Need a little rest from fun in the sun? Rush to your local bookstore and grab a copy of Why Girls Are Weird.

A wonderfully entertaining read, you'll fall head over heels in love with its realistic characters as their lives play out in a blogging world.

Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon!

Put your money where my mouth is ... Or should I say where my text is.

You may have noticed by now, a newly added link on the sidebar of my page. A most wonderful idea, and an upcoming event I'm proud to say I'll be participating in, on July 26th. I urge you to lay down a little green for a good cause.

It should be no big surprise, that I've chosen RAINN as my charity of choice.

That being said, I promise to do my best and complete a full 24 hours of nothing but extreme Nakedness. If you can pledge, I can blog ... even if it means downing serious quantities of Mountain Dew and belting out Barbara Streisand tunes for hours.

Come on you know you want to Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon! I promise, it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Perusing the wonderful world of the web, I came across a board already posting on the highly publicized Kobe Bryant, who stands accused of sexual assault. A topic that I had already intended to blog about this morning, the following is my reply to a poster who believes, (as do many) that sexual assault is really a "small incident being blown into huge proportions."

I will go on the record, that while these allegations have yet to be heard by a jury, the Eagle County District Attorney Mark Hurlbert was quoted to having said, that he ''can prove this case beyond a reasonable doubt.''

Still there is a presumption of innocence for Bryant, which this author will respect, until such time as he has been found guilty of committing the crime of which he has been accused.

The following is my post in its entirety:

****************************************************
A poster writes:

"Mike Tyson has done hundreds of things that were either morally wrong, against the law, or both, but look at the ratings for his recent fights. "
****************************************************

Sad but true, it amazes me that Mike Tyson is still allowed to show his face in the public spotlight and that there are people who are more than willing to forgive his grievances. Far from being rehabilitated, and certainly without any help from his chosen profession, Mike Tyson's history of violence is far from being a thing of the past. But this post isn't about Mike Tyson, the convicted rapist, it's about the allegations against Kobe Bryant.

****************************************************
A Poster continues:

This is not like a murder charge, it was Kobe having sex. This is a small incident being blown into huge proportions because of his fame. His talent will make up for his poor judgment in this instance, but he has to be careful from now on.
****************************************************

It is neither a murder charge or one for having sex, that Bryant is being accused of. It seems that the mass population of Americans, have a hard time understanding the meaning of the term "having sex." "Having sex" implies that it was a consensual act between two consenting adults. Forgive my overuse of the word consent, but I feel the need to make the point that the charges against Bryant are for SEXUAL ASSAULT. No where in the definition of sexual assault, will you find any form of the word consent.

I hardly think allegations of rape can be construed as a "small incident being blown into huge proportions." The fact that Bryant is a public figure, does put this case into the national spotlight and therefore will be sure to produce a media frenzy. Opinions will go back and forth, between those of us who know the facts and those of us who think we know the facts. But truth be told, his guilt or his innocence is up to a jury to decide. A jury who will be privy to more information than we would ever hope to know.

I ask all of you out there to consider how you would feel, if the woman pressing these charges against Bryant, were your sister, your mother, your daughter or even a close friend. Would that simple fact make you reassess your initial opinion, would it make a difference?

I for one, would like to believe that no woman would ever "Cry rape," where there was none. Has it happened in the past? Unfortunately the answer is yes. But that doesn't make every victim a liar, it makes the perpetrator of those lies indecent human beings for slandering the life of the accused and for every victim that was only trying to tell the truth.

Rape is a hateful crime, against the body, soul and mind of a person. It takes away a victims right to live her life unfettered by images of horror, terror and grief. To think that any victim can go on unscathed is naive, as rape is a crime against memory, once the physical body has begun to heal.

My only hope for this case and every other case of sexual assault, is that justice be done and the guilty be punished, no matter who that person might be.

Narrow views are a direct result of miseducation.

RAINN :: RAINN Statistics ::

If you haven't seen it, wake up, get out of bed and get to it!

Pirates of the Caribbean, is this summers best kept secret. Despite the trailer, which gives off the distinct impression of nothing special, a true gem in this movie lies.

Johnny Depp was magnificent, and devilishly handsome in an arrrgh, shiver me timbres sort of way. Proving that the romance of the high seas is alive and well for this landlubbing lady. Give me naught but torn bits of fabric to wear, a smoldering look from Captain Jack and I'll be more than happy to just swab my days away contentedly. Although my nights may very well be spent in a more pleasing way ...

Captain Jack however, is no match for Orlando Bloom, now that he's lost his blonde elfin look. I simply cannot make any comment right now that would do him any justice for such a superb performance, though wonderful would begin to describe. As would charming, dashing, handsome, and a plethora of other complimentary adjectives. I am infused with love ...

Well, a girl can always dream ... or hope to dream when she goes to bed, as I am about to do.

May the seas be calm and your skies be clear.

Family dinner tonight at Dad's house. Although more than half of the family has decided to boycott said festivities, as a silent protest against houseguests that have overstayed their welcome.

I'm going ... But only because someone has to show up and aren't I lucky, they elected me when I wasn't even looking. (Gooney bastards!)

Anyhoo ... I've got to go save the garlic bread from burning in the oven and then I am off to Father's to play Pied Piper. I'm thinking about going into the rat removal business. I've even got a slogan ...

You've got pests, I've got answers ... No family member too big, no family member too small. You want them out, I'll get rid of them all ...

Rather catchy, I think.

Once again ... My counter statistics are depressing me! I am getting way too many hits from horndogs in search of, (dare I even type the words) n*ked pics of random celebritites and/or n*ked pics period! If I didn't like the title of my blog so much, I'd considering changing it, as the whole affair is simply unsettling to me.

So I will, (for the benefit of those seeking something that will not be found here) post yet ANOTHER reminder, that such (cough) "enlightenment" is not what this blog is all about.

Move on little doggies ...

Shit ... It's 6:02 ... I'm two minutes late to officially starting my day. Later y'all.

Mothers are devious creatures when it comes to getting what they want. Withholding information to the whereabouts of their new blog home, until such time as their daughter does the same.

Don't think that I don't know, that she thinks, I won't be able to hold out much longer. I've got at least another few days before I cave and until then, I am the picture of strength and perserverance. A regular poster girl.

If I had a picket sign, I'd be out marching past her house, singing Peter, Paul and Mary songs at the top of my lungs. I'd set up a tent and camp beneath the loblolly trees, and order take out to be delivered in. I'd call all the news media and hold a press conference, standing out in the cold rain shivering, black mascara running down my face. I'd talk in a small girls voice, and demurely raise my face to the camera as they zoomed in for a close up.

"Be kind to your daughters." I would say, between racking coughs, struggling with myself to remain standing. "This all could have been avoided if she'd only shown me her blog ... If only she'd ..." I'd try to finish saying, before passing out, my body slumping down in exhaustion, as two brawny ambulence attendents come tearing across the lawn to my aid.

"We need mouth to mouth over here stat!" They'd yell, ripping open my shirt to better perform the compressions. "Good Lord, check out the set of lungs on this one!" And then I'd be breathing again, my eyelids fluttering open to find myself staring deep into the golden brown eyes of Mr. "Thank You Very Much Can I Have Your Phone Number Please".

"Forgive me, forgive me!", my Mother would cry. "I'll never try to hold my blog hostage from you ever again. Oh how could I have been so cruel to my youngest child ... Oh the horror, the horror!"

Reaching out my hand from my semi-reclined posistion on the hospital gurney, my new beau by my side, I'd clasp my Mother's hand. "I love you Mom ... I forgive you. Now go get me a lap top and tell me the name of your blog!"

*
Second to the right
straight on till morning
that's where I'll be waiting
Second to the right
straight on till morning

Hola, tick-tock
my time is up
Pedro says
I will forget him in days
in my new life, no room for a lost boy
boys can be so dumb sometimes ...

~ Operation Peter Pan ... Tori Amos
Just a little of what I'm listening to tonight.

Yesterday was a bad impulse shopping day for me. Had I known what sort of melancholy mood I was in, I would have stayed far, far away from anything remotely resembling a mini mall.

It's useless to resist you know, said the money in my wallet. You know you're going to spend me, if not here, then in some other store. Come on, get yourself something nice. You've been a good girl lately, go ahead. Come on, no one has to know, go ahead and splurge.

Is that Barnes and Noble? Girl, tell me you're not even thinking about being so close and not going in there. You're a book addict, you need to read, you live to read ... Hell, I hate to tell you this, but if it wasn't for all those books you've read, you'd hardly ever have a life. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know I've got the right of it.

So what's it going to be today? Another one of those single girl reads where the girl finally gets her man in the end? Or one of those books that requires five boxes of Kleenex and a dozen advil by the time you're through? You know, you're so predictable sometimes, it's a wonder they haven't made a section in there just for you.

Poetry today?

Now THAT'S different. Yeah, I was being sarcastic. I know how you love a good tortured writer. Credence to the soul ... Isn't that what you say? The stuff that puts the power behind the words. You got to have angst, without it you're only a red wheelbarrow, in search of story, that needs an author.

Remember that time you wrote a poem about grilled cheese. You wrote it because the "Creative Writing" teacher couldn't handle reading the intense stuff. It made her uncomfortable. She used to hand those papers back to you so pristine, you wondered if she even bothered to read it long enough before grading you with a B. And how you hated her, when she'd make those comments in the margins, or suggest a change in the words you'd chosen to use. Rewriting the very thing that had come straight from your heart.

And do you remember, all the times she'd make the entire class sit through an hour of poetry readings. Her with her glasses slipping off her nose, in her peacock blue polyester pants, trying to shove her ass up higher onto the desk. Reading away in her nasally tone, poem after poem, of flowers, lollipops and her wonderfully, perfect offspring.

And wasn't it a lucky coincidence, that her daughter happened to be in your class. How she'd beam and smile, when her mother was reading yet another "original" poem to her hostage students. Sitting there, preening away in the front row, while the rest of us tried our best not to vomit on each others shoes. And how many times, did you have to hear about how she had been published ... Though you never saw the proof of any such thing. One thing was certain however, the teacher favored cheesecake poems over those of substance. If you wanted to make the grade, you had to conform to the going standard.

So you wrote about grilled cheese and got an A. And she asked you to stand up and read it in front of the class. But you didn't want to, in fact bluntly refusing to read those nambly pambly words out loud. Your friend Lee sat snickering in the chair beside you, if you could have, you would have kicked him. "That'll teach you." he said after class, "I guess now you'll think twice before you turn the art of sandwich making into a profession."

I remember how disappointed you were, when you realized the class was nothing short of a joke. You, who had wanted her entire life to do nothing more than write something, that could mean something to somebody, somewhere. Instead you're teacher prompted you to write about the kind of soup that would best compliment a grilled cheese sandwich.

So you decided to keep your writing to yourself. Hiding it away like a shameful little secret, cramming it all into notebooks you knew you'd never share. But every writer craves an audience.

Words are the bridge between mankind. They make sentences, they express emotions, they give reason to everything under the sun. Nobody can own them, no word is ever exclusively yours, we all simply borrow them for a time.

So you bought your book of poetry yesterday and took the children to the park, listening to their sounds of glee as they dashed madly about the play yard. You stood there like a bird poised and ready for flight, the wind softly tugging at your raven black hair.

You raised your face to the sky, alive with the warmth of the sun, sat down and began to read outloud, verse after glorious verse. Pausing for breath in the moments when the poem told you to be still and building to a crescendo, when the words dripped like nectar from the page. And although there was still a little bit wrong with the world, just for a moment, it all felt so right.

Fierce winds and rain, could not keep a good party from going on yesterday. A good thing for us, since housing the number of attending guests inside, would have been nearly impossible. Despite our best attempts and the collective usage of 3 independent, high school graduated brains, the assemble yourself outside structure didn't happen, though it wasn't from a lack of trying.

Considering my well known camping survival skills, setting up an overhead tarp, should have been a breeze, mere childs play in the hands of a capable female approaching 30. According to the diagram, all we had to do was post out 4 corners at 45 degree angles, attach rope slides from the stakes to the poles and wahla, instant rain protection guaranteed. Of course, attempting such a setup in gale force winds took the level of difficulty up a notch.

Try as we may, things just continued to go wrong from there. Breaking from the strain of trying to remain upright in winds clocking speeds somewhere beyond that of sound, each and every attempt was met with frustration and disappointment, as line after line of rope snapped in half. Curses filled the air from our small patch of lawn, only to be returned quite vehemently from porch side, when the pig on the roast burst into full flames and had to be doused with the water hose.

Finally conceeding to failure, it was with heavy hearts that we packed up the remains of the kit. Rob even delighted us, with an improptu demonstration of the proper technique, required for condom applications. The tent equipment and it's carrying bag, providing the perfect models for his lesson. Quite familiar with the process already, I could only assume that his indecent ramblings were for the benefit of the recent graduate, who stood blushing before him. Information hardly beneficial, for a girl on her way to an all girl Catholic college, or at least much to the hope of her older sisters.

As I eluded to in a previous post prior to the celebration, there was a hint of hositility to be had in the air. Some people are just born miserable, and it surely was the case in truth when considering the permanent bad attitude of my cousin's future wife. Intent on being a Grade A, Class 1 Bitch, her voice could be heard over the celebration, complaining about both this and that. Between my 3 sisters and I, we had heard more than we ever wanted to hear, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid her at all costs.

Not an easy thing to do, considering that neither her or my cousin, were too concerned with watching over their 18 month old terror of a son. After about 5 minutes alone with him, it was apparrent to almost everyone, that cuteness does indeed wear off. Still, I'm not the kind of person who can willingly let any child walk into harms way, when his parents seem too oblivious to realize that he's too close to an open inground pool or taking off into the back 40 unsupervised.

It seemed every one of my sisters got unofficailly appointed at some point during the day (sometimes more than once) to be babysitter to the future teenage deliquent. His parents too busy drinking back beers, playing volleyball, eating, and/or swimming to keep an eye on their bustling baby boy. Even KC was not safe from babysitting detail, being told by the Baby's Momma to keep an eye out for little Bailey and then suffering the barbs of the bitches tongue for manhandling the toddler, when all she was trying to do was keep the boy from escaping into the neighbors yard.

This Momma had had it! Taking the baby from my daughter's arms, I marched in the direction of his mother, unceremoniously dropping him into her arms. "Special delivery." I said, my voice sounding as sweet as sugar, "I think this little guy misses his mother." Little Miss Priss looked none too happy with the drool king being back in her arms, and quickly deposited him down onto the grass as if the boy had been fire in her arms. Reigning in my temper, I took KC's hand in mine as we walked away. Explaining that she was to have fun and not worry about watching the baby anymore. "That's his Momma's job." I told her, "Not yours."

It couldn't have been even 5 minutes before that baby was off wandering again, with someone other than his parents in hot pursuit. My sisters by my side, the 4 of us stood huddled in a circle, each hissing angrily against the ostracities of both our cousin and his wife when it came to their idea of parental supervision. No matter the amount of hints we dropped or in some cases flat out requests for them to take charge over their son, neither parent was moved enough to do anything about it, preferring the kindness of strangers and cousins to keep watch over their son.

The day progressed and soon a brilliant moon shone bright overhead. Everyone was ready to just relax and enjoy the remainder of the night when suddenly the banshee was screaming once more.

"Have you seen Bailey?", she cried, appearing frantic.

"Isn't he with you?" I asked, since the last time I had seen him, he had been dogging his mother's steps out in the kitchen as she fixed herself a plate of goodies.

She didn't bother to respond, giving me a snotty look as her big mouth screamed for Daniel. On the alert, my sisters and I quickly divided to find the boy, I to the pool, Jodi to the bedrooms, Audrey to the front of the house and Amy to the back. I could hear my cousin's fiancee tearing into him, "Daniel! You know I'm trying to eat! You're supposed to be watching the baby!" I couldn't believe that she was actually standing there wasting time screaming at my cousin, rather than trying to locate her child. This chick takes the cake, I thought to myself as I (thankfully) scanned an empty pool.

"I've got him!" I heard Audrey shout from inside the house, watching as both "Mom and Dad", stopped hurling accusations at each other long enough to go inside and get the boy. Breathlessly, Audrey explained that she had found him wandering down towards the end of the driveway.

"He could have been run over!" the wicked witch of the south snarled at Daniel, starting up once more the arguement of who indeed was really responsible for this near disaster. Daniel just stood there like a lump, holding the baby in his arms watching the finger wagging in front of his face.

Everyone in the room remained silent, but it was clear from the looks on everyones faces that we all had some comment of our own to make. Though for reasons unknown to me, not a one of us said anything, despite the inner temptation to do so. Even my father, who normally is a happy go lucky, jovial sort of a guy was upset. "I don't want to" he said, "but I may have to say something to them."

"I don't see how you couldn't ..." was all I had to say, as KC and I headed out to our car, "I don't think you really want to spend the rest of the week having to deal with this.", glad for once to be going home to a quiet, empty house.

Throwing down the gauntlet on blogging itself, my Mother has decided not to play fair, in this already much too jaded world. It seems she is most interested in getting a peak at NWTLO, and has decided to hold her own site hostage, from yours truly, until she does so.

She is under the impression, that what's good for the goose, is good for the gosling. In other words, if I can read her blog, she ought to be able to read mine. But, of course, that's not exactly the easy solution. After all, I've been writing for the past 6 months or so, and have just barely managed to keep the self-editing to a minimum.

Trying to say what I mean, and mean what I say, has brought to light many of my so called dark, hidden secrets. While it doesn't bother me to know, that 100's of complete strangers have feasted their eyes on my words, the thought of my Mom perusing the pages worries me. How would she interrupt everything it is I've had to say?

So that is a thought, I have to mull over for a while, whether or not to allow her access to all the information contained herein. With a key comes knowledge, and an open door that invites you in.

KC married Emma tonight with a simple kiss on the nose. I'm not quite sure where she picked up the idea, but she seems to think that kissing is the equivalent of an I do. Emma wasn't as sold on the idea as KC, and decided to evacuate her comfy spot on the couch, launching herself up the stairs like a bottle rocket. The poor cat looked postively petrified, and I for one can't blame her. After all, I've witnessed many a kitty makeover on a rainy afternoon.

Jodi's graduation party is set for this weekend and if the weather reports are accurate, it should be blue skies all the way. Although smooth sailing cannot be guaranteed when too many people from the same gene pool, gather in the same location. There's a certain set of sparks, I'm already expecting to fly ... It should make for an interesting day.

I am to bed early tonight, to try and catch up on some serious zzzz's that have been eluding me lately. Here's to sweet dreams and alarm clocks that don't go off before their time.

A keychain and a cause ... Do you have your RAINN Gear?

Fund FREE Mammograms ... Save a Mom.

Sitting at the computer, unable to blog another word, she rested her head and slept.

Here I said
don't even let this go
and it's hey to that old man
I'm coming in the graveyard
with my little tune
it's June
I said she's gone
but I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm coming in the graveyard
to sing you to sleep
now. ~ Tori Amos

KC and I made a detour on our way home tonight, stopping by the cemetary to plant roses at Gramma's grave. It was so like me to just go with the moment, forgetting all the necessary garden equipment to make my task easier. A quick stop at a greenhouse, armed me with a bag of nutrient rich potting soil, a gallon of drinking water, and 3 baby rose bushes, ready to be planted.

I couldn't help but think how strange it is, planting flowers for the dead, when they're really meant for the living. But it makes me feel better, digging my hands down into the dirt and nurturing life to grow in her memory.

Still I miss her more than any words could hope to describe. If only I had had more time, maybe I could have found some peace with her passing. But I hold on to this bitterness, tasting my loss every day, reminded of what is missing, because I haven't found a way to let her go, without losing her forever.

2 a.m.
the sounds of an unfamiliar city.
I am remembering now,
having already forgotten the color of your eyes.
Yesterday I had the urge,
to lift the sheet back farther from your face,
to hold your hand in mine and
remember its shape,
so I will always know that ours are the same.

I wanted to count your toes,
I guess a reverse reaction from when you were born ...
But I didn't.
Instead goodbye came with a kiss
gently placed upon your brow,
as I stroked back your hair
still soft beneath my hand,
your skin grown cold beneath my lips.
~ Stacey

Network problems today had everyone in a tizzy at work. Lucky for me, my computer was running amok, only on the non-neccessity programs, leaving me in the clear to go about my daily grind. One would think that I had planned it all to work out that way, with the amount of whining my fellow staffers aimed in my direction. I don't think they were buying my "Some days you win, some days you lose." theory, although it was the perfect example of such a situation.

In fact, they got so cheeky, that every time I turned my back, someone else had made themselves at home at my desk. Frustrated, I started pacing the hall outside my office, waiting for my own computer to become available. It didn't help my mood much either, when instead of using my computer in a timely fashion, one of the jerks decided to start yakking away on a personal call! Turning red at this point, I pointed myself in the direction of Shirley's office, in full vent.

"I'm going to kill him and there's nothing that anyone can do to stop me!" I yelled, flouncing myself down, into one of the barrel chairs, in high dramatic fashion.

She hesistated a moment, tilting her head to make sure no one was listening at the door. "Kill who?", she whispered.

"Him!"

"Aahhh ..." she said, a little light bulb of recognition going off in here eyes. "What has the Prodigal Son done now?"

"I'll tell you what he's done ... He's taken over MY office, shoved all my things aside and made himself King of the Castle!". I took a quick breath, before continuing, "I've got 15 minutes before I go to lunch, 3 orders I need to Book so they can get TR'd, a guy with a problem only I can solve and no desk with a working computer to do any of it!"

"So tell him to move ..."

I gave her the yeah right, if only it were that easy look. "Already tried that," I said, "He suggested I borrow his desk ... With the non-working computer as if that would be really freaking helpful!"

"I don't know what to tell you kid. Guess you'll just have to wait him out."

"Oh hell with this!" I sighed in exasperation, "I'll just take my lunch now, and if I'm lucky, he'll be gone by the time I get back."

Leaving her to snicker in peace, I headed back to my own office. Boisterous boy, of course, was still there, leaning back in my chair, talking a mile a minute. He barely noticed my entrance, other than to give me the "I'm on the phone, you need to go away" look.

"Whatever," I said to myself, rolling my eyes. "Some people get to be important, others just like to pretend."

Ow, ow, ow ... Is it any big surprise that after a three day weekend, I find myself uttering those very words? Occasionally, I let my stupidity get the better of me and in this case, I have a very nasty sunburn to show for it. Silly me said no, when they were passing around the sunblock, because it's a known fact that "I don't burn, I tan ..." Evidently, I made that up as I quite resemble an overcooked lobster at the moment. Silly me ...

I'm calling an early night tonight, so I can lather myself up in the healing balm of Noxema. It'll be messy, but it's relief all the same.

Sunblock, have it ... wear it. 'Nough said.

I just got done teaching KC the basics of Showering 101. It seems she wasn't paying attention the first time around, when we had this little conversation. That or the puddle, which happens to be the size of Lake Ontario, on my bathroom floor, was a figment of my imagination. The rules are like butter.

Step one, close curtain before turning the water on at full blast! Step two, remove any object which hinders taking a fully effective shower. (Including hair ties, hair twisties and random pretties.) Step three, use of soap is required contrary to the popular belief, that 7 year old children are excluded from the cleanliness clause, established a really long time ago.

The heat index level is already climbing into the unbearable. I can't believe I was really complaining about the rain just a short week or two ago. Heck with this, I'm female, I have the right to change my mind, and right now my mind is saying, I want the monsoons back!

But I am off for better things today. A stop at Barnes and Noble to pick up an eagerly anticipated summer frolic of a read and a detour to Brenda's, where I just might be tempted to wade in her three inch deep summer pool. (Kiddie pools, they aren't just for children anymore ...)

I think I'll take my Nikon N60 camera with me, and see if I can't snap a few shots of interest along my way there. You never know when you'll come across a kodak moment.

Happy 4th of July, despite the fact that I didn't see a single firework blazing across the night sky. Oh well, it's too damn hot anyway. I feel like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, as she sinks down into the floorboards, "I'm melting ... I'm melting."

Apartment 3 came home today with a brand new air conditioner. I wonder if they would notice, if I were to try to wiggle it out of their window and pop it into mine. Maybe I'll go over there later and explain the whole better to give than to keep for yourself philosophy. Of course, with the way my luck has been going lately, they probably won't even answer the door.

I think I'll go stick my head in the freezer for a few moments. Can we say "Hello frozen treats!"?

G'night to all and to all a G'night.

Scattered like a thousand thoughts, set free to sail the wind. Standing still, as if to listen, in the middle of a room bustling with activity. Someone calls my name, "Where'd you go just now?" How to explain, being lost in just a moment. Being there but somewhere far away. Struck mute by a memory, cat's got my tongue, as if there are no words to say.

Old wounds, old haunts, old ghosts come back to call. Unwelcome, univited and still the visitor sits to make himself at home. How does one stare down a demon that can't be seen, the part of himself that he left with you. The presence that never goes away, lingering, waiting for your guard to slip, the opportunity to open.

Tired, the eyes begin to close, sooner or later giving in to the temptation to go to sleep and into dreams. Doors in dreams that can't be opened. Should I recognize this space, plastic on the windows, red clock beside the bed. Should I be here, somewhere on St. Vincent, somewhere with streetlights just outside? How is it the city can be so soundless, when I am anything but silent tonight.
You will remember, left behind in that little room, hands pressed against cold glass, looking out, looking in ...

Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have an agent. Although after my last performance, (rewinding back to about 5 minutes ago) I might want to think about hiring one ... I did after all, put on quite the show for my next door neighbors.

How was I to know that they were OUTSIDE, chilling on their porch, as I was locking down the house for the night ... Yeah, I know it was my fault, since normally, one would be wearing a shirt when standing in front of a glass door ... BUT in my defense, it is unnaturally hot for a summer night in New York state.

On the bright side, at least I've got the kind of blog, that actually lives up to its name ...

Now that I'm done flashing the neighbors, I think an early night is just what the doctor ordered, to calm my nerves from this very tedious day.

The next person who irritates me today, is going to wish they never got out of bed this morning! My list of demands are as follows ... I want an office, with no windows, no doors, no phones and not a single body, other than mine in it! I've had it! I've had it! I've had it! Grrrrrrrowl!

When did it become socially acceptable to trade simple pleasantires for stinging barbs? Instead of a friendly hello, and a good morning to you, you get your face ripped off before you even manage to hit the front door. Instead of "How was your day?", on arriving home, you get some nasty comment about taking your shoes off before entering the house because, praise the Lord, someone actually managed to figure out what a vacuum was! What the hell?? Did I have the look of a person who just walked through a pasture of cow shit?

Crap like this, gets my dander up! Rudeness by strangers is one thing, rudeness by family members, especially younger sisters, is quite another. And I have reached my maximum capacity level for the day!

I'm going to go find a cold beverage, relax in my favorite comfy chair and I'm not going to cook dinner, until I am damn good and ready! Anyone who has a problem with that, can just contact my agent!

If I Wrote You
Dar Williams

I never thought you were the letter writing type
So now I see the words you chose the way you write
So I started to write back about the trees in the snow
And I saw a bird, couldn't see what it was but I thought you'd know
You always surprised me

And when the spring came and flooded all the streams
It's like how you got the night you told me all your dreams
And when the barn roof sagged after an icy bout
It's like how you got when you knew the truth was the only way out
But not the only way

And if I wrote you
If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.

We drew our arms around the bastard sons
We never would drink to the chosen ones
Well you know the way I left was not the way I planned
But I thought the world needed love and a steady hand
So I'm steady now

And I'm so happy
I had to tell you
And I love you
And you will not write me again
You will not write me again
You will not write me again


I never seem to stray too far from the topic of love ... I guess the fear of impending spinsterhood can do that to a girl. The whole waiting for Mr. Right thing is ridiculous, especially when I'm more than willing to take Mr. GonnaHaveToDo. The only problem is, that neither guy, seems to be swimming in my particular circle of friends. So while there may be plenty of fish in the sea, it seems that none of them are biting.

Then there are those, who are firm believers, that love can be found with the simple click of the mouse. Try a dating site they say, what harm can it do? Well, let me count the tears ...

No good can come, from meeting a man over the computer. Right away you put yourself at a disadvantage ... Falling in love with words on a page, a mental image in your mind, and a dream of a love that will save you from your lonely nights. Except they don't tell you what to do, when the dream shatters, when your heart breaks and nobody, not even yourself, can begin to tell you how to fix it. I don't believe in it being better to have loved and lost, then never to have known love at all ... I'd much rather protect my heart, from an attachment doomed to fail.

These are lessons learned the hard way. I actually thought, that a computer flirtation, could be harmless. But then, what started out as simple fun, turned to friendship, and then to love. Of course, the love was almost all one sided. How easy it is, to hide behind a computer, where only your words, measure the sort of person that you are. In cyberspace, you can be anything or anyone, no one has to know, that you're really a weed, trying to impersonate a rose.

"O, what a tangled web we weave,/ When first we practice to deceive!"

Hell, even back then, Shakespheare knew the score. Knew of our internal attraction to the Masquerade Ball? Knew that a face behind a mask, was cause for intrique, a barrier between what was real and what was fantasy.

Don't we all pretend, at some point in our lives, that we are someone other than who we are? Someone more exciting, someone prettier, someone smarter? But what is love, if the very foundation it is built on, is a fortress of half truths and lies? The answer is absolutely nothing. You can neither breathe behind a mask or love from a distance. Sooner or later, you'll expose yourself, just to have a chance at true love. But, a truth told too late, is still a lie ...

So now I'm living my life, an unedited version of myself, putting things out there, speaking my mind, forcing honesty rather than censure. Telling the world, or anyone who happens to read my words, spread across these pages here, the truth as I know it and as it sees me. Because if I'm never good enough for myself, how can I ever be good enough for someone else?

When I first heard the song, "If I Wrote You", I thought I had written the words in my sleep.

If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.

It reminded me of an email I had written, entitled "Hesitation's Answer" ... A love letter I wrote, between tears and truths, in hopes that there could still be a future. Unfortunately, happily ever after disappeared, just as the coach rounded the bend, leaving only a sad little pumpkin behind.

(I should warn you, I was big on elipses back then ...)

March 2000

I believe the question you asked was WHY? For the past few days I have tried to avoid that question like the plague ... You see it was never supposed to go this far ... or get so involved ... this "play" with you was supposed to remain uncomplicated ... harmless flirtation between two strangers ... no strings ... you would eventually go your way ... I would eventually go mine ... no chance for anyone to be disappointed or hurt ... but ... suddenly the world got complicated ... the more we talked ... the more involved we got ... the more dangerous the flirtation became ...

You once told me the thing you admired about me most ... what made me "different" from other girls ... was my high self-esteem ... It's not as high as you think ... I just put up an incredibly good front ... When you told me you were coming home ... I knew the moment would come for the final confession ...

the harder you pushed ... the more I pulled away ... wanting to run from a moment when truth would have to win over what I never had the courage to say ... and here tonight I have chosen to let that moment take its place in time ... because I can't live with "WHAT IF?" ... Because no one can tell me what can hurt worse ... taking the chance or living with never knowing what could have been ...

Do you remember a conversation we had back a little while ago ... you listed off some things that you would find unacceptable in a prospective girlfriend ... I could list off all the things that make me so right ... but ... I guess, it's what is "wrong" that needs to be said ...

Forgive me for delaying the inevitable ... You've been honest with me from the start and I never could "quid pro quo" that ... I just never thought anything would come from all this ... guess I was wrong ... but I've decided that I can't cry about this anymore ... and I need to be fair to you too ...

The decision to shy away from a one on one meeting with you, never had anything to do with you but everything to do with me ... You see I don't think the person you assume me to be, is the person I actually am ... at least not in the physical sense of the word ... I guess there is one requirement that I can't meet ... I'm a big girl ... (There is it, the truth I've tried so carefully to hide.) I don't apologize for that ... I just apologize for not having the courage to tell you that from the moment when it stopped being harmless ...

So now you know the answer for all my hesitations ... I can't control your reaction ... I can't know how this is going to end, unless I hit the "send now" button ... Just to let you know, I am calling upon all the courage I have at this moment to press that button ...

You see nothing scares me more than an ending ... I much prefer beginnings ... I will, at least, get some comfort, out of the fact that I won't have to live with ... what if anymore.

To recognize the truth, you must first bare witness to yourself, even if it means being Naked With the Lights On ... ~ Stacey 2003

Another shameless plug for my Mom, who has finally seen fit to update her blog. It's about time already! Just kidding Mother ... You know I love you more than broccoli!

I bought a new CD at Wally World tonight, well actually two ... I let KC pick out a Disney channel music CD, for a first grade graduation surprise. Nights like tonight, remind me just how lucky I am, to have her as my daughter.

She really is such a special little girl, There's just something about her that can always make me smile. Tonight, she was such a goonie, dancing in the middle of the music aisle, not caring who could see or what they might think. Lord, the freedom of being 7 years old. I hope she never loses that kind of spontaneity and spunk ... What a precious treasure I have.

I'm listening to Sarah Brightman at the moment, my latest acquisition. I had previously found her quite by chance last year, tooling around Amazon.com and have been a fan ever since. (FYI: Some may recognize her name from the Phantom of the Opera cast list.) She's definitely not mainstream, but then again, I have a tendency to not like those artists who travel in crowded waters.

What I am, is a lover of different sounds, new interpretations on old ideas and lyrics that hold power behind their beauty. To me an album has to have heart, rather than just be a compilation of songs. It needs to grasp me, hold me in it's spell, sing to me with words that could be my own. It is every friend I have ever made and every love I have ever lost ... That my friends, is what good music is all about. Touching the part of your soul, you thought no one could ever dare to reach.

"I am dreaming a dream or this is Paradise and the Abode of Peace!" ~ Arabian Nights

(Quote, courtesy of the inside jacket cover of Sarah's CD entitled Harem.)

Jodi's graduation went well yesterday. There was just enough wind to keep the heat tolerable, the speakers kept it down to a 7 minute minimum and all in all, the ceremony commenced at a reasonable pace.

Despite our best attempts, we couldn't get enough people to participate in a spontaneous wave, as they called Jodi's name. We did however, manage to hoot and holler loud enough to cause some serious head turning. (Well hey, it's not everyday that your baby sister graduates high school.)

After the ceremony, we clambered down the old football stand and tried, through the massive throng of people to locate Jodi. A difficult task to be sure when she is as short as I am. To rectify the situation, I nudged my self-appointed future brother-in-law (Rob) and dared him to call Jodi's name into the crowd. (The man has absoutely no shame, which is why, he fits in pretty damn well, with our family.) It was an absolute hoot until he decided that yelling my name (first and last) was a lot more exciting. While it may have been funny, I didn't feel at all bad for punching him in the shoulder.

We then moved on to the video portion of the afternoon. I'm not sure who, but someone decided that giving Rob the video camera was a good idea. Pointing the thing directly in my face, he asked me if I had anything I would like to fess up to, in honor of Jodi's graduation. I considered it for a moment, but drew a blank, opting to just say how proud I was of her instead. Audrey went next, confessing her excitement that Jodi chose a college close to hers, because as she gushed, "You have good taste in clothes and now I can borrow them." Amy's turn came next, and never one to shy away from a camera, she smiled as she said, "No matter how old you get, you'll always be Spoofy to me."

Wanting to keep the video dedications interesting, we dared Rob once again. Although this time the objective was to go up to people he didn't know and ask them if they'd like to say a few words to Jodi, in honor of her graduation. For the most part, people were really swell about saying something nice, even if they hadn't a clue who we were or who she was. However, the absolute best message, came from the Valedictorian of her class, despite the fact that Jodi was a little bit horrified by our actions. Someday she'll be thanking us ...

Despite my earlier fears, it looks like Jodi's Graduation Day is going to be a bright, sun shiny day. Still, I can't believe that this day has finally come. Wasn't it just yesterday, she was running around the house in diapers?

It's hard to imagine her anywhere but at home, and yet in just a few short months, she'll pack her bags and fly off to college. Another sister gone into the world, leaving her childhood roots behind her, as she searches for her own destiny.

Life is what dreams are made of ... and I couldn't be prouder of everything she's already accomplished.

Just remember little sister, that no matter where you go, home is only a phone call away.

Congratulations to the CLASS of 2003.

When you don't know where to start, you start in the middle ...

Everything bad happens in October, when leaves succumb to the insistence of the Northern winds and inside houses, people curl up in their winter robes. In the skies, streamline bodies of birds in flight, herald the signs of the first frost to come. The silence of the snow, falling soft on forests of evergreens, and cold against my cheek.

I could sit there for hours, on top of the old dog house, overlooking the pond. Lying back, as the night grew dark, to count the stars, wondering if the stars ever thought to look back at me. Sometimes, I'd pretend that I was a fairy princess and beneath the weeping willow was my home. Warm and toasty, I would curl up against the tree, pressing my back against its bark. "Goodnight tree.", I would say, watching through half closed eyes, her long tresses dancing against the wind, falling asleep in the gentle to and fro.

In the cold, my friends would come and keep me warm, gently nudging beside me while I slept. A silly picture beneath a tree, a sleeping child, a brandy colored dog, and a small flock of ducks who couldn't fly.

Eventually a voice would call me back, accompanied by a shrill whistle, to hurry myself home. From behind the branches, I could see the house, following the lights of movements from room to room. Quietly, I left my kingdom beneath the tree, trailing my way in the familiar steps that led to an outside door. "Come on girl." I said, patting the side pocket of my jeans, "Time to go."

Childhood memories have a way of undoing all the years you've spent running from them. One tiny, little phone call and suddenly, I'm feeling like an 8 year old again, whose feelings are too big for her to handle, captured beneath a tide of swelling emotions, tumbling out of control.

Oh no ... It's another one of those "Just Because" posts!

Just Because You Never Wanted to Know
(yet another list of useless though vital information by Stacey)

Top 5 Most Hated Vegetables (ranked in no certain order of yuckiness)

Brussell Sprouts (oh the horror!)

Lima Beans (say it ain't so)

Snow Peas (plenty of peas, not a lick of snow)

Broccoli (Spear me ... oh horrid pun)

Spinach (I volunteer PopEye for my share ... What the hell kind of name is PopEye? Where's a Mr. Magoo activist when you need one?)

Can anyone say fun with rhetorical statements?

Most hated sound in the entire world ... SLURPING! Slurpers are disgusting, they must be stopped!

Oh shite, Amy the eldest has IM'd me ... What could she want? Hmmm ... Interesting, evidently stepfather number 2 is attempting to call me ... This is like a first (in 2 years) ... Must be important. You all lucked out, I was just about to start blogging on about all the past pet hamsters I've ever owned ...

NWTLO is currently down for repairs. Please take a moment, check yourself and return to your normally scheduled blog.

It's good to be back in business ...

I tried posting last night, but blogger was on the down and out, preparing for the new and improved blogger upgrade. A major crimp in my style, when I'm pretty consistent with posting on a daily basis. (Not counting vacations.)

Talk about having my own personal guilt-fest ... Anyhoo, I'm digging on the new look, despite my initial negative reaction to the change. What can I say, I'm a glass is half empty sort of girl, when it comes right down to it.

We've had three really beautiful days now, right in a row, and I for one, would like to say, how glad I am to be spending all my time in a windowless office. Believe it or not, sometimes it is better not to know what you are missing. I am sure that by this weekend however, I can count on the rain to return. Especially considering that Jodi graduates this weekend and the event is supposed to be held outside. Oh well, I'll keep my fingers crossed but I have low expectations ...

Speaking of low expectations, I had a thought yesterday that I thought was kind of funny, as in har har. I was flipping through the assorted channels on my television and for a (very) brief moment, I stopped on a major league baseball game. Personally, I find the whole hit and run premis of baseball tedious! I mean come on, who has time to hit the ball, run a few yards and then wait for some other schmuck to hit the damn thing so you can move a couple of more steps forward?

Heck, even in high school, I had this whole thing figured out, much to the chagrin of my gym teacher. I remember those days fondly ... I would be standing somewhere, way out far in the outfield, contemplating dandelions when occassionally the coaches yelling would pull me back to reality. "The ball! Stacey!", she'd yell, waving her arms around like a crazy person. It didn't take a rocket scientist, to know she wanted me to catch it. But self-preservation always won out in the end and the only place my mitt went, was over my head in the duck and cover position.

The problem with baseball, is that it takes up too much time. I mean, who has the patience to sit through all 9 innings? I myself, could be perfectly happy with 2 and a short drive home. I've even thought up slogans for possible, I hate baseball t-shirts ... For example,

"Please take me anywhere but to the ballgame." front side, and "Peanuts and crackerjacks are for fools." backside.

Which brings me to the whole point of this blasted baseball topic.

So there I was last night, watching a baseball team, who's team mascot shall remain anonymous, when a little burst of laughter escaped my lips. It seems there is a far more nefarious reason, as to why I dislike baseball, and the answer lies somewhere in the realm of post break up aggression.

So without further adieu, and because I need to go to work, I present you with the inner workings of my female mind and the number one reason baseball bothers me. It turned out to be quite a simple concept really ...

Break up with boyfriend = Hate his favorite baseball team (and take extreme joy whenever they get trounced.)

An even trade I am sure, and maybe even a little good for the soul.

So much for the FPP (Feline Protection Program) ... As of eight o'clock this evening, the cat was literally out of the bag, on my little townhouse secret. I should have known that sooner or later, the front bedroom window would lead to my undoing ... So now except for maybe #4, the entire complex knows about Emma, the renegade cat of TH2.

Sheila, my next door neighbor, was first to spot the little black furball, a revelation that was quickly followed with a knock on my door.

"You didn't tell me you had a cat!", she said, barely stopping for a breath before she rushed on to her next sentence, "You know how much I love cats. Where did you get her from? How long have you had her? What's her name? Is she declawed?"

Clamping my tongue down on the impulse to ask her if she needed a glass of water, I tried to respond to her questions in the order they were asked. "I got her from a shelter last November. Her name is Emma, after Jane Austin's Emma, which in fact is her whole name ... Emma Jane Austin (last, last name witheld). She's declawed." (Well, not really but I wasn't about to air all my dirty laundry. How could I explain that I didn't have the heart to have her toenails ranked out by their very tips!)

"She's beautiful," she said, "Is she all black? Is she good with KC? Aren't cats nice to have around? I have to keep the windows partially down because of the neighbor's dog. I'm worried he's going to rip them (being the cats) right out of the window ... He's so big."

(Today's Specials ... A lovely oxygen tank with a side of bottled water.)

"Yuppers," I nodded, "All black, I've always had black cats, I prefer them. She's great with KC too. KC could carry her around by the tail, and Emma wouldn't even notice ... Course if I tried that, it would be a different story altogether."

"So she's like KC's cat then?" she inquired, leaning against her broom, as I sat down on the front steps.

"Well, I suppose, yes and no ... When KC is at her Dad's for the weekend, Emma follows me around the house, like a baby in search of a bottle. But when Kate's home, she keeps a protective eye over her, even shuffling off to bed with KC, when she turns in for the night."

How sad I am, that I'm not even 30 and this is what my life has come to I thought. When the highlight of my night, is sitting outside on my front steps, discussing the fact that the only significant other in my life, happens to be a little black cat.

I made a mental note.

(Need to get out more, meet more people so as not to become freaky stay at home cat person who eats tuna fish sans mayo in the dark! (exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point) Must take this note seriously as fear that state of mental health is in jeopardy.)

On another note, which is actually another note (musical that is) ... I'm listening to Tori Amos's 1000 Oceans at the moment, a song that reminds me of an old friend, who dissed me completely, the last time I sent him an email. I'm tempted to fire him off an email right now, with a link to this site. Then maybe he would read this entry and feel mighty bad for not emailing me back in a timely fashion. If you happen to find yourself reading this Greg, I do expect an email sometime before the end of June! You don't have to be detailed, just say hi ...

These tears I've cried
I've cried, a thousand oceans
And if it seems, I'm floating ... in the darkness
Well, I can't believe, that I would keep
Keep you from flying ... and I would cry a thousand more
If that's what it takes, to sail you home
Sail you home ... Sail You Home.

I'm aware what the rules are
But you know that I will run
You know that I will follow you,
Over Sillbury Hill,
Through the solar fields
You know that I will, follow you ...

Watching the local news this morning, I pondered while eating my raisin bran, why adult cereals can't be more like kid cereals. When did it happen, that cereal companies came to the conclusion, that I was too old to enjoy the surprise at the bottom of the box, or rainbow colored marshmallows in fun shapes and sizes, to smile up at me, as I cradled them in my spoon. And how disappointed was I, when on the back of my box there wasn't a single word jumble or brain teasing maze to be found. The lack of marketing savvy for my cereal of choice, would suggest that I am a very boring person indeed, who cares not for the frivolities of life. A suggestion, which we all know, couldn't be farther from the truth! (Check out my archives, if you doubt me.)

Double toucan dammit!!!! I just lost about 20 minutes worth of good blogging thanks to this damn keyboard!!!! A certain minor child, decided she was going to sneak lemonade as she was tooling around on her gamesites earlier ... An infraction, which she knows is a major, big one when the crime is committed in close proximity to the computer ... 3 guesses on what is sticky now ...

I am so not in the mood for reblogging the lost information at this point. Who knows, maybe someday whatever it is I was ranting about, will make it into the archive of lost blogs. Until then ... Nanu, nanu.

It's raining, it's pouring, so much for sunshine this morning ...

Captain's Log

I live in fear of mutiny. The constant tapping against the window, an ever present sound to remind me of the dismal gray skies overhead and the rain that continues to fall and fall. There is a restlessness aboard our ship, that board games and the pages of a good book are no longer able to contain. The ever present boredom and the very proximity of our close quarters, has led us to turn on one another. I fear the worst is upon us, at the discovery that we are indeed, two french fries short of a happy meal and without any chocolate milk to tide us over in these uncertain times.

There is nothing we can do to fight the rain. Umbrellas have proven useless and rain slickers can only afford so much protection. Even the birds are at a loss, with the constant supply of worms being pulled to the surface, from the sodden mass of confusion they've wallowed in, these past 3 months. Curse you Mr. Weatherman, you evil villian you, curse you! Your predictions are proof indeed, that you are the criminal mastermind behind the disappearance of the sun, along with your evil sidekick Doppler. Do not think your crimes have gone unnoticed!

But we have a plan, a risky one at that, but a plan nonetheless. In the cover of night, we will blow up the giant Ducky Raft of Destruction and wage war against your cruel oppression. We will set sail up the Crick of Despair without a paddle and on to destiny, a bottle of RAIN-X by our side. It will be a hard battle, with you our formidable foe, but goodness will prevail and evil will be vanquished. We will rise from our semi-reclined positions and give thanks to the Sun of Summer Days. We will hold our vanilla cokes up high, singing our song of unity, as a big warm fuzzy outburst of handholding across the nation ensues. And then, into the quiet cold pool we will slip, back into the world of water, with the sun shining brightly overhead.

*********
And you thought boredom was a bad thing ....

(Home sweet silent home.)

I need a favor and you are exactly the person who can help me out. Yes, I'm speaking to you. Don't bother trying to find someone else, in whatever room you're in. I'm looking at you and it's your help I'm looking for. Well, now that we've got that out of the way ...

Now that my feet are officially wet in the blogging pool, I'd really like to personalize my small bit of space with something that is a little more Stacey and a lot less premanufactured by someone else's wonderful, but used by everyone blogskin. I know exactly what it is that I want but it's the getting it, that is giving me problems. You see people, I have absolutely no knowledge when it comes to HTML code and all the other computer jazz you need to know in order to be completely original. This is where you come in ...

Since you're here, I have a strong suspicion that you too, are a blogger in your own right. It's for that very reason, that I'm coming to you for guidance. If you have any suggestions and/or reference books you would care to recommend on how a computer illiterate girl can learn HTML code and create a dazzling new skin, reflecting her true inner nature, please (and YES I AM BEGGING) email me at Stay247@aol.com. Let me be your good deed of the day ... Did I mention I am begging or is it obvious?

Never again. Not in a million hundred thousand years. Not for all the money in the world. Not for taking tea with the Queen of England herself. Never, never, never, again! KC's second sleepover, has quite made up my mind, that I will NEVER subject myself to this sort of self-induced torture again. May I step on a thousand pins and needles, if the thought even comes close to being considered in my mind.

What went wrong would be better served by asking what hasn't gone wrong. From the moment the car door closed to make the short 5 minute journey back to our home, the gloves came off and the two girls have been going rounds ever since. And here I had been so foolishly naive to think that they were friends. It's been she did that, she said this, she pinched me, she kicked me and I want to go home, since 6:00 last night. Of course, when one takes into account, that it was I, and not the girls, who shouted in the middle of my own living room, that I wanted to go home, it seemed a little bit odd, even to me. However, it provided just enough amusement for the girls to cool their jets off, if only for a brief few minutes, before it all started again.

Enter girl number three, from apartment number four, who at the same age as the other participants to this story, was invited by my daughter (prior to asking me) to spend the night as well. My mouth moved to say no, though the words that came out were anything but. "Sure." I said, "The more the merrier." Plastering a giant, I can't believe I actually just said that smile on my face, I welcomed the little girl into my home. As if I could say no, when she had looked at me as if all her hopes and dreams, were wrapped up with the excitement of spending the night sleeping on the floor of my domicile in KC's room. I might have wished myself a happy birthday, since it seemed sure, that if there really was a sucker born every minute, it most definitely was me that moment.

The night wasn't a total loss however, as I did at least, manage to score the phone number of a single, eligible male, in my immediate vicinity. Although in hindsight, since it was intended as a precautionary tool, in the case his daughter wanted to return home at 2 in the morning, I suppose it shouldn't be counted as a positive thing. It wasn't like, here's my phone number, call me sometime and we'll do lunch, but more like, you're loonier than I thought, taking on three 7 year old girls by yourself, good luck, don't call me unless you absolutely have to.

Speaking of said male, he just knocked on my door, in search of his daughter. (One down, one to go.) I'm so glad I already took a shower this morning, although not so glad that I answered my door in my favorite pink princess pajama pants and with no make-up on! Well, there goes my reputation ...

We've got movie plans for this afternoon, so I suppose I should motivate myself for a public outing. Toodles all, I hope your day progresses much better than mine has started.

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.