When It Rains

Odd happenings in the world today that have raised the question of, "Huh?"

Namely an email conversation that started early on this morning and lasted until the very last minutes of my day with the not so mysterious and until today extremely silent Mister H.

And since my current flirtation was too busy to play email tag whilst preparing for his vacation, I simply switched my attentions back momentarily to see what it was my old friend had to say.

It turns out we had lots of skimming the surface to speak of, though it was painfully obvious that anything else would have been too much information after too long a silence. And yet, I have to wonder what exactly is was all about and what purpose it might have served.

For me the answers are not forthcoming. And as much as I am a woman who likes answers to every single question I've ever had, even I know that for some questions the only true answer you'll ever hear is quite simply the one you don't.

Which doesn't make me feel any less in the middle of wanting to feel something and feeling nothing at all. Perhaps there is no remedy for water already under the bridge other than just to let it go.

Ocean Pebbles

There was something I heard today, that I was trying to remember, that I've evidently forgotten... And it seems to me that most profound thoughts seem to be as easily lost as they are found.

I used to carry a small notebook around with me to jot everything down in. But somewhere along the way, I fell out of that habit. Mostly because I also had a bad habit of leaving those notebooks lying around where anyone could prop them open and read them to their heart's content.

I think the difference between words here compared to words there is the level of polish they've been given. Private words on paper are seemingly more raw than the poetics applied to a post. And a post is more accurately described as a shelter, protected from the elements on the inside while seemingly exposed for all to see.

Or better yet, perhaps all of this is simply my version of cheap talk therapy...

Whatever it is or for that matter isn't, it keeps me in tune to the sound of my own voice.

LuLu's Two Cents

She's listening to classical music again, which can only mean one thing. She's in a sappy, all you really need is love kind of mood. Don't tell anyone, but I think she met a boy today. Or kind of sort of met a boy today that she has been not so harmlessly flirting with these past two months.

I could tell from the moment she got home. One... She managed to completely ignore me for five minutes, a feat practically unheard of in our house, and this after she told her own Mother the other night, that I, yes I did say I, I complete her. (A bit over dramatic and all, but if you know my owner, you'd understand.)

Two... And this is just odd... If she had birds sailing around her head and no tan, I would have pegged her for Snow White. Snow White minus the ruby red lips that is. And just to clarify, that whole fairest in the land thing, as far as this pup's opinion goes, is about as overrated as overrated can get.

Needless to say, she was in good humor which meant treats for me, a pat on the head, and not the least little bit of trouble over that tasty little morsel of a shoe I sort of helped myself to earlier today while everyone was going goo goo over those gosh darn cats.

Cats I might add that live to torment me when no one else is home. You'd think they were here first or something...

But back to this boy thing... I don't know much about him at all other than she thinks he may actually be the last nice guy left on the planet that is without a doubt single and unattached. It doesn't hurt either that he's a single Dad with physical custody of his son. Not only does he get the whole parenting thing, but he gets it on a level that for the sake of not being politically correct, most non-custodial Dad's don't.

She however is keeping mum on this whole thing, not wanting to build it up too much in case it turns out to be nothing, but I can tell she's interested all the same... Let's just say when it comes to my owner, I know her mind better than she knows it herself. After all, I'm what's known as a muse when it comes to supplying her with things to write about. Don't blame me for her unexcused absences though, the credit for that belongs to only one place, and I'll tell you it rhymes with Jim.

Seriously however it is getting a little past this wee doggies bedtime and my warm spot beneath the covers is calling my name... Or at least I think it's my name...

Anyhoo this is L to the L to the double U signing off. Over and dog gone out.

Imagination Vs. Reality Where Reality Wins

If you're into sadomasochism, the massage chairs at my gym are just the thing to provide you with a good time. This morning was the first time (ever) that I subjected myself to public humiliation, at least whilst at the gym and not including the time I almost lost my footing on the elliptical machine in what would have been a serious non-flattering face planter.

I expected it to be soft music, warm glow of candlelight soothing. You know the whole mental yoga picture of relaxing like a zen moment ought to be. And after the workout I put in this morning, I was ready to sit back, close my eyes and and check out of reality for a few blissful minutes.

Yelling out "Jesus!" regardless of it being Sunday, doesn't really work however unless you're in a church having one of those I've just been saved moments. And believe me, I haven't been saved. In the immortal words of Karen Carpenter, "We've only just begun..."

Still I didn't think having my spine nearly pulled liked a wishbone from my body was on my agenda for today. Beaten, bruised, pummeled and for the sake of continuity limping, I lifted myself from the chair, looked at my sister and meekly said, "Next time I think I'll just tan."

The Post That Almost Was

And just like that, an hour and a half of writing goes down the tubes when the auto-save feature decides to take a nosedive...

To say that I am a bit less than pleased at present time would be a gross understatement of I'm irritated beyond all reason of fact.

Lost are my references to cotton candy clouds and dandelion fluff. My dragonflies hovering over blue waters, skimming a glass surface. Gone are my perceptions of how one must write from the inside out. My belief that words don't come when you wait, but wait until you are ready to hear them. How one must be like a white sheet left on the line to catch the wind with only one unprecedented and unassuming pin to hold it down.

Such pretty, pretty prose...

Such a waste of a perfectly good post.

Patience - A Dying Art

Dear Non-Diary,

Lucy won't stop barking at the cat and Octavia (the cat in contention) is sauntering about the living room providing the dog with uncensored and unlimited agitation. Normally I would find this behavior amusing, but I'm hungry, sore and on the borderline of having a blooming onion sized headache, so right now I'd have to say no, I'm not impressed. Not one itsy bitsy little bit.

Thankfully food does help in stressful situations, and at the moment, something warm and yummy is high on my list of make Stacey happy. Tonight's dinner, brown rice topped with chili, is my idea of deliciously simple. And no fuss, no mess clean up is what I'm all about...

Back to the cat and the dog and the cat that never comes downstairs since the dog came home... I believe I'd be accurate in saying that the cat is kicking the dog's butt. And if that isn't a sad matter of fact, then I really don't know what is.

But enough about the animals that run my house... Or at the least the place where I presently live. I say that because I've begun what I'd like to call my downfall into poverty. Otherwise known as my search for a place to call home. Emphasis on home, as in mine right along with the monthly mortgage payment.

House hunting is far more stressful than I never gave it credit for however. All this run to this house, run to that house and imagine they could be yours is starting to wear me down so much that I'm not even safe from the thought in my dreams. And my realtor needs a bit of a reality check, like stop showing me houses that are at the highest end of my I really don't want to spend that much spectrum. A woman has to have some cash in her pocket without taking on another job to afford to live...

So I have to learn patience... And while I'm at it, I may take up juggling knives on a unicycle while singing show tunes. Hey, either one could happen... Right?

Well, maybe not... But I do know that with the present choices of houses available to be owned, there isn't a single jem among them that calls my name... Every single one has had one thing or another that keeps it from being the house I've dreamed of since I was old enough to want my own space.

You see, I've got this picture in my head of a cozy little cottage with a bright red door and the garden of all gardens filled with beautiful bouquets of color that says, "Finally... Welcome home."

Ren Fair Highlight Photos

Fun (and at the same time exhausting) day yesterday... Not quite as proficient with my daughter's digital camera as I am with my own Nikon SLR (too burdensome to carry on this wee adventure) so not the best pics from the land of Warwickshire... Still it was enough just to enjoy a bright, beautiful and sunny day in the company of friends and family.

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen's Mom

I'm like a flashing neon sign that screams out CLOSED! Or at least my brain is. I'm not quite sure, but I think it melted. Can't quite pinpoint the when or even at this point the where, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I've got nothing left...

I blame it on my cell phone bill. Or to be exact, my daughter's unmentionable contribution to my cell phone bill. The jaw dropping, it was a good thing she was at her Dad's when I opened it, almost needed to be resuscitated, she's grounded until I stop turning blue cell phone bill.

Yeah. That one.

Which reminds me, I've got to go to a Jonas Brothers concert this month!

I'd like to point out that I do this out of parental duty and parental duty alone as I would not willingly subject myself to those wanna be rock pop stars... And honestly, their stylist ought to be fired! Between their clothes and their hair, I've yet to decide what's worse.

Worse however is the screaming headache I'm already anticipating I've going to have once I'm at this concert. Have I mentioned that I'm going under duress?

Back to the subject of my cell phone bill however, there's not much I can do other than pay it, and make KC's life as miserable as humanly possible for whatever length of time it takes until she's duly apologetic (doubtful) and/or manages to come up with the funds to pay off her share of the bill (impossible) or until I feel I've gotten my parental revenge.

For those of you who have or are raising teenagers, you understand quite perfectly what I'm talking about. And for those of you still in the aren't they so cute stages of parenthood, a warning...

The cuteness wears off.

Crack Me Up Conversations Via Email

So? Do you miss me? Have you been crying all morning? Despondent. Sad. I know. Canadians have that effect on Americans.

Question: when you have a free moment (ha - like that ever happens), could you send me a list of the t/a codes that are used most often? Going to start studying the book and will begin with those.

Merci beaucoup.
J'espere que t'a journee passe bien. A bientôt.
D

It's like someone has stolen the sun without you here... Or it could just be that I have no window to look out of which has reduced me to being the only person on earth who suffers from
seasonal affective disorder in the tail end of summer...

That being said, I wouldn't know if Canadians have that effect on Americans (as you say) as you are the first and only Canadian I've ever really had a conversation with beyond hi, goodbye and don't let the door hit your (censored for your protection) on the way out.

Free moments don't come around all that often, but I figure writing this email is a pretty good
excuse to ignore all calls ringing in on my line... Good to know my customer service skills rank right up there with the best.

Anyhoo... To answer your question, study up on your t/a part numbers first. And yes, I
will be quizzing you come next week so I expect you to be practicing with your flash cards all weekend long...

If you said thanks, and to enjoy my weekend, followed with a short and sweet goodbye, you got it... Same to you but in English as I don't speak French unless I'm really, really tired and
watching a movie with subtitles imagining I'm bilingual.

Your Newly
Acquired American Pen Pal,
S

Awesome reply! Much appreciated. I like your wit. Your windowless story made me cry. Really. Now there are tears and snot everywhere!

I will study hard. Flash cards and all. The quiz will have to wait for the following week as I will be travelling with E. next week.

Yes, have a great weekend. Well, close. I will start your French lessons
when I return.

A bientôt (means see / speak to you soon).
D

At least I was in the ballpark with my interpretation...

And just because you're traveling with E, doesn't mean you don't get quizzed... Who do you think taught E?

See ya on the flip side...
S

PS... I have an endless supply of wit... It's just the common sense I'm lacking. : )

There is a store in Montreal that sells common sense. $2.99 / lb. I will get you some.

I will call you at home at 1AM next Wed for the quiz.
D

Good luck getting that across customs...

I don't answer my phone after midnight, but feel free to leave your answers on my voice mail.

Who knows, you might just get yourself a gold star!!! (Woo hoo!)

Alrighty then, I've avoided work long enough... Must BTR before the hour strikes the time to flee...

Enjoy your weekend,
S

Taking a Break

My Mom wants to clean my house and I don't.

I'm not in the mood. And I refuse to be forced into manual labor at 10:19 on a Saturday morning.

So I'm putting my foot down. Or to be more exact, sitting on my ass to write this post while drinking a cup of coffee from my chocolate brown big girl mug.

Unfortunately this isn't going to last long for two reasons...

1. My Mother is on the phone talking to Ken.
2. Break time is over the moment she hangs up the phone.

And just for good measure...

3. Have you met my Mother?

I love the woman but honestly, she's got a one track mind that when set in motion does not deter from its predetermined course. Ever.

Normally this would be a most excellent trait. And for the most part, it is. It's just not my favorite trait at this exact moment when what I really want to do is a whole lot of nothing much at all.

I'm thirty-three and I'm feeling seven, getting ready to be sent to my room for bad behavior.

Aha!

Saved by the bell. Or to be exact, Brenda ringing my cell. And if she's ringing, it can only mean one thing...

There's something she doesn't feel like doing either!

This is Stacey. Over, out and off to the rescue...

Soul Stirrings

Another quiet Adirondack morning and it's just me and the sound of this keyboard while my Mother creaks the floorboards in the other room sorting through piles of piles of more piles. The rain falls straight, from sky to ground, as if it's worried someone will come to take its measure.

I could get used to this quiet. This ticking clock. The sound of cars passing by through rainy puddles on the street. The slow nature of life in a place where I have nowhere to go and no true schedule demanding that I be diligent in all my duties.

For the moment I am relaxed. Just enough to breathe a sigh of relief, but not enough to ease the worry knots knitting down my back. Vacations cannot last forever. It is a sad and sorry fact and I am counting down the days until it's done.

If wishes were horses, I'd put my own out to pasture here. Up in this quaint mountain view town and city. Up here where time stops and starts on whims, pushing me forward into the future, calling me back just as quickly to the past.

Places such as these that whisper home. Here is where you are, and here is where you should stay. Why return to places that do not speak to you such as I?

But how can I be true?

Too many obligations call me back to where I am. Home, job, family, friends... There is no option to pack them all up and move away.

So I cement myself down as best I can.

Making do.

Marking time.

Waiting.

Sound Reasoning

Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived". [William Parrish] from the movie, Meet Joe Black (1998)

Sleep Walking

I need a vacation from my vacation and I am missing my bed terribly...

Why I'm still awake, I've yet to know. But here I am, trying to make good on writing just a wee bit more than I have well, lately.

Visited my Grams in the hospital today. Mom and KC disappeared for a short while, and I wasn't really sure what it was that they were doing, although I was placing odds that somehow the somewhere involved a revolving door my daughter has decided is the coolest thing ever... A good example of what the big city has to offer.

Honestly however, I'm too tired to write much more. My eyes are closing. My brain is shutting down. And I'm quite certain, I'm already asleep.

Dead Drops

There are moments such as these when you give up on sleep as sleep has pretty much given up on you.

I've been thinking for the last twenty minutes that I should probably just suit up and head over to the gym. Waking up early after all doesn't have to be a curse when it could just be a gift horse in disguise.

Still I can't put my finger on what exactly it was that pulled me from my bed this morning. I could blame my dog, but then again, we get up at least once most every night so she can do her business, and normally getting back to sleep is a non-brainer.

But not this morning...

It may have something to do with the dream I just had, or the small amount of stress I'm feeling this morning, or the laundry list of concerns, things to do, and things I should have already done being so much on my mind that my mind can no longer focus on the importance of sleeping.

Either way it seems as if I'm up for the long haul and there's no point now in trying to deny it, regardless that it's the first day of my vacation and here I am, up with the birds as if I'm going to work.

And work be damned...

I need a week off from that place to regain what little bearing I have left as of late.

I am convinced that I can attribute much of my energy drain on a windowless office, and a desk decked out with an invisible chain. Many negative vibes and the job I used to love is more like the job I loathe, and the only time I marginally like it is on payday when they grease my palm.

Still it would be nice to do something I love... Then again, I'm not really at a place in my life where struggling writer sounds like a wise career move. And though I do what I can when I can, I've got to admit that I'm on a snail trail for completing the things I really want done.

Last night I went to bed thinking about what I refer to as the dead end drop. The point in a story where the author has weaved their tale from the initial plot, to the but it has to end here somewhere part. Or much like my accidental dip in the water, the point where the ride was going smoothly until you hard stick your paddle into the water and end up all wet.

The dead drop is sudden. Unexpected. An ending so quick you had no idea that you were even being led up to it, convinced that the pages still left to go hold some sort of words of explanation rather than more author acknowledgements for why they suddenly cast their characters so harshly from the boat.

I too am guilty of the dead drop. The point in the story where my brain just says, "Okay, Stacey. Time to bring this to a close. We don't have all night, you know."

And I hate to do it. Hate the lazy way it just seems to say, I couldn't think of any other way to end it all. It leaves the reader unsatisfied. Stuck if you will inside a story that forces them to imagine an ending other than the one they were forced to abruptly accept.

As writers we have a responsibility to work an ending until the ending turns out right. Though don't confuse my statement as an argument for a happy ending. More often than not, the happy ending is a worn out cliche. Not that I want to end every book I read with a box of Kleenex by my side and a raging migraine just to prove my point that some endings require darkness rather than light.

Every story has to answer to its own end. And when it doesn't, the reader knows. Sensing the deception that has been passed off as completion, they close the book with less satisfaction than any writer would want them to.

An unfinished story is like a Picasso half painted. A great masterpiece lost to an even greater ambition to please the masses when all that matters at the time of its conception is pleasing yourself.

It makes sense if given some thought.

And this is why we write. Why a painter paints. Why a musician composes. It's not, as some would believe because it's what we want to do. When we're called, it's a summons that refuses be ignored. Not even at four in the morning when it calls us from our beds, and wakes our mind with endless possibilities.

It's for the love of the creation. The sound of a thousand words on our lips. The thirst we have to impart whatever knowledge it is we believe we've gained. An attempt to reach, to touch, to be a part of this great big world. To make you laugh, to make you cry, to make you remember from where it was you came, and push you to go to the places you've just begun to dream to go.

We are a destination. And an invitation.

A journey that begs you come explore.

The Kayak Story... Many Weeks Later

When you're swimming for shore, it's best not to be in the middle of the lake...

This is a life lesson I learned just a few weeks ago when my sister Jo and I went on a kayaking expedition.

It was one of those perfect bright blue sky, big white puffy pillow cloud kind of days with just enough of a breeze to keep us from feeling like fried eggs sizzling on a sidewalk. Blingy sunglasses, bathing suit top (bottoms implied) and lunch stored safely away in the waterproof compartment of Jo's kayak, we launched ourselves off, into the great blue yonder.

Yonder being in front of my Father's friend's camp with them waving from above, safely up on shore.

This would be a good time to mention that I'm slightly wary of water. And believe me when I tell you that's there's not enough therapy in this world to combat the irrational fears of my childhood. (And no, I'm still not over that damn cartoon Hobbit movie my elementary school made us watch every year as if it were some kind of treat! Frodo Bagins be damned, I was scared of ring wearing frogs and goblins I was convinced lived in my basement.)

Rewind to one really bad perm, a tin can disguised as a boat, and a girl completely clueless as to how to get herself back in to shore, and you've got yourself a serious situation. In other words, a completely inappropriate time for those posing as responsible adults to merely watch the events unfold as if it's comedy night at the Improv and I'm the star attraction.

Yeah... Not impressed. Not then. Not now. And pretty much never hits the mark on me finding anything about that moment in time to laugh about. Which reminds me that whoever took that picture belongs high up on my shit list! I mean hello, abject terror, fear and more tears than the lake had in it is not my idea of a Kodak moment, Mom!

So who could blame me for being more than a bit freaked out about putting myself in a craft that could pretty much land me in the drink without the slightest provocation on my part?

I am however a great believer in doing the things I'm scared to do... One cannot be a role model for one's saucy mouthed daughter if one doesn't prove that it can be done by sheer force of will and fortitude of spirit. Luckily for me, I fear a great many things so I've lots of options to explore on quite a regular basis.

Karaoke kindly is not on this list... Been there, done that and did it quite badly. Then again, whoever thought Me and Bobby McGee should go country ought to be tarred, feathered and dropped into an eel infested pit, right along with the big belt buckle wearing boy whose bright idea that was.

But I'm digressing.

It was a bright blue day, the sun was warm, and the water was cold as we cut a sharp path through the water, taking the small waves from motorized passersbys. And we'd gone far. Two miles perhaps. To a little island populated by sand ants, and more dog shit than I've ever seen on an island so small. Yet it was here we decided to bank and have ourselves a little lunch. After all, islands don't come around all that often and quite frankly I was beginning to feel my arms turning to mush.

Satiated and well rested, my confidence was soaring high. "Here I am," I remember thinking, "Practically a pro. And seriously, who needs these stinking water shoes anyway? I can just take them off and store them away for later."

You know when you watch a movie, and you're really rooting for the good guy or in this case girl but you can see the calamity that they can't, and you clutch the seat of your chair, close your eyes, shake your head and wish you could just bop them in the side of the head to get them to wake up to the stupidity all around them?

This was exactly that moment.

The one I couldn't see coming...

Heading back in the direction of which we came, Jo just a bit farther ahead from where I was, my kayak suddenly decided that it wanted to go a different way then where I was headed. And me not wanting to find myself turned around (and without much thought for the frailness of my existence) dunked my paddle in hard to correct my motion. Only it didn't correct it at all. It stopped me, it turned me and then it did exactly what I was hoping it wouldn't do...

In a split second, I was sitting in my kayak upside down talking to the fishes. It took me about three seconds to slip out, surface and sputter in what was a combination of warm body hitting cold water and the sudden realization that I was seriously screwed.

Jo, equally freaked out by me being freaked out, quickly turned back to come to my rescue. Treading water, clutching my life jacket, and feeling something slimy slip across my leg, I immediately began cursing my own idiocy.

I won't repeat exactly what it was that I said, but I can assure you that the "F" word was used with great abandon!

But to be honest, I couldn't help myself. I laughed. And kept laughing until a little water in my mouth reminded me that this wasn't exactly what the moment called for, at least not when the water was threatening to take my kayak under to the same (may they rest in peace) place my favorite pair of sunglasses and bright orange water shoes now call home.

So I did what any good kayaker would do. I righted the kayak, kicked up my heels, grabbed on to the toe handle and started swimming... Very slowly.

Karma being the bitch goddess she is known to be, made damn sure that the moment my stupidity put me under, I was also dead center in the middle of the lake. Thankfully it's not all that big of a lake. I was however far from shore, and completely freaking out everytime I felt something plant/fish like touch my legs. I am against all things slimy!

But swim I did... Swim, swam, swum... You name it. I did it. And when I tired, I grabbed on to my sister's kayak and let her paddle me in. And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that the closer that we got to shore, the more I body hugged the bottom of her vessel and prayed that the rocks scraping against the small of my back wouldn't leave too many a damaging mark.

I do after all have a little dignity left to hold onto...

Though at this point, it's much less than what I started out with.

Writer's Block

I've been wanting to write something. But lately everything I really want to say is having a hard time coming out the way I want it said. I blame distractions. All of them! Like KC sitting in the living room with the TV on, driving me crazy with nothing but noise when all I really want is silence.

And yet I can't send her to bed. Not when she's waiting up to see my Mom come walking through our door with open arms and a hug to spare. Instead she burns the midnight oil, sketching quietly in her notepad while blaring my eardrums out with programming not worth paying any attention to regardless of the fact that I'm having absolutely no success in the ignoring.

I've become old.

Noise for the sake of noise, no longer impresses me. And though I have great skill and talent for blocking just about anything annoying out, right now I'd gladly throw a shoe, or whatever I have on hand, at my coveted flat screen just to shut it the hell up.

(Fast forward forty years from now and I'll bet the last few dollars in my bank account that I'll also be that cranky old lady who stands scowling behind thick, dark curtains just waiting for some young whippersnapper to make the mistake of stepping on my lawn...)

Not a pretty image. And yet, what I would do for quiet right now surprises me. But then again, not really...

Maybe I should just order KC off to bed. Or put up my latest foreign movie Netflix film. Hell, if I could figure out where Connect Four last got put away, I'd grab that out and challenge mini-me to a game.

I should probably just go to bed...

I have nothing to say.

Good and Going

I am exhausted.

I seem to spend my days doing. Running here, running there. Logging on the miles with my feet and with my car. Going, going, going...

I can't remember the last time I spoke to Brenda on the phone. Can't remember the last time I took the time to read a good book. Can't remember the last time I allowed myself to sleep the morning in.

I've gone from being a possibly maybe kind of girl to a count me in even if I don't really want to go gal. And though I'm overjoyed to finally be living life to its fullest, I'm quite convinced that a little down time needs to be on my docket soon.

And as usual, finding the right balance is far easier said than done.

And there are moments when I have to right myself from turning the wrong way, or keep myself from making new choices more reminiscent of the old. So much so I've become my own best reminder of what it takes to get where you want to be.

After all, I know exactly what I won't ever settle for again...

Trapped

Ten minutes ago I was carefree. Relaxed. Reading a book with no thought of anything to trouble me before sleep.

Now I'm wide awake. Stressed. My mind scrambling with information in a drunken shell shocked way.

And all I can think to myself is, "Not again."



I can't live with this again.

All fun and kidding aside, noisy neighbors are one thing, but a noisy neighbor with a boyfriend who comes complete with a level three sex offender level rating just three seconds from my backdoor, that I can't live with. Not for a minute. Not for a second. Not at all...

I'm out of answers on what I should do. Contact my landlord who in his usual clueless way will do nothing until something forces his hand? Start looking for a new place to call home and hope to God I can afford it? Or cross my fingers that this problem will go away all on its own...

I'd feel numb if I didn't feel so much like throwing up.

Self-Banning: Not a Significant Source of Your Recommended Daily Amount of Fiber

I'm putting myself on a book ban, right along with everything else that has just got to go. Because I can't be trusted. Not with ice cream in my freezer. Not with a tall man sitting on my couch. Not with the kind of book that only encourages bad hanging on behavior when the key to moving on is really having to let go.

And far be it from me to feel the need to point out each and every one of my flaws to you. But honestly there are just some things you're absolutely going to need to know if we're to continue going on the way we've been.

Things I won't admit like sometimes being scared of the dark. Or covering my mouth with my hand while I'm driving in my car so people won't catch on to the fact that I'm singing. Or that I talk far too much when I'm nervous but even less than that when I'm upset.

Or that I'm over someone I'm absolutely not, that I'm interested in someone I shouldn't be, and that if I had to choose I'd go with the guy who took my heart two years ago and never came back to claim the rest of me.

And should anyone come across this smarmy bastard, smack him for me with the knowledge that he is owed...

This is where I should say that it's his loss. Not that he ever admitted it beyond his one attempt to say something I didn't quite understand that went a little something just like this, "I'm not the scared little bitch you think I am right now, but I am scared." (And a bitch! And yes, I added that last part on.)

God forbid I ever figure out what that means. It's like a riddle that no one, not even the one who spoke it, can solve...

Bunny Boy notwithstanding, I'm not getting any better at figuring out the puzzle. I know men think they've got it bad trying to figure out women speak, but damn if we women don't have it worst trying to figure out intentions.

Do they have them? What do they mean? And for the love of God what am I supposed to do?

(Side note: If anyone has any answers to any of the aforementioned questions, please contact me directly via the comment section. It would be awfully nice to be in the know on some of these things.)

Back to what I was saying...

It's all about avoidance.



Avoiding temptation, avoiding heartache, avoiding boy brought on depression, avoiding the freezer with the ice cream still calling out my name, avoiding everything and anything that I absolutely want, but can't and shouldn't have...

Avoiding Temptations

My kitchen is completely off limits. A danger zone without bright blinking yellow lights to warn me off from going in. Which is why I'm hiding out in my living room. Hoping against hope that the more I try to distract myself from thinking about the ice cream that is practically screaming my name right through the freezer door, I'll be able to resist the temptation of that one little spoonful which will surely lead to two if I allow myself just one...

And I've been doing so good. Well enough to say that ice cream hasn't crossed the threshold of my home for over five months until my daughter decided to make a fuss over her right to eat ice cream regardless of the ban I've put on it myself.

I've got to admit, I'm not a big fan of my kid being right. But mostly I'm not a big fan of keeping temptation close at hand when it's far easier to live without having to worry about it at all.

Ice cream, much like men you know are absolutely no good for you, are both best kept at a discreet distance. In other words, out of your freezer, off of your couch and certainly not when accompanied by a bottle of wine.

Then again I do have a knack for ignoring my own good advice as long as my friends don't remind me to remember what I'd say to myself if I weren't myself at all. And I do hate it when they're absolutely right...

Damn common sense and self control!

Two Days Off, Too Many Days On

Is it really almost Monday?

Or is this some kind of sad, sick joke?

I wish it were Friday night all over again, Saturday afternoon once more... Except maybe this time a little more dry and a little less wet, and a whole lot closer to shore.

But that's a story that requires more time than I have right now to tell.

Tomorrow?

Well, maybe...

At Your Disposal

I draw the line at picking up after my neighbor. Specifically, her garbage which she left sitting out on her side of the house simply because she was too lazy to walk to the front yard and retrieve the garbage receptacle that was still out by the road from this morning's pick-up.

Garbage I might add that would not have been picked up at all had I not woken up at five something this morning to bring it out to the curb... And wasn't I so glad to come home from work - dreadful place really - pull in my driveway and see that it was still there, right where I had left it, waiting for me to return it to its proper place.

Though this doesn't explain the piles of magazines left at my front door. Magazines which weren't for me, weren't anything new, and were obviously part of someones recyclables that somehow, someway, and annoyingly made their way to where they became my problem...

But I have no problem tossing that right back into the recyclable bin and waving them a brief and permanent good-bye. After all, there's no article in Cosmo or Glamour worth reading anyway. Sometimes I wonder how they can sell the same information month after month after month...

Honestly, I guess I just don't get how many different sexual positions for achieving your maximum orgasm while making your guy feel like he's the king of the world, while knowing how to handle your annoying co-workers, mother-in-laws, or ex-best friends articles you have to read before you can consider yourself a bonafide pro...

Metamorphosis

I want to bottle up everything I've heard, all that I've seen. And I want to carry this feeling inside me so that every time I forget what it feels like to feel, I'll always have this to remind me.

It seems like nonsense. But you can go on so little for so long, that you stop expecting more from anything or anyone. And maybe this is why I've been putting myself through the ringer these past few months. Pushing myself as hard as I can push to break through this invisible barrier that separates me from the world.

I get pissed at myself when I think of all the time I've wasted, living in a self-made cocoon all because the unexpected took me by surprise. Things I never thought would happen to me, places I never thought to find myself, things that I was too young to know how to handle and then too used to living with in silence.

I've tried to put my brave face on, and I've tapped into my strength, even when my reserves were low. But I've never managed to get pass that line that separates failure from success, joy from profound sorrow. I guess I never even thought to consider that I was the only key that needed turning. That I have always been the one true lock that has kept me where I am, on the inside looking out and on the outside looking in.

Life isn't perfect. Far from it. But I know what the things are that I need, and I know that there are some things that can be had but aren't worth taking. You grow up when you know when to say to when, when to say yes, and when to let the whole thing just pass you by.

I'm a slow learner... But sometimes I do actually heed the lesson.

"All you need is already within you, only you must approach your self with reverence and love. Self-condemnation and self-distrust are grievous errors. Your constant flight from pain and search for pleasure is a sign of love you bear for your self, all I plead with you is this: make love of your self perfect. Deny yourself nothing -- glue your self infinity and eternity and discover that you do not need them; you are beyond".
- Nisargadatta Maharaj

Something Rather Than Nothing

A quick something to say so I can get it said and get myself to bed...

Things accomplished today:

1. Forced myself to go to work and not have a pretend sick day.
2. Three miles on the treadmill. All uphill.
3. Made dinner for tomorrow tonight.
4. Two loads of laundry, one load of dishes and grocery shopping.
5. Did not maim anyone today.
6. Played with the pint sized pup.
7. Made KC clean the cat litter.

Things not accomplished today:

1. Did not call and make KC an appointment with the dentist.
2. Did not color my hair as I have been meaning to do for the past two weeks.
3. Did not clean out my car and it's plethora of water bottles in need of recycling.
4. Did not make bed.
5. Did not maim anyone today.
6. Did not talk to the new lady downstairs about the ridiculous volume level of her television which she leaves on every night, all night.
7. Did not take Lucy for her walk.

I know as far as lists go, this one is so close to lame that I can't even say it's bordering on it. But this whole getting back into the swing of things is a bit hard after too much time off for bad cable behavior.

Still something is always better than nothing and just as soon as I succeed in making a complete and total ass of myself, I guaranty that you'll be first to know.

Missing Her Mom

She falls apart and I feel helpless to help her. Watching as she tries to hide her tears and suffer through a movie too good not to like, but too hard to watch when the subject matter has literally hit too close to home.

I understand her distance. The safety of pretending not to need anyone or anything when everything is just too much, too hard to comprehend. There is no getting around the finality of death. And you can't help but remember every moment of the last moment. A family holding hands, ushering life to death with love, trying so hard to let her go in the sudden recognition of everything they were losing, unable to know just how hard the coming months would be.

Everything is a reminder of what is not where it should be, of who is missing. An equation that refuses to measure up. A conversation you begin and end when you realize you are standing there in an empty room speaking to yourself and waiting for a reply.

It is emptiness longing to be filled.

She turns to me and I feel I must apologize for allowing sadness to find her on a Friday night. She shakes her head, mumbles it's okay and readies herself for the drive she has to go back to home.

I worry about her. My youngest sister. Holding so much in, keeping so much to herself. Inside an emotional tsunami getting ready to let go.

Odd Girl Out

There’s something to be said about having to be right at any cost. And I’m convinced that anyone who utters the phrase "Not to be rude, but…" in preface to most everything they have to say is someone who uses mock politeness as an excuse to be absolutely intolerable.

Perhaps I seem to be coming across a little harsh. Intolerable after all is a word that doesn’t leave room for much improvement. Then again intolerable has the habit of wearing rose colored glasses and believing that there is no other way than their way and their way is always perfectly right.

In other words which can be interpreted in their words, "I’m wrong."

Not that I’m saying in the least that I think I’m right one hundred percent of the time, I just know in this instance that a lot can be gained from a little perspective when living in the real world.

I like to call it reality.

The absolute truth of everything.

The truth is that I can’t change who I am without becoming someone I don’t want to be. And if that means I can’t be perfect, then so be it. I don’t have to reach unfathomable expectations to be happy with myself. And I certainly don’t need to kick myself in the ass anytime I make a mistake just to prove I’m really sorry for having made a judgment call that turned out to be not exactly how I hoped it would be.

Alanis said it best, "You live. You learn."

And isn’t that just the way this world goes ‘round?

So for all of you out there who think it’s you’re God given right to critique and criticize as often as you draw breath, a little small word of advice…

Ease up.

Running From the Rain

White t-shirts, bright blue bras and rain storms don't mix. At least not when you're out and about in public. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that it pretty much ends the shopping trip. Or at least it does for those of us who occasionally remember what the word modesty means... Not that I'm modest much at all. But even I was staring at my wet plastered on t-shirt thinking, "Holy crap! Will you look at that there!"

Needless to say, I only completed two of the four errands I had on my agenda for tonight. Which is quite honestly nothing close to being a big deal since I am a true believer in the theory that what cannot get done today can always be done tomorrow. A theory better known as procrastination. And yes, I am a master of it. A black belt even.

I do have to say that I'm not sure just where to start tonight, well beyond the blue bra mishap that is. It's been so long since I've had the ability (also known as a working Internet connection) and the time (when I'm not spending each and every night trying to obliterate myself at the gym) to sit down (on my newly acquired and might I add cute and getting cuter by the day ass) to write anything (beyond my last will and testament of which there is really nothing to give to anyone at all other than my daughter and my dog, and I think my dog is fairing better than my daughter) that fills you in (on everything I've been meaning to tell you or have been conveniently trying not to mention) going on in my life right now and these past few months when silence has been a sore substitute for the written word.

This might also explain my penchant for run-on sentences... But I digress.

And then I yawn, look over at the clock on my desk and think that I don't have a lot more in me tonight to say much more... I could blame it on having to get up early. Or attribute it to going to the gym. But I think tonight I'll just fess up and tell you I'm just plain worn out down to my toes.

So maybe more tomorrow. If my connection is still connecting that is...

Waiting On Sooner Rather Than Later

Still lacking the necessities to get my Internet up and running... There is however a good chance that at some point this week, I may be able to change all that...

As for me right this second, right now, I'm off at a galloping pace... Always so much to do and it seems never enough time to do any of it at all!

More soon... I hope!

Fingers crossed.

Naked With the Lights On is Online

Don't ask how... Don't even ask me why.

I'm too tired to explain all I had to do to get things back to what resembles normal around here... But take this one to bed with you tonight.

The blog break is officially over as of right here and right now.

That is, just as soon as I go catch a few hours of much needed rest and relaxation.

From The Library

No. I am not missing. Nor am I dead. I'm simply still without any viable connection to the Internet though one would think this sort of problem would be, well, fixed by now. But it's not. And here I am pounding away on the keyboard at the library, noting as I do just how loud my typing really is but deciding just the same to blame it on not being able to be at home on my own laptop in my own writing room or reading room, whichever you prefer or in reality whatever I feel like calling it, at the present time.

Some guy is reading this over my shoulder. Hi guy... Want to go away now? Or hey, how about a date? I'm single. Looking. And still slightly available. Well, that is unless you're a complete fuck up and then really, I have nothing at all to say to you. I am so done with those.

So honestly, I like want to blog forever tonight, but there has to be a limit. In fact, I'm even skipping the gym to be here so great was my need to say something into the emptiness that has become my blog.

I also wanted to update my Netflix Que but you didn't hear me say that. No. Tonight is all about you my dear readers. Or reader. Or anyone who happens to come across this page by pure accident.

I promise that as of tomorrow, I'm going to get this situation rectified. Heads will roll! Someone, somewhere at the big bad Internet connection place is going to get this corrected... Even if I have to fight City Hall!

Or threaten to write them a letter which won't do me any good at all considering that none of this is their problem in the least little bit.

I'm stressed.

I need to blog like a frog needs water. Like a balloon needs air.

Letting the Sun Shine

There are a lot of things I can live without, but writing is not one of them. And this silence on my part, which quite frankly has not been a by my choice sort of thing but more because my Internet company can't seem to get anyone in house to come fix the problem at my house type of problem, has made me getting a word in edgewise absolutely impossible.

And believe me when I say that there are lots of things I have to say. Including some things I wish I could say, and some I know I just can't say, but oh so desperately need to say to get to some sort of level playing ground of existence.

And if after more than a month away you don't understand anything I just wrote, let's just come to the agreement that you and I, we have more than a lot of catching up to do.

A full blown discourse of a discussion on how I repeatedly find myself in odd situations at a complete loss for what the hell it is I'm doing. And it's no wonder I spend a lot of time smacking myself in the head when no one's looking...

At the moment however I'm not sure what I have to say for myself other than, "Ooops."

But that's a story I've got to save for another time when I (a) have more time and (b) figure out a way to tell it without (c) causing anyone, including myself, any trouble.

Not to worry though... I am an expert at making a mountain out of a molehill and the good news, should anyone be wondering if there might be any, is nothing illegal though something far exceeding my kind of normal happened.

Seriously, I should be a politician after saying all that... I mean really, how can a person say so much and nothing at all, all at the same time?

It's a gift...

In other news, I'm happy to say that my gym commitments is still going strong. Strong enough in fact that I get up before the sun rises and make my way out the door to put in a few miles before starting my day.

I can't believe it's come to this, but I can honestly say I like it. I like challenging myself to do more than I ever thought I could do a few months ago. And I like seeing progress. And it doesn't hurt that there's some seriously nice eye candy every once in a while to distract me from keeping a close eye on just how many more miles I've left to go.

But what I like best is the me I'm becoming again. Everyday I'm a little bit more of the me I remember and not the me so many outside influences and disturbances had over time forced me to become.

It's like being free.

And all those things I thought once mattered, well maybe they just don't matter quite so much anymore.

Stay tuned my faithful readers!

Blog On the Run II

It's really not my fault. Not in the least. Not when a computer is being temperamental. And not when there are not enough hours in the day to do all that there is to do and must be done.

I blame everyone really. Including myself, as it seems that someone has put forth a memo that there is to be no more exceptions.

And yet, it's okay to not blog every day. Or every other day. Or in reality for a few weeks at a time.

After all, everyone needs a break every once in a while, and this pretty much has been mine.

Still it would be nice to share all the interesting stories that there has been as of late. Stories like Lucy the pup vomiting all over my bed in the middle of the night. (Gross!) Just how bad my feet are still killing me. (Ouch!)

Oh and who could forget! My knee getting felt up by a man attempting to keep me from going through a windshield at seventy miles per hour due to his - and forgive me while I take my time to point this out - incredibly over the limit and exceedingly reckless driving on the way back from a church function!

And though the whole innocent and yet still oddly uncomfortable gesture which wasn't really necessary was sweet in a strange and thoroughly did he really just grab hold of my knee way, I've decided to let it go as one of those things where a man feels the need to protect any woman within the realm of his care...

Thankfully my knee has lived to tell the tale!

These are the kind of fun little things that I haven't been mentioning lately. Including my almost head first spill from the elliptical machine that quite honestly got well away from me. One minute I was as slow as a little snail, and the next I was slaloming like a downhill skier on crack and a pair of crutches. It was a rush! Not in a good way rush, but a rush all the same. Needless to say, it's made me a little hesitant to give up my love/hate relationship with the treadmill.

I'm also digging on sunflower seeds! It's crazy, but I just can't seem to get enough. And who knew such a satisfying nutty little flavor came in such a small punch?

One look at the clock however has just reminded me that time isn't necessarily my own right now, and I've unfortunately no choice but to return to the drudgery that is my eight to five, seven to five, sometimes until five-thirty existence.

Blog on the Run I

You'd think that after so much time away, I'd have no problem sitting down tonight to write this post. And yet, I'm in a world of what in the world should I write about? Wondering what on earth could possibly sound interesting when nothing of any interest has happened at all. (My crazy ski mask wearing neighbor who still happens to be locked behind bars with no hope of posting bail, presently excluded of course.)

So let's recap, shall we?

My feet still have blisters. The play is officially over. Lucy had her rabies vaccination. KC is driving my nuts. And honestly, if I never have to hear anything more regarding any of the Jonas Brothers, I will consider myself blessed.

I'm hitting the gym, and if I didn't know any better, I'd swear it was hitting me back. The pancake breakfast at church was not on Saturday as I previously believed, but on Sunday. I bought a new apron for the occasion. It was that exciting...

I watched Atonement and was disappointed that I didn't like it as much as I was hoping I would. James McAvoy however has finally convinced me that Colin Firth is not the only man I might consider running away with. In fact, if he ever gets around to asking (which he won't)I am halfway gone already...

Crazy But Not

Stress sucks.

And regardless of more positive spin than I can stand, there are moments when I dip into the well of negativity and come up with something so heavily endowed with metaphors for being pissed, angry, upset, stressed, worried, and you name it, that my pen turns to poison and you get something reminiscent of something I might have written with my internal eighth grader at the wheel.

It happens...

And when it does, I post it here. Like I've said before, I don't always control the things I write when it's my heart that determines the things I need to say.

Therefore put your phones down!

I am not on the verge of a mental breakdown. I'm not thinking of finding a very tall bridge with no water underneath it anywhere. And I'm certainly not going to go the route of Sylvia Plath, Virginia Wolf, Anne Sexton and countless others who forged mountains with their words and left heartache in their wakes.

I simply have bad days and people I'd like to throttle. And fourtunately, enough self control to stop myself from doing so, though the temptation is like an oyster with the promise of a bright, shiny pearl inside.

Gloomy Writing on a Depressing Day

I wrote this last week when I was having an incredibly bad day. And though the subject matter is a little dark, depressing and in need of a giant sized happy pill, I do tend to write from the heart when it's my heart that's hurting...

Therefore subject matter aside, it belongs here. Regardless of whether or not I think it might be too much for some to read, too disjointed to understand, or too much of me coming through.

If there is a deep end of the ocean, I am on the bottom of it.

Sitting with my legs crossed out in front of me, holding my breath and turning blue. The urge to breathe, to fill my straining lungs for air overwhelms me.

I open my mouth and the water pours in, helpless as I am to stop it, I welcome it.

This avalanche of everything far beyond my control, this current that swells itself around me and inside me, brings peace amidst its pain.

Too many times I have said or done the wrong thing.

Acted rashly without considering the consequences. Lived for years really with nothing but regrets.

I act sometimes like it doesn’t matter. That this doesn’t matter. But I am a liar, sometimes even to myself. Instead I bleed with the intensity of my emotions. Tears scorch my skin like little fires left carelessly to burn.

I cannot say that I am sorry enough.

I have apologized to myself so many times.

I cannot ask you to hear me. Or to understand this underwater world in which I live. Floating and floundering. Gasping for air.

Drowning.

Drawing back to the surface to breathe. A rhythm that beats as relentlessly as the ocean to its shore. That builds its foundation on shifting sands.

I am washed away.

Depleted.

With nothing left to give and an arsenal of words to say. A masterful manipulator.

Bending them.

Abusing them.

Withholding them when nothing hurts just as much as something more. Both blessed and cursed to feel them as if to carry them in my hand.

I can hide this well.

This side of me that says too much to empty space.

The real behind the fake. A plastic red shovel digging deeply drawing up earth. The ugliness of the insides spilling out and over.

Weakness should be destroyed if it cannot be controlled, if it refuses to be contained.

And I am always fighting darkness.

I do not give in.

Not easily. There is always fight inside me to slay the dragons. Dragons in whatever form they choose to take, taking their pound of flesh, scratching outside my door. Breaking me into bite sized pieces, leaving me huddled over and feeling helpless.

There is no forgetting.

Just remembering.

Over and over again. Looking down from above as the scene replays, every shadowed angle in slow motion in contrast to the words I say.

I cringe from these thoughts. Shaken. Wanting to cast them away. To throw my nets back into the darkness of the sea and let them sink to the bottom of its floor.

Still there is light, and I am always seeking it. Looking ahead as best as I can, believing. Believing everything of what I have and still have hope to find.

A better world.

An emotional distance.

A peace that radiates out from me.

Bad Vibes

There are times in life when you should never question your gut feeling on something or someone. And a call from my Landlord last night proved my point precisely. When someone is giving off bad vibes, it's okay to do whatever it is you have to do to keep yourself and your family safe, whether it be shutting a door rudely in someone's face, letting them know you don't want to be friends, let alone neighbors, and when and if the moment calls for it, utilizing your local law enforcement when and if a moment arises that requires it.

In this case, I didn't call the cops. I didn't have to. The two women he must have scared half to death did that for me.

Man charged with robbery

Location emitted - Police captured a man who allegedly attempted to rob a store Sunday ---- about five minutes after receiving the 911 call reporting the incident.

"My neighbor," 43, of ------ was charged with second-degree robbery, a felony, and sent to jail without bail, police said.

Store employees reported a man wearing a ski mask approached a female cashier with what appeared to be a handgun and announced he was robbing the store, police said.

The cashier was unable to provide the man with money, and the man left the store after a second employee approached the front of the store, police said.

Nobody was injured, and no handgun was recovered, police said.

At the moment, chances are he's still downstairs, I don't know for a fact, but I do know I'm not going to go looking. My Landlord says an eviction is imminent. But until he's gone, there aren't enough locks on my doors to feel anything that might resemble safe.

Waiting To Wake Up

A lot on my plate this week has made the simple act of turning my computer on all but impossible. For those of you who read regularly, or chance a glance every so often, my sincerest apologies for having, for lack of a better word that could actually describe my current situation, a life.

I really have no excuse but to say that I've been busy.

Busy at work. Busy at church. Busy at the gym. And then finally back to home and hearth where my bed has become my best friend and the TV is only on long enough to hear the morning news.

Hell, even Brenda has felt the absence. Tonight was the first night in more nights than I can count that we've actually managed to have a conversation that didn't happen in an email format.

It's been rough. Just rough all the way around trying to manage all this extra I've brought in.

Last night was the opening night for our play and I have to say, I was a little nervous about the whole affair, but it did seem to go off well regardless of, and let's be honest here, the music situation which did not see any improvements made at all. Still one could say that the final product as a whole was a satisfying production of faith and fellowship.

The fact that I remembered all my lines, faked a sobbing scene (as convincingly as I could manage without feeling like a total and complete ass) and sang in public should actually be more than enough to say, "Job well done."

Except it's not done. Not exactly. We've two more shows to do before I can forget every word I've done my best to commit to memory, along with my arguments to the tech guys why it's not necessary to sob for thirty seconds just because the script calls for it. Poetic license, I said, is about what feels right and honestly, I'd be good with ten seconds if they would go with it.

As for the gym, that is going very well. Although trying to convince my body that it's okay to move again after five miles is no easy sell. In fact, if my body had anything to say about any of this, it would probably disown me in a New York minute.

There are certain things however that must be done regardless of the pain, discomfort, or the amount of whining that goes with it. And getting my ass to the gym is just one of these things...

And speaking of my ass, I do have to say, it's looking mighty fine.

Blogging the Miles

I'm in the middle of a great clean the house, urge to purge and put things away whirl of activity, so I've got to keep this brief...

This weeks mileage, of which I am ever so proud to have logged on the treadmill, was (drum roll please) 16.5 miles of varying inclines and speeds.

I am officially exhausted... But feeling absolutely wonderful!

I will however officially commit myself if I ever start believing that anything resembling a marathon sounds like a good idea.

Big Bite, Little Dog

Once upon a time, I thought puppy ownership would bring a sense of calm and rewarding joy to my home. My head was full of thoughts about the dog I hoped one day to have, a big giant of a Great Dane I would call Duke or Daisy, depending on which way the gender happened to go, and we would all live happily ever after, ever after, after...

Apartment living however put a small scale hope on my big scale dreams and the dream reinvented itself in the form of something smaller.

I have never been one however to like small dogs. Sure they can be cute. And sure you can put them in fuzzy little sweaters with matching booties if you really want to publicly humiliate yourself as well as your dog, but small dogs all have one thing in common.

Behavior. Bad behavior.

It's always been my opinion that small dogs are more prone to bad behavior for one reason and one reason alone.

They're small.

And seriously, I can't blame them for thinking they need to be a little nippy. A little intimidating to make sure that everyone gets it that just because they're small, it doesn't mean they're not tough.

And little dogs are stubborn. They want to win. They need to prove themselves top of the food chain right, ruler of the roost. And they don't like being told no. Not ever.

Big dogs don't have this problem. They're hardwired in a completely I'm in control and don't need to assert myself to prove my point way.

Little dogs? Little dogs are just wired.

Now I love my Lucy, don't get me wrong. But there are days when she is pure trial and tribulation, with the biting, the chewing, the barking, the whining, the pouncing, the prancing, the leaping, the flying, and of course, her nocturnal habits which keep me up all night long.

Something has got to give.

And by giving, I have a feeling it's my purse that's going to be footing the bill on this one. Lucy is a dog obedience class waiting to happen. And oh, it's happening soon.

Neighborhood Crazy

The man downstairs is a public menace. A danger to himself, as well as to those around him. I considered phoning the police tonight. Not something I would normally do, but there is only so much screaming and shouting one can listen to when someone is threatening to do away with someone else.

And me, being the stupid girl that I sometimes am, crept down my back stairs with cell phone in hand to record every yell of his conversation. Or at least just enough of it to play back to my landlord and whomever else might be interested in listening. After all, a girl with proof in her hands or in this case on her phone is hard to dispute when it comes to complaints against her vile neighbor.

My landlord however didn't have very much to say other than an admonishment to deadbolt my doors, as if they weren't already double locked to begin with, and to call the police should things begin to escalate. And though I really wanted to thank Frank for such stellar advice, I managed to hold back. Also holding back my if you wouldn't rent your apartments to headcases and substance abuse users perhaps this building would be a nicer place to live comment while I was at it.

All of this makes me desperate to move. Far away from the insane asylum that seems to show up in all forms below. KC, of course, was nervous and ready to flee to our friends and neighbors in the house next door. And they in turn offered their home as refuge in case we needed to make fleeing an option. And though it was very much appreciated, I was steadfast about not letting someone else have the power to make me feel as if I needed to leave my home.

Frank meanwhile was leaving messages for the lunatic downstairs on his home phone, while the mental patient was outside pacing in the middle of the street in a full on rave of fuck this, fuck that and I'm going to squash you like a mosquito to his other side of the conversation phone companion.

My trigger finger was itching on the 911...

Sending KC off to bed, a feat almost impossible considering that his music was loud enough to be heard two counties away, it was with pleasant surprise to hear the volume level suddenly go down. Pleasant however turned itself quickly around by the sound of creaking on the back stairs to my home, and a persistent knock on my door.

I debated answering it. Questioning the intelligence of opening my door to someone who obviously is off his rocker and in need of lots and lots of counseling. And yet I did. And I did only because I know his type. The type that will knock until the rooster crows and the sun comes up until you answer the door all because they know without a shadow of a doubt that you're in there.

I opened my door halfway. Just enough to know he wasn't packing, and just enough to slam it right in his face if I had to. And just enough so that my Mother who when she gets around to reading this post won't think I was being overly foolish or naive.

The apologies spewed from his mouth like they were something I needed to hear. And right away I drew myself back from the smell of alcohol emitting from his entire person, as if he had taken a bath in it and then doused himself with a whole bottle for cologne.

"Why didn't you just come down and ask me to turn it down?" he asked.

I looked him right in the eye, with a not happy, not impressed and not in the mood for his bullshit look on my face and replied with sarcasm, "Because I would feel safe enough to?"

"I'm a nice guy. You don't understand. I'm going through some tough times. My ex-wife she just doesn't understand that I want to be left alone. I mean I try to tell her, but she just won't listen and it's really stressing me out," he said in a drunken slur.

"I'm sorry you're having problems," I answered him, "but they're not mine. It's late, and I shouldn't have to tell you to turn your music down. And it's not just me you're bothering. It's all our neighbors. So do everyone a favor and just be considerate."

"I don't want to cause problems." he whined, "I was just thinking that you seem real nice and we could be friends, you know, I think we could be really good friends. You're a good listener. That one day when I came upstairs, it's because I was thinking that we could talk or something." Eyeballing my chest, he looked at me as if he expected me to be excited about the prospect. I decided it was time to put this one right to bed without delay.

"Listen Pasquale, don't take this the wrong way, but we're neighbors, not friends and we're not going to be. I thank you for apologizing, I would appreciate it if you kept things to a dull roar, but that's it. Now it's late and honestly, it's been a long enough night. So goodbye."

And with that, I politely but oh so firmly shut the door, locked it up tight, and retired to my reading room to write this blog.

If anyone happens to know a really nice place in need of a really good tenant let me know... I think I'm going to have to move.

Act One, Scene Two, Take Three

They ask you, "Would you like to be the narrator in our play?" And you think to yourself, yes, why not? After all a narrator can't have that many lines... Easy.

And then they had you the script. And you read it. And your jaw drops to the floor as you realize what it is you've just done...

What they didn't say. What she didn't mention was who the narrator actually was in terms of the story. And in this case, narrator being the lead who says more than any other character has to say.

And you're screwed again for saying yes when you really meant no thanks. And you're stressed because next week is the big huzzah and you've got act one and act two mostly in the bag but act three doesn't happen unless the script is still in your hands.

Oh and the singing? Well the singing would be just fine. Your part that is. It's just singing with a woman who is completely tone deaf and rhythm-less that is making it difficult.

But all will be well. In fact, tonight they've decided to take it on the road to yet another church and everyone was so eager to do it and even though my lips kept trying to form the word no, it kept coming across as a sure, why not, yes...

Immediately after this thing is done, I'm going to sew my mouth together and go mute. It's the only way...

Short, Sweet, & Sleeping

Saying you're too tired to write may be no excuse, but it's the one I'm running with tonight. And to be honest, it's all I can do to keep my eyes open right now. Not that I don't have a thousand stories to tell. I actually do...

Stories like my weekend trip to Petsmart and the moron guy who asked whether or not our dogs came straight from Italy. Had I been given the opportunity, I would have made up a tall tale worthy of Paul Bunyon when answering that one. Instead Jo took the reigns of control and answered him with honesty. Her excuse? There were too many people around waiting to hear the answer to be sarcastic. My opinion? The more the merrier.

And really, while I'm on the subject of dogs, I did take some exception to this morning's news. Evidently people in California have nothing better to do than mock the ugliness of their family pets and held some sort of contest yesterday. Now this probably, or I like to think it probably would have escaped my radar had it not been for one thing. An Italian Greyhound scampered away with the title. (For the second year in a row.)

But seriously, I saw pictures of the dog and I really have to say, it was quite unfortunate. There's nothing like a few bad birth defects to really make you look like you've been thrown under a bus... More than a few times.

Let's just say that I hope Victoria's owner loves it for the wonderful little dog I hope that she is... For title or not, no dog wants to be crowned queen in a casting call for the downtrodden.

5 Mile Marker

I did it!

5 miles! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!

And my feet don't just hurt, they're killing me!

I may have to cut them off... Or never walk again. I haven't quite decided which just yet.

But I did it! Without... With lots of whining and perseverance! And then of course, more whining.

Still... 5 miles. That's an accomplishment.

Two weeks ago my couch would have laughed at me. I would have laughed at me. But right now, despite the fact that I can't feel the entire lower half of my body, this is feeling pretty good.

Oh my God!

Who knew the inner me was into exercising?

From the Photo Geek Archives

It's become customary to indoctrinate any new pup into my family, by making them wear a ridiculous baby outfit turned dog dress.

And though I'm sure I could dig out a lot more pics with a wide assortment of dogs, I figured these two would be enough to get my point across.

It doesn't matter how old you get or how adult you're supposed to be... You're never too much of anything to still be just a kid inside.

On the bright side, I've at least conquered my pet naming issues... Not that Pickles wasn't a cute name for a beagle and all, but really, who in their right mind let's their daughter name a dog Pickles? Mom?

A Flop of a Flick

Watching a bad movie is like committing yourself to watching paint dry. You just can't wait for it to be over. And yet, you just can't let it go without knowing how it ends.

And this is why I just suffered through two tedious hours of trying to figure out what exactly the story line of this movie was supposed to be. And the only thing I can say about it, as I never really did discover its point, is that by far, the credits were my favorite part of the whole damn thing. Not that I bothered to read any of the names mind you. I wasn't all that interested in who starred, produced, and brought this bit of fluff to life in the least little bit. The parting song however was a highlight. And when I say highlight, I do mean the only one.

As much as I know this is going to disappoint you and as much as I would like to share the title of this movie with all of you, it probably wouldn't be fair. There's a bunch of people on Netflix who ranked this one right up there, and far be it from me to embarrass them publicly.

And yet they should be embarrassed. This movie was almost enough to make me cancel my subscription. Almost. But not quite.

I do have good movies on Que for this weekend though so there's still time for redemption. Still if there is a lesson to be learned, it is this... Never trust a movie's rating based only on the number of stars it has.

It's good to remember that sometimes a lemon is still a lemon with four stars.

Old Photos

I was going through my photo box earlier and came across two from my black and white, really big hair days...

Funny. Back then it seemed so normal. Or as normal as I ever came close to being...

I guess I should just be thankful that no one ever stood too close to me with a match...

Tuesday's With Stacey

My head, previously pounding last night, has decided it needs a day spent in solitary confinement. And since I really am just along for the ride, it seems to me that the head does indeed know best and it would be wise of me to just acquiesce to its demands.

Therefor I am staying home today. Without shame. Without guilt. Without nary a thought for the drudgery that has, of late become my job.

Because I can. Because I honestly should. And because today, I absolutely need to.

Sentences

If you are distressed by anything external,
The pain is not due to the thing itself,
but to your estimate of it;
And this you have the power to revoke at any moment.
- Marcus Aurelius

"I take back what I said about you."

"I'm one of the nicest women you've ever known, you should."

"Think a lot of yourself, don't you? Remember those are your words, not mine."

"You're right, sport. I can't imagine what words you'd choose and I'm probably better off not knowing."

"As much as I hate to admit it, this time you're right."

"Who knew it would hurt to be right?"

"Sticks and stones... Remember?"

On Humanity

I'm taking the morning off from going to the gym, and as it seems right now, church as well. KC needs a morning to sleep in, not that I actually think she will as she's an early riser on the weekends while all but impossible to drag from her bed on any Monday through Friday day of the week. As for me, I'm in need of a morning to start off slow and quiet with no interference from the outside world, though quiet is not always as silent as I would like it to be.

Melancholy could be to blame.

And mostly I blame myself for watching and reading such things that more often than not seem to inspire this mood. Yet it can't be helped when the genre itself appeals so to my own true nature and my thoughts constantly reflect such feelings in that which I say, and that which I try to suppress - oftentimes too much, when I write.

The worry itself seems real.

Too much of anything can dull the lines between the honesty of words, the emotions they hold, and the stories they tell. So the question often dangles between two extremes known as the here, now and tomorrow. The in-between of beginning and end.

Any writer, or in reality really, any person can understand the complexity of emotions. Insomuch as they exist and can at times be within our control as well as out of it. But I cannot imagine which to be worse. A passionate display of emotion or an absolute lacking of any at all.

I suppose there is an argument and an extreme for each, though I am more inclined to side in favor of feeling.

Life after all is a melting pot of emotions. Think back to any given moment in your life and the description is already there of how you felt and how it makes you feel again.

I am not one who hides my emotions well.

When I am angry, I am an erupting volcano spewing lava. When I am happy, I am like a red balloon floating high above the trees. When I am lost, I am a lamb bleating in the field calling to be found. And when I am sad, I am the winter wind. Cold and frozen. Far beyond the warmth I've come to crave.

There are times when you can't help but to feel everything of that which is around you. There are times when nothing will soothe your soul as well as a good cry. A keening howl. For things we cannot say, for things we know we must, there are tears for all occassions and there is no shame to allow them to be shed.

Syrup On the Side

I am pancaked out.

And if I ever see another pancake, I swear, I will throw it like a Frisbee as far and as fast as my pancake flipping hands can turn them over.

Round pancakes. Pancakes that looked like Mickey Mouse. Teddy Bear's. Heart's. And one peace symbol pancake later, I learned that my talent for pancake art is probably something I shouldn't have shared.

I am officially on the pancake radar.

And I am so screwed.