Something different this way comes. It's strange the effect music can have on your soul. The way a new sound, can cause your pulse to race, as the rhythm rolls around in your brain. Your body internalizes the beat, interpreting the music as motion, and you're moving as if you've never been anything but still. The music becomes you, as you become the music.

In your soul, you've hungered for your natural cadence, but you've always been scared to march to the beat of your own drummer. You've adopted Billboards best, as the background music to your life. You only hear the song in the way you think it was meant to be sung. Interpretation of content, is not meant for you to decide. You are a sponge seeking someone else's knowledge.

But in a quirk of fate, a CD left behind and a moment in which your heart opens itself for listening, the world is pushed from its axis, spinning you upside down. "What is this sound," you say to yourself, "What is this I'm hearing?" And you listen, uninterrupted as the beat flows freely in your veins, warming you to the very tips of your toes. You close your eyes, hear the clock ticking on the wall and realize you're home.


Today's advice ... Step out from your normal listening doldrums and treat yourself to some new sounds. It's amazing what happens with a little kick of inspiration.

Good morning, Thursday morning. I'm awake, I'm refreshed and I'm ready to face the day. In other words, I am back to work, leaving my sickroom days behind me, as I head back into the grind. So much for getting used to owning my own time.

I am sure to be razzed today by my wonderful coworkers, who will without a doubt, make every effort to make my homecoming difficult. First it will be the guilt trip, of just how miserable their lives were at work, while I was gone. "You can't even imagine how busy we've been.", they will say, looking at me with scouring eyes, for signs of illness. Then it will be, "Sick? Yeah right ... Try something more like a vacation, while we've been working ourselves to the bone." But the crowning moment, of course will be, the large stack of whatever papers, that somewhere between Monday and Wednesday, they decided to leave on my desk, so that I'll end up doing as much work in the two days I'm back, as they did in the three days I was sick. It's all a viscious circle.

But I am to work and happy to be going. It is PAYDAY afterall.

Well, I went to the dreaded Doctor today and have lived to tell the tale ... Unscathed and medicated to boot, I'm in much better spirits or so it seems. Of course, it could have something to do with finally getting a good nights sleep, on my new mattress and box spring. There's just one little (or should I say tall) problem ... Last night, I felt like a track and field star, running the routine for a pole vaulting exposition, just to get into my new bed. The damn thing is almost as tall as I am! Lucky for me, I recently invested in a step stool. Yeah baby, I got my money's worth on that one ...

I spent a good portion of my evening helping my Mother get situated with a blog all of her own. For now, she's using a prefabbed blogskin which will have to do ... Especially since between the two of us, neither of us know enough HTML crap, to be even slightly dangerous. I need to get one of those HTML for Dummies books ... Then it's only a matter of time before my genuis takes over the world. (Insert evil laugh here) Now that IS an interesting idea to ponder. Hmmmm ... Top Five anyone?

#1 First thing I would do away with is the 5 day work week. I think it would make more sense to knock it back to 2. That way, we would have the optimum amount of rest required, to put in a productive day at the office. And all this without any cut to your current paycheck, as well as a stipulated 6 weeks of paid vacation every year.

#2 Affordable healthcare! After my little trip to the good doctor today, my wallet was $60.00 less than what I started with this morning. (Cost included visit and the prescription.) Can we say highway robbery, boys and girls? And the really scary part is, that I HAVE insurance and CAN cover the cost (although begrudgingly) without having to worry about eating tuna fish for dinner for an indefinite amount of time.

But low income familes, larger families and our senior population don't have the wherewithall to do the same, without suffering severe economic setbacks. Somebody please tell me, what is wrong with a country that STILL has yet to come up with a viable solution for its citizens. Come on George, tax cuts for the wealthiest one percent? Sounds more like thanks for nothing. (Wow, this is getting very political.)

#3 We got back to bartering chickens. Who the hell thought money was the better deal! (Remember people, chickens are multifaceted.)

#4 Disney gets their stuff together and initiates the following to be applied to all new movies ... 1. Stop killing off the Mother's. What does Disney have against Mom's anyway? Just to prove my point, I'll name a few motherless orphans ... Cinderella, Snow White, Bambi, The Little Mermaid, Jasmine from Aladdin, Jane from Tarzan, Pinocchio (wooden boys need Mom's too) and Belle from Beauty and the Beast. And you thought I was making all that up! 2. Female characters do a little ass kicking of their own and save themselves. (Have I mentioned that Mulan is my all time favorite! Bye bye Charming, bye bye Valient.) 3. And lastly, I've saved my biggest gripe for last. Besides Lion King (which in my opinion doesn't count), Disney has yet to produce a picture that features black characters in the leading story line. I can't imagine why it should be so, but there it is. Somebody in the Magic Kingdom needs to be getting on that.

#5 Men line up in droves just for an opportunity to take me on a date. What, I ask you, is the point of being in control of the world, if you can't tweak your social life?

I really ought to consider running for President someday ... But until then, let me give my Mom's NEW BLOG a plug. Check it out folks, I promise that once she gets over her initial shyness to blogging on the web, she'll be a site well worth reading.

I have learned something of great value today, although the knowledge comes (of course) at my expense. When one is feeling sick, one should not attempt to play Super Cleaning Woman. One should relax, put her feet up, sip a cup of Earl Gray tea, and watch horribly bad talk shows, that try to figure out just who the Daddy is or isn't. One should not clean every room in her house just because the cleaning bug decided that after six months of trying, that today would be a good day to bite.

Not only do I feel much worse than I did this morning, but I am feeling so ILL now, that I have actually scheduled myself a Doctor's appointment for tomorrow! That in itself is derserving an exclamation point, since I can count the number of times I've been to the doctor in the past 7 years on one hand. I do not like them Sam I am. But it's either that or feel rotten for an indefinite amount of time. I'll take door number 2 Monty.

Blogging off and goodnite.

Day 2 of staying home from work ... I could kind of get used to this on an every day basis. But, tomorrow the brief respite comes to an end. I do after all, need to get back in the swing sometime and since Wednesday is basically a Monday, tomorrow seems like a good day to do it.

The most amazing thing is, that even as I nurse this cold, I have been able to catch up on a thousand or so household chores. Which excites me to no end, since this means, I might actually get to enjoy my weekend for once. Not to mention that I could let anyone, into any room of my house, and not have to cringe with embarassment. Where's a newspaper reporter when you need one.

I checked my statistics report for hits this morning, and would like to post yet ANOTHER REMINDER, for all the little horndogs searching for keyword "NAKED", that those kind of shenanigans will not be found around here. Puh-lease people ...

Well, I'm off to do some laundry, make my bed and whatever else comes to mind today.

Even the best of intentions may sometimes go awry. Usually I do finish what I start (eventually), and I had planned yesterday to finish the FYII post, an indepth perspective of nature vs. nurture, and the affects of "everybody else is screwed up-ism", as it relates to my life ... BUT, it didn't happen, and most likely it won't happen today either. Welcome to today's Blog entitled, "Fanning the Flames of Disappointment", where nobody goes home happy.

Speaking of home, I'm not planning on leaving mine today. It may be Monday, but I decided that after losing my chance, once again, at winning over a million bucks with the state lottery, I am much too depressed to drag my sorry carcas into work. Now that I think about it, I may not go in tomorrow either.

OK, I have to be truthful ... I've actually got an appointment to be abducted by aliens today, but it's standing room only, so I have to make sure I'm available. And if you're still not buying 2 of my Top Ten Reasons Why I Am NOT Going to Work Today, then try this one on for size. I'm sicker than a dog, even though it's the middle of freaking June, (for Pete's sake) and as any Journal of American Colds and Sicknesses can prove, summer colds are far worse than winter colds. Why this is I don't know, it just is. Lord help a girl who suffers from post nasal drip.

So now I wait, until the time rolls around when I can call into work and break the hearts of my fellow co-workers with the knowledge, that I will indeed be absent today. I've got a little twinge of guilt playing hopskotch in the back of my mind, but as I'm sure I'll get over it, I'll heed Bobby McFerin's advice of "Don't Worry, Be Happy". Of course, my tag line will actually read, "I'm sicky, No worky ... Someone please call the blue folder customer on my desk and confirm his job with him ... Thank you, uh, thank you very much." (Elvis and Bobby McFerin, now that would have been an interesting combo ... Shake, fries and hamburger for free.)

Ugh, the nausea is kicking back in and I don't have any crackers, gingerale or a bowl of chicken noodle soup anywhere in sight! Woe is me ... I'm a complete baby when I'm feeling ill.

The Formative Years
Part I

Growing up the daughter of a divorced home, I spent half my adolesent life believing I had been cheated from living the American Dream. Instead of a normal family life, I shuffled back and forth between two households, always unsure of what my position was in each. While all my normal friends did normal things with their families, I was always concerned with saying or doing the wrong thing. The type of little girl who cried when anyone else cried, I always worried that the adults were more sensitive to our situation than I was.

I was far from being the good daughter however, occasionally my good nature took a tumble, leaving a little grizzly bear in my place. My feelings were so easily hurt, that sometimes I imagined injury where there was none. Competition with my sister was fierce. I was the baby of both families, and expected all attention to be diverted to me, as I thought was my right. My older sister Amy unfortunately, was of a different opinion. Proclaiming then, as she still does, that our Father was "Her" Father and our Mother, was "My" Mother. She was Daddy's little girl, and darn me if I thought I was going to be even the smallest distraction to her title. Somehow we managed to cope, despite the constant battles for attention.

Weekends normally found us, ensconced within my Father's family home, where our grandparents only served to inforce the Principessa complex that seemed to come naturally to us both. With Daddy, we learned to appreciate good music. Often times jumping on his bed, with his stereo full blast, as we crooned into our microphones. Back then Billy Squier and Billy Joel were a couple of our favorites. Daddy had been in a band since before we were born, and both Amy and I were groupies to his rock star. Daddy always gave us the things that Mom never would. (A subject that to this day, still manages to burn my Mother just a little.) We spent the weekends playing in parks, chasing butterflies, and squeezing into his tiny Fiat for long car rides. Rides which my sister enjoyed far more than me. Being the smallest, I was often the one who got stuffed behind the front seat to ride like a sardine in his small can of a car. To this very day, I still am not too keen, on what I consider pointless joyrides to nowhere.

When the weekends ended, Daddy took us home and our weekly lives resumed. By the time I was four, Mother had remarried and Daddy Chick came into existance. Marrying in the living room, the younger version of myself, tried to halt the proceedings, by locking myself into my room, where I was purported to have played "The Eye of the Tiger" as loud as possible on my Strawberry Short Cake record player. The wedding despite my best laid plans went on without a hitch.

Daddy Chick was a loving but tough father. His household was not for the weak of heart or the open hand. If you wanted something, you were expected to work for it. There was no free ride for anyone, not even the baby. Chores were a daily thing, no matter how much you got done, it always seemed that there was more to do. With the passage of time, I became somewhat clever on how to weasel my way out of some of the more nondesirable chores. Time, I had figured, was the key element ... and if I wasted just enough of it, someone else would pick up my slack and do it for me. A trick that much to my chagrin, did not go unnoticed by anyone in my family and continues to haunt me to this day.

During this time, I learned a lot from Chick. I learned the joys of camping in real tents, canoeing on peaceful lakes, respecting the wilderness around me and how to be self sufficient. If we were his sons, he could not have taught us more. Yet within the teaching, every day life still brought problems to our home. Years passed, and we grew older. Amy's introduction to her teenage years brought confusion, intolerance and pain. In such a rigid household, Amy's new attitude did not go over well. "I want to go live with my Father!", she would scream, staring down my Mother, teenage hatred lighting a fire in her eyes. It was only a matter of time, before she finally got her wish, leaving me alone to cope with the disease that slowly began to invade our home.

When Amy left to live with Daddy, Daddy himself, had been remarried for a few years. My stepmother brought with her a much younger daughter of her own and soon after added yet another sister into the fold. I loved all my sisters just as much as I was jealous of all of them. Alone, I didn't have the solace of companionship to seek with my sisters. Amy, I had felt, had betrayed me and abandoned me, leaving me to suffer in a home intent upon collapsing in on itself. In a sense, I became an only child.

There is a reason why marriages don't last, but families must persevere. A connection once made, though severed, continues on for eternity, in bonds forged beyond blood. You don't spend 10 years calling someone Dad and then divorce him when you Mother does. It's not possible, even though I tried for the longest time. Consumed by bitterness, grief and confusion of my world turning upside down, I fought back this time with anger. I blamed Chick for everything that had ever gone wrong. I blamed him for yet another security net failing to catch me in the fall. The hottest anger often burns with the brightest love. For the next 4 years, I cut off all contact with my stepfather, as I presumed to go on with my life as normally as possible.

Enter Ken. My Mother's third and hopefully last husband. A good man, although a bit dated when it comes to old fashioned beliefs and opinions. It used to drive me nuts, when the phone would ring and ring and ring, and yet even though he was sitting right beside it, he would never answer it. In his mind, since it wasn't going to be for him, he was excluded from the answering. This and other oxymoron's in his character were enough to keep me hiding out in my room or finding some sort of trouble with Brenda. In the presence of new love, I often felt invisible.

Meanwhile, weekends at Dad's were becoming troublesome. Most of the time, I felt like a visitor in his home. Although he never intended me to feel that way, I felt much more comfortable next door at my Grandmother's house. Nonni always made room for me, as I was still her darling one. Every weekend, she would teach me something new to cook and then we would settle down to watch her favorite programs, ranging from Sunday morning Mass to WWF Wrestling. With Nonni, no matter what, you always knew that you were loved.

In 1993, I gradutated from high school and in the fall of that same year enrolled in a local community college. Brenda and I, were inseperable and so it came as no surprise that we decided to continue our education together. But schooling, it turned out was not for Brenda and by the end of the first year, she had no plans to continue on to the next semester. That fall, I moved into an apartment that I shared with 3 other girls. What I didn't know, was that the girl I was, would soon cease to be and a new woman would be left in her place. A place, where darkness was danger and trust no longer existed. One picture remains of that girl, doe eyed naive and innocent, taken on the very night she stopped from being. Safe on my mantle now, she is a constant reminder of what can be lost in the minute you forget to be aware.

There are certain things I associate with this time. Rain falling on October leaves, the soft yellow glow of streetlights, wet pavement and the sense that locks could not be counted on to keep all things out. I remember turning on my radio, seeking the comfort of a human voice, as I holed myself up in my empty apartment, and hearing the soft, haunting strains of "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas. All I was, was dust in the wind.

Another rainy Saturday morning. So much for seeing the sun this weekend. Oh well, in a way I suppose it's a good thing, since it will keep me to the task of getting KC's room clean today. A job which requires that she not be home for the weekend. That way I can actually get rid of something, without her running to the rescue, to save every toy she hasn't played with in over 3 years.

I've already been very productive this morning. Throwing in a load of wash, as well as running the dishwasher. My next plan of attack is to vacuum, but I need to wait a little bit longer, so as not to make too much noise before all my neighbors are awake for the day. I also need to make a list of things I need to get at the grocery, although I have noticed that the last few times I made my list, I either forgot it in my car or never even bothered to look at it. And of course, halfway back home, I realized I had forgotten something. Lord help a girl who loves to list, but never accomplishes her goals. You should see me at New Year's ...

Well, I'm bound to blog more later after my adventures in town. A good day to all.

A little music, a little hot cocoa, a little peace and quiet, and things are falling right back into their normal routines. But tonight, that doesn't seem to be such a bad thing, to have the comfort of habit to snuggle up with, as the sun slips beneath the horizon. Like a warm, fuzzy afghan wrapped around your shoulders, as a summer storm pushes the branches of the trees outside, in a frenzy of motion. There's something to be said, for having some small spot to call your own, where even the most powerful forces of nature, have to knock before entering your door.

Tonight I am enjoying my cocoa, in the most ridiculously oversized coffee mug known to man. The kind more to resemble a watering trough than your average cup of joe. At the last moment, I even opted for the mini marshmallows to make my comfort in a cup complete. Let it never be said, that I do anything halfway.

As luck would have it, I have an interesting story to share from work today. One in which reminds me greatly of a line in "Dirty Dancing", when Johnny is teaching Baby how to dance and she keeps tripping over her own toes and onto his. "Look, spaghetti arms." he says, "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame." A good lesson for all the touchy feely people of the world to take to heart, especially when they are the latest head sitting on top of the totem pole.

Which brings me to the subject of the FNG, which in the P-rated version of the acronym stands for Friendly New Guy and not the R-rated alternative I surely meant. It seems the latest member, of our ever so professional sales team, has a slight issue when it comes to recognizing the limitations of personal body space. All the women in the office have taken notice to his notice, of anything sporting the least little bit of cleavage. Now a sneak peek now and then isn't such a bad thing, lord knows I've checked out many a man's gluteus maximus. But a full out and out stare that reads like a full page add, stating your intentions to find any way possible to climb on in, beside the girls is a bit much.

But believe it or not, I am getting away from my story, where a simple folder drop off, turned out to be a very strange encounter. It all started in the data entry office, the precise moment in time when my back was turned to the door for just a second. Depositing my folders, in the bin designated for such a purpose, I turned myself around to leave, only to find myself face to face and quite literally chest to chest with the FNG, who in some bizarre game of let me see how jumpy you are, if I sneak up and scare you, was practically breathing down my neck. "Step back yo.", I thought to myself as I tried extracting myself from the claustrophobic position I found myself in.

Things went from bad to worse, as I realized that my left hand was in a very precarious position. "Aww man!" I groaned to myself, "Don't you dare move any closer!" As it was, my hand was already touching the fabric of clothing, that was not my own. He of course, giggled. (God save me from a man that giggles.) I didn't even bother to attempt to decipher what kind of giggle it was meant to be, as I stepped back and reclaimed my PBS (personal body space). "Nice going Doogie." I said, "If you're trying to give a girl a heart attack you're coming frightfully close."

For now, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he's just trying to fit into the office with some hijinks of his own. However, another replay of today's scene and I can promise, that he and I, will be having an extremely well defined conversation regarding how close is too close. It may just start with a well placed heel on an unsuspecting toe ...

I feel so out of blog. Out of thoughts and out of steam. Funny, you'd think a vacation would have the opposite affect. But I'm as blue as a summer sky laden with rain clouds, now that Mother has returned home to North Carolina. There was just so little time to do everything I wanted to do while she was here. Things I wanted to talk about, that I never got around to saying and now that she's gone, I feel a little empty. As if part of me was on the plane that took her home. I guess I didn't realize how lonely I really am, coming home each night to just KC, a tempermental cat, and some aquarium fish. It's enough to make me cry.

But crying has never given me anything much more than a really bad headache, so I'm opting to hold off on the floodgates for now. Besides, the rain outside hasn't shown signs of stopping anytime soon, and I would hate to be responsible for flooding New York state. Maybe later I'll consider crying a small river.

"To a heart formed for friendship and affection the charms of solitude are very short-lived." ~ Fanny Burney, Cecilia (1782)

Dang! What does it take to post a blog around here? I tried posting this morning, at an hour too early to mention, and I got absolutely nothing! Hold the phone, that is not exactly accurate ... What I did get was an error message, a really, really long error message that looked like it was code for "Get a life, you ain't blogging anytime today."

I started getting nervous, thinking that something had gone seriously wrong with Blogger and that NWTLO would be forever floating in limbo, somewhere out in cyber space, where I would never ever be able to post to it again. I was close to being distraught, wondering how or who I should contact, to let them know that I had a problem! Or as I am more prone to say, ISSUES and LOTS of them! It is however, amazing what a few hours away from home and computer can do for you. As you can see, most of my issues have worked themselves out ... OK ... Well, maybe a third of them, I was thinking a little bit positive there for a moment.

Anyhoo ... I went North this weekend, to visit my family in Glens Falls, which actually consisted of only seeing my Grandmother and much to my disappointment, none of my Uncles. C'est la vie, I suppose. My Grandmother on the other hand was enough to make me consider obtaining a drinking problem. It sounds horrible, I know, but trust me when I tell you that if you were to spend 10 minutes in her presence, you would know exactly what is it I am talking about. The woman is completely NUTS! Granted she is up there in the age department and entitled to a little insanity but something is oh so not right. (More on that later.)

I'm watching the Tony's right now or actually listening to them since I am busy typing away here, but God I love anything Broadway. I am my Mother's daughter, as well as a Bernadette Peters want to be. Lord, but that woman is talented!
Somebody find me a stage!

The night grows late and my hideous alarm clock has been set for a disgusting 5 a.m., so I am off to bed. As Tom Brokaw says, or at least I think I have the right newscaster, "Good evening and Goodnight".

Oh happy, I don't have to go to work for the rest of the week day! Hallelujah and a big old high five for sleeping in! No alarm clocks, no early morning wake up calls, no running late for work ... Nothing but sleep, glorious sleep. Vacation is the chocolate chip cookie word of the English dictionary.

I was so worthless today ... Spending most of the day at work on the vacation countdown ... Only 7 more hours to go ... Only 6 more hours to go ... Only 5 more hours to go ... Which shows you just how productive I was in the office today, not one teeny little bit. I did however get hit on, (once again) by a customer who believes that his perserverence will someday win him the digits to my home phone number. I know it's not going to happen ... But I did egg him on, telling him he had to place much bigger orders, than the one he gave me today, if he hoped to earn bonus points for my number. Of course, I made him promise not to post it in the boys bathroom if he ever did figure it out. Still, if he were to get lumped over the head with a telephone directory, I doubt common sense would manage to weasel into his consciousness. Hello, information?

Mom and I are about to chill with a little tele, so I bid you all a fair evening. May your slumber be sound and your pillows fluffy.

Another rainy day, has inspired me to post for your dining pleasure, a recipe guaranteed to impress guests or that "special someone" at your table. It's a lot of calories, so I don't advise making this one too often. However with a few minor adjustments, (cutting the oil and butter as much as you think you can get away with, without ruining the overall taste) you can make this a teeny little bit more healthy.

New York (Not the City) Style Chicken Riggies

You will NEED: (FYI: Prep your chicken and your FRESH veggies prior to cooking)

Cubed Chicken (as much as you like)
Fresh Garlic (as much as you like, I use a lot ... But then again, I'm Italian and I love garlic in just about everything and anything.)
1/2 cup oil
1 stick of butter
1/2 cup white cooking wine (Don't buy the cheap stuff!)
1 cup tomato sauce (or spaghetti sauce)
Hot Cherry Peppers (as much as you like) *You can replace with jalapenos if you prefer*
2 onions sliced
8 to 12 mushrooms sliced (if your mushrooms are pathetically small, double up on your quantity.)
Black pepper to taste
2 green peppers
Salt to taste
At least 16 oz. Romano cheese (The more the merrier.)

In a large skillet, sauté garlic in oil until soft.
Add chicken, mushrooms, onions, green peppers and hot peppers ... Cook until half-done.
Add the rest of the ingredients, cover and simmer for approximately 1/2 hour.
Keep checking and add more cheese if needed. It will make it taste great and soak up some of the oil and butter so it is not too greasy.

Mix together with cooked Rigatoni's (Riggies) and ENJOY.

To complete the dinner, I recommend a nice Ceasar salad, homemade garlic bread sprinkled with basil and romano cheese and a wine of your choosing. With a little candlelight and the soulful crooning of Luciano, make the night one to remember.

Well, I made it back all safe and sound, despite today's monsoon. I am even proud to say, that I didn't get lost once, on my way to the airport. Although, I have to come clean and admit, that I didn't make the trip alone. I convinced my sister Amy, that it would be an absolutely wonderful thing, if her kids went with me to greet Grandma off the plane. Don't think I was fooling anyone though, because I wasn't. She knew darn well, that I needed a small support group to make the drive easier. So instead of rubbing it in my face, she let it slip off her normally honed radar. Unusual but appreciated.

Next to KC, my niece Jordy (Jordan) is the apple of my eye. She's an absolute sweetheart, with the kind of smile that can make even the most mean curmudgeon, start singing a tune to make her happy. All the way to Albany we practiced saying "Hi Grandma Nancy", which ended up sounding more like Grandma Antsy, so that we could really impress my Mother. But nothing beat the kind of greeting that Jordy came up with all on her own.

Being as short as I am, I kept trying to stand on my tippy toes to spot my Mother coming down the hallway, after her flight had been annouced for arriving. A difficult feat, when considering that almost everyone around me seemed to be 6 foot or higher. But finally I spotted her, even though she continued to scan the crowd of other people's families for me ... Genetically speaking, I can attribute my lack of height to her, which is why when you can't tower over others, you develop special locating senses for such a scenario. Which of course, for me, is not a problem considering I've got a very healthy set of lungs and no shame for yelling out Mom in public places.

I let the kids hug her first since she hadn't expected them to be at the airport and it had been forever since she had last seen them. The last time when Jordy was only a year and a half old, compared to the very mature 3 she's at now. Just as we planned, Jordy welcomed Grandma back to New York, although it was what she did next that had almost everyone within our proximity smiling.

"Hi Mom.", I said, hugging her, before taking her bags into my own hands. Jordy looked up at me, as if she was surprised. "CC ... That's your Mom?", she asked, her little voice rising an octave. "Yes Jordy, this is my Mom, and your Grandma."

"That's MY Grandma?", she asked again, her face looking at my Mother with awe. "Yes.", I told her, "That's your Grandma." With that being settled, she did the cutest thing I have ever seen. She opened up her little arms as wide as she could, and wrapped them around my Mother in the biggest hug possible for such a wee little one and said one word that practically had the entire airport in tears, "My Grandma!" I'm telling you there was hardly a dry eye in the place, a true Kodak moment. Meanwhile, I instantly regretted not bringing the video camera that could have captured the $10,000 prize on that America's Videos show.

For the rest of the day, Jordy insisted on calling her "MY" Grandma. A title, I'm sure, won't go over to well with KC when she gets back home from her weekend at her Father's ... After all, that is HER Grandma.

I'm to bed. Goodnight Moon ...

I am up early to face the day today, already having run one load of laundry and quickly working on the second. Lord knows, I hate folding clothes! It reminds me of the 5 years I spent managing a women's clothing store. There's nothing worse than having to fold, and refold stacks of clothing that customer's would just plow through. Nobody understand the time and energy it took to make those precisely stacked little piles. I remember coming home each night, to fold my own clothes and just not being up to the job. Working at the store, I used to say, was like having one giant bedroom that every woman on the face of the earth got to spend time in. Except come 9:00 p.m. the party was over and you were the only one left to pick up after it. Never, ever again ...

I caught Emma drinking out of the toilet this morning. I can't understand why, when she has a perfectly good water dish, she continues to opt for nasty tiolet bowl water. I am so glad I am not a cat. That will start my list of 5 good things I can think about today. I have to think fast of four others so as not to prolong my procrastination too much here ... OK ... Let me think. A garden full of flowers, laugher with friends, KC and I making silly faces, and having the greatest family any girl could have. Now those are some good thoughts!

I also want to congratulate my youngest sister, Jodi Elizabeth, on all her recent accomplishments, which include winning a $10,000 scholarship to the college of her choice, along with another $5,000 and some change. It's hard to believe that she is about to graduate high school in just a few short weeks.

I'm so proud of you little sister, go into the world and make it yours.

With that, I am off to finish the morning chores and haul tail to Albany. A wonderful Saturday to you all.

I've been so out of it this week, that I should be relieved that it's finally Friday night, with the whole weekend before me. But I'm stressed. Most likely due to the fact that my Mother arrives tomorrow and I am no where near prepared for her visit. It's like some big giant energy sucker has been residing over my house and stolen every ounce of my energy, right down to the last drop. Sure I know what needs to be done, but I am far from having any of it done. But I just can't seem to get my mind to understand that.

This week has been all about emotional ups, downs and all arounds. Probably why my concentration skills have been at an all time low. My friend Mike, summed it up quite well earlier when he called. "I could tell you weren't really listening when I was talking to you.", he said, "You seemed distracted." Numb might be a better word for it. I've been running in overdrive for so long now that I just need a break to pull myself back together and remember that I am a strong, capable woman, who can do anything and everything when push comes to shove. Except I don't feel so tough now, but more like a big mushy marshmallow slowly roasting over a campfire. S'more? I don't think so.

Lucky for me however, next week will provide some relief to my overworked soul. After Tuesday, I am using 3 vacation days to take some much needed R & R and enjoy my visit with my Mom. Visits which always seem to be over before they've even begun. I just wish my Mom didn't live so darn far away. As surely as KC needs me on a daily basis, that is how much I still need my Mom. Some things, you never outgrow.

So, I'm driving 2 hours to Albany tomorrow, to pick Mom up from the airport, even though Syracuse is but a hop and a skip away. However, if you do the math, comparing Syracuse to Albany, you'd be able to see within hundreds of dollars, the savings you gain by adding on drive time. Ridiculous but what can you do. Now I only have to hope, that I don't manage to get myself lost on the way there. I keep reminding myself that I made it all the way to North Carolina last year, without too many a problem. But then again, I did have the "comfort" of having my Grandma C. along for the ride. (Comfort as in, I wasn't alone, although my right arm was bruised after 10 hours in a car, with a woman who smacked me every time she spoke. Not to worry though, it's a trait more habitual than intentional, but still it hurt all the same.)

So the truth is, I am absolutely scared to death of traveling unknown territory by myself. I like to refer to this as being outside my comfort zone, and trips like these are far from it. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am 28 years old and more than capable of finding my way. But I can tell you this, I can guarantee that up until the moment I actually stop and park the car at the airport, my knuckes will be absolutely white clutching the steering wheel. I think I need to scroll back up to my earlier comment about being a strong and capable woman, cause it doesn't seem so right now.

Before I blog off for the night, I do want to take a moment and reflect back to yesterday's post. One in which, I think I made my point, that I find the topic of rape to be a very personal subject. I'd like to urge all of you, whether or not you've survived an assault, known someone who has, or have been lucky enough to not be among the statistics, to educate yourselves.

Knowledge is power and with the estimated number of REPORTED statistics, being as high as it is, understanding is the greatest gift you can give to someone. Two of the best personal narratives I have ever read, continue to help me make my own path in my quest for regaining control back over my life. Reading these books will help you gain a better understanding of the trauma that is rape and free survivors to speak out against a crime that has rendered its victims "Silent All These Years".

After Silence

Telling

"We'll see how brave you are
Yes, Anastasia."

Can someone PLEASE explain to me, why Mike Tyson, a CONVICTED RAPIST, is still able to walk around holding his head nice and high, with barely a blemish to mark his very public persona ... Because I just don't get it. These assholes who rape women barely get a slap on their wrists, before our wonderful judicial system lets them back out onto the street to do it again. They're rehabilitated, they say, able to go out into society and be a productive member ... No chance that they could reoffend. My view is far different from what our judicial system would have you believe.

Once a rapist, always a rapist. Do you think that is unfair of me to say that? What if I said, once a murderer, always a murderer. Would anyone argue with me then? Does serving your time mean that you've paid the debt to your victim(s) and that once done, you become completely exonerated of all your crimes. Somehow I doubt that.

But rape is seen differently, because it involves body parts. An intimate crime between rapist and victim, where the offense is too personal for people to understand. Where his crime becomes her shame, an albatross left to hang around her neck for the rest of her life. Does she ever get rehabilitated?

But we let them go and we put them back out onto our streets with our mothers, our sisters, our daughters, our friends ... Because they've served their time. We let them return to their lives, even those spent in the spotlight, in a profession that applauds violence and yearns for more. How much shock can we really express, when that hatred comes bubbling up to the surface for all to see? What else are we left to question then? The following is a statement made by Mike Tyson, showing just how well rehabilitation has worked for him. Ask yourself, if you dare, whether or not you would want this man sitting in your living room right now ...

(SNIP)

May 29) -- Mike Tyson said he's so angry about his rape conviction 11 years ago that he wants to rape his accuser and her mother now. In a television interview scheduled for broadcast Thursday night, the former heavyweight boxing champion repeated his claim that he was innocent of raping beauty pageant contestant Desiree Washington in 1991 in an Indianapolis hotel room.

"I just hate her guts,'' he said. "... She put me in that state, where I don't know. I really wish I did now. But now I really do want to rape her and her... mama.''

Tyson, 36, was convicted in 1992 and was sentenced to six years in prison. He served three years before being released on parole.

He made the comments during an interview in Miami Beach, Fla., with Fox news anchor Greta Van Susteren, who was reviewing the trial.

(END SNIP)


If you have knowledge, let others light their candles in it.
~ Margaret Fuller

If you need help, someone to talk to, or would like to learn more about sexual assualt, click on the selected links provided below.

Websites:
Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network
Welcome to Barbados

Recommended Reading:

After Silence
Returns of the Day
Why I respect TORI AMOS (note: no affiliation to the Stacie mentioned in article)
Lucky: A Memoir
The Lovely Bones
Telling


A Fear of Being

Sometimes I am a coward,
leaving on the light, rather than sleeping in the dark.

Pretending I'm not home, when a knock sounds on the door
and a stranger stands outside.

Sometimes I am a coward,
when a man stands too close or stares too hard ...

When a simple conversation has me grasping for words to say,
or when I cannot find my tongue to speak.

When voices raised in anger, have me searching for places to hide,
and I shrink back into the shadows to avoid detection.

Sometimes I am a coward,
holding back myself from those who would know me,
letting a river of betrayl, determine the course of my journey.

When in wanting love and to be loved,
I turn away from opportunity, to stand high on my wall of safety,
that no manmade ladder can hope to climb.

Sometimes I am a coward, choosing to stay at home,
rather than face the world at large,
pretending to be content
within my small sphere of being,
though all the while secretly dreaming of escape.

Sometimes I am afraid of being whole,
of finding the missing piece that completes my puzzle ...

Scared at the daunting prospect of just being me.
Myself.

The women who doesn't need the light on, to fall asleep.
~ Written by Stacey (11-15-00)

Just wanted to blog that I am downing some advil and about to drag my weary self upstairs for a solid eight hours of glorious sleep.

Since there's not much else I can do to amuse you for this evening, get clicky and learn more about what you can do to get closer to your duck ...

Centre for Duck Studies

Shows I am no longer watching as they depress me more than they entertain me ...

1. A Wedding Story (I am not married.)
2. A Baby Story (My biological clock is tick, tick, ticking.)
3. A Dating Story (I can't remember the last time I went out on a real date.)
4. A Makeover Story (I am a What Not to Wear episode waiting to happen.)
5. Trading Spaces (My landlord doesn't appreciate my need to express myself through massive redecorating.)

Ok ... I'm pretty much initiating a crackdown on any and all programming sponsored by the TLC network ... Hah ... TLC my left cheek ... bone that is. The learning channel is one big episode of this is not your life, no matter how hard you might wish it to be. And don't even try to convince me that there isn't some sort of mean spirited reason for their call letters! Ask any single girl anywhere in the whole United States and trust me when I tell you, that they will verify that there is absolutely nothing tender, loving or caring about watching what everyone else but you has, on national television. It's cruel I tell you, cruel!

I've even followed all the advice my married/committed friends have given me. (Think back ... I'm sure you've heard them all before too.) From Mom's tried, but not true, stop looking and Mr. Right will materialize right before your eyes theory, all the way to grocery shopping on Thursday nights between the hours of 6:30 and 9:00 p.m. This just to open up the opportunity to accidentally ram your cart, into some unsuspecting single man in the middle of the produce section, who has no idea he's being stalked by every single girl in the joint. An even smarter girl takes her coupon book with her, just so she can interject after the smash but not grab incident, after a quick inventory of Mr. Maybe He Could be the One's cart, that she just happens to have an extra coupon for one of his purchases. This of course, shows him how generous she is. If he's not already thinking she's a complete psycho.

I might even find some of this comical, if it weren't for the simple fact, that this is my life. Sometimes I wonder where the girl who used to be me went ... The one who didn't care if she was single or not, a member of the in crowd, or if she was fashionably late or fashionable at all. I think I was 25 the last time we had a meaningful chat, since then she hasn't had much to say, other than the occasional spinster with a cat comment. Bridget Jones, you've got no idea ...

According to (somewhat) reliable sources, I have evidently, and inadvertently committed the caridinal sin of all telephone anwering machine outgoing messages. (Gasp!) The following is a true representation of said questionable outgoing message in its entirety.

"Hi, this is Stacey. We can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name, number and a message, and we'll return your call as soon as possible. Thanks."

OK ... Maybe I am guilty of the proverbial "we" usage, but considering that I was representing KC, without naming her as a member of the household, I believe immunity is in order . After all, I hit two birds with one stone ... One, I've let callers know that more than one person lives at my residence and two, callers are not aware said second resident is under the age of ten. Personally, I think it's awful tricky of me.

But according to the SRS, (somewhat reliable source, for those of you in need of a refresher on the lingo) my error occurred by stating my name, both clearly and precisely, for all the world to hear when calling my machine. Damn! Now the telemarketers know who I am! Oh the travesty!

Thanks to the SRS's quick thinking, and message stating my obvious breach of answering machine etiquette, I quickly amended my message before heading out the door again, in search of yet another adventure. Howver when I got home later, I was surprised to see that the little red light on my answering machine was blinking furiously. Very interesting.

Counting off the number of messages, I felt sure that finally I was getting the appreciation I deserved, with my new outgoing message ... That or I'd gotten extremely popular while I was out, in which case the telemarketers, must have been extremely disappointed to have missed me and/or the SRS had called back and heard my message change. In either case, I rubbed my hands with glee, eager to hear my messages.

"Oh wonderful. Your name is on there ten times now ... I guess I must have missed you again ... Unless you're there listening ... There's a word for that ... Telephone voyeurism."

There is a lesson to be learned here kiddies ... When it comes to constructive criticism, it usually backfires.
My new message is of course the pinacle of all examples to be made from this tragic error in judgement.

"Hi this is Stacey. Stacey is not currently taking calls. If you'd like to leave a message for Stacey, press one. Stacey will call you back just as soon as she is able."

Hi ho ... Now it's off to work I go. (Does anyone else find it disturbing that the 7 dwarfs went off to work singing "Hi Ho"? Evidently it's kind of like "ciao" in Italian, both a greeting as well as a closing ... Still, I don't think it's quite right that they were calling Snow White a "ho" ... She did earn her keep after all.) Mwaa ha ha ha ha.

Lately, I've noticed an odd trend when it comes to getting new readers to my blog. It seems (according to my NWTLO stats) that most new hits on my site are coming from random searches for the word NAKED. Yeah, like that's a really big shocker ... But seriously though, the only thing NAKED on or about this blog, are my thoughts. So if you were hoping for something a bit more risque ... Your search is far from over ... However, as a good friend once advised me, there are fringe benefits for "getting your mind out of the butter".

I have to call Beaner in a moment ... Which is actually Brenda, for all of you who aren't aware that she's carried that particular nickname around since kindergarten. One, I might add, that she's never been a big fan of, but sometimes you just have to grin and bear it. Like mine for instance, well in actuality, I have more than a few but the one I've had since I was just a sprout has been Spacey. Very clever isn't it, I mean the whole rhyme thing is totally unexpected. Not that I ever lived up to that nickname ... Has lightning struck yet?

Anyhoo ... Bren is coming over today at some point, to enjoy this wonderful wet weather we're having. So much for a picnic at the park, or starting on my summer tan. I guess we'll have to make due, keeping the little rugrats amused inside. Yeah, I'm doubting that's going to happen too but I've got the power of positive thinking on my side.

I'm feeling like a quote today ...

"The next best thing to being clever is being able to quote some one who is." ~ Mary Pettibone Poole, A Glass Eye at a Keyhole (1938)

I have a friend who loves housework. Honest, she loves all housework. All day long she moves from one chore to the next, smiling the whole time. I went over there one day and begged her to tell me her secret. It's simple, she said, right after breakfast you light up a joint. ~ Gabrielle Burton, "No One Has a Corner on Depression But Housewives Are Working On It." (1976)

If your house is really a mess and a stranger comes to the door, greet him with, "Who could have done this? We have no enemies." ~ Phyllis Diller, Phyllis Diller's Housekeeping Hints (1966)

And a good Sunday morning to you too.

Today is going to be SO much fun, as today marks day one of "preparing" for Mom's impending arrival. Which means that any little secret stash of hidden away whatever, needs to be unearthed and dealt with accordingly. See you later pack rat tendencies.

KC is still upstairs sleeping, unusal as normally she's the first to wake on a Sunday morning. But today it's me and I am enjoying the solitude of the moment. Earlier, I watched while I drank my morning cup of cocoa, a mama robin feeding her baby bird, from the comfort of my porch.

My feeders normally attract all sorts of birds, as well as a resident squirrel, I have named Buddi. Most bird enthusiasts I know, and granted I don't know that many, think of squirrels as bothersome pests, disrupting the daily routine at the bird feeder. They go about thinking all sorts of crazy ways to prevent the squirrels from getting to the feed, that they never take time to consider the easiest one. Which is just to feed the damn squirrels at the same time. This way they eat, leave your feeders alone and everyone goes home happy.

But I'm not like most bird watchers. Sure, I think birds are cute and interesting in a birdish sort of way, but my whole purpose of putting out the feeders, was not to amuse myself but my cat. I figured that by giving Emma something to do, while we're away at work and school, it would keep her from getting into too much trouble on her own. I remember when we first got her, she was a complete lunatic, racing from one end of the house to the other and constantly running into walls ... Not that anything has changed along those lines, but at least now she has birdvision to break up her day.

KC has finally awoken and is now settled admist the pillows on the couch, cuddled up tight in her blanket. And yes, the cartoons are already on. She looks so sweet now, that I haven't the heart to tell her todays plan just yet. Wait until she finds out her room is one of the things on my agenda this morning. She's going to be one very unhappy little camper. Oh well, you can't have a visit from Grandma without paying the price. (Note: Just kidding Mom.)

I am so tired this morning, having had nothing but disturbing dreams to keep me company all throughout the night. They felt so real, that if you had asked me, I would have told you reality was the dream. Well, maybe all except for the part where I was holding these really big timbers of wood, with electronic fuses at the ends, while standing in about a foot of water, on stage with a whole audience in front of me, looking exactly like Nicole Kidman. That little snippet, as real as it felt, may have been enough to convince me that I was indeed in the world of dreams.

Have you ever had a dream that gets your blood boiled though? This morning, I was ready to tear my ex to shreds, because even in my dreams, he still thought that he was the boss, telling me what I was going to do, how I was going to do it, and calling all the shots when it came to KC. During one part, I remember KC and I being snuggled up on a camping trip, trying to keep warm and sleep, when he, out of nowhere, decided that KC should be with him and I should be left out in the cold with no blanket and no means of staying warm.

From somwhere, I hear Linda from work, telling me to analyze my dream, to question why things are as they appear to be within the dream. What is it, that I fear most? This she says, is the question I must answer. I don't even bother to think about it, knowing the answer has always been there. It's all about control and my having none of it. The fear that I will never be able to stand up to the choices that other people make, and how those choices will affect me. My greatest fear, playing the pawn in a game not of my own choosing, where my survival depends on the mercy of others. Control of your own destiny is the hardest thing to lose, because even after it has been regained, you always doubt that you'll ever really have it again.

So I finally and formally met my new neighbor last night, after more than 3 months worth of doing the customary head nodding, can't say hello, but want to acknowledge that you're there thing. In a weird, odd sort of way, I will kind of miss the cat and mouse, now you see me, now you don't, who can make it into their respective home before the other, game of tag we've been playing. He of course, had no idea he was participating, which only goes to show you how well of a player I really am. (Rob from Survivor is a puppy next to me.)

So there he was knocking on my door last night, in what I was sure was about to be his pledge of ultimate devotion. (Or extreme wishful thinking, on my part.) "Woo .. calm down girl." I said to myself, doing a quick check of my hair, in the mirror beside the front door. Tucking a stray wisp behind my ear, I decided to go for the sultry country girl look, that has inspired many a man to be committed and waited, baited breath and all, for him to wet my ears with words of love ... In my heart, I knew that he too had felt it too, from the moment our eyes met across the dark, glistening asphalt of our mutually shared driveway, that he was mine.

But in a brief moment of fear, (for the thought of my rejection had his insides in turmoil) he pushed his young daughter in front of my door and said, in a deep husky voice, "She's a little shy but she was hoping that your daughter might be able to come outside and play for a little while." As if I could say no, with all the pre-wedding arrangements running through my head. (Multi-tasking is not for me.)

So of course, I said yes, in that strange awkward moment when you go from being complete and total strangers, to people who converse and know each other by first name. It was in the same moment when we both spoke, offering each other introductions ... "I'm Stacey.", I said, taking his hand in mine, in what was a firm but very pleasing shake, not too soft, not too hard and thank goodness no clammy hands. Smiling and (still) shaking, he looked me straight in the eyes and said ...

"I'm Mike." (Nooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!)

Now think back to any movie you've ever seen, where the heroine, finds love, only to watch it slip right through her perfectly manicured hands. OK ... this was nothing like that. This was action in slow motion, as I tried to supress the "any name but that" expression from my face, wondering as I did, how it was possible that out of the millions of names he could have owned, why that particular one had to be his!

The one and only name that to me, is the equivalent of a natural disaster, whenever it comes into contact with my personal life. "Just say no and walk away.", I told myself, resisting the urge to slam the door in his face. "It's not his fault his mother named him Mike ... How could she have known?" Oh, it was a bitter turn of events.

Playing it cool, because I own the "Three C's" (Calm, cool and collected) rule of communicating with members of the opposite sex, I kept my emotions in check, as I explained the rules of outdoor play to him. "I don't let KC play in the driveway, or in the front yard ... Backyard is it, and she's not allowed on the side of the house where I can't see her. The way back is off limits too, just so you know there's a creek back there, it's not big, but this time of year it's swelled up from the spring rain and there's no telling how deep or fast moving it is. Beyond that, they've got more than enough space to run, jump and carry on like your typical seven year old."

I paused for a moment, willing air to draw into my lungs. Just when I thought I was going to have to think of something more to say, the phone rang ... "Excuse me for a moment.", I heard myself say, as I clicked the phone on. "Hello ... Can you hold one second please?"

"I'm sorry ... I need to take this call.", I said, turning to him, an apologetic look on my face. "It was really nice to finally meet you ..." Whew ... relief, I thought, sinking back against the door as I closed it, recalling the the phone still in my hands.

"Hello?" (Pause) "Nope, I'm sorry ... You must have the wrong number."

I have read all the books, I have seen the light but I just can't get beyond the chaos that has become my home. (Chaos, an acronym described by the FlyLady as "Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome") When, oh when, did I lose control? I'll go ahead and guess about 7 years ago, however in the last 2 weeks things have just gotten crazy.

You see, it all started with the kitchen sink. That was my first plan of attack. But I fell victim to procrastination, and when I wasn't looking she snuck right in and whispered into my ear, "Sit ... relax ... there's always tomorrow ... and the day after that, and that, and the next day" and I think you get my drift here. Tomorrow comes alright, but my motivation has got up, gone, and sent me a postcard from Tahiti entitled "Wish You Were Here" ...

And I do wish I was there, because being here is like being stuck in the middle of the ocean with no boat, no paddles and not a life jacket in site, waiting for a Great White to come bite my feet off. (Am I the only one who still clings to the childhood fear that somewhere in the depths of the swimming pool a shark is just waiting for an opportunity? Damn Jaws!) But here I am, typing away on my computer because I hadn't yet blogged today and that my friends, is always an excuse to skip the domestic chores. Did I mention that procrastination and I, are very close friends?

Oh well, time to make the doughnuts.

Well, all I have to say is, at least he didn't pick the girl whose boyfriend had no idea he'd been dumped, otherwise Mr. F. would have made my list of top ranking idiots. Still I have to wonder if any feelings they have, can actually be real, or just concocted out of need to supply the television audience with some sizzle. But in reality, these tv shows while making a killing in the ratings, fall very short of their mark to produce relationships that have any chance of survival, once the cameras have all gone home.

Obviously, marrying a millioniare didn't get Darva Conger very far, and Aaron and Helene suffered through a very short lived engagenment and who could forget about Joe "I'm not really a millionaire, but I play one on tv" and Zora "humiliated but compensated" from Foxes Joe Millionaire, where the most likable person turned out to be the butler. Time still has yet to tell, on the last Bacholorette Trista and her man Ryan, yet I'm not holding out too much hope that they'll actually find themselves reeping marital bliss any time soon. Call me a cynic, but I'm not buying into happily ever after.

The only downfall I can see, to all of the above scenarios, is that even I have been hoodwinked into becoming a member of the viewing audience. I may not have been a dedicated viewer, but it goes to show that catching a little bit of the "trainwreck", was more than enough to keep me informed and in the know.

Feeling the need to do some good today? Click here to fund free mammograms.

Am I the only girl on the planet that thinks "The Bachelor" is a complete slimeball! I don't know how anyone can take any of this seriously! How can he possibly have any clue about what love is, when he is locking lips with any female who happens to be within close proximity to him! And how can these women actually put themselves up on the auction block, knowing that at the same time he is "wooing" them, he's shacking up just the same with some other girl! One word ... YUCK!

And just an FYI to make sure I've set the record straight here, I felt the exact same way about "The Bachelorette". I couldn't believe the amount of spit being swapped with just about everyone, all the time. Personally, I found it rather disgusting and self-serving. But enough about reality tv.

Mom called earlier this evening and has informed me of her impending arrival. I have exactly 2 weeks from today to get my house Mom ready. Anybody who has a Mom who is a perfectionist, will know exactly what it is I'm talking about. My Mom will overhaul my entire house, if I haven't already done it by the time she gets here! She is a firm believer that everything has its place, which is a far cry from my theory that everything can be hidden in a drawer somewhere. So better to do it now, that get the lecture on why it wasn't done before. Besides after she heads back to North Carolina, I can return to my evil ways.

Well, it's off to bed with me. I have to set my alarm for a very ridiculous time and I am not one who functions well without a full 8 hours.

Nothing beats a hot steaming shower, with some energetic calypso music blasting from the stereo speakers, as you scrub yesterday's grime away. Who could help but dance, even though it's been reported that a majority of all household accidents happen in the bathroom. It did occur to me that I was increasing my chance of risk, since I don't have those sticky things that stick to the bottom of the tub as well as to the bottom of your feet, but I was feeling risky and so I danced, lavender soap in hand. That was until the smoke alarm went off anyway! I'd forgotten to turn on the fan as well as shut the door to the bathroom. So then I had to scramble out, turn on the fan, wave my hands a few times in the direction of the alarm and shut the door hoping most, if not all of my neighbors had already started their day much earlier than I had.

I had an absolutely wonderful girl's day out yesterday with Brenda. We shopped the plaza, starting with Pier 1 (overpriced), Bed, Bath and Beyond (really overpriced), and then to my most favorite stop on any shopping venture, Barnes and Nobles (pricey, but I had a $50.00 gift certificate burning a whole in my wallet). Brenda is not an avid reader, but she knows how I am, so instead of trailing my search for the ultimate read, she opted to meet me over in the kids section, just as soon I had found whatever it was I was looking for. Which, shows you how much of a good friend she is, when she knows that I could spend entire days undisturbed in a bookstore.

However, with the makings of a migraine stirring around my temples, I made short work of finding a book I had researched on the internet (which I have already finished as of this morning) and opted to buy some music that I have been wanting. One was a replacement disk for my favorite Tori album, that has so many scratches on it, I began to wonder if Emma had been making a little music of her own. Actually, considering that I cart that CD just about everywhere I go, I'm just surprised it lasted as long as it did. Then I finally bought the new James Taylor CD "October Road", my mother has been raving about, for the last couple of months. I guess I finally figured why not and made it mine. Turns out Mom was right, but then again she usually is.

Barnes and Noble was followed by a stop for dinner at Applebee's, where I had yet another gift certificate begging to be used. Evidently, 6:30-ish is a very popular time for dinner on a Saturday night, so they gave us one of those little boxes that lights up like it's connected to a panic button, when they have an available table. Brenda looked at me, the crowded waiting room and said one word, "Bar". After all, why wait when there was a perfectly fine bar with more than enough available seating?

Of course, that brings up the matter of stools and why they have to be so unnaturally high. For a short person like myself, climbing up onto one of those stools is like reaching the peak of Mt. Everest. A comment, I felt free to make out loud, giving the cute bartender something to smirk about, as he asked us ladies what we'd like to drink. Brenda opted for a mud slide, while I, unable to decide that quickly asked for a strawberry daquiry just to take the pressure off. So then the cute bartender, (whose looks are plummeting in my opinion) asks Brenda for her license to make sure she is old enough for a liquored beverage, but then has the audacity to NOT ask me for mine! What a slap in the face! Was this in some small way a veiled insult towards my person? He had one of two options, I figured ... Either he thought I was way older than I looked or he was assuming since we were together that I, of course, had to be within the same age bracket. In which case, he's guilty regardless of his opinion, as everyone knows in a situation such as this the only right thing to do is card both women!

Brenda brought up an interesting point, wondering whether or not the bartender thought we were lesbians, since we were two apparently single women, enjoying a drink at the bar. "Doubtful or wishful thinking", I told her, "otherwise the same could be said for every woman in the place with a man not surgically attached to her hip. Besides, I'd make a horrible lesbian and I don't find you the least bit attractive ..." Luckily, the panic button on our dial a table went off, before the conversation could go any further.

Brenda and I have figured out that Applebee's must have a clause in their employment applications, because every server there seems to be an "All American" fresh faced college boy. Not that we were complaining, although I was quick to disabuse our FFCB of his notion that he was going to seat us in a booth. "I hate to be a pain," I told him, "but could we please have a table?" You would have thought I just asked him for a quickie in the bathroom, the way his jaw dropped down to his knees. Evidently, the patrons of Applebee's have never before had the audacity to question his judgement on the seating options. But I got my table and so I was happy, even though I had messed up any equilibrium the poor boy had left floating around in his head.

Then came our actual server, the one and only server who I might add, must be related to management because he did not fall into the same vein of future hunk, captain of the football team good lucks. By the end of the meal, we were affectionately calling him "Mumbles" because between the two of us, neither one of us was ever able to decipher any word that actually made it out of his mouth. I think we made him nervous, sophisticated 20 something females that we were, whose conversations encompassed more than the latest buzz from MTV.News and the who's who from the list of available good time girls in the men's bathroom.

The poor boy was certainly frazzled, because upon asking for our check, he came back with 2 styrofoam containers which we had only to assume was the leftovers of a dinner we had no intention of taking with us. Brenda in a moment of pity, was about to take the containers to ease the burden of his blunder, but I wasn't about to add food containers to the list of packaging we already were carrying. "I asked for the check, we didn't want to take anything with us." I said to Mumbles, which started a line of stuttering apologies. "Perfectly ok", I told him attempting to calm him before he hit postal, "We just need the check and we'll be all set." He practically set off at a dead run as Brenda laughed. "You know Stacey, you can be a real bitch." She said, which of course was really her way of paying me a compliment. Smiling, my answer was just as cheeky, "That's why we're friends, Bren."

Hmmm ... What a very weird night of dream manifestations, ranging from a black puppy named Socrates, 2 Siamese kittens and their brooding mama, KC missing the bus, and me having a conversation with about 80 million people gathered around, while wearing nothing but a blanket! This however, was not even the tip of the iceberg, since waterskiing on giant flat fish, seems a bit out of the ordinary. As well as me hanging out in some of the poshest digs, that I have ever seen and being proposed to by a gorgeous dream man, who gets down on bended knee and slides the biggest strawberry known to man, onto my ring finger! Who could blame me for saying, "I do"? I think Brian Adams might have been hanging out in my dreams too, but I can't be sure.

So today is supposed to be a day of excitement! I'm just waiting now, for it not to be so early, before calling Brenda. I have this mother ingrained belief system, that there are appropriate times to call someone as well as inappropriate times. In my mother's household, anything before 8 a.m. was rude and anything after 9 p.m. had better have been emergency related.

I've carried this belief sometimes to the extreme since being out on my own. I remember one time, when my oldest sister Amy, tried to fix me up with some guy named Theo. A nice gesture, I am sure, but one that failed to meet expectations. Perhaps she should have clued the poor soul, (although what I really meant to type was moron) that when calling a girl for the very first time, one does not want to do that anytime after 11:00 at night. This was the extent of the call ...

Theo: Hi is Stacey there?

Me: Do you know what time it is?

Theo: Is this Stacey?

Me: Do you know what time it is?

Theo: Your sister told me I should call.

Me: Do you know what time it is?

Theo: Umm, well it's a little after 11.

Me: Goodnight.

In my defense here for acting like the world's biggest bitch, (which I have been referred to as, on more than one occasion by people with a bug in their shorts) KC, who was only 2 at the time, was woken up by the phone call. What momma wouldn't be mad? Needless to say, that blind date was over before it even began.

In case you didn't know, some things should never be shouted down the hall at the top of your lungs, while you are at work. This would include clever phrases like, "Can anyone tell me where I can find some lays?" You after all, are the only one who knows that the lay you are referring to, is the one worn around your neck at your youngest sister's Hawaiian themed graduation party.

Of course, nothing beats a flesh and blood cowboy walking into your life when you least expect it, which happened right around lunch time today. Tight denim jeans, leather boots and a how about me and you mosey on off somewhere into the sunset for a little quality time, sly smile. Mr. Good Enough to Eat, had all the office girls sighing in unison. Cheryl even professed a new found interest for horse back riding. All I could say was cowgirl up, giddyup ya little doggies.

I was talking to a girlfriend the other night, and we have decided that the word "single" is in desperate need of a replacement. I offered up a new age solution for explaining our solo status. I think open for opportunity sounds a lot better than almost 30, cat owning spinster, desperate for any attention from the opposite sex, planning the wedding before meeting the groom puts much more of a positive spin to the situation. Now if only I could convince everyone else of this.

Woo hoo! I just got an email from my very best friend in the entire world ... Brenda Gail, ladies and gentlemen, Brenda Gail. She wants to know what my plans are for this weekend ... (Checking my schedule ... Yup no plans.) So of course, I just wrote her back that I am game for absolutely ANYTHING. Crikes! Now my sister Amy is IM'ing me ... Lordy, but I am popular. I feel like tossing my hair and stomping on all the little people.

Ach ... She is such a maroon. She just asked me if I know some obscure screen name, because they have sent her an email photo attachment. Uh hello ... Internet user 101, never open emails that contain attachments from people you do not know. Wasn't that covered in the All I Needed to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten?

I had an odd dream last night about Squiggy, my pet goldfish. He was in this huge bathtub which turned out to be a lake and I was in my hipwaders, reeling in my line, like he was an eight pound tuna on my hook. Reeling him in and letting him loose, we played cat and mouse for a solid ten dream minutes before the whole fishing scenario finally bored me enough to just bring him in. Of course, even in my dreams, I'm not stupid and I made someone else undo the hook from his mouth, just so I could release him and start all over again. What would Freud have to say about that? Did you ever notice that most of his theories revolved around penis envy. Surely, I do not jest.

Well, I am off to listen to some moderately loud music and play domestic goddess before heading upstairs to bed. Sweet dreams all, enjoy the lunar eclipse.

I have one of the worst headaches ever! If I didn't feel so guilty about not updating my blog on a daily basis, I'd be in bed trying to sleep this off, since my advil has yet to work!!!! But I need to post ...

Tonight we had riggies and meatballs for dinner, which didn't turn out too bad considering I was completely out of fresh garlic. A pisser for sure but one I managed to sidestep in order to get the meal made. Whenever I make meatballs, it's as if I'm transported back in time. Instead of my own little kitchen, I stand at the ready by my Nonni's side, watching as her weathered hands plow down into the bowl, churning the meat, spice and breadcrumb mixture round and round. I remember always being in such awe that she never measured anything, always knowing exactly how much of each ingredient was required to make the perfect meatball and how her hands cupping over themselves would mold the meat into the most round circles I have ever seen. Being Italian, Nonni made sure her grandaughter's were well educated in the kitchen.

It's no wonder, that making meatballs should remind me of her, making me feel as if she were still here, guiding me during the preparation, like an angel over my shoulder. Maybe it would explain why at the precise moment I was making meatballs tonight, this was the song that filled my kitchen with music.Artist : Ringo Starr

Song : Never Without You

And your song
Will play on
Without you
And this world
Won't forget
About you
Every part of you was in your song
Now we will carry on
Never without you (Without you without you)
Within you without you (Within you without you)
'Here Comes the Sun' is about you

Here today
Not alone
With my memories
Life is strange
How things change
It's reality
You played a beautiful melody
That keeps on haunting me
I can always feel you
By my side

And your song (Your song)
Will play on (Play on)
Without you (Without you)
And this world (This world)
Won't forget (Forget)
About you (About you)
Every part of you was in your song
Now we will carry on
Never without you (Without you without you)
Within you without you (Within you without you)
'Here Comes the Sun' is about you

I know all things must pass
And only love will last
I'll always love the memories
Of you and me…

And your song (Your song)
Will play on (Play on)
Without you (Without you)
And this world (This world)
Won't forget (Forget)
About you (About you)
Every part of you was in your song (Your song)
Now we will carry on
Never without you (Never without you)
Within you without you (Within you without you)

We're never without you (We're never without you)
Within you without you (Within you without you)

We're never without you (We're never without you)
We're never without you (We're never without you)
Within you without you (Within you without you)
I think love is about you...

4 days until Friday and yes, it seems that I've already started the countdown for this week. I just can't seem to help it though. Maybe we all would have been better off, if no one had ever come up with the great idea of currency. I for one, can't really figure out what was so wrong about the trade and barter system ... Here's a chicken, now give me one of those things right over there.

Instead, we've got ghoulish looking green guys with bad profiles hanging out in our wallets. Ooooh, just what I've always wanted. Well, actually that is pretty much what I've always wanted, hence why I keep playing the lottery. It seems my dreams hold out a lot longer than my dollars. Oh well. Maybe that would change if we could put some female profiles on them there greenbacks. It's sad when your bad luck with men extends over into the paper currency kind. Yikes!

Joe brought up an interesting point today while we were wasting 8 hours away in the dungeon. Having moved my office one more door away from my boss, Joe is now realizing there is a downside to my move. I contend however, that I simply cannot be held responsible for the fact that my voice was made for Broadway. It's like I told Linda today, while defending myself to my new neighbor. "I can't help it that I enuciate clearly and that my voice has a natural projection. I was meant for the stage, not this life of drudgery I am currently leading." This of course, was followed by a very long soliloquy utilizing every ounce of drama I posess. Linda, at least, was amused ... Joe not so much.

Although he did seem to get a kick out of my periodic outbursts after finishing a conversation with a customer. Following is a list of the few comments I was purported to have made ...

Dickhead, moron, idiot, jerk, whatever, loser, not if you paid me ... Etc., etc., etc. ... The list according to Joe was quite colorful and extensive. Guess my vocabulary skills are up to par! Heh heh heh.

Just another day, is how my Mother's Day is turning out to be. Which has included a maternal reminder to my young daughter KC, that the bed is not and never will be a trampoline, and that all jumping as of now is strictly forbidden. I am sure that if I had a rope, I would be at the end of it by now.

We've had some nasty thunderstorms today which have unfortunately kept us confined within the house. And just like a Sunday there is absolutely nothing good to be found on tv. I should know, I've clicked on every single station at least a trillion and one times today. So then I searched my library for something to read, but found as usual, that I have completely exhausted my reading supplies. You know it's bad when you pick up a book and can instantly remember what the story line was about and how many times you have re-read it since your initial purchase. Yes folks, I am a re-reader!

I once knew a lady who thought it was ridiculous to buy a book because after reading them, they became worthless in her opinion. This was also the same opinion she shared about movies. But I've always disagreed. It's like being given a gift twice, where your enjoyment never declines with each giving.

Uh oh. Sounds like we've got another boomer overhead, which means time for me to log off and shut down.

Happy Mother's Day to all Moms!

Today started off just like any other day when I mistakenly press the wrong button on my alarm clock, and wind up turning it off, rather that just hitting the snooze. Iiieee!!!! Nothing but rush, rush, rush, rush ... Jump in the shower, jump out, race downstairs, search laundry room for something resembling clean clothes. Dry hair, apply make-up, forego curling iron, opt for messy wind blown look, tame it down some as to avoid wind tunnel comments made by uninformed male co-workers that this look is actually in, in, in ... Stop and breathe, but just for a second ...

Yell upstairs to KC, time to wake up, rise and shine, zipadeedoodah, let's go! Make second trip into laundry room, to find clean clothes for minor child, make mental note that laundry really needs to be folded and taken upstairs and put away in dressers. Dressers? Yes! Large hollow objects with sliding attachments that store miscellaneous items of clothing ... And all this time I never knew! Then it's brush the teeth, don the shoes, write bus pass, dig for lunch money, pack the bookbag and out the door. A quick kiss goodbye, have a nice day, remember your manners and a farewell wave, child is given into the hands of morning sitter and Mom is hustling and bustling to get to work on time.

Coldplay in the CD player, window rolled down to half way, watching for wildlife on the way to work. One mallard, two Canadian Geese, one Blue Heron and a near miss as I direct the car back from the shoulder of the road. Reminding myself (again) to pay attention, wondering why I suffer from chronic Auto A.D.D. ... Get to work, record time, feeling it's going to be a good day, a one duck, two geese, one heron sort of lucky day. But then it's gone. Standing there, trying to understand what it is I'm seeing. Panic! Set off in a run towards the front door and into the office. Breathless, in John's room, words moving a mile a minute through my lips. "Do you know? CPR! Call 911 ... Need an ambulance!"

Shaking, hands won't be still, blood pumping, heart thumping, waiting ... Waving arms to the rescue vehicle, that way, that way ... How fast everything is moving, how slow it seems to be, watching. A hysterical woman, dark hair, being held as the crew works over the man lying there in the middle of the parking lot. They've taken off his shirt, he's not moving. How long has it been, how long? Pumping his chest, giving him air ... Nothing! Still nothing. More time passes, it's been too long, too long. I can feel the woman's tears, my God, my God. And then it's still. The parking lot is silent, the rescue men back up and move away. Heart attack, I hear someone beside me whisper.

Quietly we walk back into the building. "Are you ok?" ... "No, are you?" I'm in shock. My God, a man just died in our parking light, right in front of me. I can't help but think that wasn't how it was supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to die. We did everything right, he had immediate CPR, the rescue crew was there within seconds ... Everyone tried to make him live. Why did it end so wrong?

I sit in my office. My phone is ringing, ringing, ringing ... How can I answer my phone? I just watched a man die in the parking lot. Why is my phone ringing? Tears are streaming down my face, I can't stop shaking. I can't imagine what his wife must be feeling. How can I possibly talk to anyone, when I can't even breathe in enough air? I take a moment. Everyone is kind of quiet, but soon work begins. The humming of the printers the first noise to invade the silence, talking resumes, people are walking up and down the halls, someone laughs. Life goes on, except for the man who just died in the parking lot. Someone says they have loaded his body into the ambulance, to go to the hospital, the wife has gone too.

My phone is ringing again. This time, I know I have to answer. I catch my breath and say hello. The man on the other end is cheerful, he asks me how I am today. I answer that I am fine, I don't mention the fact that I just saw a man dying in the parking lot. He wouldn't want to know that. He doesn't even stop to question why my voice isn't the same sunny sound he is used to hearing. He places his order, I read it back and thank him for his call, replacing the receiver back into its cradle. Time moves on.

Sirens

Somewhere in the distance
sirens scream.
Echoing across wind blown fields,
(RUSH)
until the sound is gone,
fading further into a distance
that hearing cannot measure.

I wonder if not hearing the sirens
has lessened the emergency.
But even moments after the thought has crossed my mind
it is almost forgotten.

Somewhere there is someone living this moment,
the sound of sirens ringing in their ears,
attached to the drama of a speeding emergency
blazing down the highway beyond the field,
en route to a destination unknown by me
to a fate unknown.

In these moments I know I have heard
the minutes of a ticking clock.
The sound of life, death, joy
and despair.

Still I go on as before
the sirens no longer disrupting
what remains of this morning. ~ Stacey * written 07-06-2000

How odd, that this poem I wrote three years ago, reflects so much of this morning. You just never know.

Who needs an alarm clock, when you have the birds outside your window to wake you up. The little bastards were singing away this morning, as if they were an all bird chorus practicing for a night at Carnegie Hall. Even though it was way too early to be conscious, no matter how much I tried to shut my eyes and fall back to sleep, it wasn't to be.

This is what I get for sleeping with the window open last night! And to think that all I wanted was just a little fresh air. Those birds should just consider themselves lucky my bedroom is upstairs, otherwise I would have set Emma upon them to break her morning fast. It would have beenthe 2003 remake of Bye Bye Birdie.

Yesterday at work was a fun day, and it all was on account of Linda's lunch. It's amazing what happens when you get a bunch of women together and pull out a cucumber ... Well, women who all have an excessive abundance of humor anyway. The few men in the office wisely chose to hide out in their offices upon hearing the unearthly cackling, though one brave soul was sent down as a representative to gather information.

I never knew someone could turn so red over a cucumber. Although perhaps I should blame the conversation that he chose to overhear. Which was something along the lines of a final understanding of why "C", who will be leaving us, as of this Friday to enjoy a life of leisure, managed to snag a husband kind enough to tell her that she didn't need to work if she didn't want to. I believe the exact comment was something about the relative size of the cucumber to her mouth ... Evidently that was the key to early retirement.

Comments that I can't bring myself to type here, continued to be bantered about the room until "G", one of the sales managers yelled out from his office, for someone to please come and explain to him the exact nature of our conversation. That was my cue to head in the other direction and back to my office. I get in enough trouble on my own without having to explain "L's" theory on cucumbers.

So much for the power of cheese.

Oh well, time now to get ready for another exciting day at the office. Who knows what "L" will be bringing for lunch today.

I met the man in my dreams last night. Just my luck, he's a complete idiot! The snippet I remember well, attests to this very simple fact.

Lying on the couch, his head propped up against a pillow, with what I suppose was his father bustling around in the background, my Mr. Right seems quite a catch. That is until he opens his mouth to speak and says, "I have a headache.", which is hardly an encouraging statement in any situation. But on closer inspection, the realization of why he has a headache comes into view. Shaking my head in disbelief, that my Romeo should be such a maroon, I break the sad news of his stupidity to him. "Take the pink pretty (child's ponytail holder) off that's wrapped around your head, you idiot!"

Perhaps I should be happy that this was only a dream. This will be one to share around the water cooler today ... I'm off to work, late as usual.

Fund FREE mammograms just by clicking here ... No excuses!

Now that I've completely lost my train of thought, I don't really know where I was going with tonight's post. I do know however, that KC just got in some serious trouble. Someday my wonderful, sweet child will realize that speaking with a forked tongue is never a good idea. Her smart little mouth is always the cause for her downfall, but no matter how many times I remind her of this fact, she just keeps on going ... Maybe I should rename her "Energizer" ...

Discipline is a tedious though necessary thing. Instead of enjoying a nice quiet dinner together, little miss independent is serving time, sulking upstairs in her room. Well, I know how to enjoy a few moments of blissful silence ... I think it's about time to sit back, relax and wind down for the night and if I'm lucky, KC might realize an apology is in order and be able to leave solitary confinement some time before bedtime.

A little wishful thinking never hurt anyone.

"I am extraordinarily patient, providing I get my own way in the end." ~ Margaret Thatcher, in The Observer (1989)

You know you're having a bad week when you have to ask yourself what day it is! For the record, dependable sources have informed me (much to my chagrin) that it is (ONLY) Tuesday ... But it feels so much more like Friday ... Oh where, oh where is my weekend?

I am currently logging on from my Father's house and unfortunately, about to get the boot or so it appears ... In fact, I was told that now is a good time to go home ... I'm sure he means this in a loving way of course ... Especially if he knows what's good for him! One must occasionally drop reminders that when it comes time to pick out the nursing home, that decision will be left in my more than capable hands ... (Insert evil laugh here.)

Dammit it all! This will have to be continued ...

Someday I am going to have a t-shirt printed that asks the simple question of "WHY XY?" ... How can one little chromosome be the cause of so much stress and upheaval in the world? When you consider the answer to the age old question of "How many licks can you get from a tootsie roll tootsie pop ..." I am not surprised to find, that
"The world may never know." Sometimes men can be plain old ignorant!

It's the age old stereotype of how women and men are perceived in the workplace. If a man demonstrates his frustrations by putting his foot down, he is perceived as taking charge. While a woman, presented in the exact same scenario is perceived as being a bitch or worse yet suffering from that "time of the month". Today marks the second day, of having a bit of a run-in with a certain male co-worker, who suffers from DMS, otherwise known as Disillusioned Male Syndrome. Now in his defense, he isn't always so hard to get along with although there are moments when he walks down the halls, as if he is expecting the red sea to part. Unfortunately, lately it's been the latter and never one to back down from a confrontation when I know I'm in the right ... Or just feeling plain old stubborn, "John" (not his real name) and I have been locking horns.

Within 10 minutes of my being at work this morning, John decided to get an early start to his own "Bruce Almighty" routine. It took all of three seconds for my blood to get fired up to the point of boiling and it was in those very seconds when I came back with the ultimate comeback to quid pro quo his statement of, "Don't give me your attitude." The answer my fellow sisters and a sure fire slogan for any t-shirt is, "Don't Like My Attitude? Then Don't Give Me Yours!" Feel free to use that the next time some XY'er gives you a hassle.

"I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless, and stupid." ~ Dorothy Parker, in John Keats, You Might As Well Live (1970)

5 Things I Had Planned To Do Today But Have Decided Not To DO:

1. Laundry
2. Random Cleaning
3. Grocery Shopping
4. Hair Cut
5. Not blow off all the things I said I was going to get done today.

Things I Plan To Do Instead:

1. Enjoy the sunshine
2. Take the towel off my head.
3. Go for a pointless drive. (Anywhere the wind blows.)
4. Call my Mother.
5. Confiscate Pop's video camera and film home movie of grandchildren to send to Mom during her convalescence.
6. Break out the Nikon and take some serious shots.

Yesterday I was queen of the rants ... It seems my bad mood spilled over into my post, which of course induced me to suggest boycotting the music industry ... I have since changed my mind. Ahh the freedom oh being female in America ... My guess is that with the economic downslide, people are already figuring out for themselves, what does and doesn't fit into their own budgets. Still, it's nice to occasionally get on the soap box every once in a while and feel like you're fighting for a cause.

But I know of a real cause that could use all the support it can get, won't cost a dime and will make you feel better at the end of your day! Support free mammograms here ...