10:48:00.000-06:00

Warning: This note may embarrass.

Drapes.....the hair on our head.
So many of us color our hair. I've been highlighting mine for years and recently decided I wanted to go back to my natural brown color. I had it changed back to brown a couple weeks ago and absolutely love it! I was very unsure at first because I've heard so much over the years how good highlights look on me. I have to say that I feel as if I look younger with just the brown color and have had just as many compliments in this short time as I did with my highlights. Shout out to Leslie, my beautician.

That is me changing the drapes. Now it's time to rip out my carpet.

Carpet....hair below the belt.
I've taken on an ideal that I can't write about the things I don't know anything about so I have to experience them first. The sad thing is, the things I actually know about....I can't write anyway due to who my readers are. But I will continue to push the envelope!

So many of my friends have had bikini waxes. I grew up in Florida so it was nothing to hear of girls having waxes to accommodate the cute swimsuits. I've never had one and never really thought of getting one. I figured I could manage trimming my own stuff.

That changed a couple of months ago when I decided I wanted a wax. Not just any wax, and not a bikini wax. If I was doing it, I was doing it big......a Brazilian Wax.
Let me save you from having to go Google it. It's the removal of all hair in the pelvic area, front and back.
Needless to say, it took me a bit to get up the nerve to even call and make an appointment. I hemmed and hawed for nearly two months. I asked around for places that would do this type of thing. In my mind it was wealthy, skinny women who had this procedure done. Some of my friends were joking, telling me it was probably more common in the stripper community. Well, I do like to be naked.....

I had to mentally prepare for this moment. I was a nervous wreck all week, anxious in a scary and excited way. I couldn't get out of mind what would happen to me and what positions I might be put in in order for this waxing to be successful. I read about it online and the common denominator was pain. I even read that you should take a couple Advil prior to the procedure. I was thinking I may want a pretty stiff drink before going in but I couldn't do that and drive myself there. My only logical solution to dealing with the pain was my iPod and a mouthpiece.
I made sure I had soothing music on my iPod and went to WalMart to buy a football mouthpiece to bite into once the ripping of carpet commenced. You laugh.... but I did. I even put it in boiling water for 30 seconds as was stated in the instructions and then placed it in my mouth to form to my own bite. I had a feeling I was going to be doing some serious biting.

Well, Friday finally presented itself. I gathered my personal comfort items and headed to the office. I wasn't there two or three minutes when my aesthetician angel took me in. Jeanette. How could anyone so sweet cause anyone pain?

I was sweating like a whore in church. I told Jeanette that I was doing this so that I could write about it as an experience. Of course I did want to do it to satisfy my own curiosity, too. I told her how you guys enjoy reading my short little notes and that I was going to share it with you. She thought that was great.

Time for business.....She told me to go ahead and get undressed and pointed out where my rear needed to be on the table. You laugh but it's no big deal to me. It's not the first time I've been naked in front of a woman. Heck, my gynecologist is a woman.
Anyway, it wasn't long and I felt the warm wax being smeared on my pelvic area. We were just chatting away like it was nothing and the next thing you know.....RIP!
It didn't even hurt! I don't want to say I was disappointed, but I felt like a complete moron for all the worrying I did. My eyebrow waxing hurts worse than this!!

Well, I just kept chatting and she kept ripping. She would tell me to move my legs in certain positions and I would, but not once was I put in one of the compromising positions I had imagined over and over in my worries. She was wonderful....almost therapeutic. We talked about marriage, kids, parents, religion, cussing, etc. I could have talked to her all day but there was only so much to rip out. I felt like we were instant friends. Of course, she might have been longing for me to shut up, but I just felt very comfortable with her.

"All done." I couldn't believe it! In no time we were done with my first Brazilian wax and I never felt the first bit of pain. Jeanette asked if I wanted to see and handed me a mirror. "Look at your bald kitty."
Wow! I touched it and it was as soft and smooth as a baby's bottom. I've never felt so free!
This is the perfect look for an "experience" I have planned later in the summer.

I have had a permanent grin on my face since the moment I walked out of that office. I feel as if I am gliding when I walk and I can't hardly wait to have another one done!
I strongly recommend this to any of you who are interested, and for those in/around Nashville, let me know and I will give you the info to get an appointment with Jeanette.

I need to give a shout out to my aesthetician, Jeanette. She was perfect! She made me feel so comfortable and at ease that I never needed to break out my iPod, and made me completely forget about needing something to redistribute the previously imagined pain (my mouthpiece).

Peace my peeps

Mandatory Day Off

2010-02-18T07:21:00.001-06:00

Warning: This note contains obscenities, sexual references, and will most likely offend.

I came to the conclusion today that it should be mandatory for women who are experiencing PMS to have the most severe day off, away from work. I wanted to spit fire at everyone who came in my office or called my phone. Well, not everyone. There are a couple that can camp out in my office and I would be oh so happy.
Anyway, I know you women have experienced those days when the smallest thing will set you off. Guys don’t get it. If they did, these idiots I work amongst would stay far, far way.

Let me give you some reasons why I need a mandatory PMS day off.

The “cougher” across the hall. ALL day long he coughs. He smokes every half hour…clockwork. I realize you can get cancer from breathing certain things but I’ve caught myself hoping I’m not breathing this shit he’s coughing up… ALL day long.
He was behind me at the copier today…..coughing a lung up….and I turned and gave him the look only a woman experiencing PMS can give, and his response was, “I know, I know, I’ve got to quit. They are putting some kind of flame retardant in the cigarettes and I must be allergic to them.”
You think? Without risking not sounding enough like Rush Limbaugh and offending Sarah Palin……nah, I’m not even going there.

The moron next door. He’s like a small child. For example, today he heard our boss in my office and comes in, waves a piece of paper in the boss’ face, and turns around to walk out. I’m surprised he didn’t say “nah-ny nah-ny boo boo”. What grown man does that?
He will send emails, copy me on them, and immediately come to my office, asking if I read it.. He gets to my desk BEFORE the email even shows up in my in-box.
DUDE, come on.
He does so little and is so excited when he accomplishes something, he has to run to my office and display it proudly. You want to know the super, most sad part of it? He is technically considered my supervisor. And don’t you know I’m made fun of because of it.

The “pleasureless” rolly polly. He checked a manual out from my office this morning, marked “Book #1”. He brings it back to return it this afternoon and looks absolutely lost as to what to do with it. I point to the bookshelf behind him. There are nine more books, marked “Book #2, Book #3, etc. He says, “No, I’m pretty sure I got it from that drawer behind you.”
I let him go on as if he possibly knew what he was talking about. He gets to the drawer behind me and is uttering something about needing his mentor across the hall to help him. He then said he couldn’t find the sign out card he used to sign the book out. I said, in only a tone that a woman experiencing PMS could use, “You mean the one there in the open slot of the bookshelf, beside “Book 2”, where “Book 1” would be?”
Geez.

I realized today that it’s been almost a year since I felt the warm touch of a man.
Who am I kidding? I didn’t “realize” it today. Hell, I’ve been counting the days since March 29, 2009. To make it worse, I kicked Buzz off the bed by accident and he broke into pieces.
My friends here at work tell me the obvious…”go get another”. They don’t understand. I don’t need one that runs on batteries. MARCH 29, 2009. I need one that runs off a utility pole!

You know the one other thing that could help me get thru this crisis called PMS? Chocolate.. But my dumb ass gave up sweets for Lent. Lent isn’t practiced in the denomination I grew up in…I’m doing it to support a friend that is practicing this self-deprivation exercise. This is only the first day…..and I want to bed Willy Wonka!!
I can hear my mother now. How can you talk about religion and say all the things you’ve said?
It’s called forgiveness. God knew I was going to be bitter and lyrically uncontrollable the day he made me a woman.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. For the sake of this little humanity I work with….they better hope so.

Peace my peeps.

A Crack House

2010-02-17T06:41:00.000-06:00

You know, some of you have said, “Jenny, write a book”, and I often wonder what in the world I would write about. I’ve come up with an idea and I think it’s a pretty good one. My only concern is, if I hit the big time with it, and quit my job to write a sequel, where would I get material without having to show up at my present place of employment?

You’ve read some of the things I’ve said about work. Each day is something completely different. For instance, a new contract person was hired a couple weeks ago. He and another contract person were discussing their wives….in MY office….the day after this guy was hired. I’ve said before, my office is where these men seem to congregate. I’ve wondered if it’s because of my pleasant personality or my boobs, but regardless, they gather. If they only really knew what I was saying under my breath they wouldn’t come anywhere near my office.
Anyway, they were talking about the wives and how each was married to the best cook. The newest one said that he’s got the best wife ever (it’s his third)….she’s a stay at home wife, does whatever for him, and then he states, “but she doesn’t pleasure me anymore…we’re past that”. I could have thrown up.
The other one gets this disgusting grin on his face and says, “We’re not past it”. I could have gone FOREVER without hearing that.

What would possess two men that barely know me to talk about their sex life in front of me? They are both in their late 50’s/ early 60’s and the last thing I want to hear about is their “pleasure” in life. If I’m not gettin’ any then I don’t want to hear about what they get or don’t get.

Well, today, the third contract person was in the office across from me with one of the other guys. This one isn’t married and is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s down right creepy. When he first started he was put on second shift and would come in about the time I would head home. I had to start shutting my door because he would come in on nights I would work late and just talk to me….in ways that made me uncomfortable….and it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.
Anyway, this guy is on days now and hangs out some across the hall. He was telling the other guy about some strip club he went to last night and what the dancer was doing to the pole.
I KID YOU NOT. They were having a conversation about a pole dancer and the way her leg was holding her up, and how amazing her leg strength was.
Where else could I work where that is acceptable talk within earshot of a woman? Don’t get me wrong. I’m NO prude and I do my fair share of smack talking with my friends….but they are my friends. These are grown men, talking with their outside voices about a pole dancer and what they’d like to do with her.
I know what I’d like for her to do to them.
I’d like her to take those long, sexy, strong thighs and wrap them around their heads, squeeze…the way she does that pole….until all the air is out of them. That would render them unable to talk.

In general, it’s funny to hear men talk about women. It can be the grossest, most disgusting guy and he will see a woman, tell his buddies what he would do to her, how he would treat her, etc…when in fact, this said woman doesn’t know he exists, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and would rather find a lesbian lover than even THINK of bumpin’ nasties with him.
They are so funny. They think just because they’re packin’ that any woman would want to hit it. Actually, “hit it” might be the correct term, only in a different context.
Some men think they are just that slick. Oh, to have their confidence.

But then I have one coworker that visits every afternoon who I wish had some of this over the top male confidence.
He travels every weekend, more than 300 miles one way, to visit a woman with 4 children, no job, on food stamps…..and when he gets there, has him watch the kids while she goes out with another man. Wow.
And he says he’d marry her in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needs his heart beat.
I’d like to introduce him to the creep with the pole dancing story. At least he’d get him out to meet a woman with a job.

This place is a bouillabaisse of literary material because it’s festering with the preposterous. Simply stated….a crack house.

Calling on the Holy Ghost

2010-02-08T14:56:00.002-06:00

I made a very bad decision today to eat lunch in my office. Here's why....

After finishing a lunch I didn't enjoy, I took my bowl and utensil to the ladies room to rinse in the sink. That's disgusting, I know, but I have no other place to rinse. While rinsing I could hear a man's voice in the men's room thru the wall. Oh, no. It sounded very familiar and again, I had no warning. I tried to finish rinsing as fast as I could, splashing water everywhere and all over the front of my pants, desperately trying to get out of there before he did.

I quietly shut the door behind me and raced back to my office. I have two office doors. One has a security key pad that the few people who know the code can use to access the documents in my office. The other one is a regular door with a regular lock so those that don't know the security code can enter by using a master key....which I find so stupid that it's funny....but that is a different story. I shut the security door and pull the other door to, but not all the way.
Oh...now I need to look busier than ever. If it was him he will surely stop in here and I don't want him to think he has an invitation to hang out. I gather some things I need to make a phone call and dial the number. While I'm on the phone with Wendy, a pleasant employee helping me handle the fraudulent charge against my credit card at the the GameFly she works for, I hear panting outside the door.
Now, I know I've got it going on and men pant at the mere thought of me (sarcasm) but this is ridiculous.
I can only hope dear Wendy doesn't hear what I'm hearing. I look up with disgust and sure enough, it's "sPEEster"

I have yet to disclose this person's occupation or employer, only stating that I met him casually and he shows up here every now and then. Due to the confidential materials I work with I am not at liberty to say what he does here, only that his behavior is NOT what one would think is acceptable of a man in his position.
He continues to stand in the doorway of my office, staring at me, while I stare back, saying all kinds of expletives under my breath. I finish the call with Wendy and say "Hello" to him. He comes in and asks what I'm doing. I respond with what is so obvious and then he pulls up a chair at the end of my desk.
Good grief.

I don't know how it started but he begins to talk about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I was hoping any one of those three would show up and escort him out my door....preferably the Ghost.
He tells me the story of him having to get another tire (refer to Blindsiding Jesus note). He goes on to say something about me having so much money I don't have to work. I let him know that although I'm not there yet, once I finish the book I'm writing (in which he unknowingly is a character), I will have plenty. He responds that he's going to write a book on romance. I somehow wonder if it will include peeing on his woman to mark his spot.

A friend of mine came in to get a book and shook hands with "sPEEster". I gasped inside. They exchanged pleasantries and my friend headed back to his office.
Then, thank goodness "sPEEster" gets a phone call, only he doesn't leave. He says, "It's Hank", his co-worker, and puts him on speaker phone. Like I really want to hear both of them! Anyway, "Hank" is another one who is not at all a shining representative of his company. He used to talk openly in the halls, telling dildo jokes and talking about mating activities of gay men. In any company but the one I work for, this behavior would not be tolerated and he would be told to never step foot on the property again. Again, that's for a different story.
While "sPEEster" is on the phone I send my friend a quick email, reminding him that "sPEEster" shifts his stick without washing his hands....and he just shook it. I won't repeat the response I got back from that one!
Anyway, the two are discussing where they want to meet up once "Hank" arrives and "sPEEster" suggests a spot. He then asks where "sPEEster" is presently and about some other people he refers to as "jerk offs". I look at him and tell him he needs to leave.
He doesn't. Worse. The moron that sits in the office beside me comes in and waits for "sPEEster" to get off the phone. They start talking about what "sPEEster" is doing here and what's going on. They chit chat casually until I've had enough and tell them both they will have to take their conversation somewhere else.
I find it so incredibly rude that people will have a conversation in another's office without any regard to the person trying to work. Or coming up with notes for her next story....

Oh, how I long for the days I used to get the voice mail, "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" and WARNED that he would be around. At least then I would know to go out at lunch, and to lock the secured and unsecured doors to my office.

I begin to pray....Our Father/Son/Holy Ghost who art in heaven...... Help Me!

Peace my peeps.

Blindsiding Jesus

2010-01-16T15:08:00.000-06:00

Note....This is the next chapter to the "Dating Those in Mid-Life Crisis" note. I have a feeling it will become a series.

Friday was to be like any other Friday. I awoke, got ready for work, took the trash to the street, and left for my short 3 mile trek to the office. My mental preparation for my day is a JAM of loud music on this 45 mph drive to the gallows. I pass the same high school kids waiting at the bus stops and make a mental note of the characters they will one day take on in my FB notes. I pass the cemetary where each day I say a prayer for all of those resting in peace. Then I turn down the short street to my side parking lot.

"Sweet Jesus. Mary, Mother of God" were the exact words I uttered this Friday morning. Coming out of the same parking lot I was entering was the white BMW that nearly took me to heaven several months ago. It was "Speester". What the hell was he doing here? I had no advance warning that I would encounter him today. Normally, I will get the annoying text that he will see me or the "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to" lyric on a voice mail.
Luckily for me, he was leaving. But it was 630 in the morning. What on earth was he doing there? No matter...he was leaving. And thank God, it appeared he did not see me.

I head to my office, make coffee, settle in and begin reading my email. Suddenly, a familiar scent of a heavy musk preceeds a tall, lurching figure in my doorway. It was him.
"Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" is what I am hearing. My insides cringe, the Kegel exercise I was doing tightened even more, and I'm sure pure disappointment was all over my face.
I could not believe I had been blindsided by him. As much as I hate hearing from him, at least I ususally get a warning that he will be around. Not this time.

Thankfully, he only talks to me for a couple minutes and moves on to his next victim. Now I'm left to wonder how long I'll be free from his annoying presence. I go ahead and get busy, trying to take my mind off my invasion. But not for long....
He's back, and now has me blocked in the file office across the hall. He talks to me about Christmas and asks about mine. He tells me he's thinking of trading in his death chariot. Turns out he's paying over $1100 a month for it. If I'm paying that much for a car, it better come as a pair and have drivers. He then tells me how he had to pay $800 for two tires. When questioned why he already needed new tires (less than 9k miles) he adequately stated that it was due to his constant acceleration and his frequent visits to the150 mph mark.

He tells me after a drunken trip with a buddy to see the Opryland Hotel christmas lights, where he jumped a fence and topped a camel for a picture, he stopped drinking. He said he realizes that '09 was his mid-life crisis year and he's a changed man.
"I even went forward in church."
I didn't hear anything else after that comment. I almost couldn't control my inside laughter. Don't get me wrong.... I grew up in church and watched many people go to alter calls and turn their life from pure outright sin to just secretly sinning. I ain't mad at ya! It's just that all I could picture was Jesus being blindsided by "Speester" coming to the alter.
I remembered uttering "Sweet Jesus" when I was coming in the parking lot. I can only imagine Jesus now saying, "Sweet Me. What is this cat doing, fist pumping me and asking Me into his heart?"

Peace my peeps.

Dancing With Myself....and Billy Idol

2010-01-02T09:54:00.000-06:00

Dancing With Myself....and Billy IdolShare
Today at 9:40am | Edit Note | Delete
After a great day of bowl games I settled into bed last night watching NPT, Nashville Public Television (....and yes, I was....). They have some pretty cool stuff on that channel. I'm usually spending an evening watching David Foster specials with various artists, or Josh Groban and Michael Buble, Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand. Last night was especially surprising and entertaining. Billy Idol.
I grew up in the 80s a HUGE rock/pop fan. I adorned my walls with lots of posters torn from my TigerBeat magazines and was always playing records or cassesttes. MJ, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, and many many more. I was far from normal as a kid but pretty normal in this part of being a "tween" and teenager.
Anyway, I was amazed at what I was watching last night. Billy Idol, probably 55 or 60 years old was HOT! He still has the punked up white hair and a body to compliment his punky "do". At times he was not wearing a shirt and probably looked even better than back in the 80s. I found myself desiring this older man. I began humming "Flesh for Fantasy"! He had six-pack abs, nice pecs, and that dent in the man's body that shows the pelvic muscles. Oh.... His voice didn't sound at all bad, either. Oh to be in my 50s and throwing my underwear on stage at this man!
The camera would do close-ups on Billy's long time guitarist, Steve Stevens, but I was not so impressed with him. When they would show his hands playing the guitar it reminded me of my mom's hands. Truly...they looked like a woman's hands. Then they would pan up his body and to his face. Ewww! He looked like Phylis Diller with black hair, only she was wearing tight leather pants and a faux snake skin shirt. Scary.
But back to Billy Idol. I suddenly remembered only months ago when I went on the date with the 53 yr old man. Why couldn't I have picked a fella that age that looked like Billy Idol, not one with incontinent issus?! We would have been rockin' the "Cradle of Love" instead of me avoiding annoying texts and phone calls.
It's a new year and I have 363 more days to date in 2010. Sometimes I find myself as a "cougar". Those young men lifeguards at the Y make my tummy feel funny. ;o) Yet some of these older men I see make me want to be more mature and sophisticated. I should probably stick to finding someone my age so we can grow old rocking each other's worlds.
Anyway, after the Billy Idol concert special was over I went on to flip thru channels. I came a across a story on MSNBC about the porn industry. It was focusing quite a bit of attention on how there are so many women CEOs in that industry and how successful they are. Hmmmm. I'm thinking there is an opportunity there for me to find the young, middle, and older man. Hmmmm
Don't worry, Fro. I'm just thinking out loud.
Chances are I won't find a man to date today since there are more bowl games on, so I'll just keep re-living those Bily Idol moments from last night.
I wonder if he pees in public.

Peace my Peeps

Adjusting One's Self In Front Of 75,000

2009-10-20T21:50:00.001-05:00

So I'm watching my beloved Yankees tear up the Angels. I'm conflicted, though. I adored Mike Sciocia when I was younger. Oh, the crush I had on that Dodger's catcher! But now he's going against my beloved Yankees!!
Anyway, A-Rod was up to bat a minute ago and as he stepped out of the batter's box he grabbed his crotch, slightly pulled in an upward position, and stepped back in the batter's box. I giggled.

It's so common to see men in their respected sports adjusting their package. I ain't mad at ya! It's really almost normal and we don't think much of it. The producers don't say "change cameras!" when Tiger pulls at his cub....when Jevon Kearse pushes his "Freak"....when Peyton tucks at his "manning". It must be normal if A-Rod can casually step up to the plate and completely manhandle his manhood in front of 75,000 people. Do you get my point?
Not yet, you don't!

Go back to your day today. Your boss walks in to your morning meeting and takes hold of the "boys", adjusts them to his liking, and takes a seat at the head of the conference table. You look across the table at your buddies and stare in disbelief, or cough/laugh, trying to be cool about this awkward situation. But it wasn't normal, was it?
Or how about the VP of your company walking down the hall and he takes a full hand around his crotch to take away an uncomfortable feeling brought on by his tighty-whities. Approaching him are a few office women who happen to catch the sight. As high and mighty as he is, he may very well find himself sitting across from the HR guru, talking about manners.
Or for my guy readers.....a woman in the breakroom is having a "pressing" issue within her bra and starts to tug at the occupants. She casually walks past the group of men playing "Go Fish" on their break, as if she were all alone, just she and "the girls".
Now do you get my point?

I'm going to finish watching the game. I'll be willing to bet I'm gonna see more of these guys playing pocket pool before it's over. I just wanted to share my giggle.

Mammograms at the Y?

2009-10-07T10:22:00.001-05:00

So if you keep up with me you know I am on a journey to become a plus size model. If you don't keep up with me, NO...that does not mean I am eating super sized meals topped with gravy in order to get there!

I have been devoted with my recent YMCA membership and must admit, I'm enjoying it. My workout buddy, Jess, and I attend regular water aerobics classes, sweaty treadmill sessions, and a strength training program. The physical transformation we are seeing, and will see, is going to be worth it. Heck, the eye candy is worth it...but that will be in another story.

Last night was water aerobics and then the beginning of our phase 2 strength training. We both weighed in and lost weight, which is a super plus. We did the normal fitness routine of body fat and BMI analyis, discussion of our phase 1 circuit, and decided what we would add for our phase 2. I had asked "Cutie Alan" about a machine that firms the backside...the one that you lay on your belly and pull your legs up behind you. He suggested that it was used mostly by men and one of the machines we had been using gives the same results. I asked why it was used mostly by men and he said that women felt uncomfortable laying down with their rear in the air....meaning men would just stare. I said, "Sign me up!" After all, in my mind, I have three physical things going for me.....eyes, breasts, and junk in my trunk.

After I finished my flirting with "Cutie Alan" he took Jess and I around to introduce us to our new machines. We would find out soon enough that our new program was really designed by Satan. OMG!! My body was put in some pretty compromising positions with one machine in particular. I pointed that out to "Cutie Alan" and he quickly responded with something along the lines of "that is the reason it's behind this pillar". Nearly all my parts were exposed!

The next machine felt really good on my back but when my reps were over I had to have help getting out of it. No lie. Jess had to pull me out because I was stuck in this god-awful position! It's a good thing we are able to laugh at each other during these moments.

After our introduction of the "Hades Herculean" routine it was time to do our remaining reps on our own. I get in the one that spreads my legs to an almost dislocated state...no problem. Move to the next one....I get stuck in it again. We move on down the line, easily thru the machines we had in phase 1 (but 5 lbs more weight). The last one we get to is the "chest butterfly"....a new phase 2 machine.

Neither of us are lacking in the chest area. As mentioned before, it's a gift. However, as with any gift, you have to take care of it. With this in mind, I push thru my first rep of the "chest butterfly", hardly able to finish 10, 11, and finally 12. Jess does her first rep. Time for my second rep. I get in, press the handle to make it a comfortable fit, pull the pads together, apart, together, apart......then it happened.

I heard this crash and the pads immediately SLAM together, pinning my boobs as if they were in some kind of vice. I have no idea what my face looked like but I was about to burst into tears when I said to Jess, "my girls are trapped". I couldn't get them out! Imagine, I'm sitting on this bench, my back against a pad, and my boobs are stuck in this mechanism, not allowing me to move forward.
She pulled the handle back from over my head and determined I had not locked the machine properly.

As soon as she "released" me I got out of that demon machine from hell. I think she could sense the pain I was in and repeatedly asked if I was okay. I swear if I had sat there any longer there would have been a puddle of milk on the floor....and I'm not even lactating! I can only imagine it's what a guy feels like when his "boys" are injured.

I am at the age to have had one mammogram and it wasn't a pleasant experience. This made my mammogram feel like a fondling. I'm now wondering why "Cutie Alan" was more concerned with my arse in the air and not with this machine about to "castrate" my breasts.
If I'm going to reach my goal I've got to be more careful with my goods.

Peace my peeps.

Christian Sportsmanship

2009-09-28T21:19:00.001-05:00

I was reading an article involving Tony Dungy. I love that man! The article was about christians in professional sports. It reminded me of a story....
A friend of mine joined her church women's softball team last year. Her husband had already joined a team and she, too, wanted the fellowship and exercise. I went to watch her play one night and she did really well. One ball was hit way out to left field but caught just before going over the head of the left-fielder.
After the game the teams got in a circle and prayed, then parted ways. My friend walked over to my car and I told her what an awesome game she played...and what a great hit she had.
Her response....
"Yeah, but the bitch caught the ball."

My misfortune...

2009-09-22T22:08:00.001-05:00

So I had a little misfortune yesterday and I'm pretty sure I brought it on myself. I've been working out very often with my workout buddy and pressing on towards my goal of plus size model. I had to go to Krogers after work and pick up some groceries and while I was in there I made the mistake of turning down the frozen dessert aisle. I wanted to see if the Klondike bars were on sale. They weren't....but it didn't matter. I bought a pack anyway! It's not going to kill me to have them as long as I don't eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Having one on a weekend night is as much pleasure as I can get lately. Cut me some slack!
I check out, go to my car, get in and turn the key. Hmmm. Now this noise I am NOT hearing is NOT normal. I turn the key again. Hmmm. Again, no noise. My battery is dead. I immediately think that this is my "workout karma" purposefully restraining me to cause my Klondikes to melt.
I wait and wait and wait for someone to come out who is parked around me to jump me off.
Finally, after I could use a spoon to eat my Klondike bars, a gentleman parked in front of me comes to his car. Oh...nice looking, clean cut, wedding ring, and it was a minivan. I knew he was someone safe and would be willing to help. He jumped me off and I was on my way.

Fast forward about 30 minutes to O'Reilly's Auto Parts.

I go in O'Reillys to purchase a new battery. There are two men at the counter, one on the phone and the other helping a customer. As my bad luck would have it, the one on the phone ended his conversation and asked to help me. I told him I needed a battery and he told me he'd even be nice and install it. Up until this afternoon, I thought that was their job. A friend informed me that it is a service auto part stores provide. Um....I used to work in one in high school and Mr. Elliott would have never let Greg or Tim sell a battery to a woman without them installing it. Period.
Anyway, I have to describe this guy. I shall not be hypocritical of his completely tattooed arms because I am not without the permanent ink. However, he had one of those earrings in his ear that leaves really large holes....like he is a member of some primitive tribe. He looked like he could be a member of Black Sabbath. I had so wished the other guy was able to help me.
He tells me that I'd be surprised how many people can't install a battery. Nope, not surprised. He told me I should get new wipers. Nope, got them a couple oil changes ago. He told me it only takes him 10 minutes to change the oil in his girlfriend's car. I tell him that it's a wise thing to date a man that can fix a car.
Oh, bad move, Jen.
He looks up, says to me, "you're single aren't you?" I shake my head yes and at that very moment realize I should have lied to him. He says, "sweetie, if I were single you and me would go out".
I'm thinking..."I can put a bratwurst thru your earlobe".
Like hell we would.

Dating those in "Mid Life Crisis"

2009-09-18T22:54:00.001-05:00

I must admit I debated on writing this note. I don't want to make fun of anything or anyone in it but there is just too much to let go without sharing with my "faithfuls". With that disclaimer, I write...
I went on a date Thursday night. Typically I wouldn't even put something like that on FB because it's my business and not necessary to share. The things I share on here are mostly for shock value anyway...but still very TRUE (most of it).
First, I'll state the facts. I've known him for a few months and have seen him a few times. Not in the dating situation but in, I'll say, social situations. I am 37 and he is 53. His oldest son is 6 years my junior. He has two grandchildren. You ask, "why Jenny Bruce, would you go out with a 53 year old with grandchildren?". My answer, "can't get much safer than that". It's not someone I would want a very serious relationship with so absolutely no chance of getting hurt.
Act 1. The plan was to go to the hockey game with tickets that my friend, Jess, set me up with. Shout out to Jess...AWESOME SEATS! We meet up and he is driving a brand new BMW. Taking me out in a brand new ultimate driving machine?.....I ain't mad at ya! No getting hurt and he's got class? Bonus! He even let me take it for a spin. The car.

Act 2. We switch seats and pull away and he punches it. I immediately grab the "oh sh*t" handle and my feet nearly press thru the floorboard. In like 3 seconds we are at 80 mph on a road that isn't but about a mile long. "Isn't it awesome?" Uh, no. My mother has already lost one child and I don't want her to lose another!
He continues to weave in and out of traffic at speeds of more than 80 mph, hitting brakes and punching the gas until suddenly I feel sick...like having just finished a roller coaster ride or having been in the backseat of a car on a winding road. He pauses at traffic lights after they turn green so he can have enough space to floor it again before nearly having to slam on brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of us.

Act 3. We get to the parking area outside the Sommet Center (thank God) and he cautiously backs the car into a parking space, leaving space between the car next to us, who's occupant is exiting. We get out and he proceeds to urinate beside his door.
As if I haven't just started asking myself, "What the heck are you doing with this guy?" after the NASCAR race to get to where we were going......I am now asking myself how I ever thought an older man would be considered "safe". He just pissed in public!
I have never been in a situation like that where a grown person pees in a parking lot. In public. In daylight. With someone standing at the very next car. Never. Who does that?
Obviously, I am really wanting this date to end.

Act 4. We get into the building and he says "Hi".."How you doin'?"..."How's it going?"...to nearly every person we pass. He puts my arm in his and even leaned in to kiss me. I cannot ever remember feeling so awkward in my life. If I weren't with him I would swear that he was drunk.
We get to our seats and proceed to watch the game. I could hardly enjoy it knowing what I had been through to get to this point and knowing I would have to endure it to get home.
At some point during the game he wants to leave because he's hungry.

Act 5. He wants to walk to the Hard Rock Cafe to eat so we stroll the few blocks to get there. Dear friends, he was again saying "hi" to everyone and pumping fists with homeless people playing guitar for money....saying "hey brother". I wanted to crawl in a drain.
We get to the Hard Rock and it's closed for remodeling so we head back. We get to our street and again, he wants to urinate. There is a landmark guitar at the corner of the street...probably stands 6 ft tall and is about 3 ft. wide. He states to me that he can pee right there and no one would ever know. I'm thinking to myself, "if you can whip it out right here and no one know you're peeing then I probably don't have any desire to get to know you better anyway". You get my drift? ;o) As if I needed any more reason! Thank goodness he decides to hold it. No pun intended.

We stroll pass a sports grill and decide to eat. It actually was not a bad time. He had water, no drinks, so he was pretty placid. We talked about his 33 year marriage and recent divorce. We talked some about his boys. We talked sports. We ate.

Act 6. We start to head what was what I hoped "home". He again shows off is car by disregarding all traffic laws. I promise if a cop had been around he would not have been ticketed...he would have been arrested. Here we go again...punching it and slamming on brakes. 90 mph down the interstate, weaving in and out of traffic. Thank God I see our exit sign ahead. We exit and he pulls into a Holiday Inn. Say what? I may be easy but I am not this easy!
He says he wants to go listen to the lounge singer. WHAT?! Lounge Singer?? At this point I am barely keeping my "Pauline" at surface and am about to break out the "Carolyne". I was thinking, "if I were a neutron bomb I would be going off about now". We go in and listen to two young ladies sing for about an hour. Actually, they were very good and it seemed to calm me. Or that could have been the rum and pineapple juice I ordered doing its work.....

Surely you realize I am now agreeing with you....Why, Jenny Bruce, would you date a 53 year old man? I do know that he is most likely the exception and not the rule. I know a few men that age and I would be blessed to date them (if they weren't already married). Heck, a couple of them I know I would marry!
Come on....I'm 37. I had a camero at 16 and got my speed demons out of the way. I learned how to pee in a private setting, on a toilet at a very young age. And I'm not near old enough to be lounge hopping. Turns out I wasn't "safe" at all. He put my life in jeopardy more times in one night than I have in my whole life.
Moral of the story......age + nice car + money DO NOT = class. I guess there really is a thing called mid-life crisis.
Peace my peeps.

Jenny Bruce Heifer

2009-09-09T21:43:00.001-05:00

I can't make this stuff up.....
To those who have read my notes before, you know I dream alot. Too much. Last night, once again, proved no different.
You know how we tend to dream things we've thought about, talked about, seen, etc. during the day? Happens to me, too. I'm weird but not any different than you. Here goes....
I am the only woman in a department of men. Needless to say, I'm popular. I don't know if it's my supply of Willy Wonka candy, my darling personality, my ability to listen even when I'm screaming on the inside for the person to shut up, or my rather voluptuous breasts. Does it even matter? Anyway, they all stop by my office dozens of times a day and talk. They talk about their wives, girlfriends, work, weekends, our boss, sports....anything, and they talk about it. So needless to say it didn't surprise me when one of my "regulars" stopped by yesterday and talked about how slow work was. He went on to say that if it got too bad he could go back and work his farm. He said he would buy some "feeder calves", fatten' them up and sell them. He went on and on and it was then that I was screaming inside that I'd rather be submitting a document than listen to this man talk about fattening a calf up to be the quarter pounder it will eventually become.
Part two...
My last status post mentioned something about me knowing what I wanted to do. I stated in a response that I was going to trim down and be a plus size model. I will never be skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I heard growing up that meat is for the man, bone is for the dog. I live by that motto. I am big-boned and have curves, and I can do everything a little woman can, and just as well. Heck, I've heard a man scream my name more than once....you dig? ;o)
I'm getting somehwere with this...trust me....
So in the middle of the night I am dreaming about calves and weight loss. The two are not a pretty combination. I wake up thinking I have to lose the amount of weight equal to that of a calf. WTH? I promise I do not smoke 'da dope.
I say to myself...OUTLOUD....in the middle of the night..."Jenny, you have to lose the equivelant of a heifer.". So I immediately start to giggle that I'm carrying around extra weight equal to that of a heifer. It comes to mind, the Jenny Bruce Heifer has to go in order to achieve my plus size model goal.

When I lose this "heifer" I'll still be curvy and sexy, I just won't have half my body mooing or looking for a tit.

Burglars, Kisses, and Mom

2009-08-27T21:05:00.001-05:00

I seem to have a lot of drama during the middle of the night. Last night was definitely no different......
My mom had her knee replaced yesterday so naturally she was on my mind more than normal. Her knee has given her problems since the day I watched her twist it, stepping in a hole in a parking lot outside her beauty shop in WPB. I couldn't have been more than 7 years old when it happened but I remember it like it was yesterday. People who know me really well know how sensitive I am and how I remember details that others may not, especially if it touches me. I've always been this way...obviously, if I remember this from 30 years ago.
Anyway, I couldn't fall asleep because I was hoping she would rest well thru the night. I know how important it is for this replacement to work out. My mom can be so much fun but because of the pain she's been experiencing, she has slowly stopped doing things that she enjoys.
I don't know what time I eventually fell asleep but at some point during the early morning hours I was awakened by what sounded like the closing of the storm door between my garage and kitchen. If you can imagine, I suddenly started to panic. I stayed very still, waiting to hear something else but didn't. I began to wonder if maybe I had been dreaming and dreamed a noise. Who dreams a noise? I dream pictures, but noises? Now I really started to panic.
If you've read my notes before you know I sleep as nature intended. Again, another dilema of, "do I get dressed and go see what this is?". I sat up in bed, very quiet and as still as I could. I didn't hear any more noises but what I heard seemed so real. I decided to get dressed and see what the noise was.
I slowly get off my bed and walk to my dresser. Quietly, I pull a t-shirt and pair of shorts out and get dressed. I begin to wonder if I'm leaving the safety of my bedroom just to boldly walk around my house and demand a burglar to leave. Oh H-E-L-L-O-No! I remember I have a steel pipe leaning in the corner of the wall between my bathroom and den.
Who in the world has steel pipes lying around their home? Yeah, it sounds funny but when I moved in two years ago it was used as the bar to hang clothes on in the den closet. I turned my closet into a library and removed the no longer needed bar. Boy, was I thankful it was in that corner. Only problem now....my squeaky floors.
If you've been in my home, you know the floors make more noise than I do. How in the world was I going to be all "ninja like" getting this steel pipe from around the corner? I pressed my back up against my bedroom door, peaked around the corner to look into the living room. It's pitch black in my house! How am I going to see somebody in the dark who is most likely TRYING not to be seen?! I nearly do a forward moonwalk to the hall where I press my back against the wall and grab the pipe. I stand there, again waiting for any other noise. I hear nothing.
Now I have to walk thru the den to get to the kitchen where the perpetrator would have had to enter my home. I freeze in fear. I'd be a sitting duck walking thru the den. Not to mention all the squeaks I would produce by the time I got to the kitchen. I say to myself...inside my head...you have a steel pipe in your hand....do not be afraid. I then say to myself....What in the hell am I going to do with this steel pipe if I happen to meet up with this burglar, face to face?
I take a deep breath and run thru the den and stop at the doorway. I say run but in reality it took about 3 large steps to get there. My den is very small.... I then wait to hear any noise. I hear nothing.
I decide that the only way I will know if somebody opened that door was to go to the door from my garage and turn the garage light on. I am gripping this steel pipe with all the strength I have. I tip toe to the door and freeze. I am about to turn the light on and look thru the curtain to see if anyone is in my garage. What will I do if I see someone? What will they do? Is my steel pipe enough or will I drop it and run out the front door? I start to think how smart I was to put clothes on!
Moment of truth...I turn the light on and look out. I see nothing.
Ugh. Thank God! Now I must fall asleep.
I go back to bed, lay the steel pipe beside me....just in case.

After all that drama I am still awake. It must be 3 am and I'm thinking about mom, hoping she is resting. I think about all she has been thru in her life and how much I love her. I think about when I was growing up I said I wouldn't be like her....thank God I am. She is so strong and caring. There is nothing wrong with being that way. She is so well liked. The 24 visitors she had in her hospital room today can attest to that. She is always there when someone is in need. She'd give you the shirt of her back. She might remind you of it later but you still got it! (I love you AC-Frobot!)
I drifted off to sleep.....

At some point after that I started having a very nice dream. I was kissing someone I loved and it seemed so real. Yes, at this point I realize you might be inserting..."the perpetrator slipped into bed with you!". It wasn't that at all. I knew who I was kissing. It was all too familiar, yet very much missed. I could see his dark eyes and feel my hands around his face. The dream started to go in a direction I didn't want and thankfully I woke up. But I had that feeling of having just kissed him when I got up and it started my day off alright.

I really don't know where I was going with this. Thank goodness I wasn't on the early morning news because of a home invasion. Turns out my mom didn't rest very well but there is hope for tonight. And I will go another day without really kissing that man I will always have love for.
Peace my peeps!

Tempted, but no

2009-08-22T12:03:00.000-05:00

So I'm driving home from work late yesterday afternoon...windows down because it's so nice out. I hear this bassy thump coming from behind but don't really think much of it. It's very annoying but common. Anyway, this dude rolls up beside me at the traffic light in this old Buick, fabric falling from the roof of the car, dents all over it, and one tire is actually the spare donut. He is layed way back in his seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel at the wrist, and his head nodding with the bass bump. I'm thinking to myself, "this cat has some serious confidence to be rolling in this and still acting out his pimp persona". I'm laughing my arse off on the inside but still amazed by his displayed confidence, wishing I had half as much.

Then it happens... He looks over at me, winks, smiles with his gold tooth, and mouths ('cause I can't hear due to the rattling of aluminum cans in the back {refer to Outkast song}), "Hey baby...can I have your number?"

Tempted, but no.

My overnight responsibility dilemma

2009-06-10T06:11:00.000-05:00

I was having a nice dream. I had just put in a phone order to Wendy's for a Frosty when I heard it raining. I got up to go when I heard what sounded like the Black Eyed Peas preparing a personal performance of "Boom Boom Pow" in my back yard. I realized I wasn't dreaming....it WAS raining and there was lightning and thunder involved. Then in it happned. I heard a crash.

I found myself, at 2:30 am, thinking the trash can must have been blown over and I should go get it. It's freakin' 2:30 in the morning! I'm arguing in my head, "is it considered socially responsible to go outside and pick up this can or it is plain dumb to go outside in a thunderstorm to make sure the trash isn't thrown about the neighborhood?".

I get up to make sure it was my can. Sure enough, my "Curby" recycle can had fallen over in the wind. I go back to my bed. I'm lying in bed...AGAIN....arguing with myself about picking it up. If I get up, get dressed, go outside and get soaked, I'll be up the rest of the morning. I need rest. I'm having a pretty rough week at work and sleep is helping. If I don't get up and go outside to do this I will lie here the rest of the morning mad at myself for letting my recycables blow into my neighbors' yards.

I get up...walk to the back door to put on my flops when another dilemma hits. I sleep exactly how I came out of Ms. Carolyne. I am NOT getting dressed. The can is about 20ft from the back door. Nobody but my dumbass is up at 230 worrying about their trash can. I open the door and walk outside in nothing but flip flops, pick up my can, when God plays the funniest joke on me....by lighting up the entire sky with a bolt of lightning! If anyone was up they got to see all my parts.
I was giggling, 2:30 am, standing naked outside beside the trash can on my back driveway.

I deserved a Frosty after all that.

2009-03-24T18:48:00.000-05:00

Today is my first post. I have so many friends that do this so I thought I'd give it a try.

Being my first one, I am still trying to figure out the layout, etc., so I don't have much to say. Besides, my neighbor seems to be adding dual exhaust to his lawnmower and I can't concentrate. Scratch that. I just looked out my window and it appears he is tilling his garden. I think now he added dual exhaust to his tiller.

Anyway, I will be adding posts periodically so stay tuned.
Later.