Wednesday, April 30, 2008

"For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again."
[Proverbs 24:16] Bible

The “wave” does not replace driving common sense.

Headed down 285 yesterday, I wait in the traffic jam known as 400 (you would think they would have a better way of dumping 285 onto 400, but that’s too easy!). As I’m driving, I’m noticing traffic around me. First, I get annoyed with the woman in front of me in a Honda Civic, going through stuff on her passenger seat/on her passenger’s side. She’s either not moving, or she’s moving at 1 MPH (which is almost impossible due to the weight of the car combined with gravity, blah blah blah). She’s holding up traffic behind her, and what’s this? She now has moved into the pissing me off stage from the annoying stage when she starts throwing trash out her window. Eventually, someone almost drives into her, and I can only hope it’s a mercy accident, but she got off at another exit.

Ah, I see it! Utopia! The on-ramp to 400 – no one can cut me off…..and then a silver Honda comes whizzing past me, and I see a flash of blonde hair and a hand up in the air as the driver almost slams into the front end of my car. Apparently, waiting in line was something she was not willing to do. Seeing me (lucky me) she decides to cut me off by going 15 mph to my 3 mph and “waving” as she does so. Is that supposed to be a “thanks?”

Is it wrong that at that point in time, I wanted nothing more than a large pick up truck so I could slam into her and her little “hehe – thanks” wave?

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

The definition of Irony.

Now I don't know to whom this person is debating, but this is the definition of irony and ignorance. I guess when you have a Masters of Science and Nursing, it doesn't matter:

response to ur response to my add (atlanta)

Reply to: see below
Date: 2008-04-29, 12:00PM EDT

look hun mind ur business, u dont know me or anything about me. my family had that bulldog for 5 years the dog was utd on shots, never been sick always happy. learn whats ur place and what isnt! i have a Masters of Science and Nursing u ignorant sob. do u not have a life? what r u the craigslist police? and if i was going to sale a dog why wouldnt i sell a beautiful 11 week old blue and grey brindle pup which i could have gotten thousands of dollars for? u sound stupid and u look stupid now before the world wide web.

Part Two:

look if u googled me u'd know not only do i have a masters im a freelance fashion designer not a dog breeder ur a liar and u need a life. all that have responded to me know what type of person i am. i know some of u r wondering y i even respond to this jack a@! but i must i hate being slandered. and i hate even more and individual that runs off at the mouth and know not a damn thing.

Penguins, for your viewing pleasure...

Monday, April 28, 2008

I have a problem with this.

I have a problem with the above photo. It's not because I think the photo was done poorly, but it's because this is 15 year old Miley Cyrus. At first I thought, "okay - so she has a sheet draped across her" when I heard the debate on the radio, but after seeing the photo now, I have a problem with it.

The family, Miley, blah blah blah said it was "artistic." I was expecting to see a 15 year old girl, covered, hair done, etc. looking like a "posed" photo - not a 15 year old girl with her hair tussled looking like she just sat up from having sex.

When the world is looking for a "famous" role model for their child, the last thing they want is their child to see their role model partially bare on the cover of a magazine. Even a tank top would be better - it'd look like she just woke up.

At first, it was said that the Cyruses, her manager, etc. said the photo was "artistic." Now that there is this huge debate, they have a problem with it.

I have no doubts that there are creepy older guys who go to Miley's concerts (Hannah Montana) not for her musical talents - more for her looks, etc. So why promote that with this photo?

Shame on you.

Friends as Family.

I always make it known from the get go in any sort of relationship, family, friends, romantic, that my friends are my family. I have two sisters, and I have two brothers. These are the people I have known for as long as five years to nine years. It is known from the get-go that when I say “like a sister” or “like a brother,” I mean it.

My friends are the people that, through thick and thin, have always been there for me, and I have been there for them. Sadly, there is only one friend-family that I see on an almost regular basis, but that’s because he lives around the corner from my house. My other “brother” lives in Texas, is in the middle of having taken his MCATs and is a busy busy busy man. We talk sporadically when either one of us can. One “sister” lives in Auburn, AL where she is pursuing her Doctorate. I sneak down every once in awhile to see her when she’s not busy. She’s now having surgery next week for her back so visits are on hold. However, I am also in her wedding next year and am completely excited about it. My other “sister” lives here in Atlanta as well; however, her work schedule rarely permits any visits with one another. We make do though.

To me, I have four friends. Everyone else that I know are acquaintances. The word “friend” means a lot more to me than “someone you hang out with.” They are persons who know all of your little secrets. They are people who can call you in the middle of the night (and have) when upset about something or need someone to talk to. They are the people that, when you’re in an awful and pissed off mood, you can call up and say, “I’m going driving!” and you, in your pajamas, say “pick me up on your way” (and they have) because you don’t want their fury or anger to cause them to wreck. And you don’t say anything. You sit there, just as someone to be there for them. If they want to vent, they do. They are people that, when you leave their house or apartment, they say, “hey, call me when you get home so I know you got home okay.” They are the people that make take care of you when you’re sick (or drank too much) and want to be sure you’re going to be okay. They are the people that when you have relatives that pass away within a handful of months of one another, and you just aren’t taking it well, say “sure! I’d love to come visit you!” and then make you feel somewhat human again. Most of all, they’re the people that you consider family.

Time with them is never bad and is never time lost.

A rosebush hitchhiker :)

My mother sent me these photos.

She went to check out my rosebushes at their house, and she noticed our blue rose bush was looking less than par. She though she saw a worm, an aphid, something, but when she got closer, this is what she found:

A tiny, TINY, tree frog about the size of the tip of her pinkie finger.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

For your reading pleasure.

Top 10 Reasons to date a sport bike rider

1: They have strong fingers.

2: They always know when to slow down and speed up.

3: They have tremendous stamina and endurance.

4: They always wear proper protection.

5: They have the fastest 'lap' times.

6: They know how to work their tools.

7: They Love getting dirty.

8: The harder and faster they go, the better.

9: They know how to work around tight areas with ease.

10: They're always practicing so they can become better.

Top 10 Reasons Why It’s Good to be Catholic...

A refresher from last year....

10. It's politically incorrect - Annoy the Catholic bashers.
9. You can sing badly, and no one cares - 9 out of 10 American Catholics are musically-impaired.
8. You can impress your friends - Tell them you belong to a militant international institution.
7. Your mother. Low cost way to keep her happy.
6. Great weddings - When it comes to ceremony and the parties afterwards, the Catholic Church is smokin'
5. Great Pope!
4. Saints. Talk about friends in high places!
3. Confession. It's not fun, but what a deal!
2. Dependability. Jesus founded our Church on Peter, the rock, and promised that the gates of Hell would not prevail against it.

And the number one reason to stay Roman Catholic is the awesome gift that no other church can offer....drumroll please...

1. The Eucharist!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

The Return.

He had been gone an entire week. She remembers the last conversation they had before he left. Every night, she comes home from work to an empty and silent house...alone. The same routine, running through the motions until he returns.

Every night, she cooks dinner...for one. She showers. Stepping out of the shower, she grabs a towel and lightly pats her cool, cream skin dry and with a single motion of stepping out of the shower and onto the floor, she dons herself in a plush blue robe and walks out of the bathroom to the bedroom...alone.

The comfortable down comforter is her only comfort in a barren bed. She smiles and pulls down the comforter then removes the robe. It's only her skin now between the sheet and the comforter. She smiles briefly remembering the time before he left until she rolls over to a blank and lonely pillow. She sighs and reaches over and grabs the pillow, holding it in her arms, her head resting on the upper portion. She inhales. The pillow smells like him. She falls asleep, her knees wrapped around the bottom corner of the pillow, her head resting on the other corner, and her arms wrapped around it until she rolls onto her stomach relinquishing the embrace meant for her lover.

He has a flight which leaves him returning home in the early hours of the morning. She's still asleep when he walks in the door. The sun hasn't even woken yet to greet him as he puts down his briefcase and quietly walks upstairs.

When he walks in the bedroom, she must have been warm. The down comforter is tusseled around her body, but pressed up against her left side, making a perfect frame of breast, waist, hip: half of an hourglass. The sheet is laid in a way that it exposes her creamy shoulders, her bare back, her tattoo on her lower back and half of her hip. Her right leg is out, exposed on top. He wonders what she was dreaming about, and based on the position of her body and the covers, he hopes it's about him.

She lays on her stomach, her soft brunette hair covering part of her face and part of her shoulder. He watches her sleep: the moonlight peeking through the window casting a silver glow on her. He continues to watch her as he undresses, her breathing ever so softly, not making a single noise, the rise and fall of her back with every breath she takes.

He walks over to her and wants to run his hand through her hair, wants to trace her spine down her back to the round tattoo waiting at the base, but she sleeps. His hand stops a couple of inches from her soft shoulder blades, and he decides against it.

He recalls the last conversation they had on the phone while he was delayed at the airport a continent away, "I miss you...a lot. Please wake me when you get home." Should he wake her though? Her peaceful slumber makes him question her wish she made to him. He decides against waking her and walks over to the other side of the bed, pulling down the covers, trying not to make a sound and slowly lowers himself into bed.

She makes a noise and slides her left hand that was by her face down so that it is parallel with her shoulder. Her beautiful bare shoulder.

He slides in closer to her so that his chest is over her shoulder, and while he runs his hand down her shoulder, he kisses her on the back of her neck.

She's not startled. She knows who it is, and she smiles. Her deep blue eyes open, and she looks at him.

"I'm so glad you're home," she says to him as she rolls over partially on her back, partially on her side. He doesn't know how it happens, but her hair falls just right on the pillow: the darkness of her hair acting as a shadow framing a creamy face with intense blue eyes looking deeply into his, and he knows that she says more to him by looks alone.

He moves his right arm and slides it around her waist and under the small of her back and pulls her close to him.

The intoxicating scent of peach mango and the delicate scent of her shampoo captures him immediately. He just wants to breathe her in, take her in. It's been a week since he's seen her, and all of the same passion and body rush comes back almost immediately. He's missed her, too.

She smiles and reaches up, the silky soft back of her hand runs along the side of his face and down his chest, resting in the center. He slides his arm back around her and pushes the little strands of hair away from her face and leans in, kissing her softly on the neck and her collarbone. She turns her head slightly exposing her neck more with a soft moan. He continues kissing her around her collarbone, up her throat and to her soft wanting lips.

As he goes to lean in for a kiss, she places her hands on either side of his head, "I missed you. This bed and this house are entirely too lonely without you here." They lean in for the perfect kiss: sweet delicate kissing, tantalizing lips. She sucks his bottom lip gently. He kisses lightly some more, and she brushes her lips against his.

She wants him closer to her. She moves her body towards him so that every inch of her skin is touching his. He moves his arm to hold her so that his hand is placed between her shoulder blades as they kiss deeper: their tongues tangoing like two young lovers on Argentinian side streets on a hot summer night. Passion, romance, and seduction.

They continue to kiss, she runs her hands down his body, across his chest, down his back and lightly down his side. She grabs his hip, and she wants him. He obliges by holding her tighter, drawing her into him as close as he can.

She knows the bed is no longer lonely. The house is no longer silent. She hears the sound of two hearts beating loudly, pulses racing. They stop kissing only briefly, smiling, staring deep into one another's eyes.

"I've missed you, too. I'm glad I'm home."
"Welcome home," she replies with a smile and a glint in her eyes.

List of wants to visit - USA

List of places to visit in the US (for now...ever expanding)

Boston, MA
Maine (coastal)
Napa Valley
Lake Tahoe
Williamsburg, VA
Washington D.C. (more in depth)
Chicago (more in depth)
NYC (more in depth)
St. Augustine
Sanibel Island (more in depth)
The Keys (more in depth non tourist)
Kentucky (Derby)
Washington State

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Snippets of Child...

My coworker has a 5 year old son who always says the goofiest things:

1) "Daddy, today is going to be a good day!"
"Why is that, Ethan?"
"Because today (wednesday) starts with a 'T'!"
"No, Ethan today is WEDnesday; it starts with a 'W'."
"No, starts with a 'T.'"
"No, Ethan, Wednesday is 'W.'"
"Daddy - don't ruin my day with the truth!"

2) Walking out of Home Depot last night from buying trees to plant on Earth Day, Ethan was carrying a seedling, and some dirt fell on his arm.
Ethan looks sad.
That night, his dad is putting his PJs on, and his dad says, "Now mommy talked to you about saying that word so don't say it, okay? Try saying 'Darn!'"
"Or Shoot."
"Shi-oot." (Southern accent)
"No no, Ethan, it's 'SHOOT.'"
"You'd better just stick to 'Darn.'"

Cousin's bridesmaid's 4 year old daughter:

1) Kaylin hopping around on her parent's bed while her dad is trying to sleep as he is a cop and works odd hours.
"Kaylin, Kaylin...calm down. You're on crack."
Next morning, Kaylin goes to school...

"Miss Murpy [Murphy]! I'm on crack!"

2) Kaylin says to Ms. Murpy..."Ms. Murpy - this SOOOOOO doesn't work for me."

Parkour - Park-your

I don’t know how, but I came across a website detailing “Parkour.” Do you know what it is? Parkour is a form of, I don’t know “exercise” in which you use your body’s natural abilities to propel you through an area – the woods, a playground, etc. You may have seen it. People running full force, and without missing a beat, placing one hand on a wall in front of them and effortlessly tossing themselves over, landing on the ground and continue running.

It resembles something out of a vampire movie actually. It’s pretty interesting to watch: the real Parkour, not morons jumping off roof tops just because. The fluidity of the movements is breathtaking, and so I pondered, that looks like something I might like to do, so let’s put me in my own Parkour world for a second, and board the train of thought going through my mind:

Setting: A city park/playground
Objects: Monkey bars, play area, fences, rocks, swings
Characters: Me and random people
Time of Day: Afternoon

I take off running towards an anchored trash can expecting to throw my palms flat on top and smoothly careen over it like a gazelle.

“Am I gonna make it? Can I do it? Oh my God what if I don’t? Will I hurt myself? What the hell was I thinking?”

I go to launch myself, and two things happen…

“ARGH! What did I just stick my hands in!” and the “anchored” trashcan tumbles over. I pull out a graceful move, but have now emptied the contents of a city trashcan onto the playground.

I continue running, I run towards a section of the jungle gym. Kids WERE playing but have now stopped. I think, at least, to check out my “parkour.” (How do you even say that?)

I do a half cat/half hippo launch into the air, my right leg flails out, and I look at it wondering, “how did that get there?” as I knock a small child down and tip over another kid’s stack of sand and rocks.

Woo-hoo! I land like a stealthy cat. The kids behind my are crying, and parents are snatching them up, several are on their cell phones.

I continue running, and I realize the playground area is starting to clear a little bit. That's cool - more room for me.

I make it over to the slide, and I decide to run up it. By this time, I’m feelin’ pretty confident, so I take off – la-dee-dee! I run up the slide before realizing that this metal slide has been sitting in the sun the whole day and scorch my hands and fall forward hitting my funny bone on part of the playset.

By the time I get to the very top of the slide, I’m slightly out of breath, and I turn around, triumphantly, to look over my domain.

There is trash everywhere – cups, napkins, food, dirty diapers.

There are children crying over by the sandbox and the look of angry parents staring at me.

I see blue lights coming, and they get out of their car and point directly at me.

That virtual epiphany was more than sobering to me to realize Parkour is not for me.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

And She Waits...

And she waits for him. She knows that he'll be home soon as he just called her and told her he was finally done with work. She walks over to the base of the stairs, and places one hand on the banister as she bends over and, with one hand, unbuckled her high-heeled shoe and slides it off a stocking-covered foot. She plants her foot down flat on the hardwood floor and does the same with the other foot. She climbs the stairs, her hand sliding along the banister, trailing behind her. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she has already started unbuttoning her blouse and takes it off as the cotton slides across bare shoulders. She walks into the bedroom, and places her right hand on the back of her neck and moves her long, dark brown hair off the back of her neck and removes her necklace and then her earrings. She smiles.

She walks over to the chair in the corner of the bedroom, and, as she walks, she places both hands under the hem on the bottom of her skirt and moves the skirt up with each step she takes. Donned in lace, she sits and leans back on the chair. She moves her right hand up her thigh, the black skirt follows, exposing a black lace-topped thigh high stocking. She turns her right knee towards her other and slides her thumb under the top of the stocking and slides it off. She shifts her hips over in the chair and moving her left foot out in front of her, slides the alternate black stocking down her leg, her hair falling around her shoulders as she slides down.

She gets up, and in one motion, has her skirt unbuttoned, unzipped, and is stepping out of it as it flutters to the floor followed by a black lace thong. She reaches around and removes her matching lace bra and turns the shower on. She turns and is standing in front of the mirror, and she smiles, with a sly grin, as she steps in the steamy shower.

She doesn't hear him walk in the door as she enters the shower, but he hears the water running upstairs, and he grins as he slowly guides the door shut not making a sound. He puts down his jacket, and while walking upstairs, pulls his shirt over his head. The stair creaks, and he's sure that she's heard him, but she hasn't. She stands under the shower head, her back to it, her fingers running through her long hair, her head turned upwards like a flower looking for the sun.

He walks into the bedroom, the steam from the bathroom swirling in the doorway.

She turns in the shower, facing the showerhead, letting the hot water pour across her face.

He walks into the bathroom and sees her silhouette....her hair...her shoulders....her breasts....her back....her stomach....her hips.....her thighs....

She runs a hand down the opposite side of her neck, and, with palm flat against her chest, runs her hand down until resting on her hip bone.

He slowly pulls the curtain back hoping that she doesn't hear him.

She doesn't.

He walks closer to her, and puts his hands on her hips and slides them around her waist, her back pressing up against her chest. She gasps at first, but she couldn't mistake those arms for anyone else's.

She moves her hands down to the forearms around her, his head resting on her shoulder, and she smiles.

She doesn't have to say a word. She turns around and faces him with a smile, and he does the same.

Her blue eyes glint something in them....seduction....sexiness....and joy that he is home. She catches him off balance as she slides her hands up around the back of his neck and takes a step forward.

Where else can he go but backwards as he feels warm, wet tile against his bare back.

"I missed you," she says with a smile, her wet body pressed against him. She leans in for a kiss, and he pulls her closer. Their bodies fit perfectly, and she fits in his arms like the last puzzle piece before the masterpiece is complete. She lightly kisses him on the lips, teasing him slightly, she runs her bottom lip across his and sucks gently before kissing more and finally kisses him deeply, their tongues sliding across one another, dancing, not fighting. Her runs one hand through her wet long hair and grabs slightly, his other hand still firmly wrapped around the small curve of her back.

She reaches up and places both hands on either side of his jaw and continues to kiss him.

When they finally pull away, she looks at him and says, "seriously? We'll either be prunes....or our water bill is going to be through the roof." They both laugh, and she turns around and bends over to shut off the shower. She turns around and tosses her hair out of her face and looks over her shoulder with a sly grin.

She walks over and runs her hands down his naked body and around to his ribs before taking his hand in hers, leading him out of the shower, and seducing him with her eyes....

My Favorite Season: Fall

My Favorite Season: Fall

I grew up in the Hudson Valley of New York. The seasons actually changed there. The on-set of Fall meant brisk days and mountainsides that looked as if they were painted by the watercolors of the sun: crimson, gold, rust colors flared across the horizon. It was beautiful. School would start. New classes, new teachers, new things to learn.

Macintosh apples were being picked and made into homemade apple sauce, cobblers, and pies, or just picked and eaten straight from the tree. The sweetness fumbling with the sourness made it just the perfect apple to eat, and sitting on the boughs of the tree made it the perfect setting while overlooking the town.

I love the Fall. I didn’t get the same feeling until I attended college in North Georgia. Besides it being prime college football season, the Fall is the perfect season for camping. It’s just warm enough during the day for some hiking and some camaraderie, and it’s just crisp at night to have to start a fire. The crisp air also makes it a perfect excuse to find or coerce that someone that you need to be kept warm, and maybe they could oblige?

You set up your tents ahead of time so by the time the last glowing ember of the fire has extinguished, you crawl inside. The weather is nice so no need for a rain fly. The top is open and screened, and you can make out the darkness of the sky with stars scattered across like silver confetti. The trees surrounding the tent frame the sky’s image making it one of nature’s most beautiful masterpieces.

The “someone” that you “needed” to “keep you warm” obliged and is looking up at the same thing you are…”keeping you warm” as you lie on your backs and talk about random things and everything until falling asleep, warm, in each others’ arms. the world is...Carmen San Diego?

Per request, the ever-expanding list of places I hope to visit one day:

Tuscany, Italy
Africa (Kenya)
Russia (Moscow and other)
Mongolia (Steppes)
New Zealand
Alaska (Kenai/Denali area)
British Columbia
Costa Rica

Monday, April 21, 2008

The Perfect Kiss.

Shortly past midnight, I was talking to a friend of mine who said that the art of kissing is all but lost. I begged to differ with her, and I told her that kissing is not a one person thing. It takes two people to create the perfect kiss.

Unknown scenario.
Man and Woman. (That's the start of a perfect kiss for me).
Let's say...late Spring...early Summer. Typical seasonal rainshower.

A walk along the street, caught in a slight shower.

He grabs her hand as they dart around the corner under an overhang - not quite solid - but enough where they aren't getting soaked, just enough rain still reaching them.

She is up against the wall. He is leaned into her. He takes an arm and grabs her around the waist and pulls her close.

She lets out a slight gasp as she wasn't expecting him to do so, and she smiles.
He smiles.

She slides her hands up and places one behind his neck, the other she runs through his hair and down the side of his face, down the side of his neck, down his chest, across his ribs, and rests it with her fingers tucked inside his pants pocket.

She leans forward to kiss him, but doesn't. He pulls her closer, she breathes slightly on the side of his neck and gives him a slow, soft sweet kiss on the side of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. She slowly drags her lips down his neck and across his throat.

He takes his right hand and brushes the hair off the side of her neck, moving it behind the back of her neck, and interrupts her kissing with a nibble on her ear, moving to slightly sucking on her ear lobe and kissing her neck. She bends her head exposing her neck more. She rolls her head around so that he is kissing her throat, and he tightens his grip on her.

The hand that was behind his neck slides down the side of his neck and down his chest, and she looks up at him.

Big blue eyes staring into his, and a slight smile curves across her lips.

They lean in, and they kiss. Bodies pressed against one another, and it's sweet, and it's passionate. They kiss deeply, tongues playing with one another. When she pulls away, teasingly, she gently grabs his bottom lip with her tongue and lip and sucks gently before he moves his free hand around to the side of her head, pushing back her hair. His thumb resting in front of her ear, his hand resting behind her head, and he kisses her again.

By the time they're done kissing, they're both smiling, and it's stopped raining. Smiling at one another, and holding hands, they walk out from the corner and continue on their day, randomly stealing gazes at one another, causing her to blush and smile thinking about the perfect kiss.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

The Best Way to Travel.

For You.

The Best Way to Travel
by The Moody Blues

And you can fly
High as a kite if you want to
Faster than light if you want to
Speeding through the universe
Thinking is the best way to travel

It’s all a dream
Light passing by on the screen
And there’s you and I on the beam
Speeding through the universe
Thinking is the best way to travel

We ride the waves
Distance is gone, will we find out?
How life began, will be find out?
Speeding through the universe
Thinking is the best way to travel

And you can fly
High as a kite if you want to
Faster than light if you want to
Speeding through the universe
Thinking is the best way to travel

Adventures in E-mail

Everytime I open my e-mail, I get quite a start,

I get messages from Harry, Mike, Jessica, and even a guy named

I don't know these people, and I'm sure they don't exist,

But it's e-mails like the following that really make me

I don't want to increase my breast size, I don't want to enlarge
my penis,

I don't want to be a lawyer, and I don't want to receive a degree
to be a machinist.

I don't wanna help a lost Prince of Namibia, and I don't wanna
patch my 'puter,

I don't wanna buy Omaha Steaks, monitors, or even a brand new

I don't wanna give her multiple orgasms, and I don't wanna pass
the buck,

I don't wanna worry about my life, my love, my friends, or my

I don't wanna have to pester and send a chain e-mail to my

Just to receive the same chain-letter that seems to never

So before you press forward, reply, or send, to clog up my

Remember I don't care about your plight, another's or mailbox sent
small pox.

I just want to receive normal messages - nothing to buy or

So if I receive another junk mail, I'm gonna blow this computer to

Hell Hath No Fury

The crash of the ocean waves deafened the calls of the gulls skimming above the water. The waves were strong and powerful and ended up lapping the gritty sand like a creek water cousin. The churning waves caressed each other like fumbling, first lovers, but it was, in its own right, a definition of grace. They were like licking tongues of a noble cat; they were grand. The sunlight highlighted each crest like a dancer’s snowy arched arms. If mortals were to know the mix between an angel’s flight and God’s furious wrath, the ocean would be it.

The noble hero of the sphinxing ocean stood on a rocky cliff and towered over the marine chaos below. It had a raying eye that shot over the tides longer and quicker than the moon. It was able to tell the lost souls where land was. It was able to help them cheat certain death and risk the chance of their vessels being splintered like scattered matches fallen from a matchbox. The lighthouse helped men cheat death.

The beast’s witching hour came and raced and stretched and yawned its salty jaws along the shore at high tide. It engulfed everything in its path without even the thought of perhaps savoring it. It was like a voracious lion going after its first kill…every night. It started several miles out into the depths of the abyss of night and charged forward like a herd of wild horses, racing past other waves, racing in the moonlight, racing past the lighthouse’s gaze until it collapsed on the sandy shore several feet past the other waves, and it pulled back. With as much force as it had surged, the tide was just as graceful and slow like a wakening beast.

The lighthouse could not control the beast nor could the small darting vessels beyond the shore. Every sane person knew that when near or in the ocean, you were at its mercy. The same wave that could lull the vessels along the shore could just as easily lull the vessels into the sharp rocks that guarded the lighthouse. The fool that believed he could tame the ocean was the same fool whose casket was prayed over – empty – because he was lost at sea.

Those three words, “lost at sea” meant the difference between relieving distress and torturing mystery. When one says “lost at sea” there is always a flickering hope that, perhaps, one truly is lost and will someday find his way home guided by the warm arms of the lighthouse. On the other side, there is always that chance that there is no hope or expectation of the lost coming home – they are and will forever be lost at sea. The ocean has won when a widow’s salted cheeks mirror that of the ocean’s smiling face.

Mountains to Cotton Fields.

A walk through my childhood....

I can honestly say that I had a great childhood. I was born and raised for ten and a half years in a small village in New York. It was home to dairy farms and apple orchards.

Okay so that barn looks a little dilapidated. That's because it is, but when I was a kid, the fields were green, the barn was in better shape, and black and white holstein cows dotted the pastures.

I have one older brother. We are only a year and a half apart so I always had someone to play with growing up. Though I did, indeed, like Barbies, Breyer horses and Legos were MY passion.

Now, if you didn't like Legos...what's wrong with you? I remember the Lego kits - the real ones? The ones where you actually had to find a miniscule piece in an ocean of rainbow colors to put in just the right spot, or the suspension of the firetruck just wasn't right. Now it seems like Lego kits are these massive parts you throw together in five minutes. What's the fun in that? I can still be found in Dawsonville at the Outlet Mall at the Lego store....playing with Legos in the back with the kids.

When we weren't playing Legos around the house, we were outside riding bikes, hiking up and down the hill in the back, playing whiffle ball, fishing at the pond across the street, and just being good kids.

Around 1987 or so, my parents bought my brother the original NES (Nintendo Entertainment System for you non-gaming folks). The first game we had? Top Gun. I was great at it...except for landing on the aircraft carrier. I think that's the downfall of the game for most people. My brother? landed on it every time. I wonder if I could land on it now?

We then got....Mario Bros., Legend of Zelda, Gyromite, and some others. I think a first date question to see if you and the person are going to get along is ask, "what color was the game cartridge for the first Legend of Zelda game on NES?" If the person professes to be a "gamer" (right after you said you were), they should definitely know the answer to this question.

My brother had his friends, I had mine, but we both had each other. Some of our favorite games to play (that we now realize are dangerous!)

1) I hold the match while my brother shoots WD-40 at it...seeing how big the flame gets.

2) Play with spray paint in the garage with our gloves on, gloves covered in spray paint, we're smart enough to "wash our hands" with gasoline to get the paint off, questioned by mom, "have you been playing with spray paint again?" No...we answer...ourselves just smelling horribly like gasoline, and our gloves covered in red spray paint. I guess that's what they mean by "caught red-handed."

3) We had blacktop driveways in NY. When it rained, shortly thereafter, or when it was sprinkling, we would get my Pop's oil cans (similar to that of the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz) and put drops and puddles of oil all over the driveway because we liked the cool colors.

4) Planning our "great escape." Does every kid do this? Does every kid plan their running away plan? We never carried it out, and I have no idea why we wanted to do so, but we were very diligent in planning:

* Take the dog

* Take toilet paper

* Take a gallon of milk (we weren't thinking about refrigeration)

* Take a long stick that was sharpened at the end for fishing, etc.

* Run away to Amish Country

Okay so the last one - didn't make sense to me either, but we vacationed there one time, and it seemed like "the place" to runaway to. If we had done so, chances are I wouldn't even know what the internet was let alone a "blog."

One of our favorite places to vacation was "Cape May, NJ." It is the southernmost tip of New Jersey. We would count down at the end of the Garden State Parkway......threeeeeee.....twoooooooo......onnnnneeee.......CAPE MAY! Since Cape May was the zero mile marker. We spent our time in an older beachhouse, but to us it was perfect. I'd walk down to the bay with my "aunt" (a family friend, not relative) and walk along the beach past the washed up Horseshoe Crabs singing the Smothers Brothers' "Crabs walk sideways.....and lobsters walk straight" while interchangeably walking sideways...and straight. It was the little things like that that I remember most.

Our days were spent on the beach among Victorian homes and arcades on the boardwalk. My brother and I would make sloppy sand (mixing dry sand with water and then dripping it from between our fingers), and we would always play in the ocean and ride the waves.

That's me, the hottie, in a pose I probably saw in a Spiegel catalog.

We would go to Wildwood in the evening - Morey's pier. Piers filled with amusement park rides, arcades, and shops. We would sneak handfuls of free samples at the Fudge Kitchen at the Washington Square Mall, and we ALWAYS rode the horse and carriage (of course).

Our mom and dad stayed together. Our village was small. Everyone knew everyone. When the new Burger King came to town, my brother and I would walk about 2 miles on our downtown and get two milkshakes and then walk back home (with our parents' permission). The town was a firefighting town. Almost everyone was a volunteer firefighter including our dad. Our grandparents lived downstairs in our house (mother in law suite) when they weren't in Florida. Pop took me for rides on his red scooter. Nan had tea parties with me.

Around 1990 or so, the plant where my dad worked was closing, and we had to find another place to live and another job for my dad. He ended up looking at a job in Georgia. Now, my representation of Georgia was hoop skirts, plantation homes, and horses. But when I stepped off the prop job plane onto the tarmack in Dougherty County, Georgia, a small black thing kamikaze'd into my first introduction to the South was a gnat.

Moving to South Georgia was a shock. I wasn't that upset when we moved. To me, it was an adventure. The fact that I couldn't understand anybody was, however, a little frustrating. "White beaches" were actually "white benches." "Windy" was "Wendy," a "Pin" was either a "Pin" or a "Pen." When someone said, "HEY!" I turned around and asked, "What?" I was introduced to tree frogs, "skinks," alligators, alligator snapping turtles, and the ever-present gnats. Nature's small fleet of kamikaze airmen who would make your nose, eyeballs, mouth, and ears their primary targets of destruction.

I can't complain. There are some good people there. My Summers went from spending time at the beach in New Jersey to playing out on the lake on a pontoon boat...swimming under the pontoons and hanging out under the boat. Quail season meant quail fries in the evening spitting out buckshot every once in awhile. Horseback riding on Jimmy Carter's property in Plains, Georgia.

We always tried to do things as a family. On Saturday afternoons, it became a tradition to go ave dinner, change clothes, go to mass at church, on the way home, stop at the video store, rent a video or two and get our free popcorn that they popped there.

Around 1996, things changed abruptly. Earlier, my dad started losing hearing in one ear so he went and had it checked out and was diagnosed with a benign brain tumor in the occipital area of the brain (near the ear). It was called an Acoustic Neuroma. Long story short, while the operation was successful at removing the tumor, it had really taken its toll on my dad. CHF (Congestive Heart Failure), meningitis, etc. There was a time where we were all praying - including community members - for my dad.

At that time, my brother was on the swim team. It was getting close to Christmas. Kids could get out of detention if they brought two cans of food. My parents had been in Atlanta nearly three months straight while we were home alone. We had various teachers and some parents we didn't know making meals for my brother and I and bringing them over. Chili, lasagna, spaghetti, soup, desserts. They brought over paper plates and cups and napkins and utensils s we didn't have to cook. My French teacher gave my brother and I some money to order pizza one night and gave me a hug. Maybe they knew something we didn't, but we thought dad was "fine" and going to be "fine." As Christmas approached, my brother and I decided to set up the Christmas tree and decorate the house for when my parents came home from the hospital from one of many of our dad's surgeries to fix or try to fix the damage that had been done.

We got the tree down, we decorated. I remember going out the back door near our garage and finding a box of things by the door. They were presents for Shane and I - socks, shirts, and some other things. An unsigned Christmas card tucked in the box.

Our parents came home from Atlanta to a decorated house, and I think it really made them happy. Dad was in bed, and that's where Dad would stay, in excrutiating pain from debilitating headaches that Demerol couldn't touch. My parents were afraid of losing their house due to the rising costs of medical bills.

There was a knock at the door. When we answered it, the swim team coach and her daughter were there. They had boxes and boxes of items for us, and they walked in. The food....the canned food that they had collected for "needy families" were for us since our groceries were minimal. They came in with stockings full of gifts for Shane and I and handed my mom some checks that people had written in the community. We had mall gift certificates and other things. It was a good Christmas, and I am thankful to this day to the community in Lee County, Georgia for all that they did for us that year.
A few years later, my mom prayed that my dad would be okay after slipping into Congestive Heart Failure from the steroids he was on for his head. The next moring, he woke up, pain free. Since then my dad will get headaches every once in awhile when he overdoes something and is down and out on Demerol in the bed, but not nearly as bad as he was.

When we got through that rough part in time, our childhood was over. Shane went to college and worked for the DoD. I went off to college in Dahlonega.

But I can honestly say, that we had the best childhood one could ever want.


I was raised Catholic. I went to mass almost every Sunday when I was in New York.

I did the pretty white dress communion thing with the picnic afterwards. I did the Confirmation thing when I was a teen. Then we sort of fell out of weekly mass on Saturday evenings. Then I went to college, and that stopped, too.

Recently, I decided to start attending church again. It is very difficult in this area to find a Catholic church that doesn't solely have Spanish masses. I made a post on lovely the Platonics section...looking for someone to come to mass with me.

My ad was replied to by one person who said he attended the cathedral of the Archdiocese in Buckhead and would be more than happy to accompany me to St. Catherine of Siena or to his church - strictly as friends. Great, I thought! He said he did a lot of volunteer work, etc. as well, and I questioned that (positively) as it sounded like something I'd like to get involved with.

He said, "great - let's meet up during the week for coffee or something."
Okay - that works for me.

Then I didn't hear from him. I sent him an e-mail, "hey are we still on for Sunday?"

Him: "Yeah - let's talk on Saturday. Gimme your number. This is the number that will call you."

Me: So I gave him my cell number saying "I'll be around all day Saturday."

Him: "Looking forward to Sunday. Talk to you soon."

Saturday came. Saturday went. No call. I know I could have called him, but 1) I was busy dealing with horse-idiots, and 2) I thought maybe something came up.

I wake up Sunday, I cook breakfast. I've already missed mass....God will forgive me. I clean the house and start doing laundry.

I log onto my computer and then into my e-mail, and I'm confronted with this e-mail:

"thx for tying up my Sunday and being considerate enough to call.....I'll say a prayer for you ....sounds like u need it."

Now, this shocks me. How rude can one person be? When someone tells you, "hey I'll call Saturday," and then doesn't. Then sends this e-mail. Why do you ask for someone's number and say you will call....then don't....then send an e-mail like the one above blaming the other person?

That doesn't seem very Christian to me. Since he said he would call Saturday, he very well could have. He knew what time my mass was today (8:30am) - why didn't he call or e-mail early this morning? How rude can one person truly be.

Next, one of my largest pet peeves is "text talk." "thx," "u,"uh! This person seemed intelligent when we talked. Now suddenly I feel like I'm being virtually confronted by a teenage whiny girl.

I send a polite (and short) note back that said, and reminded him, "I was waiting for you to call yesterday as you told me on Thursday, and you never did. Then I copied and pasted the e-mail from the other day in which he said, "I'll call you," and sent that along.

Now it doesn't bother me that I won't hear from this person again. Anyone who professes to be this stellar example of a Catholic....generally isn't.

It's the age-old thing about anything. If someone talks a big game all the time, chances are, they're not really as good as they claim to be.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Uncooperative Cell Phone

O small piece of plastic...How you thwart me so.
I thought you were my friend,
And everywhere we would go.

You taunt me with your ringing,
You patiently look for this user.
When all that you're really doing,
Is punishing me, you abuser.

If you would be so kind,
To just work with me one time.
I won't have to crush and squeeze you,
Like a margarita lime.

Melting White Girl in South Georgia Summer Heat

So if I could be DANA COOK - (the female version of Dane Cook) - I would be. If you don't know who Dane Cook should be ashamed of yourself!

So I'm a yankee girl../transplanted down to Georgia...and I don't do well with this heat. First gets so friggin' hot...Satan goes back to Hell to cool off.

The white yankee folks are melting down here.

Don't get me started on the small buzzing...annoying...kamikaze flying...engine-powered gnats...different story.

No...I'm talking about meeeeelllllllting.Leaving blouse was completely unbuttoned...the ladies were blouse tied around my waist - A/C blasting...and not doing a damn thing.

Don' I'm hot. That's all there is....I'm friggin' hot. A family walks out of a museum that parallels my car. "Hello family - no - I'm not flashing you...I'm just melting" I say with a half-attempted smile.

Jude all his glory...could come up to me right now and ask me to have sex with him. My response? "DON'T F*CKIN TOUCH ME!" I say...arms flailing wildly about like a madman. I'm hot...I'm melting..and the last thing I want is some multi-million dollar hottie wanting to have sex with me. I mean geez...what IS he thinking?Continue driving towards I-16....*sing-song* still ho-ot.

A couple of truckers...a couple of men...and a few lesbians get a thrill, but I'm still friggin' hot. I think my internal A/C just isn't working. C'mon God...pass along a little Natural Freeon. Two hours pass, and I think my body is back down to triple digits - no longer scorching like the core of the Earth.

Now I'm all nasty....I'm sweaty....I'm BLAGH...there's no other term in the English language like "BLAGH" that just sums it up..."how are you?""BLAGH.""how are you feeling?""BLAGH.""what's the weather like?""BLAGH."Really - what better word is there.

So the moral of the story is.....yankee white girl + South Georgia + blagh = Don't F*ckin Touch Me!

9-11 - Where were you?

I remember it clearly.

I had just gotten done with a morning class. I can't remember which one it was, but I was meeting some of the cadets at the canteen for some food. The canteen was relatively desolate, and I heard another table of cadets talking about the World Trade Center...and explosion...and all I coudl think was, "duh...that was like 10 years ago or so when it was bombed." The other cadets also shrugged it off.

It wasn't until we departed ways, and I headed to the bookstore. It was on the news. All I saw was an image of a plane crashing into a tall building, and I put two and two together. Some professors, military instructors, students were all in the bookstore...silent.

We are a senior military college. Out of our 3000 students, almost half are in the Corps of Cadets. Out of that half, nearly 75% are active military or active Reserves. What did this mean?

I whispered to another student, "what's going on?" She turned to me with a sick look on her face when she replied, "they hit the World Trade Center." As it all unfolded, I headed back to the dorm with a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew my uncle worked in the city as a limo driver, and I knew that part of the city was someplace that he frequented.

As I ran up the hill to Donovan (yes, ran, and those of you that know that "hill" know that takes effort!), I ran over to the television by the kitchen. Already, a group had gathered around the tv as we watched in horror of business people jumping out of the windows to their death. We watched as the Fire Departments and the Police Officers went into the building, doing their jobs. "Firemen run into burning buildings while everyone is running out."

We watched in horror as the buildings the news surfaced about the news surfaced about another plane whose passengers had formed a mutiny against the terrorists and crashed their own plane into a field to save the lives of hundreds including the President of the United States.

The classes were cancelled for the remainder of the day. The flag was lowered to half staff, and we all watched as students were called up to their Reserve units and others joined the Army. Our student population dropped rather dramatically actually. And we waited. And we listened for word of our fellow students.

My Guilty Pleasure

This morning when I woke up, I woke up earlier than what my alarm was set for. I was excited about heading north to the mountains to snap the pictures that I wanted. However, if I didn't have anywhere to be this morning, and I had slept in later, then my guilty pleasure and I would have had a blast.

When I got up this morning, the temperature was somewhere in the high 30's/low 40's. It was great. I have the hottest room in the whole house so I tend to sleep and keep my bedroom window wide open with the screen in it. That way, when the rest of the house is in the mid 60' room is as well.....due to the window being open.

If I hadn't been excited about heading out this morning, then this is how my guilty pleasure and I would have spent the morning....................................................

I would have probably fell asleep a lot sooner than the time that I did. It was crisp and chilly outside, and every once in awhile a meandering breeze would fight its way into my bedroom. While I slept, the temperature would have dropped somewhat in my bedroom. I would have felt a cold icy hand of the breeze brush up against my bare shoulder, and I would have reached down and grabbed my guilty pleasure to protect me from its grasp.

My guilty pleasure is goose down...more particularly...goose down comforter. There's nothing inanimately comparable to getting and keeping warmth than goose down. When the icy hand reached in and brushed my shoulder, I reached down and grabbed my guilty pleasure: my down comforter, and pulled it up over my shoulder which, involuntarily, causes me to slide down slightly and "bundle up."

I would have slept the whole night through in perfect warmth and the perfect temperature. When 7:30 rolled around like it did this morning, I still would have been sleeping. The sun would have attempted to peek its way over the trees, but my chocolate brown curtains banish it from entering my bedroom. I would have slept until about 9am or so, and then I would have woken up.

Considering I was the only one at the house this morning, my housemate was over at her boyfriend's house, I would have laid in bed briefly and then headed downstairs....donned in only the most elegant attire: a tank top...and pajama pants....and wrapped up and trailing my down comforter. I would have gone downstairs...and got my coffee ready: coffee that my brother brought me back from Jamaica. I would have then gone over to the couch and sat in the corner - scrunched up in my comforter and proceeded to check CNN, FoxNews, and ESPN.

I'd hear the grumble of the coffee pot getting annoyed because it had brewed its last drop of water and head back over across the cold hardwood floor and fixed myself a cup where I'd proceed to grab a towel from the drawer and head outside. The biting briskness would snap me in the face, and I'd make a graceful move of clutching to my down comforter and then gasp over having almost spilled coffee on it. I would have walked over to our patio set and dried off one of the seats and planted myself in it with my comforter...and guarded by my cup of hot and steaming Jamaican coffee where I would have proceeded to absorb the sun, the comforter, and the coffee's warmth and take a deep breath as I saw a woodpecker swoop close and a squirrel scurry up the tree.

Then I would have sipped my coffee.....smiled.......and thought, "I hope I get to speak to him today," and then I would smile....and take another sip.....wrapped in my guilty pleasure.

Why my life mirrors My Boys

Watching the season finale of "My Boys," and I can't help but crack up while watching it. While it may not mirror my life in its entirety, here are some similarities that I just can't help but list:

1. P.J.'s idea of packing: "jeans, tennis shoes, t-shirt, jersey...I'm done" Any of my female friends know my idea of packing is the or minus the jersey depending on the season ;)

2. P.J. has a group of friends (guys) who crack up by getting into a batting cage with a helmet and then seeing how painful a fastball to the body (or head) really is.C'mon now...I could think of worse that we've tried - lol

3. P.J. is a Sports Writer.When I was in college, I was the Sports Editor for our university newspaper.

4. P.J. prefers hanging out and having fun rather than an uptight, minimal conversation fancy shmancy place for a date.Change "P.J." above to "Shelby."

5. P.J. has "poker night" once a week in which her friends come over, drink beer, play poker and goof off.We used to (and will again) have Philly Cheesesteak which friends come over, drink cider, eat Philly Cheesesteaks, and goof off.I'm sure I could continue on and on, but I already know my friends reading this are nodding their head, smiling, laughing, and still stuck on number 2 going, "yup, I remember seeing the pictures from the time you guys tried to re-steal a cement bulldog stolen from UGA that was, at that time, located at a Georgia Tech Frat House" (FYI...we failed. Champagne + champagne + two girls does not equal the moving of a 500 lbs cement bulldog) or how about, "yeah I remember that time standing around the bonfire, drinking, having "meaningful philosophical conversations"....while it was raining...until someone said, "seriously, guys, uh, it's raining."

From the words of ee cummings

A poem by e.e. cummings titled, "i carry your heart":

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Am I Normal?

Driving into work this morning, I came across Q100’s "Am I normal?" section. It is where people call in and say things they do that if others heard them - they may think a little weird, etc. Some examples were before the Academy Awards, a listener would practice her acceptance speech...from the couch. So I sat and thought about things I do that others may not consider normal:

1. Everytime I see orange juice, I have to say, "Drink your juice, Shelby" (from Steel Magnolias)

2. If I am the D.D. out with a bunch of female friends that are drinking and a random creepy guy tries to make conversation/hit on them, the inevitable question is, "so what do you all do?" My answer is always, "I’m a police officer." (Yeah, impersonation, blah blah blah, but I have friends that are cops that have NO problem with me saying that)

3. Everytime I go to Atlanta Bread Company on South Cobb, I start humming the Cheers theme song...because....everyone DOES know my name.

4. After watching CSI or Law and Order, I can think of 101 ways to hide a body - lol.

5. Every time there are blue skies after a rain storm, I sing "Bluuuuue skies...smilin’ at me......nothin’ but bluuuuuue skies....."

6. Anytime I see a [large breed] puppy, I simply MUST say hello even if it’s making an abrupt 90-degree turn from where I’m walking, leaving my friends mid-conversation. Generally the word "PUPPY!" comes before my direction change.

7. I have personalities for every number (ask Jack- the other Jack). Number "5" looks like it’s happy and smiling. Number "2" looks sad and slouching, etc. Just ask what personalities single-digit numbers have. I swear I could write a children’s book.

8. I can hear a song, and I can see where it would fit into a movie soundtrack.

Don't be a store with false advertising...

Chapter I: No, I didn't see anything wrong with her....Last night, I had a platonic dinner with someone from online. It was strictly friends only, as had been professed from the get go Let's say par for the course.............Person and you converse online.Person and you move to the phone and e-mail.Person and you make it very clear - platonic....friends......hang out.......agreed.

Seems to be going person seems introverted (what are your interests? programming, computer games, reading and writing about political and economics, online debating)....other person an extrovert (what are your interests? camping...hiking...trail

Seems like it could be a salvaged after further conversation. I get to dinner and clearly can tell that this person wasn't exactly honest about pretty basic empirical things - height for instance....profile says 5'10".......he was 5'2" at the max. Okay - I can look past that except for the fact that he lied.

The conversation ended up being one-sided. When I said something witty, he would crack up laughing - not just a chuckle, but an all out, grab his mouth, face turn red, snorting laughing fiesta. It's kind of hard to have a normal adult conversation when the other person interrupts you with laughter similar to a fit caused by a Grand Mal seizure.

He asked me how long I'd been single. I tell him a couple of months. He tells me he's been online for several months and had met some cool people - then proceeds to tell me about 3 psychos he met ....but didn't see them as psychos (though one was a 17 year old pregnant girl who said she was turning 18 soon who was pregnant by her 38 year old ex boyfriend to whom she lied and said she was 21 who was due and looking for a sincere and good man, etc.) so I, in my cynicism, laughed....and then he says he was at the birth of her child, and thought it was cool, etc.

Proceeds to tell me he still talks to her on the phone. Post the birth of her child, she and her boyfriend call him up and ask him how long after she had her baby can she have sex, how long after having her baby can she have oral long after having a baby until she can use sex toys....but all of that was normal...including the fact that her boyfriend was there. But no...that wasn't enough....then while she and her mom were arguing, she dropped her baby, and he was quick to tell me - but it was okay because it hit the couch first (not okay).....but that was normal for him, too......then she tried to runaway again, but had to come then she wanted to egg her mom onto hitting her so she could call Dept of Fam/Children Svcs, but that didn't she slugged her mom, and then her mom had her committed into a psychiatric ward and the baby was awarded to the mother...but that was okay.........WOW.....NO.

Then there was this other girl (as he's telling me this completely nonchalante) who tried to kill herself.

Then he thought it was funny to kick her ex girlfriend's 15 years old cat into the pool one night and watch it try to struggle to get out.

Then he informs me about the "fun" he and his ex girlfriend had posting her size 28 self on adultfriendfinder and another website just to "see" what would happen....I'm beginning to see a trend here that this person doesn't know how to live OFF the internet and uses the internet as a social shield.

Then....he started talking about his "democracy now" group and his "online debating." He was similar in comparison to the news people online that get in all of these "experts" when something happens. The experts are attempting to explain something objectively, but the news person jumps in, twists the words around, and doesn't let the other person speak.

I voiced my political and economic opinions and was interrupted and talked over and informed "'s not how it is."

At least ESPN was over his shoulder, and my Ducks were playing. The night ended with that awkward - okay...well...good carefully.By the time I got home, I had an e-mail telling me what a great time he had, how "very attractive" I am....(insert random compliments here) and wanted to know when we could go out again........

Common 1st Date Mistakes

I must be working oh so diligently at work today...can't you tell?I've been browsing around (insert online dating of your choice) for quite some time, and I've noticed an overall trend among some of the profiles: common first date mistakes.In the section where it talks about an ideal first date, I see some major pitfalls on some peoples' profiles, and then I see that they post "what am I doing wrong?"

First of all, it's an online dating site. While you can sit all day long and talk to someone via the internet, you don't "know" the person. You may even exchange phone numbers after awhile, and then it comes time for the first "real" date.

Some of the common pitfalls I see are as follows (with reasons why they're pitfalls):

1.) "A nice romantic dinner with soft music, candlelight, and gazing into one anothers' eyes."

What's wrong about that? Well, allow me to explain. It's a first date - it's basically like a job interview. You dress in suitable attire and you go and meet someone face to face. You run through the motions of how are you? traffic sucked, etc. It's an intial how do you do. It's not an intial, hey - I see my future in your eyes, princess, and I want to be your prince charming for the rest of your life. A perfect first date ends with making plans for the second. Don't scare a woman off by being overly romantic on your first meeting.

2.) "An ideal first date would be going out and watching a movie."

And this one? A movie is NOT an ideal first date. As I said above, a first date is still a "how do you do" and how well you and the other person mesh together - not in the "we mesh so well - I love him/her" sense - but the "can you tolerate being around me more than 5 minutes" sense. When you go to a movie or you watch a movie - you're watching....a movie. WATCHING - not talking through it (that's rude). The one and ONLY bypass to this is if you're at home watching a funny movie. Whatever you do, don't go out on a first date to watch some passionate English Patient/Painted Veil love story. You'll both be miserable. The problem with the bypass stated above is that means that one of you will have to go to the other persons' house which can not only make for an interesting "out" attempt if the date isn't going well but could also be dangerous.

3.) "An ideal first date would be going out to some bars or pubs for a few drinks."

That's not so bad...As we are all adult enough to know, there are varied kinds of persons that evolve when they have been drinking: we know them - let's say them out loud: the mean drunk, the amorous drunk, the cool and quiet drunk, the boisterous thinks they're funny but they're not drunk, and the funny drunk. I happened to be the sneaky - what can we do - drinker. How do you know that if after a few drinks the person you're with isn't going to turn into Bitchfest 2008 or Asshole 2008? What's to say that this person doesn't get pushy or mean? Yeah, a few drinks don't ALWAYS end up being a bad night, but it could be.

Here are some good first date ideas (you gotta "get to know the person" a little bit beforehand for these to work):

1) A sporting event - this would indicate that he/she enjoys sports. Let's face it, even if you don't enjoy sports, a live sporting event is always a blast!

2) People watching at a park, etc. - what could be more fun than going and watching different people?

3) Amusement Park - even if the person you've met isn't all that and a bag of chips - you'll both still have a blast.

4) Hanging out at a local coffee shop - and I don't mean Starbucks. Good conversation, a variety of beverages, and look, if you're in our hemisphere - the weather's getting chillier - c'est parfait!

Obviously, I'm not a dating expert, and I'm no Hitch, but I do date, and I can see where some things fail when people are trying too hard to obtain the final product (a loving and lasting relationship) before you're even out of the gate.Happy Hunting.

Online Dating v. "Real" Dating

To me, there are groups of people who pursue online dating, but really, it comes down to four categories:

1) Busy People: These are people who are looking for a relationship, but are too busy/have no want to go out and find someone in trademark places such as bars, etc. Sometimes too shy, but mainly knowing that the person they're looking for, they won't find in those trademark places.
Overall psychological analysis: NORMAL

2) Antisocial People: These are people that, after meeting in person for the first time, you know exactly why they choose online dating as their dating venue of choice. More than likely, these people are 100% dishonest in how they portray themselves online/on the phone. They often don't know how to act in public and react more dramatically than others in certain situations.
Overall psychological analysis: ANTISOCIAL potentially SOCIOPATH

3) Booty People: These are people whose sole purpose it is online is to obtain as many booty calls that they can possibly obtain. Often portraying themselves as normal and looking for the "one" they know the super-saturated syrupy phrases to make certain women go "ga ga" just long enough to woo them into bed.
Overall psychological analysis: SOCIOPATH / NYMPHOMANIAC

4) Scammers: Pretty self-explanatory. Either want money or need a green card. Commonly from obscure foreign countries.
Overall psychological analysis: GULLIBLE

Tell it like it is....

Ugh. It irks me when, instead of writing directly what you think/say, someone has to write this huge metaphor for life or love or death and sappingly drape it with $5 words without actually making a point.

I read an acquaintance’s blog. An acquaintance who attempts to hook up with whomever will give him the time of day, but yet, wait, what is this? You have been dating someone all along. Maybe I’m confused. I venture over to another website where he is a member, and I read “Relationship Status: It’s Complicated.” The only time THAT phrase should be used is if you’re separated and pending some nasty divorce or custody battle. “It’s Complicated” is a cop-out answer. You either ARE in a relationship, or you AREN’T in a relationship. I thought that was pretty easy? Now what type of relationship that may be is another story.

Instead I roll my eyes and swallow down a little vomit as I read a diatribe about how “love” is a double-edged sword – one side good, one side evil. (But wait – he said “double sided,” does he mean ‘tape’?) It ends with he has shaken off a vain gold-digger after two weeks but finds himself a little vain, too.

Oh my dear Lord. *insert eye roll here*

Two weeks? Love? Vanity and materialism? Yah – that’s what I want to base my relationships off of.

I alert my friend that Vanity, Materialism, Arrogance and conceit only “sharpen” the malignant edge (since we’re now apparently talking strictly in metaphor) thus dulling the benign edge.

D-R-A-M-A only belongs on a stage, people.

Two Deaths, and the Things I've Learned.

Back in October, my maternal grandfather (my "Pop"), passed away expectedly. I say expectedly as for the past decade or so he had been battling heart disease, among other things, and the current two years, he had battled stage 2 lung cancer that spread into his brain and other regions. He was on hospice care for two years. He was only supposed to live about six months after his diagnosis. But my Pop being an old Navy man fought it out to the end. It didn't matter that he grew more and more senile with visions of things that weren't there or talking to the nurses and calling them by the name of someone in his past. His health was rapidly declining.Prior to him passing away, my grandmother went into him and said goodbye.

When he passed away, thoughts of everything he had ever taught me and memories we ever had flooded through me, and almost immediately I was distraught. When you tell someone "my Pop died," and they ask, "were you close?" you feel like snapping back at them, but I guess that's just how some people were.My Pop took me on my first horseback ride when I was six. I rode a horse named "Idol," a white Arabian or Arabian cross, and while I was being lead on a lead rope in front of another rider on a horse, I thought I was top dog. My Pop taught me about pipe tobacco, Florida, oranges, the beach, and art. One thing he did leave with me was his talent for art, and for that, I am grateful. We cremated him and buried his ashes in January of this year.

My maternal grandmother (my "Nan") had also been ill. 20 years of living and fighting through her Parkinson's disease, she slowly started becoming a shell rather than the Nan I knew. In 2005, she was diagnosed with many other ailments from esophageal cancer and other diseases. She went from a normal person to an old woman overnight. She had lost most of her teeth due to age and her inability to be able to sit in a dentist chair while they worked on her. It didn't help that she hated the dentist. Her diet went from normal food to cottage cheese, puddings, and other soft foods she could swallow. There were times where she couldn't say anything at all until her medicine kicked in.

When we moved down to Georgia from New York in the early 90s, my brother (a year and a half older than I) and I in two separate grades had to write papers about struggling with something. Unbeknownst to us, the other children wrote about how their parents wouldn't let them stay out late, or how they couldn't go over to so and so's house. My brother and I wrote about our Nan, and how it was a good day when she could get dressed herself, or when she could pour Pop a cup of coffee or could iron or get up from her chair without her walker. I learned that my Nan was an only child and that her father had walked out on her mother when her mother was two months pregnant. My Nan never met her father until she was married. Her father had seen her wedding announcement in the paper. He died shortly thereafter. My Nan dressed up as a hobo one Halloween with her neighborhood friend, and they went door to door (as adults), invited themselves into their neighbor's homes, dusted things off, sat down on the couch, and they each shared a flask, taking swigs....of tea.I learned how my Nan used to love shopping and how she would take my mother and her sister shopping with her friends, but they would never buy anything. While her friends went into the restaurants to eat, my mom, her sister, and my Nan would sit outside on the curb in front of the restaurant eating egg salad sandwiches. My mom asked why they couldn't go into the restaurant to eat to which my Nan honestly replied, "well we don't have enough money to do that, but do you like your egg salad sandwich? I made it special today just for you!"

One day when my mom was a child, she came home from school talking poorly about a girl in her class who wore ragged clothes, had old torn shoes, and was rather dirty. My Nan asked my mom, "did you ever think that those clothes were the best she had? That those shoes were all they could afford? and did you ever think they may not have a bath tub or running water?" It was then that my mom learned the meaning of respect and not to judge those based on appearances alone: a lesson that was passed onto us at an early age.

When my brother had a godmother whose daughter had Down's Syndrome, we just saw her as another kid. When we had friends in NY who were Puerto Rican, Chinese, or Jamaican, to us....they were just kids we played with. We didn't see them as another color. My Nan never said a negative word about anybody. She may have disagreed with them, but she took them for what they were. She kept several friends that way.

The last few days of my Nan's life, my mom was by her side, though she didn't want to be. During that time, every one of her friends called or wrote or e-mailed to say their final goodbyes. Though my Nan, at that time, couldn't respond as the Parkinson's had taken their last hurrah and had captured her ability to speak or to open her eyes, she would wiggle her fingers or tap her foot or try to smile to show she understood. Before she passed away, my mom bent down and whispered to her that it was okay to go, and that Pop was waiting for her. A tear rolled down her cheek, and my mother said, "I know that tear's for me, mom. I love you," and with that, my Nan left this world.She was cremated, and her ashes were buried this past weekend beside her husband, with whom she was able to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary before they both passed away.I have to keep reminding myself that, in the state they were, it was better for them to leave this world. They are healthy now, and they are happy. They don't have to get upset by worrying what others think about them when they are unable to do the simplest of daily tasks and daily necessities for life.

I just have to remember what my Nan taught me in this life:

1) Never judge a person based on what they are on the outside. Respect them for who they are on the inside, and look past their exterior.

2) Be grateful for what you have and not jealous of what you have not. Appreciate the little things in life rather than always wanting more.

3) Don't speak ill of others. You never know what they are going through, or what has made them the way they are.

4) Don't just offer a tissue to a friend in need, but dry their tears and comfort them.

5) Don't just offer advice to others, but help them when they need assistance.

6) Cherish the memories that you have with someone. They are truly a gift. Remember them every day, and you will never forget that person.

7) Love. Love your family, love your friends, love your life. Don't get too wrapped up in the big things in life that you forget about the little things.

8) Remember when money is tight, money isn't everything in life.

I'm hot.....and I didn't know it.

I don't think I'm "hot" - unless it's the Summer....that's a different story. I am blushing now from one of my clients who I haven't met yet and lives/designs homes in Napa Valley:

Receptionist: Thank you for calling, how may I help you?
Client: I think my salesperson just called.
Receptionist: "Shelby?"
Client: Is THAT her name?
*** rings back to me ***
Me: This is Shelby.
Client: Okay do you like cars, or do you just have a hot name?
Me: Both.
Client: Let me're tall, blonde, and skinny?
Me: I'm tall, brunette, and curvy.
Client: Hot you have a hot car, too?
Me: As much as I'd like to say, I roll outta here with a '66 427 AC Cobra, my Honda says otherwise.
Client: Okay, how did you get the name, Shelby?
Me: I'd love to profess carloving parents, but it was a dying soap opera patient on General Hospital.
*Insert random classic car banter here*
Close a $45,000 deal.

I welcome you...

I welcome you to my humble abode, to the gateway into my mind, and all of the other $5 words I can think of and coined phrases merely to make you think I'm a decent writer. As this is my first post, allow me to provide some disclaimers to any readers:

1) I don't care. I will blog what I will.
2) I Am Normal, You're Not - that sums it my world.
3) I believe in mandatory sterilization of dumb people.
4) I believe in harsher punishments for 100% guilty criminals (though we, in the U.S. don't believe in cruel and unusual punishment...I do). I am not a vigilante.
5) I am female. I reserve the right to pick on or dissect my own gender.
6) No, I am not married, and I don' t have children.
7) These are my thoughts. These are my words. Read carefully and thoroughly before commenting.
8) I am 110% smartass. I am sarcastic. Don't be close-minded like those persons who first read Swift's A Modest Proposal. Don't take everything so literally.
9) If you copy my stuff, I will find out. I'm good like that.
10) Commence to be visually and intellectually titillated with my blog. (I just like saying the word titillated; no, I'm not gay)