Going Down In a Blaze Of Glory

One of the interesting things when living alone is that you have the luxury of doing whatever you want, whenever you want, with no one to criticize or comment. Emily, of course, my pet of 12 years has a thing or two to say when I play music too loud, but that’s only a mean look and a saunter to the deep abyss of the back corner of the closet (did I just make reference to my cat not coming out of the closet?)

One of the other interesting things when living alone, is that if something happens, you are left alone to take care of it. There have been several circumstances when I wished I was not the one left to take care of these tasks. Not just because I am not good at them, but to be quite frank, I don’t want to deal with them and its stuff a guy should do anyway.

Last winter, it was my furnace. Its only five years old, however a furnace filter placed upside down rather than right side up, not allowing proper air flow, was the reason for the motor burning out. Ouch, not cheap, and chilly for a few days. In a ironic and mocking twist, Home Depot was sold out of electric units.

This past summer, it was finding the best way to manage my garbage so as not to get maggots. I put the garbage out each week, but in the hottest times of the summer, I couldn’t avoid the little buggers. Using the garbage disposal as often as possible, rinsing out empty containers, and spraying the inside of the garbage can with a pesticide once a week did the trick. I also learned that maggots are the eggs of flies, and if you shut the lid on the garbage can all the way (sealed) that flies cant get in and then you wont get maggots. Duh. Those things are fucking disgusting. I can only imagine the humor my neighbors found in me putting my garbage can on the lawn and spraying it with a hose a quarter mile away because I was afraid the maggots would get on my skin and burrow into my soul.

This past fall, it was those damn spouts that attached to the end of your gutters to trail water off the roof and into the yard. I was getting heavy water in two spots, and I had to rig the gutter system to take the water further away from the foundation of the house. Turns out when you add footage to the spout of gutters, your best to use an epoxy to set them in place, otherwise, after a heavy wind storm, you’ll find them in several of your neighbors yards. How embarrassing? Again, I’m sure they found humor in my shameless walk between homes, picking up the 6 spouts that had taken flight.

Last night, it was a stupid mistake on my part that had my heart racing, and my jeans wet.

So the story goes...
I set the pot to boil some water. My stove is a flat top. I settled into the couch knowing it would take a few minutes before I could boil my pasta and several minutes later, I smelled a wretched scent that catapulted me from the couch and into the kitchen. As I turned around, I noticed flames from the stove top. As I raced to the area, I was thinking to myself, “Oh my god, I never picked up a fire extinguisher from Home Depot. What the fuck am I going to do.” It was a plastic food scale that had caught fire and I had turned on the wrong burner, not boiling the water, but cooking the scale. YIKES! I thought to myself “This will teach me to not keep a lot of shit on the stove.” The scale was on fire, and it was pretty good, I would say flames about 2 – 3 feet high. The hot gloves were an option, but I was afraid they would not suffice and protect my hands from the heat. So I grabbed a pair of tongs, grabbed a corner of the plastic scale, and flung it across the kitchen, hoping my basketball skills would come in handy and land that unit square into the kitchen sink. It did. I couldn’t help myself in adding humor to a situation I felt petrified in (I often joke when I am really upset about something.) “She shoots and she scores” I shouted out loud. Throwing my arms up as a referee would when a punter it successful. I then ran over to the faucet and turned on the water and doused the flaming scale out.

Then comes the remaining plastic bits, still in flames and smelling craptastic (word courtesy of Elle Michelle) so I took the extendable water spicket from my sink and shot it across the room. Success, yet again.

When the fire was out, in an ironic and mocking twist, the fire alarms began to sound.

Emily looked at me as if I was crazy. I swear she shook her head at me, and I stood there in the kitchen, at first proud of my fire woman like skills, thinking to myself, “Yeah, I could do it. I could be a fire fighter.”

Then suddenly realizing my jeans were wet thinking it was the water from the faucet, but realizing it wasn’t. I was so scared I peed myself. I then quickly changed my mind and thought to myself, “Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t be good at it.”

Let’s just say this morning rather than boiling tea in the tea kettle on the stove, I stuck with the microwave.

Those ladies of you out there that have a man to take care of this kind of shit for you, don't take it for granted. Repay with warm meals or sexual favors...because it blows to have to do it on your own (in a strange and non mocking twist, blow could be a pun relating to sexual favors).

Have a fantabuloso weekend readers...I'm headed to Chi town to celebrate a friend's birthday!

Shopping, tatoo (not me), wine and fondue, in that order than you very much.

You Must Have A Penis

It's official. You must have a penis to appropriately install hanging blinds.

I've done three sets and have 8 more to go. I can't take it anymore.

I am having a drink instead.

Who Needs A Boyfriend When You Have Sleeping Pills

Just recently I have been having trouble sleeping. This has never been a problem for me. I am not certain what is weighing on my subconscious that is causing this.

I have read a lot of material on how to calm the body and mind before sleep. And because of this, I have developed a routine before going to bed. I think of it as my special treat to myself after a hard days work and a good workout

It starts with dimming the lights in my home. Then I will run a hot bath, turn on lite music (usually something from the 50’s or 60’s which is why I need to find a record player and my favorite oldie hits on 45’s) and I light the bathroom with candles. I’ll add to the hot bath a few drops of a scented oil which aromatherapists suggest to soothe, relax and calm.
After soaking in the tub for 20 minutes, I will follow with my evening facial cleansing and repair routine. This routine has many layers of product to repair collagen, lighten age spots, repair sun damage and stop the aging. As each layer of gel, serum or cream is applied; each layer must dry completely before the next application. So in between application of these delicious layers, I will treat the body on my skin to lotion. Each limb, my breasts, my belly, my hips, my toushie.

Then I promptly boil water in the teapot to make calming tea, sipping slowly. No caffeine please as I do not want to defeat my intent.

Then I will adorn my temple with a heavenly frock, sometimes cotton, most times silk. In the summertime always linen.

Then I will take two sleeping pills, turn on the heating pad, turn off all the lights and music, blow out the candles, and lay in bed, being sure to strategically place the heating pad in a position on my pillow that allows my neck to be in proper alignment with my spine. I can feel the pressure from my neck and spine release.

Then the thoughts of the days past will run through my head, as well as what tomorrow has to bring. When I sense a bit of anxiety or urgency in something that I wish I would have handled better, I remind myself that what matters most; my relationships with my family and friends; is good. Then suddenly all seems right in the world and I can release.

I close my eyes and as the sleeping pills work their magic, I fall quickly into a deep sleep.

Just about the time I started taking these magical wonders, I’ve also begun to dream a lot. Dreams I can remember not only when I wake up, but also throughout the day. The dreams are sweet, tender, magical, sensual…and always involve a man from my past. However, the man is not how I remember him always. The dream is recurring, but the man is different each time. The dreams are about the man tending to my needs in the most sensitive and sweet manner, and I in return through his motivation. A touch on the face, a pinch of the cheek, a reminder of my beauty and innocence. He speaks to me almost in poetry form, self expressing our relationship past, present and our future friendship. I respond to him in similar poetic words, telling him what he has meant to me, and how he has shaped my development as a woman.
When I wake up, I feel refreshed and rejuvenated, and reminded that I am a product not only of my family and friends, but almost my lovers, my experiences, my good decisions and my bad decisions.

Truth be told, I think I would sleep best if I spend the evening with a man I loved and we made a mess of the sheets into the wee hours of the morning. What heating pad?

Are Strippers Struggling In This Economy?

So, it would be fair to say that not a day goes by that we think of whether or not losing our job is a reality. We check the balances in our checking / savings accounts, laugh at our retirement funds, and know each moment, how many months we could survive given the worst possible circumstances.

I have thought of this more often recently as I work for a large local employer where lay-off's are a potential.

Because of this, I have strategized my approach at work. I am taking on a lot of work, offering support in new initiatives, and taking on more projects. Finding opportunities to show my value and be sure I represent as my best self. I've also tried to gain exposure to Execs who might recognize potential.

Anyways, this too brings me to the reality of what if it really did happen? What if I got a pink slip tomorrow, what would I do?

I am 31 years old and am completely self sufficient. With that, however, comes, the reality that I'd be on my financial own in the worst circumstances as well. Id be okay for a while, but I know I would get bored. And I hate being bored, there are few things as annoying.

Then my mind wanders to the usual...re-connect with my professional networking friends (I should do that now and not wait), call a recruiting / placement agency, beef up my resume, and deliver it in person to local companies. Then I think...well, what if that is not enough? What if they tell me I am qualified but they have no jobs. I mean, seriously, aren't like 80% of businesses on hiring freezes anyways.

Then, in true white trash fashion, I think "Ah ha! I'll just strip!" Its cash, its tax free (well not technically) and I could seriously work it so long as I preceded my evening naked personal self expression rendezvous with a half dozen shots of vodka.

Then I think, "Are strippers struggling in this economy?"

Uh oh.

All The Women (And Men) Throw Your Hands Up at Me

You know those times in life when you feel like you are flying on cloud nine. When you revel in the fact that you have made a good decision, amongst all the bad decisions that we make in life. For a brief moment, you think… “Damn I am good!”
Tonight I had one of those nights.

It has been about six weeks since a car dealership and I have been negotiating the price of 2006 C230 with just fewer than 11k miles. To me, buying this car for me had nothing to do with the make or model, but the fact that I could do anything for myself that I wanted, and that I was capable of negotiating a bad ass price. Throw in German engineering and well, let’s just say I found my motivation.

Six weeks later, sticker price under Kelly Blue Book and an awesome trade in deal, I drove home tonight in that car for a few grand under $20k…a steal.

On my ride home, Michael, the gentleman whom I worked with, called me. Without even saying hello I said to him, “I can’t believe I got this car for this price.” His response, “Neither can I.” I knew I did well.

If you are in the Cleveland area and are looking for a Mercedes, go to Leikin Mercedes in Willoughby OH. Ask for Michael and tell him Angela sent you. I guarantee you will not be disappointed.

All the women, who are independent, throw your hands up at me!

Tell me your story.

Mother Goose to Snow White

Birds of a feather flock together,
And so will pigs and swine;
Rats and mice will have their choice,
And so will I have mine.

Poly(ester) Is My Friend

Perhaps it was the ten years of Catholic schooling or perhaps it is the reminder of my Grandma Z, I don't know for sure; but I have a crush on polyester.

I did not realize this until recently. It's been a long while since I have took inventory of my wardrobe. I've gone a year avoiding buying new clothes, an attempt to work towards a minimalist lifestyle.

I've always been very partial to cotton, linen, wool and silk. My addiction to bed linens has introduced me to the gamut of cotton thread counts. High cotton thread counts having a gleam and feel of almost silk.

Linen, so crisp and fresh in the spring and summer.

Wool, the classic standby for those cold winters.

As I went through my wardrobe I realized as I tossed old things in the donation bags to give away, that I continued to set aside the poly blends?

"What gives" I asked myself? They will stand the test of time no doubt but why not the beautiful wool slacks, or the silk camis, or the cotton tees that fit so nicely under a fitted jacket, the fact that I'm wearing cotton at work under the tailored blazer never having to be known?

I chuckled as I challenged myself to understand why. From the time I can remember attending school, I would prepare each school night by laying out my blue checkered polyester skirt, a white cotton blouse (perfectly pressed), and a polyester vest which normally ended up tied around my waist well before the 315pm bell. Next to that I lay cream colored wool knee high socks, saddle shoes, a headband, and my school bag, packed with my books and my homework.

Into high school, it was the same routine, only I mixed it up with crazy colored tights to show my individuality while hiding my pierced navel.

I have a black pair of slacks, size 6, perfect lenght. I've had them for at least five years. These are the poly blend slacks I turn to the mornings I've woken up late and need to rush to work. The front crease more like a permanent dent, one that can stand a five minute fluff in the dryer before I slide them on and pair it with a shell and a blazer and run out the door. If I spill coffee on them, a cotton tissue wipes it away it does not even absorb into the fabric, almost as if they have been sprayed with scotch guard. When I step out of the car and accidentally brush the car and get salt on the leg of the pant a simple slap on the pant and poof, the salt is gone.

As I thought about tossing them into the donation pile, simply because poly is not the most respected fabric, I quickly concluded that there would indeed be future mornings that I would regret that decision.

Its almost midnight and the clock will soon strike 5am. Who knows, maybe I'll slide on those poly blend slacks tomorrow morning. Nah, I'll go with the cream colored wool skirt suit since it will be chilly and my brown enzo pumps since there is no snow. This will look nice with a chocolate brown stocking and my grandmother's gold starburst pin on the lapel.

Although grade school and high school were a number of years ago I would hate to admit, there is a part of me that is still holding on.

Uncle Sam I Am…Concerned

Nothing more pleasing than arriving home to find a slip in your mailbox saying you’ve missed a certified mail letter. Is it a coincidence that the slip is peach, close to the color of pink? Its common that something that has been sent certified is bad news…at least more often than it is good news in my experience. Couple that with the fact that the sender is the IRS, and well that equates to a restless evening.

I’ve always been a law abiding, tax paying, citizen. Ok well, for the most part. What in the world could it be, I thought to myself? Having received the pretty little slip well past 5pm, I had to wait out the night wondering what was in that envelope. To quench my curiosity I did the single most stupid thing which was google “certified letter irs” and what I read put me in a state of fear that can be described as paralyzing.

Collection efforts not responded to, garnished wages, failure to respond. Of course what I came upon were websites of attorneys (no offense to my south florida friends) looking to scare the living bejesus out of me and run to them for rescue, an assured initial payment of $3k - $5k. Let’s wait and see what it is I thought to myself. Don’t be so quick to judge how the attorneys represent themselves because I might need their help. It's just that I know it's not gonna be cheap to hire representation for a tax issue. I'll pay for great representation, but not good or mediocre representation, and I don't know any attorneys specializing in tax law.

The truth was, there were a million reasons you could have received a certified letter from the IRS, but chances were it was not good news. I contemplated the fact that perhaps it was not as bad as I thought. But no, I’ve never been lucky.

So I laid in bed last night. Toss and turned not only at the disturbing sound of the wind, but also the unknown in what lay in that envelope on Center Ridge Road. How weird I thought. This little bugger is going to keep me up all night and the sucker is less than a mile from my home sitting in some bin among a deep abyss of letters. Hope the letters for others are all good news.

I do not owe the IRS. I am current on all my filings. I’ve always waited well into March to fill to be sure I account for all my 1099’s. I’ve not been divorced. I’ve not smuggled money. I do not have a Swiss bank account. I know my financial situation inside and out and I could not come up with anything that I might have overlooked. After filtering through my tax returns dating back to 1998 and coming up empty handed, I could only wonder…What could it be?

This morning, I was up early, 430am. Preparing my green tea, masking my face, reading the local newspaper, trying to go through my normal routine and distract myself from thinking about that envelope. I would know in less than 4 hours what it contained.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the USPS office, I thought to myself, how bad could it be? Why am I letting the government scare tactics dictate my mood? The rainy grey day matched my solemn mood.

I scurried into the post office, reminding myself that the unknown would be discovered in less than 5 minutes, which turned out to be 15 minutes…of course! I was greeted, if that is what you want to call it, by Donna. An obvious tenured Federal employee…chipper as can be (chuckle).

I handed her my ID and the slip and said,

“I missed a delivery”.

She got the envelope, came back to the counter.

I said to her, “I didn’t sleep a wink last night because of this little guy.”

She laughed. “People get these all the time. It can’t be that bad, because you don’t have to sign for it. If you have to sign for it, then you owe money.” Think she has seen a few of these in her day?

She continues, “I did not file for 2007 and I received a notice that I was overpaid. They make mistakes all the time.”

Thinking to myself, I know this, but I don’t want the effing hassle. I’d rather not spent one iota of time on the government making an error.

“Thanks, you made me feel better.” I responded. I continued, “I made the mistake of googling what it could be last night and outside of feeling like I needed to go hire an attorney right away, I read horror stories that would make fantastic films. Trying not to get to far ahead of myself, but I am always prepared, and am horrible at dealing with the unexpected – I blame my dad’s genes for that.”

“Honey,” she said. “I live the unexpected.” She gave a wide grin. This time she made me laugh.

“Good luck” Donna said as I walked away.

I delicately opened the envelope as I walked to my car.

Good Karma…Good Karma...Good Karma…I thought to myself.
….And there it was…. 22, yes, I will repeat 22 pages of paperwork, notifying me that my taxes from 2002 were off by $5.08. I am owed a refund from the government of $5.08 which they are unwilling to pay because it’s past a 3 year limit on finding file errors. Oh, and if I want to appeal the decision, complete the paperwork and send it in, within the next 30 days. Congrats, time and money well spent. Somebody quick, call Obama and tell him the government is spending money frivolously.

I had to go back in and tell Donna, the USPS worker. Not only did I make her smile, but I made her down right laugh out loud…and a smoker’s laugh to boot. It couldn’t be more perfectly fitting.

“I told you,” she exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed Donna. Your words of encouragement were in fact, dead on!” I replied.

I continued, “I’d buy you lunch, but I don’t have 5 bucks on me.”

Are You Ever Really Afraid?

So, have you ever really been afraid of something? I remember when I first moved into my home....I was used to living alone. There is only one time in my life that I lived with someone, and that certainly wasn't under circumstances of being roommates, it was more like, help me please.

Anyways, I have always been a bit introverted. I like my personal space, and needs lots of personal down time to recoup and recover from a busy day. A lot of noise overwhelms me. Babysitting my niece and nephew when they were babies just downright exhausted me.

I love my home because its my personal retreat. My place to recharge and get ready to face another day.

But, there are times, when living alone, in a home that doesn't offer the typical securities of a high rise building, can be downright frightening. Tonight is one of those nights.

I should be sleeping soundly in my bed, but rather, a storm is coming in. We are in the 50's so its a cold front for sure, bound to bring snow and the wind is whipping.

My master bedroom is on the southwest corner of the home. Weather here in Ohio moves in from the West and North of course from the Lake.

This southwest corner of my home takes a beating when its windy, and coincidentally, I was the genius who thought the forest lot situated directly behind me would be a beautiful serene view and offer privacy; which it does, but it also offers me the fear of god when its windy.

Branches fall and hit the windows and the side and back of the house.

There is this one tree situated just outside my master bedroom, that is dying and breaking apart. Three failed written attempts to the HOA to have it taken down and I'll be writing my fourth letter tomorrow.

It is nights like these, when I am genuinely scared. When the wind kicks my stomach drops, and I will lay here in my bed as long as I can take it, until I surrender to the wind and take refuge in the front bedroom which is on the opposite side of the house from where the wind does not come. The bed is not as comfortable and I will not sleep as sound.

Emily will saunter in and follow after me. Feeling inconvenienced that I moved because she is snuggled here beside me, warm and asleep.

For it is nights like these, that I do wish I had the feeling of safety lying beside me.

Gentleman, the single most beautiful gift you can give your special someone is the feeling of safety. Take good care of the woman in your life, and let her know that no matter what, she will always be safe with you.

Alright, got to go now. That front room is calling my name.

This, That and A Little Bit More

Its Thursday and technically is a Tuesday for me. I came down with the flu this week and took two full days off from work. I am dehydrated beyond comprehension, but glad to be on my feet and finally feeling back to my old self. And work, oh god, I can't even go there. I'm so behind I will for sure be there all day Saturday.

It never ceases to fail. Put me on an airplane, and I am bound to get sick. I think I bring it on myself. Each person coughing, sniffling, wiping their nose with their bare hand, using the restroom too quick to have being able to wash their hands. I watch people do these things, or not do these things, too closely, and I swear this obsessing about cleanliness makes me sick.

When I travel, I always take Airborne, hand sanitizer and wash my hands constantly, and no matter what, I get sick. Must be that infected air just circulating through the plane. This is why I believe any final destination must be a place where it is at least 80 degrees during the day. Basking in the sun is a perfect way to ward off a cold or flu.

Which brings me to a thought I had the other day. I'll preface this comment by claiming its a significant thought, keeping in mind I am naturally blonde, and all though I can hold my own, I certainly have my moments. This thought came to me as a "Oh my god, that's it!" until I shared it with my mom and she was like, "Yeah, that's what a lot of people think".

Anywise, I figured out that its not the cold that bothers me as much as the snow. Rain, I love. But snow, I mean, after the first fall, its filthy and messy. In the winter, each pair of slacks needs to be taken to the dry cleaners each time you wear them, because the salt and snow soot gets on EVERYTHING. Add to this the fact that I love to wear black and it makes stepping out of the car more a single swift intentional movement that requires careful calculation of the distance of the pant leg to the car door. Snow is filthy. I also can't stand the fact that its near impossible to get outside. Sure, I see those MILF's out jogging in their full up winter gear, keeping it real even in the winter, but oh god girl, do you know what that is doing to your skin. Alternative, the gym...but its like so unbelievably packed. My only alternative, P90x - love you Tony.

So, that's my significant thought for the day. Snow totally sucks. It can snow for Christmas, and for New Year's that's cool... when the pretty little crystals fall upon the landscape during times of nostalgia. But after Jan 1 - Adios! After Feb 1 - Get the hell out of here. After Apr 1 - Fuck you.

I've got a long weekend in late April planned for Naples. Most definitely a trip to Miami, Marco, maybe even the Keys. All I know, is that I again will be escaping this hellish weather - well not exactly hell - more like hell frozen over.

Wild Wild West

As I hope someday soon to be closer to warmer weather, Ill have to say that I always imagined Miami as my final destination. After being dragged to a Professional Bull Riding (PBR) show this weekend, the West maybe something to consider.

There are many types of sports out there. Some sports require a lot of physical aptitude and a little mental fortitude. Some require a lot of both.
When it comes to PBR, I think it is quite fair to say that aside from having steel nuts, it really only requires physical strength.

The fact that PBR may not require a lot of mental discipline does not deter me from the like of the sport. I find this surprising as I consider myself to be driven more mentally than physically. I was pleasantly surprised how much humor and excitement I felt from a misbehaving bull or rider who is likely to get a horn up his ass if he failed to spring to his feet quickly.

Maybe it is the simplicity of the sport in a complicated world? Maybe it was the smell of dirt? It was not the smell of shit, I could have passed on that. Then, as I sipped on my Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, an appropriate and selective (ugh) ode to a sport whose initials are PBR, it dawned on me. I love a man in uniform and in this case…leather chaps. Wear them on a horse, on a Harley…whatev, its pretty hot.

Now truth be told I am a baseball fan. Football is not my thing; aside from the Superbowl and a well matched challenger for my home team (which unfortunately had no matched challengers this past season). The warm weather, night games, a beautiful landscape and ages old style uniforms are tied to a nostalgia, its personal origination unknown.

I do also like boxing.

I am not sure what it is about a man in a uniform. Perhaps it’s the attire that represents his passion, his calling, his duty. Whatever the reason I find when a man wears his uniform with pride and works to perform at his best, it’s an enjoyable scene.

Gitty Up.

How I Took My Credit Score from 580 to 800

It was in the spring of 2003 that I realized that I had issues with my credit. In my twenties, I spent frivolously when I discovered that I could buy whatever I wanted by opening up a line of credit and charging it. What I did not understand was when I chose to do this was that I was going to have to pay a finance charge for having this money upfront. Yes, I was naive enough to actually believe they were giving me the money in advance at no cost.

At the time I began to open up lines of credit, I'm sure my credit was most healthy. I did not know what the score was, but I can only imagine it was strong, because I had college tuition loans paid in full and car loans paid off, both thanks to my generous parents.

When I began working, I had no good understanding of money. I spent money on whatever I wanted and when it ran out, I stopped spending until next pay day. Sometimes I would go a few days with just pennies in my account. Other times I would go 10 days with just $10. I had no concept.

And then it happened. I was standing at the Victoria’s Secret counter, and my card was declined. I could not buy the tango black lace panties and matching bra that I desired so badly. I had not opened up a single piece of mail that had been sent to my home when I started to receive the bills. My subconscious obviously working overtime in avoiding the inevitable because it was so much fun to eat out, drink out, be dressed to perfection with all the accessories, have a gym membership, a fab condo and all the furnishings to boot.

I still remember to this day, that feeling of embarrassment standing at that counter. I drove home, crying, knowing full well that I put myself in this situation and needed to get myself out.

I went home, pulled out the mail and opened every last single statement and jotted down the numbers on a piece of paper and added them up on the calculator on my cell phone. The number was astounding. It was not what I expected.

So then I began to research. Online, at the library, asking friends and family. How did credit work? How could I fix this? I learned about finance charges, revolving balance, credit limit, minimum payments, non revolving credit, APR, debt to income ratio, and FICO score among many other terms. I also learned of Experian, Equifax and Trans Union.

It took about five days for me to get the courage up to order my credit report and FICO score, and because I intended to fix my situation, I ordered a credit report and FICO score from all three agencies.

It took me a couple of days to filter through all the credit reports. My credit score ranged from 580-610 depending on the agency. My debt was deeper than what I was earning in a year.
That realization motivated me in ways that today I am grateful for it. I understood that value of working hard to earn money, the value of negotiating my worth to an employer, and the value of earning the things I had thought I was just deserved.

One by one I paid off those bills. Meticulously accounting for 3 years, each penny spent, each dollar earned. Sometimes Id fall off the bandwagon. I found I could restrain myself, just not as much as Id hoped. Rather than spending $1000 at Vickie's, I stopped at Starbucks more than once a week which was a violation of my self discipline. I would remind myself that this was an improvement not a failure to not be too hard on myself.

It has been over two years now that I have been debt free, aside, of course, from my mortgage which provides me a bit of tax relief. I have established a solid credit foundation by selecting a few reputable creditors, making purchases and them paying them off entirely. About mid way through my credit repair project, I pulled all credit reports again…my way to self motivate to achieving the credit I desired.

In these hard economic times, I encourage you to take advantage of the relief that the government is providing to improve your financial situation in a responsible way. Take fiscal responsibility for yourself and do not be a menace to society by overextending, or taking an adjustable mortgage rate that you know full well you will be unable to pay in the future…only to place these poor choices as tax burdens on others.

Use this time as an opportunity to wipe your slate clean and enjoy the freedom of life without the pressure of, “Can me or my family make it to next pay?” We may not all agree that the stimulus package is the right solution, but its here whether we like it or not.

From someone who has experienced debt and poor credit herself, I can promise you, the journey to debt and credit recovery will me humbling and rewarding. It’s empowering to know you can borrow, when absolutely necessary, get the most competitive rates and have no fear about the process.

To Audrey Jean

I remember my grandmother fondly, even though I lost her when I was young. The mother to my father, she was a lady of simple needs, great persuasion in the most subtle way, modest and giving – to those in need and to her family.

She was short, light skin and blond, my build, complexion and hair color most definitely from her genes. Ovarian cancer was her fate.

I remember her teaching me how to care for myself. How to bathe, how to dress, how to sit like a lady. She used to make me oatmeal for breakfast. The place sitting complete with the bowl, a spoon, a vitamin, a glass of orange juice and two small creamer holders…one with milk and one with brown sugar. The delicious and appropriate toppings for steel cut oatmeal.

She always drove what I called a fancy car. A Cadillac, a Lincoln. The typical car for a sixty something grandmother who was fit, good looking and active in the community. Her car always smelled new. She used to say,

“There will be two things in life you will always have to pay for. A house and a car. And you should get a new car every two years before you have to start fixing things on it.”

She worked as a bookkeeper for local businesses and kept my grandfather and her financials in line. She was loved by her sons, cherished by her husband and respected by those whose lives she touched.

She died during the winter months. When this time of year comes by, I feel the overwhelming loss of her. Winter months are a strain on my parents, my father in particular, for it is these months that remind him of her slow death. Endless trips to the hospital and her pain.

I’ll stop by to visit her grave, drive past the house she once lived in on Hillard Blvd, and remembering how she would tuck me in at night when I’d sleep over. Ill stop by the perfume counter at the mall, and purchase Oscar De La Renta, the scent she always wore.

I miss you grandma. For it is now that I miss, not just your warm oatmeal, but your good advice. There are times when I feel lost and unfound.

Saints of God come to her soul
Come to meet her angels of the Lord
Receive her soul and present her to God the Most High
Now that she has passed from this life
May she live on in your presence

All my love goes to you today Audrey Jean.

Love The Space You're In

Have you noticed how unbelievably well priced home furnishings are in today’s economy? Having brought a home about two years ago, I have steadily purchased things to make my space more ‘homey’.

The trick to adorning your personal space with furniture, art and collectibles is to be patient in your choices. It is quite costly, not to mention that you’ll need to feel the inspiration that something will work, rather than just go out and purchase a whole bunch of stuff. It takes time.

Case in point, my friend K, bought a home and felt the pressure to completely furnish it and fill its empty rooms. The end result with her quick purchases was paying interest on furniture, knick knacks and what nots, and ending up with a whole bunch of stuff that could not withstand her changing tastes. The likes of Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel which are more appropriate for a few here and there to change the look through seasons, rather than the foundation of your canvas.

I am in need of a flat screen TV, a surround sound, a wine storage system, a nightstand and two large area rugs. I could as well use a foyer table. What I really want is a new watch, and a clock for my nightstand that I can stand looking at when I wake up; preferably this one: http://www.artdecocollection.com/1160.htm

If you prefer clean lines, muted earth tones and a variety of textures Ethan Allen and Herman Miller dealers are offering prices so reasonable, that if you pass it up, it could be considered a sin.

This 6 drawer dresser:
http://www.dwr.com/category/furniture/bedroom/matera-collection.do
which normally retails for $3600 was located through a dealer for $1800.

This chandelier:
http://www.ethanallen.com/product?productId=384&categoryId=8051
which normally retails for $3500 was located at my local store for $999.

6’ x 9’ all wool rugs solid print or subtle patterns for under $500
Stainless Steel, All Clad kitchen cookware sets for under $800
Name brand kitchen cutlery sets for a fraction of their typical resale
…and the list goes on.

It’s a great time to be furnishing a home. For those of you whom trust a interior designer to do the grunt work then consider yourself advised. When you receive your designers invoices…ask it to be line itemed, and be sure your are not paying full retail for the furnishings. Unless, of course, its something that you can not possibly live without.

Schizophrenic, Maybe So

In news today, a South Florida blogger has been detained and admitted into a psychiatric hospital, after it was found he was blogging with himself incessantly by creating fictional characters that he conversed with daily.

After a brief interview with Staff Psychiatrist, Dr. Shumie, it was discovered that this blogger who was thought initially to have a serious mental illness, may in fact just be brilliant, similar to the movie character in 'A Beautiful Mind' . What he believes to be true is actually not, however, his writing and characters so entertaining no one could resist reading his blog.

"He is an avid writer." Dr. Shumie stated.
"Do not mistake him for a fool, but take him for who he is." Dr. Shumie defended.

In a brief interview with the blogger, he had but only one comment which many are trying to understand...

"Is it Shumie time yet?"

In a strange twist, the blogger continues to ask for mashed potatoes?

Happy Belated VDay To My Fav Valentines

Always and Forever

She was young when she realized she needed to free herself from the protection of her parents. She was working, loved her job and spending too much money and clothes and clubs and what nots. It was a fury of rage that motivated her to make the decision to rent her first apartment. She barely made enough to support her social happenings, and she worried about the sacrifices she must make to have her own space, but it would be worth it.

She dated a man whom she would later realize, fulfilled her in ways never known to be imaginable. He was sweet, sensitive, an attentive listener, knew what she liked and did not like, took care of her, embraced her family, and was willing to make their relationship the focus of their future. She had no idea how good he treated her until later relationships would prove that he was exceptional, not the norm.

She moved into the apartment. A one bedroom, which smelled of stale smoke, and its occupants more the single parent family type and older people, than people her age. But it was cheap. It was $350 a month. She could rent that space and still shop at Victoria’s Secret. So she took it.

Her parents were there to support, helping her move the hand me downs she had accumulated from friends and family when they heard of her choice to claim her independence. It would be a modest space. A pea green couch sectional, a full size bed and bed spring, with a mattress frame but no headboard and footboard. A ginormous dresser from the 70’s and a Kmart bookshelf which she adorned her 19’ TV.

J and she were madly in love. They were excited about the prospect of her new space because their sexual life was intense, active and explorative. They fantasized the weeks before the move about what their lives would be like. He was not going to move in, but they both knew that he would always be there. Knowing he would be at that apartment often gave her further strength in her fear of being alone…she knew he would be there whenever she needed him.

It was a few months she lived in that apartment before the first Valentine’s Day came around. J and she had simple plans. He was going to come over after work and school, she was going to get out of work early, make dinner and surprise him with a few treats. She left work at 3pm and went to the local grocery to pick up the fixing up a chicken breast dinner. J and A were lean, they ate healthy and only overindulged sexually.

She prepared the meal and left it in the stove. It was not what mattered most. What mattered most was her preparing herself for him. She wanted to take his breath away when she opened the door. She wanted him to forgo the dinner and move straight to dessert. She had brought herself a black silk thong, a black bra to match and a silk robe. Along with that she wore thigh high stocks, stiletto heels, red lipstick, curled her blonde locks and kept her eye makeup simple, just enough to make her eyes striking; showing off how green they were. She took a long hot shower, cleaning her canvas and preparing her body for the work of art she wanted to become for him. She covered every inch of her skin in his favorite lotion, it was sweet and it reminded him of her. He often liked it when her scent was left on him after a night of passion, him rushing to work and not having the time to take a shower, but the benefit being he could taste her and smell her the next day and call her to reminisce of the night past.

Her stomach was doing flip flops in anticipation of seeing his face when he opened the door. She knew he would be early; he could never help himself from wanting to see her. It was still early when she heard the rap on the door. The lights were off, the candles were burning, and the table was set. She took a final peek in the mirror, checking things front sideways and back, ensuring that every inch of her was just as she intended for him. She walked to the door, working to adjust her emotion to passion rather than showing the excitement that overcame her. She opened the door, their eyes met. He was standing there in his suit, a relatively expensive suit that he could made look like its worth a million bucks. He was holding red roses, and a box of chocolates, and he smelled like himself. He saw her, and couldn’t help himself. He walked in, took her by the waist and did not spend anytime presenting her with his gifts, but rather placed them on the foyer table…it was not to bother. He grabbed the back of her waist, pulled her close to him and tasted her, deeply. His hands floating over her skin. Whispering to her how beautiful she looked and how she made him feel. She melted in his arms, the passion overcoming her, and then the sweet surrender.

Happy Valentines Day J. My heart will always be with you.

You made me feel like a woman.

Love Potion

She was a young girl, once in love. The promise of a commitment with its potential fully unrealized was her motivation. It is the anticipation of what’s to come that allows her to survive and have hope. When her heart was broken, she set herself feel to find her true self, and be dependent on nothing but the possibility of what future life she could have. She is free, she is happy and she has barley scratched the surface of her deepness.
Her heart is wide, her soul is deep, her mind challenged, her loins hungry. She will not divulge to one who is anything but her ideal and whom treats her as if she is the single most important thing is this crazed insane social world we call life.

For today, is another day, in which we are reminded that love is an emotion, a feeling, a reason to be vulnerable, to surrender, to give faith and trust…and if nurtured it will indeed give back.

May each of you be touched in the most special way today by someone you love. A mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a friend, a spouse, a lover…the day to recognize the person in your life who is always there for you, can embrace you and make you feel better, and that you can trust without any hesitation.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Today I am going to have the time of my life, in this glorious space I’ve chosen to be.

To J

This morning I’m preparing myself for a wedding shower. What seems to be my twelfth wedding shower in two years. One of those wedding showers for my brilliant brother and his absolutely gorgeous and amazing now wife, the others for friends. Some friends I keep up with, some friends I have not seen but a few times in the past years, but the reunion and participation in something so fantastic in their life truly is a treat.

Today is the wedding shower for my friend J, and I could not be more happy to support her and spend this special day with her.

J and I go back to the age of nine. We have barely kept in touch over the years but each time we see each other we pick up right where we left off. Anticipating this shower, Ive taken a trip down memory trip with J. The drinks that accompany our conversation are the catalyst to our weeping childhood retreat, her typical choice margarita, mine vodka.

The memory I remember most is how she and I used to play on the “Slip ‘n Slide” in the summer. Both coming from very financially modest families, our imaginations were what inspired our activities. The “Slip ‘n Slide”, outside of the “Green Box” at the park around the corner, was about as good as it got and we did not feel slighted in the least bit.

We soaked up (pun intended) every bit of fun we could squeeze out of sliding on our bellies over the green grass and the occasional rock, rightly earning our bruises, in an attempt to stifle off the summer heat. This game included a running lead, a length equal to at least half the length of the slide. “Ready, Set, Go!” we would shout to each other. The first taking off, running as fast as we could, pumping our arms, gritting our teeth, speed was critical. Just as we approached the edge of that glorious yellow wonder, we’d launch from our toes, land on our belly, and take a wild ride all the way to the end. It was important, you know, to spread your arms out before you hit the end to stop yourself from going beyond the end. The result was worse than a rug burn from wrestling our brothers.

We would giggle in delight, meet at the foot of the slide, and turn to each other and say, “Nice to see you here. What a qa-winkie-dink.” And over and over and over, until we felt we would lose from our belly our Wonder white bread, Jif peanut butter and Smucker jelly sandwiches (hers grape, mine strawberry), which, oh by the way, we would add potato chips onto and then fake to mom that the bread was stale and crunchy. Chocolate milk to boot. It did not get any better than that.

Today J, I dedicate my post to you. I can’t wait to see your face when you open up my gift, a 9-cup food processor…and a “Slip ‘n Slide”. See you in the summer to test it out.

Playboy Much?

When you were a kid, at what age did you begin to become aware of sexuality? When did you know that sex was something that existed, to be desired, to experience?

My father was an avid fan of Playboy. When we were kids, it wasn’t until I was 12 that I started to ask why a particular magazine in the mail came in a plastic cover that was black. I was on to my mother and fathers secrecy…I just didn’t know what it was.

My mom had the most amazing grand walk in closet. The closet was full of pretty colorful clothes, jewelry, handbags, scarfs, stockings, hats. It smelled like her perfume. A pretty musky scent. On the occasional opportunity I had to sneak into her closet and play dress up, I took full advantage. This normally required my mother and father to be invited to a wedding, a night out of the town with their friends, or a dinner date! I would convince the babysitter that my mom didn’t care if I tried on her clothes…played dress up. She didn’t really, but mom would scold me for being persistent with the babysitter rather than just obeying her.

So I would organize my mothers things. Fold her stockings nicely, try on a hat. I loved to try on her high heels. I used to pretend I was older, and of course sneak in a tube of lipstick and look at myself in the full mirror in the closet.

One time, I was fumbling around, and noticed the lower half of a small enclosed area went further back than I have ever noticed. Almost like into a secret attic area. I scrunched down and wiggled myself back there. Once I got through, the ceiling rose again and I could stand up. It was an attic, just behind the closet.

There were boxes everywhere. It was dark, smelled musty and kind of hot. I couldn’t find a light so I ran back to my bedroom and got my flashlight. The trusty flashlight my dad put in my room in case the lights ever went out. I knew exactly where it was if I was ever scared... and needed a night light.

I ran back excitedly to the attic area and flicked the on switch of the flashlight. I remember thinking briefly that it was boxes of money. I don’t know why, I just remember wondering how my mom and dad always had money. I had several friends whose parents couldn’t even swing a 5 dollar bill for taco bell for lunch. When I looked more closely, I realized they were boxes and boxes of books.

As I went through the books, I came across a variety of topics. Nursing books, law enforcement books, old cookbooks, fiction novels, dictionaries. Then I stumbled upon something interesting. A box filled with old magazines whose cover had pictures of naked ladies, and really pretty naked ladies. I opened up the book and could not believe my eyes. There were naked, and look like my mom naked, but their busts bigger, and the waists smaller.

I remember the feeling overcoming me excitement. Not in a sexual way, but in a girlie way. It was as if I knew that someday I would look like that, and I couldn’t wait. Ah ha, now I knew that those magazines were covered in that black plastic. I sat down, and read the magazine. The articles were weird. Things I didn’t understand but could tell there were funny things to adults. I liked most to read the stuff the girl who was in the centerfold wrote about herself…and they always had the most bubbly hand writing.

As I heard the babysitter coming up the stairs calling my name out wondering what I was doing upstairs in my moms closet for so long, I hustled to put the magazines back just so, turned off the flash light, hid it under a pile of stockings and pretended like I was trying on a hat.

“What are you doing in here” the babysitter asked.

“Nothing, just pretending like Im a big girl” I responded.

“But you already are a big girl” she said.

“But not a really big girl” I replied.

She laughed, grabbed my hand and took my downstairs and made me some popcorn. She was the coolest babysitter, Missy.

From that day forward, any and every opportunity I had to sneak into that closet and look at the pictures and read I took full advantage. My curiosity was overwhelming.

I Dedicate This Post To My Grade School Girls

The song playing is what we sang in weekly choir. Friday morning mass was a treat.

This song is for you Katie.

Da Bears

It was late summer of 2006. I was traveling quite frequently between Cleveland and Florida. My travels to Florida took me to Gainesville and Jacksonville to manage client contracts.

My friend, G who lives in Atlanta, normally spent a long weekend in the late summer with friends, deep in the woods. The forest was about 2 hours outside of Atlanta and, according to G, had spectualar campsites. No electricity, no running water…however a small river to bathe in.

He convinced me to go. Although I must admit I had a lot of anxiety about not having a blow dryer. I decided I would embrace the experience of connecting with nature, and “roughing it” the way our ancestors used to.

We would be heading to the campsite early Friday morning, with plans to arrive early Friday afternoon. Doing this would give us time to set up the tents, chairs, cookwear, fire pit, etc. and to hit the local grocery store to stock up on essentials for fireside cooking. You know, eggs, green peppers, onions, sausage, beer, and marshmallows.

We would spend Saturday hiking and mountain biking. Sunday we would again hike and then head out early enough to beat the rush of traffic moving back into Atlanta and spend Sunday and Monday recovering back in civilization. A hot shower and a full meal would be the top priority when arriving in Atlanta.

I drove from Jacksonville to Atlanta and arrived late Thursday night. The group of us rose early Saturday and filled the SUV’s with all the essentials and hit the road. A quick stop at StarBucks along the way.

The air was warm, the conversation great and the anticipation of doing nothing too mentally intense and challenging our bodies physically was discussed at length.

“Are there bears in these woods”, I stupidly asked.

“Of course”, G replied.

“So how do we protect ourselves from getting mauled?” I inquired.

“The bears will not come around us. We just need to be sure we don’t leave any food on the campsite and we have to be very careful to rinse down any pot or pan that we cook in. The key is to dispose or get rid of any food scent so as not to lure the bears to the campsite. They are more afriad of us than we are of them” S explained.

“Really? Did you hear about that group of joggers? Last jogger disappeared, only for the group later to discover she was snatched up by a bear. The article was talking about how the bear was probably hunting and seeing the last jogger as the weakest and the easist to catch. Scary stuff.” I rebuttaled. “They didn’t even know it happened until hours later.”

“A bear is not going to come onto our campsite. Besides, if it does and it looks like it might attack, Ill shoot it” M exclaimed.

“Yeah, lets not wait to see if its going to attack. If a bear comes on our campsite, just shoot it.” I demanded.
As we pulled into the small town, we talked about the simplicity of the lives of those that lived in that town. Catering to people like us to experience what they lived every day. We were humbled by their dedication to living the simple life, and their need for nothing too grandiose. Some of us, secretly jealous.

We drove up and down the hilly area, deep into the wooded area and far into a campsite. We pitched our tents at a campsite just along a river. The campsites next to us were a good distance away so privacy was not an issue. A few of us drove to the local mart and picked up our weekend supply of sustanance. As we drove back, I could not but again wonder, ok worry, about the bears. I could tell from how deep and thick the forest area was, and how expansive, that there were probably a plethora of bears. How would their curiosity not get the best of them?

“So, this bear thing” I again said.

M began laughing out loud. “Oh this again!”.

“Yes, I said. Im not buying that a bear wont come onto a campsite. Are you sure we don’t have to worry about it when we hit the sack? I mean, can’t we buy something that we can burn or put around our camp area that would deter a bear if he came around?” I inquired.

“We’ll get so drunk that we wont care if there is a bear on our campsite” M joked to try to make me feel better.

“Uh yeah right, then instead of shooting the bear, the idiot with the gun shoots a person. Real cool M. Sounds like a Dateline story to me” I said.

It was at this moment that I felt vulnerable. I mean, I knew these people well enough, but like a scary movie, who the hell knows what goes on back here in these areas. I freaked myself out.
When we arrived back at the campsite, I decided to grab my mountain bike and head out for a ride. I needed to blow off some steam and get my head back on track. I had myself so worked up over this bear that I was afraid that I wouldn’t enjoy the weekend.

We had a great Friday night. We cooked, we chowed, we drank beers, we talked, we listened to music, we discussed theory, philosophy, current events. The evening was long. Each person showed respect in allowing another to voice their opinion at length and we really dug deep into some life topics, rather than just scratching the surface. At about 3am, we all retreated to our tents, pairing up. As I stumbled into my tent, I jokingly shouted out to the other tents

“Hey M, you got that gun handy right”.

“Go to bed” M responded. “Ill protect us all if need be.”

I laid my head on the pillow, inhaled the fresh air deeply and slept like a baby.




The next day, I rose to the smell of coffee perculating on the smoldering fire.

“Good Morning” G said to me as I exited the tent.

“Good Morning”, I said as I stretched to the sky and again inhaled deeply. “My God is it gorgeous here”.

It was early enough that the fog in the forest was low. The temperature had dipped in the evening and the September heat had not rose yet to burn off the fog. Suns rays darting through the tall pine trees, the sound of the river rushing by, and birds chirping.

I took a quick dip in the river. Talk about a way to wake up! It was so frigid, every inch of my skin tightened as I entered the water. “Who needs a pour minimized mask at a spa when you’ve got this” I chuckled to myself.

As the others arose, we nibbled on eggs, sipped our coffee and prepared for our day of hiking and mountain biking.

After a physical day, we all headed back to our campsite about 4pm. Exhausted, covered in mud, our muscles aching, our minds free. We all again bathed, prepared our meal and began our evening fesitivties.

Chicken, cous cous and asparagus was the meal. M prepared the meal with great attention under my influence. We flavored the cous cous with rosemary and pine nuts. Again, another great evening of food, conversation and alcohol indulgence. This evening, however, we were heavily influenced by alcohol. It was near 4am when the last of us decided to settle in and rest. We did a quick once over of the campsite to be sure the garbage was in the dumpster, the pots and pans cleaned, the beer bottles disposed of and the picnic table and seating area watered down to rid of any food droppings.

I had closed my eyes for what seemed like only a minute.

“CRASH” was the noise I heard from just ouside my tent. The firepit was still slightly burning, so it gave off a amber glow. I sat straight up. The noice of the crash was familiar. It sounded like the cooler full of ice had been dumped over.

A loud grunting noise came from outside the tent. I knew what it was immediately. My body froze. My heart raced and I could hear it pounding in my ears. I lightly shook G awake and as she opened her eyes I covered my lips with my index fingering signaling her to keep quiet. She sat up. She looked at me and could tell I was frightened. She sat up and saw what I saw. The amber glow from the fire outlined the body of a bear, just outside our tent rummaging through our campsite.

There was a gentleman whose campsite was across from ours. He was very familiar with the campsite as he frequented the camp every weekend in the summer. He and a few good old boys spent their weekends at the campsite. I heard him from afar,

“Holy shit, look at that bear over there on that campsite!” He shouted.

Effing fantastic I thought to myself. He is an expert and even he is surprised. I could not hear the others in their tents and most imporatntly, M. He had the gun. Was he awake? Does he hear or see the bear? Will the bear attack? The bear is less than four or five feet from my tent. If the bears comes over to the tent, how do I respdon? Do I try to scare him? Do I play dead? Do I yell? Do I escape out the backside of the tent and run? Will that put others in danger? I had no idea what to do. I regretted that I did not read up on how to handle such a situation when my instincts had warned me that this was a possibility. Where the eff is my blackberry so I can google, “How to Scare A Bear”. I felt totally and completely helpless. Although I did not know what to do, what I did know for sure was that this would all be over soon, and I had to do the best that I could do and deal with it. Better to deal with it in confidence than in total fear I reminded myself. You’ll make a better decision if you tell yourself you can handle this!

The fear was paralyzing but I needed to do something. I wanted to see and know what I was up against. My hand shaking, I pulled the front flap of the tent, which was not zipped, to the side just a smidgen. What I saw was a large brown bear on the picnic table. I watched for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes. He would smell a morsel on the table and use his large paws to try to pick up that morsel from the table and would sit back on his hind legs and lick his paws. When he sat back on his hind paws I would guess he was six feet tall, maybe even seven. He was massive. I knew that if he approached the tent, I would not be able to defend myself. But I watched him, his every move to anticpate what was next.

Hug A Jew

Tomorrow celebrates the annual, “Hug A Jew" day.

A few Jews I’d like to send a hug to:

Sigmund Freud – I studied you intensely and I am in love with you. Psychoanalysis is a widely underappreciated mental health science.
Bugsy Siegel – You know you raped her, we know you raped her, she knew you raped her, you should not have done that. Your death is ironic. Rest in Peace, your life brought you none and you deserve peace.
Anna Freud – The children you helped thank you.
Albert Einstein – Ok, well I totally don’t get the physics but I love the theory.
Lisa Carver – Crazy bitch, you just need a hug.
Bob Dylan – Because your music moves me and touches my soul.
Joseph Brodsky – I read you naked.
Howard Schultz – I don’t care what you put it in, its grand and your campaigns to bring fresh water to those who don’t have it, is a good thing – Ive bought a million of those bottled waters, and yes, I recycled them.
Jerry Seinfeld – Yes I am a fan.
Neil Diamond – Sweet Caroline!
Jennifer Connelly – How do you do it? I always believe your character.
Selma Blair – You crack my shit up.
Paul Simon, Gene Simmons, Lisa Loeb, David Lee Roth, Linda McCartney, Taylor Dane, Jakob Dylan, Beck, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks.

And to my favorite Jew, whose name must remain unmentioned. For it is you I think of often. You are one of a few who touched me at a time in my life when I needed it most. Thank you, for being there. You gave a second chance.

Elle Michelle - you love him entirely, and I thank you for that. May you always be to each other what you are unable to be to yourselves.

Carrie Michelle – keep it real girl, you always have and you always will, you will prevail, you will defeat and its only the beginning for you!

Movie Night

Burn After Reading and Flawless

Burn After Reading - cute, but weak plot. Although Ill have to give some serious props to Brad Pitt for his role is this one. I'm not typically a Brad Pitt fan...however he is the quint essential gym brat, and aced pretending (ok maybe not) that he had not one brain cell.

Stellar performance as always by Frances McDormand. I loved you in Fargo and I love you in this. Her dry sense of humor and desperate personality offers a balance to the bitchy, demanding, I just want to be f**cked right, Tilda Swinton. Honey, when you let him be in charge you ll have the "o" of your life. Frances, you are looking fantastic. No need for plastic surgery, keep it real my love.

George Clooney was creepy, nothing out of the ordinary.

And Malkovich...I am going to watch the movie again just so I can count how many times you say f*ck, and to see you again walk down the sidewalk in your boxers and robe. Your chubby legs that bow at the ankles are adorable! I noticed you have an ax, are you by chance heading south?

This is a good movie if you want something thats ridiculously silly, dry, but still has somewhat of a plot in tact. Unlike something thats just silly like Old School.

P.S. McDormand, I LOVE your laugh. Schwin!

Flawless - Demi Moore, set in the '60s. I love Demi Moore, as an actress. I wish I could give a review but the dvd was scratched and after 15 minutes of trying to get things back on track, I gave up. Damn!

Is It Drafty In Here?

A junior in high school, she felt she had the world by the tail! She had transferred from an all girls Catholic school to the local public school. It was fall. She was able to join the volleyball team even though she transferred after the school year had begun. She liked the Catholic school, but didn’t get along with the girls. She liked to be around guys, not for the attention, but the comradery. Boys weren’t as fussy as girls, and although her looks were girlie, her personality was tomboy through and through.

When she transferred from the Catholic school to the public school, she learned what it meant to have a wardrobe. Up and to that point, she wore a school uniform from K-10th grade and on the weekends, it was jeans and a tshirt. She entered the school seeing that all the girls were so glamorous in their fancy clothes and fancy shoes. And so many layers. She loved it and embrace it!

On this specific day she choose black opaque tights, a one piece red checkered skirt jumpsuit and black boots. Under the jumper she wore a black long sleeved tshirt…she wasn’t going to surrender that quick. It was an edgy look. The jumper held the Catholic school girl look, but her boots were daring.
When she transferred, she got lots of attention. From boys, from girls, from teachers. She received an immediate respect because she came from a reputable school, with a competitive sporting club, and she was an A student.

She was not the kind of girl who stuck with one crowd. She had one good girlfriend, and moved in and out of different types of crowds. She craved the chase of something new, something different. Anything non ordinary was exceptional and interesting. She was motivated by the unknown.

For lunch breaks, she would take herself home. She liked the freedom of being able to leave school, they would NEVER allow it at the Catholic school, and she liked that she could come home and primp midday. She drove a 1982 Ford Ranger. A hand me down from her older brother. She loved that car because when she drove it, she would accelerate real fast, release the gas just before fourth gear, and the car would backfire. It always made people laugh and her too.

On this day, she finished her physics class, and went home for lunch period. She did her usual primping. Hair..check. Eye makeup…check. Lip gloss…check. Potty break…check. Once she finished, she slipped back on her boots, grabbed her bag, and jumped into her truck.

She drove back to the school and parked her car in the large parking lot. She hated her parking spot. It was so far out because she transferred after school started, and the walk to the building took forever. It at least took 10 minutes away from her lunch break. Damn, she thought.

She walked into the school, through Freshman Hall, through Sophomore Hall, through Junior Hall. Just as she reached Senior Hall the bell sounded. Classes began to filter into the main throughputs. She remembers a group of freshman boys walking behind her, giggling. She turned around and smiled at them. Young silly boys, she thought to herself. After walking a few more steps, her friend Anne darted across the hallway!

“A! Come here!” Anne shouted.

“What?” A responded. “I have to get to class.”

“Seriously, come here.” Anne now loudly whispered as she had made up ground to catch up to A.

“What!” “Whats wrong?” A inquired

“The back of your skirt is tucked into your tights and you can see your ass!” Anne apologetically said as she reached around behind A and pulled the skirt down around her bottom.

“Oh my god” A said. “I didn’t wear any underwear today” A explained.

“Yes, we know.” Anne responded

Now you know why A was so particular in putting on her morning undergarments in college.

Strip Tease - Well Almost

She was a freshman in college. Attending a small liberal arts school, she was startled by the social pressure. A Catholic upbringing and schooling, she realized she had been protected from the world.

She chose not to rush. Hundreds of girls all competing for each other’s attention. Trying to pigeon hole themselves into a sorority that would define their personality, their character. She thought it was absolutely ludicrous. Besides, she grew up with two brothers, no sisters and one good girlfriend. She didn’t get girls.

She passed. Drowned herself in studies, Psychology. She attracted the intellectual type. Not the jocks, not the potheads, not the rockers, not the dorks.

As a result, she had more guy friends than girlfriends, surprise, surprise and spent much of her time in the basement of a mansion of a fraternity. The space was grand. Five separate rooms, a full bar, and a cubby in the corner that had a killer sound system, and a plethora of cd’s.

She came to know the boys very well. They were like brothers to her.

“Why aren’t you dating?” “What do you like?” they would ask

“I don’t know yet” she responded. “I’m figuring it out”

Her sense of style was simple. She wore worn jeans, t-shirts, Vans, little jewelry, too much eye makeup and had naked lips. The only thing she thought about when getting dressed in the morning, was her undergarments. Her panties and bra always matched, and were usually black.

One Friday evening, she celebrated the end of a week of classes and she normally did. A 40 ounce of Old E (which she could never finish or even get to half of) and a water bong. No more, no less.

The evening felt different. The guys were hanging out, but everyone was good, happy. No drama, no broken hearts…the mood was free. It was a good night, we were not having any house parties, and it was just the group us. My friend Colleen came over. We hung out, hunkered down in that little cubby, blasted Madonna, sipped our 40’s and smoked, and smoked, and smoked.

Madonna’s "Justify My Love came on. She jumped up.

“I love this song” she exclaimed

“Why?” Colleen asked

“Because it’s sexy and passionate and sultry” she said

“I need to dance” she demanded

“Then dance…be free” Colleen said.

She dimmed the lights, grabbed a chair, and placed it in the center of the room. Her body and soul and mind absorbed the beat of the song. She placed herself on the chair, slipped off her Vans, her jeans, the t-shirt and untied her hair...and she danced.

“I’m free” she whispered to herself.

Impressions

….as she retreated to her humble abode, she reflected on the day past.

“How monotonous.” she thought to herself.

Day in and day out there is very little variation and few challenges.

She seeks to find excitement, creating, if only for a moment, a distraction in the form of a fantasy where she finds contentment in the idea of something greater. Its not a lifestyle, but rather her sense of self, and application to society. She’s come to the realization that she must quit fantasizing and pursue her dreams, her fantasies. Her courage comes from her past experiences, her bravery comes from her hope.

She recalls an evening in her pre teen years. Just as always, she went about her day at school. She was a good student. She listened attentively, absorbed what was being taught, and applied herself in her studies. It was at an early age that she felt the sting of monotony. Go to school, participate in after school activities. For during this season it was volleyball. She arrived home by car pool, walked into a home bustling with mom and dad activites, hurridely preparing a meal for their three children, watching the days events on the six oclock news, planning the rest of the evening. Dinner, homework, bath, tv, and then bed.

She was twelve. Bright eyed, eager for what the world had to offer her, exceling in whatever she participated. Most of those things were decided for her. A blonde blunt bob framed her pudgy face. Her cheeks rosy, eyes green, smile wide and toothy, her build athletic. She did have two brothers you know, and she could wrestle them both.

“Dad” she says to her father.

“Yes” her father replies.

“Is this what life is?” she inquires

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, is this what life is. Go to school or work, come home, eat, go to bed. And do it all over the next day. Is this what people do?” she disappointingly asks.

He laughs, not at her, but at the question. This life is so natural to him the question is silly. He is a man of great pride. Constant and stable are two words that define him. Things are black and white, right or wrong, good or bad.

“Well yes. That is just what life is. What else do you want?” he responded. His answer was honest. Something she’d later come to understand and respect.

The fear absorbed her. It was not what she was wanting to hear. It was not what she believed she could be. It was not her ideal. But she was too young, too innocent and too naïve to know any better. And her life experiences had not afforded her the opportunity, up and to that point, to know any better.

“It is just not what it seems it should be.” she said to herself.

She finished dinner, completed her homework, took a bath, watched tv and went to bed. As she layed her head on the pillow, she counted the sqaures on the collectables adoring her tall dresser. The walls were painted a pale purple, so the only shapes to count in the room were figurines, furniture was sparse. She started to count, one, two, three, four, five – counting the sides, counting the tops and bottoms. She would count the shapes until all angles had been accounted for. She would always end on an even number, because life was to be in order. And then, when she finished, she count all over again, just to be sure she had counted right.

Then she closed her eyes, feel asleep, and woke up the next day and went on with life as it was intended to be.

45 Day Countdown

In approxiamately 45 days, something in my life that has been weighing heavy on my mind will be over.

In 45 days, I will know the outcome of a difficult legal process that has restricted me from being emotionally and mentally free.

In 45 days, I will be contemplating the appropriate time to put my house on the market.

In 45 days, I will be walking away from a courthouse and into a four hour massage, mentally reviewing the events of my life past up and to this point.

In 45 days, I will be redefining my sense of self.

In 45 days, I will forgive myself for anything in my past that I wished I could change, and embrace these things for what they are, the experiences that have made me Audrey.

In 45 days, I will committ myself to me and be free!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

My four year old niece, is the single greatest blessing in my life. Today, L and I spent the day together. L and I are like peanut butter and jelly (grape). Her innocence and the thought of knowing how easily she is impressed upon, challenge me to be my best self. I love her, in all possible ways, and am grateful that I am able to be a part of her life and she a part of mine. We had the best day today...and while I was with her, unknowingly, I took mental note of all the things that just made my heart sing! While driving home, I went through the days events with and wanted to share them...and blog about them so I could remember them.

L gets scared when she wakes up - so Ill lay on the bed with her and take a nap with her so that when she wakes up - Im there. That cute little groggy face when she wakes up, looking so distress and then the look a calm that overcomes her when she knows shes not alone. I love that feeling of safety that I give her.

L is proud when she poops, and wants you to see what a good job she did.

L and I like to hang her hanging princess castle from the ceiling. We grab all the knitted blankets we can find, a few dollies, two flashlights, a dollhouse and a boat load of polly pockets are we are good for at least two hours. If you add a few juice boxes and a ziplock of fish crackers, forget about it...

L and I can play without any toys...we share each others wild imagination

L and I make horsies from brooms

L is convinced that sugar is a part of the food pyramid - it turns out bread is actually a protein

L likes to wear her jammies all day long - because they are long, like a princy dress and the nightgown has a picture of all the disney princesses including Snow White, Belle, Beauty Shop, Cinderella, Tinkerbell, Jasmine, Ariel, Aurora, and Mulan

When L wakes up, she smells like sleep. Its her natural scent and one Ill always remember. L is all girl.

L has some pretty bad ass dance moves, including a 70's disco point and hip move that is like no other

L kisses by grabbing your face with her two hands, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips squish and then making fish lips with her lips and smack dab, pow right on the kisser!

L's favorite blanky is the one with the really stinky corner...the one shes gotten all stinky by sucking on - dont you DARE try to wash this blanky

L likes to play beauty shop after her baths

L does not like to put her hair up in a pony or a braid - she likes it down and kind of tucked behind her ears

L furrows her brow and squishes her nose when she is overly worried about her little brother - or when she acts like a big girl and shares her toys with him - either one of those things is painful to her but she knows she is a big girl now

No Effing Way

Can I Get A Witness

Its upper 30's in Cleveland today, and it feels like a heat wave. The snow is melting, the sun is shining. If you close your eyes and face the sunshine, you can almost hear the waves of the Atlantic.

Its a quick reminder that spring will be here soon. The birds will be chirping, restaurants washing down their outdoor patios, the smell of grass, people exercising outside, washing their cars, pulling their yards together. It may be a few more months away, but today is a reminder that we are closer than we are far. Thank fucking god.

My favorite thing to do when the weather breaks, is to hit the metroparks in my running shoes and follow the trails. When I finish, my body is caked with mud. Its my motivation to buy new running shoes. T - if your home, we'll do it together and hit Second Sole after.

Whats your favorite thing to do when the weather breaks?

Celebrating Love In Miami

My flight is booked.
My bags are soon to be packed.
My heart is fluttering.

Im going to Miami to celebrate Valentine's Day.

Hmmm...think Ill start my weekend with a mojito at my favorite restaurant on Espanola Way and for sure sport a red number on the beach.

Delish!

Ladies, I saw the most beautiful ass I have seen in a long time while walking from the parking garage to my office this morning.

He was wearing jeans, traditional. Not baggy, not dark washed, not tight. Just right. And let me tell you how those cotton wonders just hugged his adorable little tooshie. Not to forget to mention he walked like a bad ass, and has no idea which makes it even better.

We chatted for a few. Goes to John Marshall, and helps out in the legal department. I asked him how he gets away with wearing jeans. His answer, "I can get away with a lot." My response, "I bet you can. You keep wearing those jeans and you'll be just fine." He blushed madly.

Ah yes, what a fantastic morning treat....

Moment of Clarity

Have you ever had a moment of clarity? A moment in time where everything in your life that seemed so confusing suddenly becomes clear? A moment where the things that bother you most, suddenly dont bother you anymore, and the only thing that has changed is that you have not allowed it to be in the forefront of your mind?

I just had a moment like that.

I am taking my life...by the balls.