Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Tagged by Pasty Darling

Patsy of Drinks Well with Others, tagged me for the following:

Seven things

Seven things I plan to do before I die:

1. Get my PhD
2. See my grandchildren
3. Write the book that's in my head
4. Skydive
5. Travel Europe
6. Learn to ballroom dance
7. Live in Tuscany

Seven things I can do:
1. Find the bright side
2. Sleep, sleep, and sleep some more
3. Watch 'Casablanca' over and over and over again
4. Curl my tongue
5. Make the world's greatest fudge
6. Wiggle my right ear
7. Be more appreciative of what I do have, rather than envious of what I don't

Seven things I can't do:
1. Whistle
3. Say no to my nieces and nephews (they call me Aunt Softie)
4. Pass up sweets
5. Get enough 'girl time' with my girlfriends
6.Wiggle my left ear
7. Explain my love of all things Elvis

Seven things I say most:
1. I'm just sayin'
2. Right on, sistergirlfriend
3. You're preachin' to the choir
4. Goddamnit Hefe (or Guinney, depending on which cat is annoying me at the time)
5. I love you
6. What's up?
7. Thanks, V, for taking care of our drunk asses

Seven things I love to drink:
1. Wine
2. Cap'n & Coke
3. Margaritas
4. Hefeweisen
5. Vodka tonics
6. (tie) Cosmos and Lemon Drop martinis
7. Bud Light

I won't tag anyone, but c'mon, all the cool bloggers are doin' it, you know you want to...

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Single white female

Okay, so not only am I getting junk mail at home addressed to "Single Person at (my address here)," but over the last few months, they've started coming addressed to me personally. And there are new messages on my answering machine weekly: "Terri, this is Perky Bitch with 'How It Must Suck to be Single in the City.' Don't continue to be a loser, call us now and we'll hook you up!" And now, to add insult to serious injury, THEY'RE CALLING ME AT WORK!!! Why are they calling me at the office? Is there some single person list? How in the hell do they know who I am? Perhaps someone broke into my house and planted a single person lo-jack under my skin while I slept. I wondered what that antennae behind my ear was for...

Monday, August 29, 2005

The Bee Gees never wrote crap like this

On this morning's drive to the office, KC and the Sunshine Band's classic "Shake Your Booty" was on the radio. After really listening to the words, I had a few thoughts about the lyrics...

Everybody, get on the floor, let's dance! (a rather bossy beginning, if you really think about it)

Don't fight your feelings, give yourself a chance! (always good advice: be bold; don't be afraid)

Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (a little exercise is good for everyone's booty, so shake it!)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty! (c'mon, you in the back, get your booty in motion!)

Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (shake it baby, shake it!)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty. (okay, I get the point...can we stop shaking now?)

You can, you can do it very well.You're the best in the world, I can tell. (a compliment is always a good thing)

Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (what? More shaking?)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty! (okay, but just because you said I do it very well)

Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (stop the madness!)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty. (this is getting pretty old)

Shake shake, shake shake!Shake shake, shake shake! (my booty is getting tired. Can it sit, sit, sit?)

Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (shake this, you polyester wearing disco freak!)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty! (yeah, I'm soo over this booty thing, shake it yourself)

Oh, shake shake shake, shake shake shake, (Ummmm, chocolate that's a shake, shake, shake I can get behind)

Shake your booty! Shake your booty. (this crap was a top ten song in the 70's? The Bee Gees sooo ruled the disco era)

Um, yeah. I will now apologize for putting that song in all of your heads...sorry. Feel free to cuss me out in the comment section!

Mirror, mirror

Have you ever stared into a mirror for so long that your features just meld together into some unrecognizable blur? I spent a good portion of my day Sunday doing just that. It sounds crazy, I know, and perhaps it was, but I was trying to see me as everyone else sees me.

Have you ever wondered why everyone has a mask that they wear for the world? Why are we so afraid to show our real selves to the outside? Is it because we don't think we are worthy just the way we are? I know there are different side to me, but what I wonder is one of them the real Terri? Or is she a combination of all of them?

Friday, August 26, 2005

If I ruled the world...

it would be okay to call in lazy on a rainy morning, but with one caveat: you must spend the day in bed, dozing, eating, and watching cheesy movies

concert tickets would never be more than $50. And that'd be for the front row center seats

all musical acts would only be allowed one "farewell tour" and if they violate this policy, they'd be put to death. (Cher, I'm looking at you, babe)

afternoon naps in the workplace would be mandatory

recess would be added to the office routine

celebrities and pro athletes would be paid teachers salaries and teachers would be paid like rock stars

reading every movie title at the video store to the lazy jackass at the other end of your cellphone would carry a stiff fine and possible jail time

there would be a tax deduction for pets

people who bitch about how much it costs to fill up their full-size SUV could be smacked without reprecussions

working on Mondays would be optional

working half-days on Fridays would be required

happy hours would be extended and all specials will include a 'buy one, get one free' shot

all men will experience PMS for themselves at least once so they can realize it is a real condition

women will experience the pain of being kicked in the groin so they can realize it really does hurt

Oprah and Dr. Phil would be required by law to shut their pie-holes

the court system will offer a best of three policy on trials: if you're convicted, you get an appeal, if the original verdict stands, that's it. If the original is overturned, you go to a tie-breaker

reality television would be forever banned

celebrites who name their children Apple (Gweneth Paltrow), Poet (Soliel Moon Fry), Trixie Firecracker(Penn), Tallulah Bell(Demi Moore), George II-VII (George Foreman), Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee), Elijah Bob Patricius Guggi Q (Bono), or Ocean, True, and Sonnet (Forrest Whitaker) would be penalized by having eveyone call their offspring "Bob"

All Elvis impersonations would be of young-hot-1968 Comeback Tour-accoustic-sweaty-black leather wearing-Elvis only

Ashlee Simpson, Britney Spears, and Lindsay Lohan would be banned from singing. Ever. Even in the privacy of their own homes

the NBA season would be whittled down from 18 months to 8 weeks, while the NFL season would be extended by three months

Tom Cruise would be required by law to finally let his gay ass out of the closet. And he would be under a strict gag-order to never mention the words "Katie Holmes," "Scientology," "L. Ron Hubbard," or "I know the history of Psychology, you don't" or risk having Prozac force fed to him by angry post-partum mothers

there'd be a cure for cancer, no more poverty & starvation in the world, and world peace

and all problems and misunderstandings would be cured by chocolate

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Workin' 9 to ass

My day thus far has sucked all kinds of ass.

I am a Property Manager for a 300,000 sq. ft. office building. There are approximately 1800 employees working for 12 different tenants on 16 floors. Normally, things go like clockwork, a maintenance problem here, a special request there and I am free to work on office things, like the 15 million dollar budget that's due by mid-September, maybe study a little, or surf the 'Net. But no, it won't be quiet and peaceful today. No, today the work Gods have conspired against me and decided that I would have a day from hell. And it's not even noon yet.

First, as I pull into the garage, I notice there are barricades blocking the ramps to the lowest level of the garage. I parked, and called my building engineer to find out what the deal is. Just as he answered, I noticed that I had wandered into about 6 inches of standing water about 3/4 of the way down the ramp. Yeah, that's not normal. Turns out, with all of the rain we've had lately, the washout has filled my drains full of crap, which has caused the lower level of my garage to become a lake. Great. I call our plumbing contractor and he thinks he might be able to possibly have someone available maybe around eleven. Maybe. Could be closer to two. Or tomorrow. Um, no. Unacceptable. I tell him he will have someone out here by noon.

Now, with soggy pant legs and squishy sandals, I head for the elevators. Which took an extraordinarily long time to come. Uh-huh. Um, what's up with that? Well, of the three elevators in the garage, two of them are out of service because we had a power surge from the storm last night. I place a call to the elevator company and request immediate service (keep in mind, this is before I even reached in my office). Sure, they've got a tech in the area but aren't sure when he'll be off his current call, but they'll put my request next. Uh-huh. I call the elevator rep and tell Jimmy that I need someone within the hour. Jimmy's on it; he'll find me a tech by 9. Rock on, Jimmy.

I finally reach my office (after climbing four flights of stairs with wet feet) and boot up the computer to check emails. I see that I have 12 new messages, but the damn computer won't let me open them. It keeps giving me errors. Great. I call our IT department (which is a misnomer, it's one person, not a department, but anyway...) she tells me what to do, but it still isn't helping. Piece of crap (the computer, not the IT person, she's actually very nice.). Whatever. (Still no email, but at least I have the net. That helps.)

Waiting for me in the lobby is the concrete guy. He's here to give me a bid on replacing the sidewalk and circle drive in the front of the building. We go out front to take a look and so I can explain the scope of work we're looking for. We were outside for 40 minutes while he told me what I really wanted. He also didn't believe me when I told him that the area we were talking about was over the garage (which has suspension wires) and would need to be X-rayed before any work began. But he did believe it when my male engineer told him the exact thing. I freakin' hate that. Yes, I'm a female. No, I'm not an idiot. If I don't know what I'm talking about, I'll say so and defer to someone who does. Anyway, like I said, we were outside for 40 minutes. Did I mention it was raining?

After the concrete cretin left, I had a meeting with the roofing contractors. Up to the roof we went to check out some areas that are still leaking, even after we replaced the roof last fall. And, yeah, it's still raining, so now my wet pantlegs aren't as obvious, since the rest of me now looks like a drown rat.

This afternoon, I will have to fire one of my security officers. She works the midnight shift and was caught sleeping in her car at 6am this morning. If this had happened on any normal day, I would probably give her a write up and suggest at the very least that she buy a small alarm clock so she'd wake up at a decent hour, say no later than 5am.

The day is off to a perfect start, wouldn't you say? I'm sooo going to leave early today; that way I'll be long gone before the flood, famine and locusts hit.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Something to ponder

I had a dream last night that I showed up at work naked, which is disturbing enough, but add to that the fact that nobody noticed.

I went around to various clients and just stood there in front of them. "Hell-o!! Nekkid person over here!" No response. Next person, same thing, business as usual. And the next and the next. How could no one notice? Where's the pointing and laughing? The astonished faces? The disbelief? The wolf-whistles? Why did the fact that nobody noticed bother me so much? I mean, really, which is worse: showing up at work naked or showing up at work naked and no one noticing?

No wonder I woke up cranky this morning.

Edited to add (from Naked Revealing what we would try to conceal. To be naked in a dream may thus express either a fear of or a desire for people to know your real feelings; fear of being disclosed or revealed; or discovery of your real self.

Self analysis would be that I'm trying to become a better person, working on my spirit and spirituality, and maybe I'm frustrated that it's not happening as quickly as I'd like. Or it could be I'm afraid of letting go of the defense mechanisms I've hid behind for so long. Afraid to be vulnerable. It's also possible that I have an innate need to be the center of things and feel that I'm not getting the attention I crave.

Or it could be the carrotcake I ate right before bed.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

School Daze

Last night was the first day of classes, and I realized a few things.
  • It's quite possible that my Art History teacher witnessed the Paleolithic period first hand
  • If the guy sitting next to me slouched any further down in his chair, he'd be on the floor
  • People who wear flip-flops and drag their feet make me want to pummel them to death
  • Dipping mini pretzels into blackberry yogurt isn't nearly as disgusting as it sounds
  • The merging, exiting and splitting of four different highways known as The Grandview Triangle normally just sucks, but adding rain turns it into a class A clusterfuck
  • Leaving work an hour early only to sit in said clusterfuck is no guarantee you won't be late to class
  • Taking a chance and trying to sell back books from three semesters ago sometimes pays off
  • There are way too many twenty-somethings named "Tiffany"
  • My bookbag weighs 15 lbs
  • I already have two chapters to read for Wednesday and a test next Monday

Let's hear it for higher education!!

Monday, August 22, 2005

Singin' in the rain

I'll try my best to relate the concert to you, but I was drunk, drunk, drunk Friday night, so some areas are a little blurry. Okay, okay, some areas are a lot blurry. But it wasn't our fault! Rain caused them to delay Los Lonely Boys by almost an hour. What else are you supposed to do but drink beer while you wait? That's right, pick up men to buy the beer for you, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The night started off with a bang. Drinking our first beers of the evening (it's FAT Tire, Heather, not FLAT Tire) and waiting for our cab to take us to the River Market, I was telling the girls about the levels of drunkeness post from Friday and Chris misheard me and thought I said "levels of drunk Chris." (Which on further review is pretty hilarious...I might have to do a post on it.) And it was pretty obvious how the rest of the night was going to go. Bring it on, sistas.

There were two opening bands (the first of which we didn't give a hoot about) so we were killing time drinking at a place called Minskey's. Three, four or five beers and one minor injury (I cut my finger on something, I've no idea what it was, it didn't hurt until I saw the blood) later we had zoomed right through 'tipsy' and were heading straight for 'plastered.' Heather's brother finally showed up and we headed outside to listen to Robert Randolph and the Family Band. As we were getting our wrist bands to confirm that yes, we're old enough to drink, I noticed that one of the guys ID'ing people was drinking a beer sans wrist band. I called him on it, and minor flirting ensued. Chris pointed out that that could be a flirting record, we weren't even in the gate yet. I think she might be right.

Anyway, Robert Randolph is the shit! A little funk, a little rock, a little soul... It started to rain towards the end of his set, but he kept playing and the crowd kept dancing. After they announced LLB would be delayed, we ducked for cover with the rest of the crowd. Thank goodness we chose to be right by the corn dog stand, because by that time I was starving, and I've gotta tell you, it was the best damn corn dog I've ever had. It was like manna from the Gods. We were outta beer shortly after that and decided that we would brave the elements. Heather had to hit the port-a-potty so she and I took off. While we were off paying $5 per beer (robbery, I tell ya!), Chris was making friends. Friends who would buy us beer for the rest of the night. After returning, we introduced ourselves to the guys - I gave them my bar name. C'mon, ladies, 'fess up, you've used a bar name before! Mine is Gigi. Unbeknownst to me, Chris had already told the guys that our friends call us "THC," so they were confused where the "G" fit in. So, I was busted, but anyway...the show was delayed for over an hour, but when they did play, it was great. The rain came back, they continued to play, and we continued to get our drunk on.

Unfortunately, the show was cut way short; they only played 5 songs. Mother Nature was being a complete bitch and we got a front row seat to a spectacular lightening storm. So, we walked to The Cup and Saucer to catch the last set of our friend Nathan's band. Which led to more drinking and put me squarely into the last vestige of the 'drunk' level. Fortunately, before I tumbled into the ugliness of 'wasted,' Chris' boyfriend showed up to drive our drunk asses home, but not before a pit stop at The Cigar Box for more beer, a really bad Neil Diamond impersonation, and an overload of Guido types. Of course, by then it was after 2am and there's only one place to go in midtown at that hour: Chubby's for breakfast. I walked into my house at 3:30am and spent all day Saturday with the mother of all hang-overs.

Did I mention that Saturday was my friend John's birthday and I was expected to be at his party that night with bells on? Yeah, you heard me. I went, I drank, I got more than a little 'tipsy,' I came home.

My liver is no longer speaking to me.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Levels of Drunkeness

  1. Sober, adj. Lacking in sense of humor.
  2. Tipsy, adj. The usual signs are a flushed face, stupid grin, loud voice and a profound love for all mankind. The sufferer is incredibly deep, intelligent and insightful, but prone to giggles.
  3. Plastered, adj. Extremely generous, loud and confident. Suffering from prolonged talkativeness and a belief that he/she can drink anyone under the table. Also may include bad dancing/singing.
  4. Drunk, adj. Suffering from vision, hearing and speech impairment, with an insatiable appetite for pizza. Infatuated with anything and everyone. Possessing an illogical belief that he/she is gorgeous despite the obvious dribbling, slobbering and slurred speech.
  5. Wasted, adj. Invincible but incapable. Suffering from extreme loss of balance, co-ordination and sex appeal. Liable to sleep anywhere. Likely to be found babbling incoherently to a coat rack, dog or beer bottle.
  6. Hung-over, adj. Suffering from a near death-like state, often catatonic and always with a pounding headache. Unbalanced with no sign of a sense of humor. Needs total silence and another drink!

I plan on hitting more than one of these tonight at The Los Lonely Boys concert.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Sing me a memory

I was driving to work this morning and the song "I Will Follow" by U2 was on the radio...instantly I was reminded of three great friends from high school. And it got me to thinking of certain songs and who or what they remind me of...

  • I Will Follow, U2: Tina, Kristen, Steph. We spent so much time lusting after the lead singer of a local cover band that played this song.
  • Runaway, Bon Jovi: Tina, Kristen, Steph (again). We saw them in concert in 1987 and after the entire set and two encores they hadn't played this song yet. I turned to my girlfriends and said "Goddammit! I wanna hear Runaway! Now!" Jon and the boys reappeared for a third encore to the first few bars of Runaway. I felt so powerful. The next thing I said was "I want Jon naked. Now!" Didn't work, unfortunately.
  • Lyin' Eyes, The Eagles: Mom (who I call 'Mere'). She had a ton of custom 8 tracks & cassettes made by a dj friend of hers, so growing up there was always music playing somewhere. And I swear, this song was on every single one. It's one of Mere's favorites.
  • You Dropped a Bomb on Me, The Gap Band: Tina, Kristen, Steph. We were underage, drinking in a local club and dancing on the bar to this oldie but goodie. Never fails to get me out on a dance floor (my bartop dancing days are behind me - for the most part!)
  • Hysteria, Def Leppard: the entire album puts me right back at my senior year: partying at the river, working late on the yearbook, kissing Eric B. in the darkroom while we waited for the film to process, cruising the Plaza in the Silver Bullet...
  • Funny Valentine: Chris. Her mother used to be a singer and she played me a recording of her mother's version. It was so beautiful. Since then, the song has always reminded me of Chris, "'re my favorite work of art".
  • She Will Be Loved, Maroon 5: Heather. I think it's the phrase: "look for the girl with the broken smile..." because when I met her, she had just lost her mother and her smile was sad. It's getting better every day. Plus, one day I know she will be loved in the way she deserves.
  • Cat's in the Cradle, Harry Chapin: Tina. She and I have been friends since birth and we loved this song. I know it's about a father and son not spending time together, but I can relate it to our friendship as well. We don't see each other nearly as often as I would like. Easy fix, I know, but sometimes life gets in the way.
  • Brave & Crazy, Melissa Etheridge: Dawn. We would play Melissa Etheridge on all of our roadtrips. We'd be hauling ass on I-70 heading to Colorado, singing at the top of our lungs.
  • It's Your Love, Tim McGraw w/ Faith Hill: Bobby F. This was our song. It was so hard being 1300 miles apart, but this song always made it a little easier. Wonder if he remembers...
  • Amazing Grace: Grandad. When we would go to church with them we would sing this song. I would stand on the pew beside Grandad and his rich voice always made me feel comforted.

It's amazing how songs can take you back...

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

A letter to Daddy

Dear Daddy,

I can't believe it's been 25 years.

I sometimes wonder, do you recognize me when you look down from Heaven? I'm not the little girl I was in the summer of 1980. My skinned knees, stringy blonde ponytail and innocence are gone now. I wonder if you see the parts of me that I want to keep hidden from the world: my shortcomings, my failures, my disappointments. I wonder if you are proud of the things I have accomplished? I wonder if you know of the dreams I have yet to realize. I wonder if you know what path my life might have taken if you hadn't died. Would things be different? I wonder if you know that mom gave me your wedding ring on my 21st birthday. And I wonder if you know that I never take it off. I wonder if you know that everyone sees you in my dimples and slightly crooked smile.

I wonder if you know what a great mom Kelly is. I look at your grandchildren and am sad that they only know you as Grandpa Kermit, like a character in stories they've heard all their lives. C is just 10 1/2, still such a baby in my eyes, but then, the same age I was when you died. He has his Grandpa's deep-set, hazel eyes that crinkle into almost nothing when he smiles, just like his mothers do. I wonder if you can see that L has a small gap between her front teeth, just like you did. She also has your quick wit and dry sense of humor, just like I do. Do you smile and shake your head at her silly questions like you did when I asked the same ones? I wonder if you know that Kelly gave them middle names that start with 'D' in honor of you. Have you already met the children I will have? Do you already know what parts of them will be parts of you?

I wonder if you were hurt because we love and looked at Teddy as a dad, too. I wonder if you were there to welcome him when he died and to thank him for looking after your girls. I wonder if you realize what a strong woman mom is; she doesn't see it, but I do. I wonder if you know how much it means to me that you visit me in my dreams. I wonder if you know I would give anything for one day to see you through the eyes of an adult instead of a child.

I wonder if you can feel how much I still miss you everyday. And I wonder if you saw me cry myself to sleep last night because it's been 25 years since that Tuesday afternoon changed my life forever.

I love you, Daddy.

Terri Lynn

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Margarita, rocks, salt

I don't want it to sound like all we girls do is drink...we don't. We do other things, really. Like um, well, there's ah, let's see, um... Hmm, maybe we don't do more than drink. LOL Anyway, last night we were out at a great neighborhood Mexican restaurant who just happens to have a great margarita special on Monday nights. So, yeah, last night we drank. And drank. And then drank some more. My head is not liking me very much this morning, and I'm sure theirs don't either. I blame it on the fact that we didn't eat dinner, whereas my friends are blaming me, since I was the one that kept ordering the damn drinks. Well, that and the impromptu gathering was my idea in the first place.

We discovered that we all have weird phobias. Chris is freaked out by cicadas and once threw me out of her house because one had landed on my T-shirt. Then, there's her condiment phobia. She cannot stand any type of condiment. The thought of mayonnaise, mustard or salad dressing makes her stomach churn. I'm sure she's having a hard time simply reading that previous sentence (sorry, honey!). Heather is afraid of Velveeta cheese touching her lips. I swear, I'm not making this up. She hates the feel of Velveeta cheese and I think the worst thing that could happen to her would be to be thrown into a vat of the stuff. Both of them hate the feel of things on their forearms, which really makes me wonder about them. I don't want it to seem that I'm picking on them, so here are two of my own. I am terrified of grates in the sidewalk. Bizzare, I know, but it's true. Don't know if there was some strange grate incident in a previous life, but I will cross the street to avoid walking over one. And the sound of nail clippers makes me want to put a sharp object through my eardrums. I was watching a movie the other night and one of the characters was clipping their fingernails and I had to eject the DVD because it disturbed me so much.

Anyway, enough about our silly phobias. Let's talk about the cute boy sitting at the next table. We've seen him there before, and there has been minor flirting in the past. We checked each other out, flirted and smiled all night long. His name is Jeff and, if the opportunity arrives, he could be a nice diversion. (It's funny how I lament about not getting any when it is a self-imposed dry spell. It's not that I don't want to have sex, I'd just rather not have one night stands. I went through that phase years ago and am not too particularly interested in going back. Not that I wouldn't, mind you, I'd just rather not.) Back to Jeff: he's not overly tall, but he's fairly thin and wears glasses...yummy. I love me a boy in glasses. Nothing happened last night, but I know where to find him, so no biggie.

Yowza, I'm off to find some Tylenol and the biggest bottle of water I can lug back to my desk. I can already tell that I'll be hiding in my office over lunch taking a quick nap.

Monday, August 15, 2005

The Interview

Vixen has given me some great questions!!

The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying interview me.

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.

3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

1. What is your MOST guilty pleasure?

Having a day to myself. I love to have an entire day where I don’t have to do anything. I can read all day, sleep all day, shop all day, hang out all day, drink all day…just a day to do whatever tickles me at the time.

2. Who are your favorite top 5 musicians/bands of all time?

5. The Eagles – I love the way they harmonize so beautifully together. I grew up listening to them, so hearing them always takes me back to my childhood.

4. Paul Simon/Simon & Garfunkle – I’ve always loved Simon & Garfunkle, in fact, ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ is my all time favorite song. I had to include Paul by himself here because I love his solo stuff.

3. Elvis – My mother will be appalled that I listed him at three instead of number one! Again, this goes back to my childhood since Elvis was always on the stereo at home, in the car, or just being sang (badly, I might add, by all of us) while cooking dinner…

2. Bon Jovi – I know, I know, but it’s my list right? My inner teen-ager will always be in love with Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora. Bon Jovi was my first concert, and the album ‘Slippery When Wet’ will always make me feel like I’m 17 again. *sigh*

1. James Taylor – It’s funny, I can’t tell you the first time I heard his music, it seems that it’s always been there in my sub-conscience. I’ve seen JT 12 times and am surprised each and every time. The first time I saw him, a high school friend was part of the road crew, so after the show, the gang hung out to see if we could find our friend. There were maybe 100 people milling about in the seating area in front of the stage. Our friend came out and we were chatting, next thing you know, James Taylor himself comes wandering out on stage, shaking hands, talking, taking pictures, etc. He sat on the edge of the stage and talked to us like it was no big deal. It was the absolute coolest thing ever! Most bands are on the bus and gone before the lights even come up, but JT was still there…and that’s only part of the reason I love this legend so much.

Honorable mention: Annie Lennox, Natalie Merchant, U2, Frank & Dino, Elvis Costello, Metallica, Sting, Prince

3. You’re sitting out on a veranda overlooking the Pacific Ocean when you spot an attractive man watching you. What does the Vixen in you do?

Ohh, good question! My inner Vixen is a naughty little minx, so I’m sure she would give him a sexy show, starting with dipping my fingers into my cocktail to remove a piece of ice. With the ice making my fingers wet, I’d trail the coldness between my breasts, slowly tracing a meandering pattern to the edge of my bikini top until the heat of my skin melted the ice. I’d then lick the moisture from my fingers and fish out another piece. This one would inch its way down my stomach to the band of my swimsuit bottom…and if he’s still just standing there at this point, my Vixen has lost her touch! LOL!

4. Do you believe in Witches, Magic, Demons?

Yes, yes and yes. I think there are supernatural things all around us.

5. Who has been the most influential person in your life thus far?

My grandad. To me, he is integrity, honor, strength, love, humility and humor personified. I can only hope to be half of the human being he is.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Recap of my random week

Okay, so there have been some very random things going on in my life this week. What the hell is up with the Universe? So here are the top 5 weirdest things that happened to me this week.

5. Driving home from the office there was a truck in the lane next to me that had the most adorable yellow Lab in the back. At each stoplight, the dog would stick his head over the side of the truck and look at me. I had the top down and was making those noises you make at cute puppies...I love dogs and I love Labs in particular. No big deal, onto the next stoplight and so on. At the next light, the damn dog jumped right into my back seat. It was hilarious. Thank goodness his owner noticed and didn't drive off! We had him back into the proper vehicle before the light changed.

4. I ran into an old aquaintance in my office building. I hadn't seen this man in over 12 years. It was truly weird, since I had just thought about him a few weeks ago. Truly random.

3. The cute guy from the 15th floor I've been crushing on for a while has stopped in my office three times this week just to shoot the shit.

2. A guy I dated in 2001 has gotten back into contact with me via email. Even though we parted on good terms, it was still strange to hear from him after all this time.

1. A guy named Sean has called my house twice now and asked me to call him back, yet not only does he not leave a number, I don't know anybody named Sean.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Holy hangover, Batman!

Last night, I hung out with two of my best friends, Chris and Heather. We make it a point to get in a girls night at least once a week. Usually we cook some great food and drink at least two bottles of wine. The menu last night called for grilled pork chops, sauteed green beans and three bottles of Cabernet (which would explain the hangover...didn't drink nearly enough water).

I met Chris 8 years ago and in an instant, I knew I was going to know this person for life. It sounds weird, but meeting Chris was the second time that has happened to me. She is one of the sweetest, kindest, most warm-hearted people I know. I met Heather just over a year ago, and I can't believe I haven't known her longer. She is beautiful inside and out, even if she doesn't see it.

It's always a good time when the three of us get together; we think we're hysterical. No subject is off limits during girls night, all opinions are valid and no viewpoint is mocked. Well, there was mocking when Heather got all mushy, but it was mocking with love.

At one point, Chris was lamenting about a recent lull in her sex life. She's been dating Cente* for over 8 months and she was bitching that he has been slacking off in that department lately. It seems that she was getting it at least 8 times a week, and now, horror of horrors, it's slowed to three or four times a week. What-the-fuck-ever! I pelted her with wine corks. During these weekly gatherings we not only get the girl time we need to survive, but so much more - it's validation, humor, friendship, love, advice, blow job tips... Over bottles of wine we solve all kinds of problems, but usually raise more questions than we answer: Why are shoes so expensive? Why are men and women so different? What color will Bert's* hair be next week? Why aren't we drinking on the beach somewhere? What the hell did Chris season those pork chops with? Do we like the monkey wine better than the rooster wine? (Definitely the monkey wine!) Is Heather really a bitch bomb? What the hell is a bitch bomb? When will Terri get laid? Who is Sean and why does he keep calling me and not leaving a number? We answered most of them and left others to ponder another time.

The gist is this: these women are incredibly important to me and I can't imagine my life without these fabulous, funny, sweet, accepting, loving, beautiful women in it. (I have to say nice things, they lurk here...LOL). I love you both and that's not just the wine talking!

(*Some names have been changed to protect innocent bystanders to girls night)

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Let's talk about sex

Let's talk specifically about how much I miss it. I miss it so much, I'm dreaming about it nightly. Which isn't such a bad thing, considering I usually wake up to an orgasm. That's not all bad, let me tell you.

I'm sure last night's dream was brought on by a conversation I had yesterday with my friend, Joy. We started off talking about dreams in general, but then, as with most topics, it turned to sex. I don't seem to dream about a particular person, they're mostly just hot bodies with no faces and their only task is to please me. Hey, it's my dream. Joy seems to dream about famous people.

Last night, I dreamt I was on a beach, watching a volleyball game and flirting outrageously with two of the players. Transition to naked bodies, dirty talk and mind-blowing orgasms, one right after the other. Next thing I know, there was a chick in the mix. Hey, no biggie, come on in and join the fun. More dirty talk, more was truly a magnificent way to wake up this morning.

All in all, sex dreams are fantastic, but yeah, I'd rather have the real thing.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Where I am from

I am from Seasame Street, Thousand Acre Wood, and Mister Roger's Neighborhood.

I am from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Chef Boy R D Ravioli and Kraft Mac & Cheese.

I am from Bambi, Thumper and Flower.

I am from Barbie's Dream house, T-I-double G-er, and teddy bears.

I am from Mr. Greenjeans and Winnie-the-Pooh.

I am from a strong, loving family.

I am from an indulgent grandad and an adoring grammie.

I am from white T-shirts and mechanics grease.

I am from Alzheimers, cancer and heart disease.

I am from Coors Original and Marlboro Reds.

I am from lighting bugs, fresh honeysuckle and chicken pox.

I am from hazel eyes, long legs, a beautiful smile and never-ending strength.

I am from hugs, kisses and cuddles.

I am from Three's Company, Gilligan's Island, and The Love Boat.

I am from humor, laughter and bad jokes.

I am from Ms. Pac-Man, Centipede and Donkey Kong.

I am from lilacs, fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and puppy kisses.

I am from 8 tracks, 45 records and cassette tapes.

I am from England, Germany and Native America.

I am from Elvis, the Eagles, and Johnny Cash.

I am from friends and lovers.

I am from Little House on the Prairie, Dr. Suess and Nancy Drew.

I am from heartache, tears and heartbreak.

I am from the 70's & 80's.

I am from one mom, two dads, three siblings and four nieces & nephews.

I am from slumber parties, roller skating, and lady bugs.

I am from bell bottoms, halter tops and parachute pants.

I am from cheerleading and yearbook editor.

I am from 3&2 baseball, Fun Dip and Twizzlers.

I am from Grease, Danny Zuko and Sandy Olsen.

I am from sadness, triumph and true love.

This is where I am from.

A Short Story

I was cleaning out a box of stuff from high school the other day, and I came across the following I had cut out of a magazine in 1986.

The year is 2010.

The President of the United States is a woman. The Supreme Court has eight women and one man. Ninety percent of the House and the Senate are women. Men make 59 cents for every $1 that a woman earns.

Men are getting angry. They want to be equal. We women feel that they are getting a bit out of hand. Looking back through history, we see that laws that control the human body are an effective means of oppression. We act.

The Supreme Court rules 8-1: Ejaculation without the express intent to create life is unconstitutional. The sperm contains half of the genetic material to create life. To ejaculate without intending to create life will be a felony and will carry harsh sentences.

The men in our country are in an uproar. Their cry is heard throughout the nation, "Our bodies, our lives, our right to decide!"

I'm not looking to start a debate on abortion, equality or women's rights...I was just intrigued by the fact that I had kept this piece of paper for so many years. What about it struck a cord with my 16 year-old self that I thought to cut it out and tuck it among pictures, poems and greeting cards that meant so much to me? Maybe I was holding onto it until 2010 with the hope that by then some of these 'predictions' might not seem so outrageous.

It seems as if we might be going backwards. Roe v Wade is, and I believe always will be, a hot button issue, always on the verge of being overturned. Women with the same experience still make less money than men doing the same job. When Justice O'Connor retires, there will only be one woman on the Supreme Court. And despite what some pundits say, and even if Hilary does run in 2008, we are decades, if not a lifetime, away from a female President.

When I was 16, I saw this story as hope of a possible future. Now I know it is nothing but a short piece of fiction.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Losing my religion

During a girls night a few weeks ago, my two friends and I were discussing faith, God, spirituality, the Universe and other such things that come to mind after three bottles of Cabernet. And I said something out loud that I hadn't ever said before: I have been angry at God for a very long time.

Growing up, church was not a priority in our house. We would attend sevices when we visited our grandparents, but it was not a weekly occurance at home. I used to love to go to different churches with my friends (Lutheran with Tina, Catholic with Christy) but to me, it was more for the pagentry and show-like aspects of the services. It was like theatre. After my first dad died, my mom made my sister and I go to church for almost a year. Attending church made my mom feel better, but not me. I hated it. I was young, confused and angry. I didn't understand why everyone expected me to worship a God who had taken my daddy from me. I didn't want to sing, pray or rejoice. I wanted answers and I wanted to be mad at someone. For me, that someone was God. After a year or so, my mom let up and we didn't have to go if we didn't want to, so I didn't.

When my mom met and married my second dad, I remember thinking that God was trying to make amends. I didn't totally gave up my anger, but I think I tempered it a little. I would attend church on occassion with my family, but it wasn't something I felt, if that makes sense. Instead of concentrating on the sermon, my mind would wander to what I would have for breakfast after the service or I would plan the rest of my day. I just didn't get it. I would go to church because it made my parents happy, not because I got anything out of it. Then in June of 2001, my second dad died and I got angry all over again. I know how irrational that is, but it doesn't change how I feel. And two weeks ago at that girls night was the first time I actually said it out loud.

I don't want it to sound like I don't believe in a higher power, because I truly do. I'm just not sure I believe in the traditional organized religions per se. I never understood why some people feel that in order to be pious, you must suffer. I don't judge those who are devout followers of other docterines, to each their own, it's just that they don't work for me. So, Chris suggested that I attend a service with her at the Center for Spiritual Living (, and I attended a service with her yesterday. It was an eye-opening experience. I didn't feel preached at, or judged, just accepted for the flawed human being I am. I don't want to be angry at God anymore, maybe this will help me to finally give up the anger that has been weighing heavily on my soul.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Shut up and kiss me!

*I had this as a draft last week, then Marie at Scorpio posted hers today, so I thought I'd get it out today too...great minds think alike!*

As I mentioned in my very first post, I miss kissing. I miss kissing so much that I've been reliving some of the highlights in my kissing career.

First kiss: Danny V. in the 4th grade. He was new to our class that year and I was instantly smitten. He had dark hair, dark eyes and to this day, I am still immediately attracted to dark hair/dark eyes...wonder if there's something to that? Anyway, Danny and I sat next to each other and started a friendship. We hung out at lunch, recess and always ended up on the same teams in gym class. Once in a while, he would hold my hand under the table when we were in the library. One day at recess, a group of us were sitting around being bored and Danny just leaned over and planted one on me. Wow! It was all of two seconds, but at the time, it was the best two seconds of my life! Sadly, our romance didn't last past the last day of school, and when we saw each other again in the 5th grade, I was about 6 inches taller than he was. Pity.

First make-out kiss: That would be David M. when I was 14. Oh my, that kiss rocked my teenage world! I was a freshman and David was a sophomore; we met when I literally ran into him in the hallway. I had seen him several times and after getting the scoop, it took me days to 'accidentally' run into him. My fourth period class was right by his locker and for three days, I lingered at the top of the stairs until he closed his locker door and then I'd come barrelling down the steps...and nothing. The fourth day was the charm, I plowed right into him. Our books went everywhere, I went flying and sprained my wrist, but I got his attention. He sat with me while the nurse called my mom to take me for X-rays. It wasn't exactly how I planned it, but it worked nonetheless. We had great dates, haunted houses, roller skating...we even wore matching pastel Oxford shirts (not my fault, it was the 80's). After a few weeks, my friend Megan had a party, and David and I had our first real kiss. We were in the basement and while kissing him I remember thinking that his lips were so soft. Ahhh, David. We broke up a few months later when someone told me they saw him kissing Amy F. Turns out it wasn't true, but young hearts are fickle. We did remain friends through high school though.

Kiss from someone who kissed just like me: this was Albert (the guy I picked up on a dare using the cheesiest line my friends could think of- not as bad as it sounds we dated for almost a year). After walking me to my car, we started kissing, then pulled back and looked at each other and said "You kiss like me!" Needless to say, we both thought the other was a fabulous kisser. LOL.

First in-love kiss (although I didn't know it at the time): Bobby F. in Florida. I didn't believe in love at first sight, but trust me folks, it happens. I met Bobby when I went to visit a friend of mine in Tampa. We were staying at her boyfriend's apartment, and Bobby was his best friend. My friend's BF was at work, Kate was in the shower and there was a knock at the door. I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed, went to open the door wearing only my bra and undies. And there Bobby stood...with his jaw on the floor from being greeted by a half-naked stranger. It's hard for those who know me well to believe, but I was so awestruck I was mute and dumb. I couldn't remember my own name. Fast forward past dinner and hours of talking, laughing, and drinking to Ybor City and a club called "The Castle." Kate and Jeremy had disappeared while Bobby and I were watching the band. I was up against the stage and Bobby was directly behind me, with his hand resting on my bare skin where my shirt skimmed the top of my jeans. I couldn't wait any longer for him to make the first move, so I turned and kissed him for all I was worth. The rest of the night is a blur of lips, tounges, kissing, caressing, more kissing, warm breath, green eyes melting into blue eyes... We dated long distance for over a year, but due to committments on both ends, neither of us could move for another year. The distance proved to be too much. He is married now, and probably has 2.5 kids, a yellow Lab, and a picket fence to boot. At least I hope so, it's no less than what he deserves.

Now, I'm looking forward to my last first kiss, you know?

Thursday, August 04, 2005

No news is good news

(Warning: rant ahead) I'm not sure why I'm such a news junkie when it usually just pisses me off.

The Runaway Bride is getting married. Supposedly. Now that isn't what set me off, it was the fact that the happy couple is registered for more wedding gifts. First of all, the bride and groom are both in their early 30's, and I assume have lived on their own in furnished, functioning homes for several years. Why do couples feel they are entitled to all new stuff once they're engaged? Like a $250 ice bucket? Or a $100 dollar lasagna pan? (I make a killer lasagna in a pan I got at Target for less than ten bucks.) It's getting ridiculous. There are engagement parties, bridal showers, couples showers, bachelorette/bachelor all of which you are expected to bring a gift. Not to mention the actual wedding gift. Don't even get me started on baby showers... So, my point originally was about Jennifer Wilbanks, right? She has stated the following as reasons she ran: the entire wedding was overwhelming (bullshit); she felt pressured (bullshit) by the size of the wedding (bullshit); didn't want to let her family down (bullshit); was confused and didn't know what to do (bullshit). But, bullshit meter aside, if any of the above reasons are true, then why is she planning the same wedding but on a slightly smaller scale? Do you suppose this means instead of 600 guests there will only be 550? Just do me a freakin' favor and head down to the courthouse, get married and get out the hell out of my life.

About a week ago, there was a break-in at the headquarters for the Kansas City chapter of Habitat for Humanity. They took a safe that was holding over $6,000 in cash. What kind of person steals from a not-for-profit organization?! There is a special place in hell for that guy.

Debra Lafave (teacher in Tampa who had sex with her student) is now using the old 'I didn't know what I was doing, I was insane at the time' defense. What-the-fuck-ever! I have never looked at a 14 year old boy and thought, "Wow, I gotta get me some of that!" Not even when I was 14. Then there's her lawyer, John Fitzgibbons. He rejected a plea because it involved significant jail time, which he found unacceptable. Excuse me? A 24 year old woman has sex with a 14 year old boy and jail time is unacceptable?! But wait, it gets better: "To place Debbie into a Florida state women's penitentiary, to place an attractive young woman in that kind of hell hole, is like putting a piece of raw meat in with the lions,'' Fitzgibbons said. Dude, she had sex with a 14 year old boy, she didn't get busted for jaywalking!! Lock her ass up and let's move on.

And let me see if I can get this straight: OJ, (can't believe I forgot OJ!!), Michael Jackson, Kobe Bryant, and Robert Blake go free, yet Martha Stewart not only serves 5 months, but has her house arrest time extended by 3 weeks because she rode an ATV around her property, attended a yoga class and shopped at a bookstore. Yep, that makes sense.

And speaking of things that don't make sense, there was one thing on the news this morning that didn't angry up the blood, in fact it made me very sad: Susan Torres, the 26 year old woman who has been brain dead since mid-May died yesterday. She was taken off life support after giving birth to Susan Ann Catherine Torres on August 2nd. What a mix of emotions her family must be feeling... May God watch over them.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Gettin' my flirt on

On my way into the office, I have seen the same cute guy - every morning this week. This morning is the third time he's pulled up next to me while I was belting out the song on the radio. You're probably asking what the big deal is...well, I drive a convertible, and the top is always down (unless it's winter, obviously), and sometimes when I am loudly singing along to the radio, I forget that people around me can hear.

Monday morning ('Fat Bottomed Girls' by Queen) I only noticed him because he was driving a Jeep Wrangler (which I've always found HOT). I was horribly embarrassed and flashed him a sheepish grin, and he responded with a killer smile...which he flashed to me several times before he turned off on Ward Parkway. Tuesday morning ('Sweet Child o' Mine' by GnR) I notice him right as I turned onto Johnson Drive, and when he pulled up next to me, he was singing right along with me and Axl. This morning ('Hollaback Girl' by Gwen Stefani) we met up at the same corner as yesterday, and engaged in some harmless flirting all the way into the office.

Wonder what we'll be flirting to tomorrow?

Tuesday, August 02, 2005


I can't remember when I first read this quote, but I have never forgotten it:

"Far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them and try to follow where they lead."

-Louisa May Alcott

Monday, August 01, 2005

Are you ready for some football?!

I am, by all accounts, a football fanatic. I was not born this way, the blame lays squarely on the shoulders of my second dad, Ted. He very bravely moved into a house with two teenaged girls who knew nothing of sports and had no desire to learn. During the first football season we spent as a blended family, my two new brothers would come over to watch the away games with their dad, while my mom, sister and I went shopping. It was nirvana for everyone.

During the next few football seasons, my brothers didn't make it for every game and Ted was forced to watch alone in the family room. I started to feel sorry for Teddy watching the games alone, so I started hanging out with him during game time. Mind you, I wasn't watching a lick of the action, I was reading, drawing, or doing my homework. I vividly remember in 1987 my dad cussing about a penalty called against Christian Okoye and I put my book down in time to see the replay. I asked my dad a few questions, and boom! a new football fan was born.

My first game at Arrowhead was in 1988. I can still remember the hum of excitement I had when I entered the stadium with Teddy. Our family seats are primo - 50 yard line, 5 rows behind the Chiefs bench. I had heard my dad and brothers brag about the location before, but I didn't appreciate it until I walked out of the concourse and looked out. The green of the grass, the crisp colors of the uniforms, the white of the field markings, the orange of the down markers...pure poetry as far as I was concerned. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I took my nephew to his first game two years ago, and he had that same look in his eyes. Ahh, another football fan is born. Although when I take him with me, I have to watch my language. We have a deal where he charges me $.25 a bad word. So far, I'm paying for his first two years of college. LOL Not true, actually to date it's only cost me $5.00. (Hey, it was a bogus offensive holding call in Tony Gonzalez).

Anyway, we usually receive our tickets in the mail in mid-July, but this year they mailed them later, and my brothers and I were starting to panic. All is well, they arrived this weekend. Time to fire up the grill, chill down the beer, bring out the cold-weather gear and hunker down for some football! Detroit or bust!