God Bless Montblanc

Rose scented Montblanc Ink.
Ruby-red, rose scented  ink.
For real letter writing.
Like real people use to do once upon a time.

That's just beautiful.

Typing on a computer for the last 14 years has turned my hand-writing into something that resembles One signing a prescription pad while being drunk.

It's not pretty.
And I don't like it.
So, now that has to change.

I need to make a mosaic, because I know I can.
I need to create something other than that book.
I need to learn how to write like they did back in the days when they use to seal letters in wax. 

I'm almost positive that up in the attic one of the kids has a kit for that that I bought them years ago.

Obsession

I had a discussion with Erin about a week ago over perfume.  She loves her perfumes and has a really nice collection of them.  The conversation got turned to me and she asked what I own.

I told her:

That's it.
That's my perfume.
That's all I wear.
That's all I've worn since 1986.
I have no intention of that changing.

I've gone through four perfumes in my lifetime:

When I was little:

• Sweet honesty (Remember that? The days of Bonnibelle lipgloss...)
• Charlie (welcome to high school)
• Trouble (Welcome to 12th grade. I LOVED that perfume and then I think they stopped making it.)

Then Good Ole Calvin Klein's Obsession hit the market with his inappropriate ads and everyone had a coronary -- and then I tried it in a store one day.

It was time.  Clearly, it was time - because as a general rule, I try to avoid the perfume counter people like the plague.

I sprayed it into the air and then walked into the mist and...
That.
Was.
That.

From the time I've been out of high school until this afternoon - THAT has been my perfume.  That's it. It is, without question, my signature scent.

I'm also certain that if I change it, a whole LOT of people are going to get mad at me. It's associated. There are many times where I've received a phone call after someone coming into contact with this particular scent again and it reminded them.  Could be years later.  Yes, I've also been yelled at over it as well.  When a scent is so ingrained into a persons memory and the memory doesn't match the reality in front of you - it will cause people to call you up and yell at you for not being the person they ran into wearing it.

24 years.
That was done for a reason.
Everything should be done with a reason.

It violates my sense of loyalty to even consider something else.
Don't try to fix what's not broken.

----
and welcome to:  Carlow, Ireland - Warsaw, Poland - Pedreguer, Spain and Japan and Jack!

Once again, thanks to Loach of Chicago

Johari Window

I know, I know - I'm asking for it.
Just remember that I can see it all!

stare

finally...

I finally figured out what book I should write.  It came to me a few days ago and I can't believe I didn't think of it before now.  It's all so simple and right before my eyes.  I know the characters; practically intimately.

Now I just need a plot.

Poptatari, I might need you to make some inspirational cookies so I can work this out.  You'll be part of making history!

I need the motivational cookies, Poptatari!
is this working?  hint, hint... plead... hint... erm...

I called up Erin and told her the idea and she immediately said it would make a great play.

Then I told my son and he laughed his ass off at some of the characters I came up with.

My daughter asked me if I fell off the wagon (because she's a smartass) until I explained it more thoroughly; then she started throwing out other personality traits they should have and my Florida room turning into a loud sounding board complete with comments like, "WHY ISN'T IT DONE ALREADY?!"

...because, you know, books write themselves over-night...

Erin did the same thing to me, "Are you done with the first chapter already?" - "I just thought of it 10 minutes ago and we're still on the phone, so, no..."

They're a subtle bunch.

If the whole idea falls apart though, blame it on the lack of inspiration cookies...

Yes, I'm willing to go THAT low!
laughs...


Special greetings to:  Zuid-holland, Netherlands - Bratislava, Slovakia - London, United Kingdom - Catalonia, Spain - Ar Riyad, Saudi Arabia - Nova Scotia, Canada -  Baden-wurttemberg, Germany and Nordrhein-westfalen, Germany!

fine, I'd be killed first...

It's been pointed out in great detail, in a clear and concise way to me, exactly how and why I'm never going to make a good hostage.

BY ALL OF YOU!

Some of you going the extra mile to illustrate exactly why I would not only NOT live, but why I'd be the very first shot. I was even forced to agree tonight.

Points taken.

uh...and I appreciate the suggestions on how I'd have to be to avoid said issue...

Fine.
I'll pick some other hobby.
Sheesh

But let me just say this... if I ever DO become a hostage and LIVE, I'm so writing the longest post about it in contradiction and there will probably be pie charts involved too! You've been warned!

surprises

I dislike secrets.
Truly.
I don't handle them well either.
I hate surprises too.

I really do hate surprises unless they are REAL surprises. Like, blind-siding surprises. Ones that I have ZERO knowledge of. Because if there's any hint of anything and you're just not telling me, I'm going to think you're being a jerk - and I'm not going to like that.

It's not advisable to torture me.
I know how to torture people right back.

This scenario is usually how it goes when people want to surprise me with something:

Someone that doesn't know me well at all: "I have a surprise for you and I'm not telling you what it is either!"

fuck me... apparently saying this is MANDATORY to the script because it goes down like this 99 out of 100 times...

Me: "I don't like surprises"
Someone that doesn't know me well at all: "I know"
...silence...
Me: "So, tell me"
Someone that doesn't know me well at all: "Then it won't be a surprise"
...it's not a surprise now!...
Me: "Tell me!"
followed by me wearing said person down until they tell me...

I really hate that...

rethinking...

Even the real surprise comment comes with a few rules and regulations - DO NOT HORRIFY ME EITHER. I like being prepared for things. I function MUCH better that way. If it's going to be a total surprise, it's best that it's done privately.

Like those guys that think it's a good idea to propose to their girlfriend in front of 50,000 people at a NY Jet's football game... and she has no clue. And suddenly the cameras are zooming in on her. Waiting. The look on her face leaves you unsure if she'd say yes if the ENTIRE UNIVERSE wasn't focusing on her. Now she's stuck, cornered - the pressure is on!

Oh.
My.
God.

The camera would catch me uttering something about killing said guy when we got home. And really, how fucking good do you look going to a fucking football game. There's a good chance that you're freezing your ass off, your face is all blotchy from the cold, your eyes are sort of glazed over, you hate the people that are clearly too close to your inner personal space and you're wondering where the fuck your boyfriend ran off to leaving you with a bunch of unstable strangers half naked with the team's colors painted all over their faces.

And now you're on camera!
Up close and personal!
Oh My God!

Seriously, this is a free ticket to torture your future husband for a good five years - and every single time you think of it.

Or every time you see the clip on YouTube or fucking CNN as the high-lights of that week in sports.

hyperventilates...

Sort of like it's not okay to announce to some guy that you're pregnant when he's in the middle of a poker game with his friends. I'm just saying you might want to hold off for better timing.

A good compromise, since most people would like to share that sort of news with people that care about them, would be - telling him Christmas Eve by handing him the small square without a word that has the + sign on it. ALONE. If there's a good reaction, you can share with the group - if there's a bad reaction, at least you're the only two witnessing it. You can kill him later.

Same with her. If you ask while you're out in public somewhere or at some family gathering, and the reaction is good - by all means, it's your joy to share. If the reaction isn't good, no one loses face. And you can kill her later.

All men should get down on one knee to propose too.

That's tradition. I don't know who started it - and I don't really care. I like it. I've never had it done - and I've been proposed to a ridiculous amount of times and I'll be proposed to a few more times before I'm dead, I'm sure.

Knights kneel when being awarded honors from Kings and Queens. Offering or accepting a marriage proposal is just as much an honor as any medal or award. Even Kings and Queens kneel to genuflect when entering a church. Proposing on bended knee is a sign of respect and spiritualism.

That's how I see it. That is what's proper and that's what I like.

You can't do that when you're standing on a pitcher's mound and your other half is in a crowd of strangers 50 feet away with a bunch of men in spandex between you. Am I the only one that sees the logic here?

twitching...

Surprises are fundamentally... bad.
Be very, very careful.

I always want to think I'd make a good hostage, but...

I know that's a long title.
You know how my biggest fear is being misunderstood though, so...

So, yeah.

I always want to think I'd make a good hostage, but...
...there are some doubts that keep creeping in.

Come on, it's not like you haven't thought about it before!
You've been in a bank!

I once lived two buildings away from a corner bank. It literally got robbed every day, for a WEEK before they finally put in bullet proof glass from floor to ceiling. It was like clock work.

Anyone remember Marine Midland Bank?

Broad daylight.
Lots of traffic.
Lots of people walking around.
Not a deterrent.
daily... alarms, alarms, alarms... hello, officer... again...

This was also the building I lived in where I shared a roof with a crack house. I was clearly living with someone that didn't belong in the City too - ever in their life. He use to flip out and worry that our stuff was going to get stolen.

blahblahblah

One day after hearing the same speech for the thousandth time, I said, "Oh my God, stop worrying about it! If our stuff gets stolen, I'll just open the window, walk across the roof and steal it back!"

And I would.
And I told the crack dealers that.
And I never had a problem.
And they never had a problem from me.
BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT GOOD NEIGHBORS DO!

because really, if any of us had anything worth stealing at the time - we wouldn't be living in the City in the first place! Go rob people who actually have something worth robbing.

Good Lord, who cares - I can't even be moved to think about it for more than 5 seconds. Why? Because I already thought about it and came to a conclusion, so now unless some other factor gets introduced, I never need to think about that again.

See how that works?

Which is why I'm still working out the whole hostage thing - because I don't have a working conclusion on that issue yet...

So anyway...
Back to being a hostage.

enough about bank robberies and crack houses for now...

There are still a few delusional brain cells that keep telling me that, yes, I would indeed make a good hostage.

Let's brainstorm.
Where are you likely to be a potential hostage?

- Banks, clearly.
- Airlines.
- McDonald's.
- Possibly the Post Office.
- Train/Subway

I'm iffy on the Train/Subway possibility though. That would be poor planning on the hostage takers part, I think. It's not exactly a scenario where the hostage takers can go, "MAKE A LEFT UP THERE!" to avoid capture or anything.

Oh my God... okay, THERE I would not make a good hostage. There is no way I wouldn't be able to say something like, "You really didn't think this out very well, did you, amateur..."

You're more likely to be blown up on a train or subway anyway, I imagine. In which case, you're just fucked and who cares and it's not worth thinking about. The odds are not in your favor.

It's like if my plane is about to crash.
I assume that I'm just going to wind up dead.

I can't even be bothered to devote any time to calculate who I'm going to eat first. Don't care.

Oh, sure, I'll probably spent the last 20 seconds I have before we all plunge to our deaths to make some kind of rude comment, but in the end, we'll all just resemble a bunch of pancakes and that's that.

And even if I say something in my last 20 seconds left like, "I'M EATING YOU FIRST!" to you - ignore me, I don't mean it. I just want something to laugh about before my guts are raining down over the Atlantic Ocean.

As a side note: if I was on that plane with the soccer team over the Andes, I'd be among the first to die because I don't care about survival enough to eat anyone's thigh - or WORSE have to deal with living in snow for weeks on end with a bunch of strangers that I probably didn't even want to take the 15 hour plane ride with in the first place...

Really, your best case scenario is being involved in a bank robbery.
Fine, forget what I said earlier - we're infusing bank robbery back into the equation...

Would I make a good hostage.

Of course I would!
And why wouldn't I!

I'm fucking charming!
No, seriously, I am...laughs
I'm cute. No paper bag required.
I'm quick witted. I look fairly harmless.
I'm little!

little = you'd look like a big wuss to pick on someone much smaller than you and then you'd lose street cred and all the surviving hostages will make fun of you on TV for being such a coward motherfucker and killing the short girl...in which case, I STILL WIN...

Really.
Anyway.
Could I side up with the people who have the guns?
I think I could.

And I totally talk myself right into that theory!
If Patty Hearst can do it, why can't I?!

Then I think about all the stupid things that could be said to me that would set me off and make me indignant and this quickly degrades into:

Okay, fine - I'd at least make a half way decent hostage.
I'd just avoid eye contact and look bored.

Then I think about how mad I'd get that someone was wasting my fucking time and holding me up and annoying the fuck out of my day. This turns into:

Okay, fine - I'd at the very least not be THE FIRST ONE KILLED.

Because then it would be full on eye contact and I WOULD be bored and that's never good for anyone.

By the end of the debate in my head it's devolved into:

I'm the first one with a chalk outline being drawn around my half dead body while the paramedics are standing over me trying to sop up blood from the head wound I'm bound to receive while the hostage takers are still shooting at me even though they're all surrounded by the SWAT team - because I'm insulting their entire lineage.

I would be SO PISSED...

Well, at least everyone else would be safe.

but there's still a part of me that thinks I could make a good hostage!
I just haven't worked out the details yet...

And just for the record, this line of thinking, makes doing laundry less boring.

if you love something...

"If you love something, set it free"
This was a passing comment between Grant and myself this morning in the Florida room.

I had to walk into the living room to collect myself. It offended most of my senses and now it's stuck in my head and I find it increasingly irritating. So, you know, the proper protocol is to inflict it on all of you...

This is right up there with the "is the glass half full or half empty" thing to me - which you all know I fucking hate.

And again, it's just simply HALF - no more, no less. It's MATH.

I came back out to the Florida room and said, "What the hell does that even mean?!" - because I don't get it.

He repeated the whole thing - which helped me understand it, not at all.

"If you love something, set it free; if it comes back to you, it's yours - if it doesn't, it never was."
-Richard Bach
Earth sign alert! Earth sign alert!
Terra Firma!
Foundation! Roots!
Structure! Cultivating! Building!
Red alert! Red alert!
All senses fully offended!

If you love something, you don't set it free!

If you love something - you nurture it, you care for it, you love it, you make it feel safe and secure, you make sure it's at least content, you cherish it, you give it a wide range to grow, you protect it with everything you're worth, you don't sell it, you don't trade it, you don't give it away, you're loyal to it, you're devoted to it, you live for it, you're willing to die for it and you don't treat it cheaply.

Oh my God... and if you can set it free, you didn't love it enough in the first fucking place!

My head may explode.

I admit it, I called Richard Bach an idiot.
Sorry, Richard - I'm sure you're a lovely person, on the inside...

Now this quote...

"Love is a fire. Whether it's going to warm your heart or burn down your house though, you can never tell.
- Joan Crawford
...I can at least understand.

*&$#*^% Animal Planet

My daughter taped the show Animal Cops or Animal Rescue (something like that) off the Animal Planet channel. We just watched all three episodes together and I'm mortified.

I don't know if I watch things that make me irate because I never want to forget that there are things to be irate about out in the world or because I really don't want to be ignorant of the things that are going on outside of my house or because I'm afraid I've seen so much that I'm petrified I'm going to get to the point where nothing fazes me.

I'm not sure.

What I do know is that I wanted all the people responsible for all the horrendous things done to these animals - to suffer long and hard.

I watched a story about a puppy so infested with ticks that the insides of this poor animal's ears were black from the colonies of them. His face and body were covered in ticks that were literally sucking the life out of him. His gums were white because he was so anemic. He was so weak, he couldn't move.

I watched a story about another puppy that a bunch of teenage boys decided to put a plastic bag over its head after duct taping it's face shut so it only had enough room for its tongue to be out - then duct taped its legs and arms together. Then left it to die in the heat with a 107 degree temperature.

I watched a story about another dog that had been beaten and HOGTIED, had broken teeth and a bloodshot eye - left to bleed and die in a garbage can.

I watched a story about a Mother dog with 8-9 puppies so malnourished from nursing her litter that you could see all of her bones.

I watched a story about a woman that had 90 cats in her house; complete with two litters of newborns buried so far under garbage in the house that she didn't even know they existed.

I could never be a Police Officer, a Social Worker or do Animal Rescue like these people do.

I'd need bail money constantly.

I'm not cut out for it. I'm a huge sucker and I'd have a house full of animals and kids and people living in my yard in tents because I ran out of room.

Couldn't do it.

That's when Roadkill* decided to trot over, drop her ball in front of me, sit, purr and look up at me patiently waiting for me to throw it for her.

Then I wanted all of those people that did that to those animals to suffer all over again.

Horribly.

oh, and by the way, fuck you

In doing one of the most boring chores in the universe, I've come to the conclusion that I'm irritated once again over something - women's clothing sizes. Look, I'm 5'3" and weigh between 118-123 lbs depending on what day of the month you catch me. I have a proportionate hourglass figure.

I wear a size 6/7 in regular clothing.
A size 2-4 in women's sizes.
A straight medium in normal items.

Then I did some research and found this:

USA: The average American woman's weight has increased 11 pounds (7 %) in the 10 years between the gathering of statistics, while her height has remained about the same. Earlier I had reported a weight of 152 pounds (69 kg) and height 5' 3.7" (162 cm). Now, it's 163 pounds (74 kg) and 5' 3.8" (162 cm).

Men have have also increased their weight by an average of 10 pounds (6 %), from 180 to 190 pounds, while remaining essentially the same height: 5' 9".

The USA results are from the National Center for Health Statistics, based on two studies: NHANES III (1988 - 94) and, the most recent available, HANES (1999 - 2000).

By those stats, I'm about 30 lbs under the national average.
Great.
Whatever, right?

That's not what irritates me. What irritates me is that my underwear is always a size LARGE.
Yes, you read that correctly - LARGE.

I have a 27" waist for Christ's sake.
I have 36" hips.
Fuck you, underwear makers!

Who's responsible for these labels?! Is that you, China?!
LARGE!

I couldn't stuff myself in a medium without circulation problems so severe that it would require amputation. A small? A pocket pack of Kleenex must be bigger.

Are they just fucking with me? Why don't they just print on the label what they really want to say, "You have a big fat ass and it requires a LARGE!"

The outside paper that they insist on attaching to said thong/g-string/french cut underwear should just call it like they see it, "Whatever self-esteem you thought you had - WE'RE HERE TO TAKE IT AWAY. HAHAHA! COW!"

Kiss my fat ass, self-esteem label making oppressors!

Leggins, yoga pants, shorts, skirts - size small.
Underwear underneath small items? - LARGE.

assholes

Those bold bastards will even go so far as to sometimes write: "Size 7 - Large" on them, JUST to rub it in, I'm sure.

I hate you underwear label makers.
Oh, and by the way, fuck you.

10,000 unique visitors - and a thank you

I just checked my web counter:
13,594 page loads
10,000 unique visitors.

I wanted to thank you for reading this. I understand that most of it has an underlying tone of hostility - or, perhaps, maybe not so underlying in some cases.

Welcome to my world...

It was a nice discovery tonight.

I'm not even sure how it got so high. I have a content warning page that I think prevents me from being on a lot of searches and this is only linked off twitter, where I only have 4,000 followers.

So either the IRS is following me, or the government is watching with intense interest and I've been placed one a couple of blackball lists - or I'm being passed around like a collection basket at Church.

I'm not sure which.
Either way though, thank you.

Unless the IRS/blackball listing thing is true - in which case, bite me.

Special thanks to those that comment. Regardless if you comment here or if I get a phone call from you saying you laughed at something or other that I wrote. I write because I love to write, but if you laugh or contemplate something I've said because of it - my day is made.

get ready...

Because after I wake up in the morning, I'm going to be going off about Health Care. I only have one point of contention after Obama's speech the other day, but it's a big one. It's not against him in the least either. It's about Federal funds and the more I think about it, the more I get irritated by it.

I take that back!
There are two things that irritate me - I have solutions for both of them too.
Seriously, who the Hell do I have to call?

If you can guess which either of them are, I'll be totally impressed with you and dedicate an entire post to you and refer to you as King or Queen for a week.

To give you a head start, I'll tell you that it's NOT over the sea of hideously ugly ties I had to endure while watching the speech.

though I would be interested in knowing if there was some gigantic sale on purple fabric to tie factories this year... Good Lord...

I am a hotel snob - and a tie snob.

Oh, and it's NOT about the fact that grown men should know better than to yell out in the middle of a Presidential speech.

What the hell is wrong with you? No home training? Who does that? - and stop it. Immediately. Never do that again. That's just rude. Don't make me call your mother.

Okay, one more - it's also NOT about having to stare at the TV screen while some heart surgeon proceeds to represent the Republican party. Was he even listening to the same speech? He mentioned five things and Obama addressed four of the five of them. Pay better attention next time, doctor.

I'm going to settle in to read now, before my head explodes.

Fear Less

I am a fan of the author Gavin De Becker. Who, in my rarely humble opinion (what's the point of being humble about some conclusion you've come to as long as you're not following someone around trying to shove your opinion down their throat 24/7?) - is a downright genius.

He wrote the book, The Gift of Fear - which again, in my rarely humble opinion, every female alive should read.

Actually, any male that even remotely cares about a female should read it as well just so you can understand how we have to live in a world of potential violence against us. You'd probably be horrified to learn all of the things we have to simultaneously consider just walking out our front door.

If you're female, the information in the book could very well one day literally save your life.

After 9/11, Gavin came out with the book I'm reading right now - aptly called, Fear Less.

It stresses our natural survival system, like his other book. I'm about to totally plagiarize him and write an excerpt from one of his chapters right now because I think he had some really good points when it comes to breaking down emotions, animal instincts and being able to identify and compartmentalize them.

Come to think of it, it's not so much plagiarizing as it is copy right infringement. Don't tell him! I'm going to pawn it off as free advertisement for his books. Buy them!

To give you some background on his credentials: Gavin De Becker is widely considered America's leading expert on predicting and managing violent behavior. He advises such clients as the CIA and the U.S. Supreme Court, and his 70 member firm has protected clients from terrorism in Isreal, southern Africa, Europe, and South America. This three-time presidential appointee designed the assessment systems used to screen threats to all federal judges and the governors of 11 states, and his work has changed the way the U.S. government protects its highest officials. He is also a senior fellow at UCLA's School of Public Policy and Social Research.

Yes, I even violated the copy rights by taking that from the back jacket of the book. Consider me his new personal PR chick.

---
Beginning of Theft

Intuition has many messengers, but the clearest and most urgent is fear. Nothing in life gets attention as reliably as fear -- and that's the way the system is designed to work. Fear does some miraculous things when we perceive that we are in the presence of danger. First, it gets our bodies ready for action with a dose of adrenaline. It heats up the lactic acid in our muscles for running or fighting, and it even gives us a chemical called cortisol that makes our blood clot more quickly in case we're cut in a fight.

It's an amazing system designed to be a brief signal that gets you to listen, address the risk, and move on. The problem is that these chemicals are toxic, and in America, even more so since the tragic events of 9/11, lots of people are living in fear.

Our imaginations can be the fertile soil in which worry about anxiety grow from seeds to weeds, but when we assume an imagined outcome is a sure thing, we are in conflict with what Proust called an inexorable law: "Only that which is absent can be imagined." In other words, what you imagine cannot be happening in your presence right now, for if it were, you would perceive it. Similarly, the very fact that you fear something is solid evidence that it is not happening in your presence right now.

Fear summons powerful predictive resources that tell us what might come next. It is that which might come next that we fear -- what might happen, not what is happening now. A literal example helps demonstrate this: As you stand near the edge of a high cliff, you might fear getting too close. If you stand right at the edge, you no longer fear getting too close, you now fear falling. To carry this all the way, if you fall, you no longer fear falling -- you now fear landing. When compared with landing, falling isn't so bad.

This reminds me of a friend who used to be afraid of flying because of turbulence. After the four simultaneous hijackings, he told me, "Turnulence now makes me grateful. It reminds me that there are much worse things."

People use the word fear to describe so many feelings that are not fear, so I'll define our terms.

FEAR

• True fear is a signal in the presence of danger. It is always based upon something we perceive, something in our environment or our circumstance.

• Unwarranted fear is always based upon our memory or our imagination.

Imagine, for example, that you are about to board a flight when you are suddenly overtaken with dread and uncertainty about the pilot's ability to fly the plane. If the dread is based on a news story you saw three weeks ago about airlines hiring inexperienced pilots, it is unwarranted fear. If the fear is based upon seeing the pilot stumble out of the airport bar, it's the real thing. True fear is the messenger that intuition sends when the situation is urgent, and it's not easily quieted. If you want it to leave you alone, whatever questions it poses must be answered fully and credibly.

The challenge in dealing with anxiety caused by terrorist acts is that answers are hard to come by. Uncertainly is a key component of terrorism; we are left to wonder what might happen next, to what degree, and where. The lack of predictability predictably causes anxiety, which, unlike true fear, is always caused by uncertainty.

ANXIETY

Anxiety is caused, ultimately, by predictions in which you have little confidence. Image that you are anxious about being fired. You might have anxiety about the things you can't predict with certainty, such as the ramifications of losing the job.

Prediction in which you have high confidence free you to respond, prepare, adjust, accept, feel sadness, or do whatever is needed. Accordingly, anxiety is reduced by improving the quality of your predictions. Higher quality predictions increase certainty, and certainty is the antidote to anxiety. It's worth doing, because the word anxiety, like the word worry, stems from a root that means "to choke," and that is just what it does to us.

WORRY

Worry is the fear we manufacture -- it is not authentic, and it is not part of our defense systerm. If you look out the window and see lava from the local volcano slowly making its way toward your house, you don't worry, you run.

Unlike true fear, worry is a choice. Most often, people worry because it provides some secondary reward. There are many variations, but here are a few of the most popular reasons people worry:

• Worry is a way to avoid change; when we worry, we don't do anything about the matter.
• Excessive worry helps some people deal with matters they cannot influence. Powerlessness is one of the hardest things to admit, and there comes a point with risk where we have to do just that. Worry helps fight off that dreadful feeling that there's nothing we can do, because worrying feels like we are doing something.
• You've likely known someone who worried so much that people stopped telling that people anything. "Don't worry your mother" or "I'm worried half to death" are phrases that serve worriers by offering protection from too much reality.
• Worry can be a cloying way to have connection with others, the idea being that to worry about someone shows love. As many worried-about people will tell you, worry is a poor substitute for love or for taking loving action.

• Worry is a way to rehearse dreaded outcomes so that if they occur, the worrier believes he will be more prepared. Of course, it doesn't work. Worry simply gives people some of the very same consequences they'd get if the dreaded outcome occurred -- while doing nothing constructive to prevent anything bad from happening. Worrying is not the same as planning; it is not an effective security precaution.
  

Worry is a choice, but true fear is involuntary; it will come and get your attention if necessary. But if a person feels fear constantly, there is no signal left for when it's really needed. Thus, the person who chooses to worry all the time or to persistently chew on unwarranted fears is actually making himself less safe. Worry is not a precaution; it is the opposite because it delays and discourages constructive action, and action is the antidote to worry.

In Emotional Intelligence, Daniel Goleman concludes that worrying is a sort of "Magical amulet" that some people feel wards off danger. They believe that worrying about something will stop it from happening. He also correctly notes that most of what people worry about has a low probability of occurring, because we tend to take action about those things we feel are likely to occur. This means that very often the mere fact that you are worrying about something is a predicator that it isn't likely to happen.

When you worry yourself into an artificial fear about terrorism, you distract yourself from what is actually happening in favor of what you imagine might happen. Since the human imagination is powerful, you can conjure quite a litany of possibilities. Any time you ask yourself the question "Could this happen?" the answer will be yes -- because anything could happen, but there are better questions, such as "Will this happen?" or "Is this happening?"

Is worry an intuitive signal? In a roundabout way, it can be. That's because what we choose to worry about, however bad, is usually easier to look at than some other, less palatable issue. For this reason, a good exercise when worrying is to ask yourself, "What am I choosing not to see right now?" Worry may well be distracting you from something important. For example, someone might worry about unseen terrorists (What will they do next? Do operatives live nearby? Are they engaged in something dastardly right now?), whiles at the same time choosing not to register that she's seen someone videotaping the nuclear power plant several days in a row.

Worry, wariness, anxiety, and concern all have a purpose, but they are not fear. So any time a feeling isn't a signal in the presence of danger, then it really shouldn't be confused with fear. It may well be something worth trying to understand and manage, but it is not likely to be directly relevant to your present safety.

End of theft
---

I love that breakdown! It's clear and to the point. I love when people accurately call things for what they really are. Love it.

I know the overall theme is on terrorism in his book, but the same formula can be applied to other situations in life. That's why I felt the need to share.

women's bathrooms

You can always tell the sign of a good restaurant/party house/hotel by the condition of their women's bathroom(s).
That's just a fun little fact.

If you want to know if you should plan any kind of event at a place, send some random female into their facilities and just observe the look on her face when she walks out.

If she comes out with a look of total disgust - don't even think about eating there.
It's as simple as that.

The look is unmistakable too. It's that clenched jaw, eyes half closed, every muscle in her body is tense and there is usually some subtle, if not full on, sneer on her face - stance.

For the male gender who may not yet be informed, let me explain.

We take our settings very seriously. We expect it to be clean. We expect to be able to see when we look in the mirror. We expect all the locks on the doors to work. We expect there to be plenty of supplies at our disposal.

We expect room to move. We expect there to be somewhere for us to put our purses and whatever other junk we happen to have with us.

We expect hooks on the backs of our doors - even if some of us aren't comfortable throwing our stuff up on said hook because we also know how easy it is for someone to just reach over and yank our stuff up and out.

NOT THE POINT!

We expect to not feel like we need to shower when we leave a public restroom.
Yes, I said it.
We expect this.

I always crinkle my nose whenever a bathroom is a) some one room thrown together with no thought enclosure or b) co-ed. Bite me. I don't want to share a bathroom with a male in my own house, let alone a bunch of strangers.

No offense. You men are wonderful. I just don't need to know *that* much about you. I see no real need to bond with you in that way. Stop peeing in front of me for crying out loud.

Now, a really well run place who cares about it's guest/clients/customers will build a real bathroom for women.

This will include up to three separate rooms. A foyer, a waiting area and the facilities themselves - which is large and has stalls on one wall and across from the stalls will be an entire wall side to side of mirrors and sinks.

The sink dispensers won't have the equivalent of Lava soap in them. It will be something fruity or flowery, usually some Yardley something or other that you wouldn't bother to spend the money on to put in your own house.

There will be lights - everywhere, so you can actually see what you're doing when you go to fix your make-up. There will be a large garbage can with a swinging lid on it so you don't have to actually see the garbage in it (if not two - one on either side of the room).

There will be a hand blow dryer AND a paper towel dispenser. Half of them have a folding changing table for babies attached to the wall that you can pull down and make your life easier. There is usually a machine that you can get tampons and pads from if you pay the quarter charge or whatever it is these days.

Each individual stall has a metal box for tampons and pads to dispose of and there is usually a huge roll of toilet paper (and another one behind it) and most of the time there will be a dispenser for those toilet seat covers which are more trouble than they're worth. It's nice to know it's available anyway.

There is at least one handicap, over-sized stall. This is not like a handicap parking space. The same rules do not apply. It's acceptable for anyone to use provided that no one is wheeling themselves in to the room before you go to use it.

Our sitting areas contain couches and nice chairs and mirrors with elegant frames on them. Some will have tables that contain baskets with items such as: bobby pins, safety pins, hair spray, spritzer, nylons, handiwipes, cotton balls, Q-Tips, pads, tampons and sewing kits in them. There is art on the wall, low lighting lamps on the table (designed to make our jewelry sparkle, no doubt) and either carpeting in these rooms or very nice tiles; usually carpet.

This is the norm.

Our bathrooms aren't just bathrooms.
They're conference rooms.
and yes, we *are* discussing *you*...

Now, let me set the scene now that you have all of that information floating around fresh in your head.

We were driving from Maryland back to New York. We found ourselves in the middle of East Nowhere, Pennsylvania when we decided to stop at a Citgo.

Seems normal enough, right?
Wrong.

My daughter and I go in search of the restroom. It is, of course, a one room hovel that we both squeezed into.
Fine.

We made our comments and then I looked up at the wall thinking that the dispenser was the usual tampon/pad dispenser.
Wrong, again!

I pointed to the dispenser silently until she looked up at it. When it registered what it actually was, she started laughing out loud.

Condoms!
In all my years, I've NEVER seen condoms sold in a women's bathroom.

But wait!
Not just condoms - adult novelty items too.
That was on the left side.

On the right side was - aspirin.
Seriously, aspirin.

All for the low, low price of $0.75 each.
We found the cracker jack mother of all dispensers!

You may get a condom or you may get an adult item - how lucky are you feeling tonight?! The right side was solely aspirin, but the left side - total guesswork!
She is, unmistakably my child. So we did what anyone would expect us to do left in a situation like this -- We wasted $4.50 on crap we wouldn't buy over the counter and laughed our asses off every time we dropped in three quarters and turned the knob. We had the added bonus of the bathroom wall being 5' from the outside cashier counter too and a full line in front of it.

We didn't care. It was too much for our senses as soon as this dropped out...

Tattoos.
The Ultimate in Fun & Fantasy.

Clearly, I have a lot to learn if tattoos are the ultimate in Fun & Fantasy. I've been doing it all wrong then. I'm going to have to rethink everything!

Grant must have given up on waiting for us because we found him outside at the car checking the oil. We maintained our silence on our newly purchased stash of Black Magic condoms, tattoos and massage oil.

That is, until we couldn't take it anymore and started laughing again.
Then he made the distinct mistake of finally asking us what took us so long.

My daughter and I exchanged a bonding smirk and then I casually said, "Oh, we were buying condoms..."

He rolled his eyes.
Like he didn't believe me.
Then he must have taken a second to think about it.

Because he knows that if whatever I say sounds really off - there is a 99.997% chance that it's 100% true...

Grant: "Did you really buy condoms?"
Me: "Yes."

silence...

Grant: "You did not."
Me: "Okay."

silence...

Grant: "Why in God's name would you be in there buying condoms?"
The two of us in stereo, all excited: "Because we've never seen a condom dispenser before in our bathrooms! It wasn't JUST a condom dispenser either!"

more silence.. at this point I can see why he's confused... I've had my tubes tied for the last 14 years and my daughter is waiting until after she graduates high school at least... this is SO NOT THE POINT!

We produced our bounty so he could bask in our excitement with us.
He still wasn't getting it.

Grant: "You know those are the kinds of condoms you get when you want to get someone pregnant or take your chances of getting an STD from the condom itself from a place like this..."
Me: "DON'T RAIN ON OUR PARADE!"

a whole lot of staring at our excited little faces while trying to figure out what in God's name to say to us to get us to stop...

Grant: "I'm not sure what the big deal is - that's standard in our bathrooms."
Me: "Yeah, we went into your bathroom too (WE HAD TO!). You had a two sided dispenser too. One side, regular condoms. Other side, ribbed condoms, "for her" - no aspirin..."

a whole fuckload of silence...

That's when I felt it was time to break open the marital aid package with the massage oil in it, you know, to break the silence. And what did I get for my efforts?

NOTHING!
That's what!

The freakin' box was EMPTY!
Empty, I say!
What the Hell kind of rip off bullshit is that?!

I looked at my daughter and said, "I think we should go back in and complain!" - being my offspring, she was all for the idea of witnessing that.

Grant: "Get in the car..."
Me: "Fine. I'll write them hate mail instead."

If any of you B&I employees are reading this:

Dear Barnett International Corporation,

You suck. We hate you.
Oh, and you owe me $0.75

Signed,
A Disgruntled & Disappointed Dispenser User
And that, is my condom story.

Oh, and by the way - the tattoo box contained a scorpion and a cartoon kitten playing with a green tennis ball...I don't even want to know who thinks that's the ultimate in Fun & Fantasy...

ever...

Ever feel like walking out of your own life?

Just going, "Alright, it's time to do something else now..." and then packing up and spinning a world map and wherever it lands, building another portion of your life in that spot?

Grant and I exchange a lot of comments about different places in the world. We, more accurately, he makes a lot of comments and I make mental notes.

He's been to a lot of places in Europe and I know I'm suppose to want to go to places like Paris and London and what we would consider mainstream areas here in America when it comes to other countries.

Lovely.
Really, couldn't care less.

It's not that I don't want to see Rome after he's told me all about it. It's just that in the back of my head, I know how much time I had to sit on the floor in the hall from being thrown out of class during Religious Education when I was in Catholic School.

Do I really need to be cast out by anyone that's a part of the Holy Apostolic See?

I KNOW me...

And I also know that the Pope would probably ultimately like me (come on!), but would be forced to act like he hates my guts in front of all of those witnesses because there are some questions I want answered.

Then what?

Then I'm back to being cast out in some hall counting floor and ceiling tiles again until I think my eyes are going to start bleeding.

Not to say that the places above aren't beautiful and amazing and hold some kind of appeal just to say I've gone there, but... and this is where we come to my other problem aside from my Pope issue...

I SUCK as a tourist.
I can't even be a decent tourist in my OWN country.

You want to know the most tourist like thing I did when I was on the West Coast?

laughs...it's ridiculous...

My version of being a tourist in North Hollywood was snapping a picture of the Hollywood sign while doing 75 mph down the highway.

It's got to be one of the worst pictures ever taken.
It looks more like a smear or a blur verses an actual famous landmark sign.

I vaguely recall looking down at the stars on the sidewalks, but that's only because I was in 5" heels and on my way to Frederick's of Hollywood and I didn't want to trip on any random garbage that some jackass threw on the ground.

Frederick's of Hollywood.
The motherland.
It's my Mecca and I was going home.

I'm sure I walked over a bunch of famous people's names in the process of getting there.

So, there I am - 3,000 miles away from home, Right?
On the "other" coast.

I ended up buying a cute outfit and two shirts.

While sitting at a cafe across the street afterward, I inspected my purchases again and what did ALL the labels say?

"Made in New York"

I could have saved myself the $1100 air fair and shopped online FROM New York.

As a side note, Frederick's of Hollywood IN Hollywood wasn't all it was cracked up to be either. I somehow expected more. Even so, when I'm asked what part of California I've been to, half the time I still say, "Frederick's of Hollywood!" - you know, like it's its own city.

Victoria can keep her damn secret.

It's rarely, if ever, about the sights to me.
About the tourism.
It's so much more about the people.

I had so much more fun talking to virtual strangers than anything.

If you throw me into any setting and let me be me without consequence, I will know every person in the room before I leave and their life stories. There's also a good chance that 30 years from now, I'll still be talking to some of them too.

I'm still friends with my best friend from kindergarten and we only went to the same Catholic school for two years - and not even two years in a row. She lives in Hawaii right now, but I just talked to her again last month. It's been 36 years - and no question, no matter how much time passes, when we see each other, it's as if no time has passed at all. We just pick up where we last left off.

Why?
Because people don't change.
I will root out your core personality and bank on it.

that's a whole other story though...and one I'm sure I'll write about at some point...because I can't help myself...

Places like the Sandals resorts are beautiful, I'm sure.

I looked at a few of them over the years though and I can't help but notice that no matter where they are - they're all cookie cutterish to me. Seriously, if I'm in Mexico - it shouldn't look the same as being in Jamaica or one of the Virgin Islands or Wyoming, should it?

No.

If I go to Mexico, I want to go to Mexico City and walk around the center of the place and talk to people that actually live there. Not people that were hired from New York to work in another country.

I want to know the culture of places.

I want to go to Argentina and find the seediest hole in the wall dance hall. I want to walk the shoreline of Bangladesh and talk to the people who live in mud homes. I want to go to Croatia and meet the people that herd for a living and see their view of the world and life.

I don't care about going to highlights in England. I would rather find some dive bar in the middle of Manchester and run into Ricky Hatton and have a drink with the guy while shooting darts.

The Grand Canyon moved Grant.
I'm sure it was wondrous.

I'm never going to think one day, "I need to see the Grand Canyon before I'm dead!"

It's just never going to go down like that.

You're far more likely to see me sitting on some steps outside some random building in Belgium talking to strangers - or in some ruined building in Poland asking about what it use to be before the war.

Czech Republic?
I'm in!
Hungry - yes.
Bulgaria - yes.

Transylvania... are you kidding me? I'll start packing RIGHT NOW...

I want to sit and have coffee with some captivating little old lady in Romania and listen to the story of her whole existence.

I have zero issue with standing in the doorway of some Temple to Kali in Calcutta and asking about the Hindu religion of the people that come out and about their traditions and customs and what they hold sacred.

Oh my God... Heaven...

Every opportunity Grant gets to say, "Hey, it's a third world country! Why don't you add that to the list of places you want to take your chances getting killed in!" - he takes it.

because he thinks he's funny... but mentally, I probably AM adding it to my list...

Don't get me wrong.
Give me a good hotel and I'm a happy girl.

If I'm in a hotel that I love, I don't see a need to leave the room.
Then I'm there for the hotel itself.

The next hotel on my list is The Waldorf Astoria in NYC.


I've been to NYC.
I don't need to go see anything in NYC.
The only time you'll see me outside is getting from the cab to the front door.
It will be ALL about the Waldorf.

If I want to walk around NYC I'll get one of the train packages for a day trip and wander around the streets until I hate people like everyone else there. But really... what for? I CAN DO THAT AT HOME!

You want a NY experience? Ride the subway for one stop and wait... some dickhead will inevitably come along and rub up against you proclaiming its an accident - and you'll start to think that stabbing people really shouldn't be against the law...

While I'm staying at a place like The Waldorf Astoria, I don't want to have to calculate the felony-I-may-have-to-commit vs. days-I'll-have-to-stay-in-prison ratio.

At those prices too, I'm not about to just spend 7 hours sleeping there while I'm out all day. If you're going to do that, stay at a Super 8 and save yourself a few thousand dollars. Who the hell cares.

It's like when I went to the Pocono Mountains. Caesar's Palace. Heart-shaped pool, champagne glass hot tub, kick ass filament star ceiling panels. Ask me if I cared about going to golf or play tennis when I've got a room like that.

Phhf.

I can do those things when I'm home.
I don't need to trek up some freakin' mountain to do that.
And while we're at it - I DON'T do those things at home either!

And I've been through Pennsylvania enough times in my life to know that there's nothing else there that I really need to see along the routes I've taken.

Yes, it's a tree.
Yes, it's an adult book store.
Yes, it's another truck stop restaurant.
YES, IT'S ANOTHER CONSTRUCTION/ROAD WORK SIGN THAT'S BEEN THERE FOR THREE DECADES.
Got it.

Does road construction in PA EVER get finished? I'm curious.

Oh, look - MORE billboards!
like every 20 feet...
And hey, in between the billboards are no speeding signs!
joy...

Grant jokes that there had to have been a really great deal on signs at some point there. There's a sign for EVERYTHING. There are signs that tell you there are other signs up ahead. It's amazing.

The sign budget is probably WHY THE ROADS ARE NEVER FIXED!

It's cool you guys are all into your gun laws, or lack of them (save Philly) - but I do seriously want to know if you're all just fucking with us New Yorkers trying to get to Maryland with your 18,000 orange cones and 14,000 caution signs.

TELL ME THE TRUTH!
I WANT TO KNOW!

I wouldn't blame you if you were.
I would find that funny.

CALLING ALL WORKERS: "Hurry Up! People on route 15 coming in from the North - PUT UP THE CONES. Fuck, we missed one strip. That's okay, we'll put up some RANDOM DETOUR SIGN further down by the Business District! HaHaHa! We'll show those Yankees!"

.... followed by a whole lot of snickering on walkie talkies and over squad car radios...

Really, you can tell me the truth.

eyeballing all of you suspiciously because I know at least ONE of you knows the answer!

I want credit too because I'm not going to say a word about the Amish traveling in their horse and buggies filled with their quilts and rocking chairs taking up half of the road so you can't even pass them. I'm really not...

It's killing me, but I'm really not.
Give credit where credit is due, damn it!

It's okay, Pennsylvania, we still love you. You're like our little brother and while we can mess with you, no one else can. If there is ever an attack on you, a bunch of New Yorkers will come in all hostile from Route 15 and 81 to help out.

Just promise to remove your damn road and detour signs so we're not all driving around Harrisburg for an extra hour swearing to ourselves because you think it's funny!

That's not asking too much, is it?

Anyway, there was really no point to this post this morning. I'm just wide awake and Grant is still sleeping and I've had a pot of coffee and Jolt Caffeine Energy Gum.

Not that that's really an excuse because I have consumed a pot of coffee before and then fallen fast asleep. It was just starting to seem like I needed to give some kind of reasoning for writing all of this.

work with me!

Alright, I'm off to find a world map.

J.D.

A friend of mine, who I talked about briefly in a recent post - did, indeed, stop by the house the house last week while he was in New York. I need to give him a name. We'll call him J.D. - in honor of John Douglas. He'd understand that. He lives about 1200 miles away, so I only see him once or twice a year at best.

J.D. and I have been friends for about 14 years. Good friends. By good friends, I mean - I'd give him bone marrow if he needed it. He's also told me in the past that he would take a bullet for me. So, we're good.

"Bone Marrow? Sure. Let me get a grapefruit spoon and a straw so I can get it out for you. How much do you need again? No problem. It's yours. Done."

This proclamation, however, in no way precludes us from harassing the shit out of each other. It's part of our charm together. It's expected.

We have a pattern...

If any conversation of ours doesn't result in him pushing my buttons to the point of me:

1) Calling him a Jackass.
2) Telling him to Bite me.
3) Telling him to Fuck Off.

...then the conversation simply isn't over yet.
Alright, fine... I admit, calling it charm might be a stretch.

There's good reason why I can count the times we've been out among the public on one hand.

Grant was sufficiently HORRIFIED by how we converse with each other and how relentless we are at it. It's simply the nature of our relationship and we understand it perfectly and don't get offended.

It's brutal honesty at its finest and even though to the naked eye it seems horrendous - it's never hurtful.

Harassing, hardcore button pushing and unfit for human consumpti0n - YES.
Hurtful and malicious though - NEVER.

It's not easy to find relationships that are so blatantly honest while maintaining the fine balance of being loyal and devoted at the same time. When I find people that I can be that way with, I never let them go. Those people are worth more than gold to me, easily.

He's hard-headed and opinionated and difficult and stubborn - and usually right. He makes snap judgments and isn't very quiet about them and doesn't much care for people - and doesn't understand why I talk to anyone and everyone.

I'm the social butterfly to his antisocial, "I hate everyone" way of life.

He likes to camp and do outdoor activities and just rolls his eyes when I tell him that, "No, I'm not going camping. People have jobs so they DON'T have to live like that. Why in the hell would I do that? What's wrong with you..."

I've learned a TON from just knowing him all these years.
He's the reason I studied profiling.

When I was taking my courses, he would be the first to tell me which professor he thought was an idiot and why. In large part, due to him, I was a teachers worst nightmare and best wet dream.

I was surprised on a daily basis when I would log into my school account and find that my password would still work and I wasn't banned from the classes over something he had pointed out to me or simply said, "does that sound right to you?" - and then I would build some case to support every aspect I could think of as to why I didn't agree.

We've discussed everything from sociology to tree fucking.
Yes, you read that correctly.

We happened to be online together when some HBO special about people with a fetish for trees came on. So, OF COURSE, that had to be watched together. Oh my God, there was no way that could be on without a running commentary from both of us.

I have to admit, tree fucking had never occurred to either one of us.

When I start the sentence with, "I polled my male friends to find an answer..." about some strange behavior they do that I'm trying to figure out - he's the first one I start with.

Prime example: "Why on earth do you people have that little pocket sewn into boxers? I can't figure it out"... "For condoms" ... "If I had a million years, I never would have guessed that one. I kept coming back to a bizarre place to keep loose change..."

The odder the question I can think of, the better it is for me - because if I can make him pause for any reason whatsoever, I'm a happy person because it's not easy to do.

I was on the phone with him when 9/11 happened. We were talking while I was having my morning coffee and had CNN on in the background when the first plane hit. I told him to turn on the news real quick.

The first thing out of his mouth was, "That's a terrorist attack" - I'm little Ms. Benefit of the Doubt, "How could you possibly know that? Maybe the pilot passed out and lost control. Maybe there's something wrong with the plane. Maybe he had a heart attack. Maybe he went into insulin shock. " - No, he was dead on.

Even being 1200 miles away, he's been by my side for every crisis and tragedy that's come up over the years. He's talked me down more than once too.

We've been through: weddings, divorce, deaths, wakes, trips to the cemetery, legal issues, schooling, new jobs, promotions, dates, melancholy, anger and clocked hundreds of hours of phone time together.

Every time I started a new game, he would have to go out and update his computer - if not buy an entirely new one just to find me again. There have been many after work trips to CompUSA where I had to be on the phone listening to him complain about me while buying new computer parts.

There's usually some, "I don't even know why I talk to you" comments thrown in the mix during those trips. Which are followed up with, "Stop complaining and just buy the fucking part and hurry up. I'm waiting!"

I'll never forget the time I made him go out and buy the Sims. It really wasn't a well thought out plan on my part. Every day I'd get some note about how he was making me clean toilets at his house and how I was never happy and burning down his kitchen.

He would go on and on about how I always had to talk to everyone in the neighborhood and would always invite them into his house to eat all of his food when he just wanted to watch TV and sleep.

Then it occurred to me that he never let me die in the game and that led to a lot of, "A-ha! See, you DO love me!" remarks - which just served to make him insane and not talk to me for a few days.

Let's face it though... it's easy to kill people off in the Sims game... put them in the pool and remove the ladder so they can't get out, eventually they'll drown... put them in a room and remove the door and eventually they'll starve to death... make a room with a ton of floor to ceiling windows and eventually spontaneous combustion will occur...

I once got a phone call when he was at WalMart shopping for soap and listened to a 20 minute speech about how he just wanted a fucking bar of soap. MAN soap. He didn't want to smell like a fruit or a flower, he just wanted regular soap. WHERE WAS IT?!

Do I look like I have the map layout of all WalMart stores all over the freakin' country?!...

Hours and hours went by on the front porch...
...and then it happened

He told me that his wife would like to have children soon. It took him nearly four hours to tell me, but he finally did.

It took him nearly four hours for a reason.
He knew what the result would be.

He's a smart one....he knew what was coming immediately after that statement...

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it was ON and I got to illicit all three responses that he usually gets out of me during a conversation. It was beautiful.

Apparently, at some point over the last decade and a half I had cursed him with the thought of having 5 girls - and clearly, he never forgot I said that.

Which still makes me laugh! I can't remember what stupid thing he said to me to make me wish five girl children on him, but I'm certain he so richly deserved it...

Grant kept trying to diffuse the conversation; which included me pointing out all of the things he was going to have to give up, in great detail, as soon as this little girl bundle of joy came into play.

Grant would pipe in with something like, "Kids are the best! Whatever you have to give up will be worth it!" - and I would say something like, "Yeah, take advice from the guy who doesn't have any kids!"

Within ten minutes, J.D. was talking about having to go to Elmo Concerts instead of being able to go away for the weekend with his buddies. I whole-heartedly agreed with J.D. - and then threw in what kid parties are like and how he can kiss sleep away as a thing of the past.

Then Grant would try another angle and I looked at J.D. and said, "Have I ever in my life lied to you?!" - to which he promptly said, "Never."

Which is true... good or bad, I never lie to him and God knows he never freakin' lies to me even when it's in his best interest ... not saying that sometimes it wouldn't be kinder to lie to each other, but it never plays out that way and that's how we like it... it's not for everyone... again though, no malice...

Then the idea of some daughter of his starting to date came to mind and I took that and ran with it. He's probably at home cleaning his guns right now. Grant had to leave the porch. When he thought the coast was clear to come back and we had moved on - and found that we hadn't, he said, "Wow... you guys are brutal..."

J.D. and I looked at each other and laughed and I said, "If things were in reverse, wouldn't you be doing the same thing to me?" and J.D. said, "Absolutely!!"

It's our understanding.
It's how we show affection.

If I simply said, "That's nice. Congratulations." he would look at me like he didn't know me anymore, like I didn't care about him anymore and that I needed to be institutionalized.

and he'd be the first one to want to sign his name on the commitment papers to have them take me away... smartass...

When he left, we did our usual, "I love you" responses and I told him to text me when he got back home so I knew he was alive. All standard stuff.

He wasn't gone five minutes before I got a text message that read, "Jackass"
laughs

So I replied back immediately with, "...and then there's the circus and I bet she'll con you into buying her a kitten!"
he hates cats...

What I didn't have to say is...

He's going to be one of the best dad's ever invented. That kid will have all the love any child could ever want or need. He'll never let that child down and I already know that he would die for her and she's not even here yet. She'll have him wrapped around her tiny little finger and he'll do right by her; her entire life.

He's as loyal as they make them and any child would be lucky to have him as a parent. They'll learn a lot and be prepared for life. They'll get to experience a lot and he'll take the time necessary.

I was honest with him about everything and he's been with me for all but three years of raising my own kids. Through sicknesses and diseases and teenage life.

One time something happened with my daughter and it hit me so hard that I was beside myself - and it just took a, "What's the matter with you? You'll handle it just fine like always" from him to put me right back on track.

Twelve little words.
It was because those 12 little words came from him.

I value him.
I'm proud of him.

He's ex-military, former Cop and now a business owner. We've been through all of that together too. I use to hate when he was a Police Officer. He'd talk to me before going to work and then he'd make sure I knew he was home alive and safe because I would worry.

We've been partners for years on a Christmas for kids program.

I made him upgrade his computer one time because I decided to play EverQuest and if I did it, he had to do it too. I ran the guild and he was my right-hand security - for four years.

Not that anyone can ever really make J.D. do anything - he does love to blame me though... which is fine with me...

He couldn't make it when I got married due to work, but he sent me a giant floral arrangement that showed up the day before.

We've been through countless football seasons together, to the point where I got asked to be in a Fantasy Football League that I went all Beyonce obsessed over and on a regular basis I would get notes from him saying, "How the fuck did *I* become the football widow here?!" - all to which the reply was always something like, "Quit whining and turn on your TV and tell me the local score! God Almighty, stop giving me shit already!"

We've never dated. We've never been inappropriate with each other (well, not in that way anyway). We've always been close though.

I've also given up on the idea of ever having my make-up fully on or my hair fully dried when he comes to see me - and he couldn't care less. Of course, he doesn't think anything of calling me at 6am to tell me he's around the corner of my house either. Jackass. So much for fair warning, right?

One time he called me from the airport and said, "I took a look through your Women's magazines while you were in the other room. I had no idea it was all smut!" - he makes me laugh.

He's probably learned more about women from me and our why's of things than anyone else. I've also learned what gets to men the most from him. He's a wealth of information in that area. He routinely thinks he's going to Hell for it, but he tells me the secrets anyway.

He justifies it by saying that he doesn't really care as long as I'm not using the information against him.

I could literally call him up and say anything and no matter how fucked it sounded; he'd back me. Of course, he also keeps telling me that he'd arrest me if he had to too...ass...

I would not trade him in for the world.
Even if I have made the statement that there are some days I would trade him in for a half a stick of gum when he pisses me off...

We use to go to the same chat site where people would watch us go back and forth together and more than once someone has said that they would buy a book we wrote together. As if we could ever possibly stay focused enough to actually put anything into print. One of us would probably stab the other with a pencil at some point before we ever made it over to the computer.

Speaking of pencils...

He knows that I hate pencils and sporks. I find them to be tools for indecisive people. Put it in ink if you mean it! Pick a fork or a spoon for the love of God - STOP FENCE SITTING.

So, naturally, he once sent me a box of sporks that he collected from every KFC he's ever fucking been to for a few years.
Really, who the hell does that...

He also once made me an animated .gif featuring talking sporks.
Because he's insane.
And he'd like to take me with him.
Seriously, who the hell does that...

I asked him once if he thought we could work together and then he went into this long speech about how we're like those two kids in forth grade that have to constantly be separated and moved away from each other because we're always causing a commotion in class together and not getting anything done.

It was probably a good analogy.
Basically, we're idiots together.

Someone once made the distinct mistake of saying something wrong and unwarranted about me and even though he doesn't know I saw it - I watched him shred them to pieces. He never told me, but I know.

He never hesitates to point out my flaws to me, but God forbid someone else says something wrong about me in front of him.

He's the kind of friend that could come to me and hand me a bloody knife and say, "Could you hold this for me for awhile" and I would do it. A lethal injection order could come down on my head and I wouldn't give him up.

By the same token, I wouldn't think anything of setting his car on fire if he pissed me off that much either (We both instinctively know this too...) - AND I WOULDN'T EXPECT HIM TO TURN ME IN EITHER.

I should tell him where this journal is just so he can read that above paragraph...laughs

He probably wouldn't either.

We both know that if I set his shit on fire, he's done something very wrong and deserved it.

He'd man up and take it.
throw some dirt on it, walk it off...

We've fought about hundreds of things.

God, Politics, Religion, People, Astrology, Animals, Social Issues, Laws, Family, Friends, Normalcy... yes, we've even fought about what's normal and not normal... the list goes on...

More than once one of us has yelled, "It's a good thing you're 1200 miles away!" - and meant it. More than once someone ELSE has asked us if we even like each other. Then we unite like we're blindsided Siamese twins, "Of course we do. I'd give up a kidney for him/her. How could you even ask that?"

I got in torture J.D. mode one day and asked him if he'd cry if I died. I don't even know why I asked that, probably to make him uncomfortable. The final answer was, "No, I'll be too busy building a shrine to you in the garage so I wouldn't have to think about you being dead."

For some sick reason, that answer still makes me laugh.
It was a good answer!

...and there better be a motherfucking shrine in his garage next to his beloved fucking car when I die because if there isn't, I WILL haunt him!

All his former little girlfriends have always wanted to be friends with me. I find that odd, but it use to happen all the time.

I've met most of his family.

He was nervous that day. Probably because I snuck away to go talk to them alone and in peace when he left me unattended and he knows how dangerous that can be...laughs... which, serves him right for leaving me unattended in the first place.

I once took him to my dad's house. I sat there in horror while the two of them exchanged stories. Fair is fair though.

throw some dirt on it, walk it off...

I joke that our first "date" was to a cemetery. It wasn't a date, but it's still funnier to put it that way. I know where every family member of his is in the cemetery down the street from my house. I remember saying to him, "Where's our second date going to be? Slaughterhouse? Prison visit? Mental ward?"

We've had a million discussion about protocol. I have no idea why he asks me anything like that. No matter what I tell him, he seems to find a way to mangle it.

Like one Halloween, when he first bought his house and I told him he had to buy candy to pass out. Of course, he didn't and when some little girl came to his door he had to hand her a $20.00 bill and then shut all the lights off and pretend he wasn't home for the rest of the night.

I told him if he wasn't going to buy candy the next year that he should put Police tape across his door.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't come to me over protocol questions because giving the funny-to-me answer is too tempting sometimes...

I serve as his woman-to-man translator.

"What does, "it's fine" mean... because I don't get the feeling that it's fine!"... "God, what did you do now to piss her off?"... then I usually get some story that makes me stare at the ceiling for a few minutes before translating for him...

I once elicited his advice about an uncomfortable situation I was in. My former husband and another male friend, who J.D. knew too, rented a movie that they hadn't seen and I had - and there was some sex scene in it and I really didn't want to be sitting on the couch next to both of them when that came on.

I asked J.D. how to handle it.

He told me to turn the tables and instead of being horrified; to start narrating. To start discussing how size matters and what questions I could ask and a slew of comments I could make.

Oh my God.
It was hysterical.

He was like, "What's the matter with you? Take control of the situation and I swear to God no one will utter a solitary word. You won't be the uncomfortable one then!"

It was great advice.

...and a very simple way to get a sex scene fast forwarded without having to be the one that does it.

I once called him from a bookstore to tell him that some guy was following me around and it was creeping me out. He told me to go to the True Crime section and announce to the guy that I was looking for tips - and to be sure to say it with a smile on my face.

That was also great advice.
Strange men will leave you alone after you say that.

He's the one that had to explain to me what the question, "How's it hanging?"...and answer: "to the left" meant. I never got that; nor did it make any kind of sense to me until he explained that it's a positioning issue with men. They hang to one side or the other.

WHO KNEW?!

It would never cross my mind to ask someone how they're hanging; for a number of reasons...

a) who cares
b) why would I want to know
c) WHO CARES?!

Nothing is sacred.
Obviously.

Naturally, this led to me going off about the merits of, "if I was a guy, I think I'd want to be straight up in briefs; not flying free in boxers, so I knew where everything was at all times and was contained" - that seems logical to me. It doesn't seem to be so logical to the entire male population though (not that I really understand why it doesn't, but I have noted that it doesn't).

This would fall under the category of a conversation that never needed to take place.

Pretty much like 90% of our conversations.

The more I sit here, the more I think of other things.
I'll spare you.
Your eyes are probably glazing over by now.

What I do know for sure, is that he's going to be a great father.
That kid is very, very lucky.
Let me re-phrase that... that GIRL is going to be very, very lucky...

inspired

Since I got out my frustration over the stupid half question in my last post, I was laying in bed trying to sleep (to no avail, obviously) and one thought lead to another in my mind and next thing I know - I was up to another example of calling things exactly how they are, and how that's a GOOD thing.

That may very well be the longest, most convoluted sentence ever written. Read it a few times if it didn't make sense the first time around, because I assure you that it will eventually.

You were forced to do sentence breakdowns with charts and lines in school.

I know you were!
You can do it!
I have faith!

Here's a Cliff Note example of how my mind works:

"Man, I feel so much better after writing that bitch about that stupid, moronic, half full/half empty question on my journal. I've been meaning to say that to the general public for a long ass time.

I should tell Brian that when he comes over tomorrow too; he'd appreciate my little theory on that. He's all about calling things out for what they really are. I suppose that's why he was a kick ass Cop.

Being a Cop would be a pretty cool job. They have to see things in terms that are very black and white. Their job is to take the law and arrest someone that breaks it and then turn it all over to the D.A., Judge and/or Jury for them to interpret the law as they see fit.

If I could take orders, I would have loved to be a Cop!

Wait a minute, who in the hell am I kidding - I could NEVER be a Cop. I've made that declaration a few dozen times. I know it's true. I'd make it on the streets for about 5.5 hours before I took the law into my own hands and shot some jackass who was doing something so fundamentally wrong that it violated my senses.

I could never do that job. I know my limits. Oh, you want to be a rapist - well, it just so happens that I have a few bullets in this gun - and look at that! One of them has your name on it! Today is your lucky day! Sort of...

"Okay, motherfucker!
Time to die!
Make your peace with God while you can!"

Speaking of which, I should watch that movie, "Black and White" again with Gina Gershon. I love that movie. My favorite part is when she's got the guy in her target and she just SNAPS and she's all like, "Go ahead! You shoot him, I'll shoot you - it'll be FUN!"

Erm... and that's the basics of why I could never do that job, because I would be JUST LIKE HER in that scenario.

Yeah, I could see it now - Internal Affairs would have my number and the number of an Arraignment Judge on speed dial. Then I'd have to figure out how to convince a jury of my peers that the guy actually fell on the bullets six times because he's a klutz.

"How is that MY fault, your Honor?!"

Even I'm not sure I could sell that one. Wow though, if I could - what kind of freakin' win would THAT be. Come to think of it, I bet I might be able to sell that story! If someone can actually get away with a "Twinkies" defense... oh my God, what the hell am I going on about... sheesh... next...

I think one of the best compliments I've ever gotten from Brian is him saying that if we were in the Army together and in War, he would trust me to have his back. That's a huge compliment.

Not that I could ever be in the military either - with my whole lack of, taking orders, thing. It was still a good thing to say.

He's right though, oh my God, if someone took a shot at him I'd go insane and that person would have to pay. I told him that I'm the only one allowed to kill him. NO ONE GETS TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!

I'd give that guy part of my liver if he needed it.

I'm never going to get any sleep this way. I should just get up and get some coffee and write or read or plot. Whatever. Something.

...it goes on and on and on like that.

That's not even scratching the surface, but it should be enough of an example to give you a little insight.

Anyway, in the midst of my silent tirade in my head while laying there, things somehow worked its way around to measuring people with their own measuring sticks.

Not mine.
Theirs.

I'm fairly cool with a large, large number of things. You want to be a polygamist, more power to you. You want to marry your own sex, knock yourself out. You want to tell me flat out that you're a womanizing asshole - okay.

I could, and ironically, have had the following conversation:

Womanizing Dickhead: "I think it would be good to tell you that I'm a bottom of the barrel, womanizing dickhead - all in the name of fair play. Oh, and by the way, I'm 100% against animal cruelty. People that hurt animals should be shot and then subsequently dragged behind a bus doing 45 down a dirt road."

Me: "Okay. Noted. Thanks!"

I'm actually happy for you that you know yourself well enough to understand that about yourself and your sense of honesty made you say that to me. We're cool. I will NOT be surprised when I see you doing your thing. I won't get all moral on you. I won't lecture you. Good for you for doing some soul searching and coming to some kind of conclusion about yourself.

I don't really care.
I've been warned.
Fair enough.

Granted, I won't be dating you. I won't introduce you to any female that I even remotely know and if you look sideways at my sister - I may gouge your eyes out with a fork.

In the vein of keeping even, I feel that that's necessary to say to you so we're both on the same page.

Noted as well?
Good.
We're cool then.

I value direct honesty and I have a huge fear of being misunderstood and there's no point in mincing words.

This in no way precludes us from being friends.
I'm sure you must have some good qualities too.
Even if you don't, you still get credit for being honest with me.

Really, we're cool.

Now, you can try to lay every female with a pulse around me and I'll ignore you and you're totally safe as long as you don't try to involve me. Have at it. I'll even try very hard not to laugh and roll my eyes. It effects us, not at all. Don't worry your pretty little head over it for one second.

If you try to involve me or get me to vouch for you being a good, caring, one-woman man sort - I will totally blow you in in no uncertain terms and then go back to whatever it was that I was doing. So, you know, you probably don't want to involve me.

But we're OKAY!

You be the best bottom of the barrel, scumbag, dickhead womanizer you can be, honey!

You can tell me all about it later when you're done doing what you're doing.
We'll have coffee or something.

This is where the problem comes in...

If I see the same guy outside kicking a dog - that's a BIG NO!

From that point on, you will forever be known as the jackass dog kicker and I don't even want to know your name now. You have violated your own honesty and now you're nothing but a real asshole that I want nothing to do with.

Me: Hey, you - LYING lowlife animal kicker, there's a bus outside waiting for your ass! I hear he's taking the back roads to his next stop! He's got a gun in his glove compartment too. Hurry!"

You broke your OWN rule.
I have no use for you.

No one else put that rule on you, that's something you came up with on your own. If you didn't want to be held to it, you never should have said it to me!

No sympathy.
None.

If you were a dog kicker, you could have just said, "Oh, yeah - and in my spare time, I like to kick animals."

Sure, I would sit there and stare at you to see if you were serious or not. I'll probably suggest a new hobby, like, watching paint dry or sniffing glue - but I'll take you at your word.

I won't be shocked if I see you do it then either. I'll stare again, and possibly throw a rock at you - but I will be forced to say to myself, "well, he DID tell me... I can hardly say I wasn't warned..."

I don't personally know any dog kickers, but my point remains the same...

Say what you mean, mean what you say - and expect that I'll hold you to it.
Otherwise, really, what's the fucking point.