Black Tracks

Poker Face -- Lady Gaga

2010-03-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

Just like a chick in the casino
Take your bank before I pay you out
I promise this, promise this
Check this hand cause I'm marvelous

So, anyone who followed me home from my errands today got a glimpse of my musical ADHD.

No sooner had Sarah Brightman hit that last note did Lady Gaga make her presence known. I know, for a fact, that the sudden acceleration of the older woman who had been pacing me on Center City is directly attributable to the change in musical moods. Truly, Granny got gas when Kelly got Gaga.

Have you ever judged someone or something without all the facts? I had only known Lady Gaga from her images in People Magazine, one of my many sources of newsworthy information (yes, I realize I just insulted my own intelligence, but I am feeling a mite self effacing at the moment). Let me tell you, the images really did not make me curious for the music . . . Too put it bluntly, she freaks me out, and not in a good way.

Then, one day I was channel surfing on XM while in traffic . . . The iPod was out of juice so I went for the emergency back-up car noise. I caught this song during the chorus and I thought the sound was pretty catching. I quickly checked the audio information, and low and behold, I was rocking to Gaga.

Well, after the initial shock wore off, I headed home and by that night Gaga was the newest fixture on my "Just Push Repeat" playlist. This song is often my lead song on the elliptical . . .it gets me moving when I need it.

To this day, I cannot honestly say I am goo goo for Gaga (it was too easy, I had to do it) but because of her I was reminded that I shalt not judge an artist for her appearance lest I wish to miss the chance to get moving.

Sarai Quii -- Sarah Brightman

2010-03-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

La mia luce accendi tu
E sai perche'
Io mi sento forte
Solo grazie a te
Tu sarai sempre quii
Tu sarai sempre quii

Have you ever had music literally move you to tears? Sarah Brightman's music has always had that power over me and it continues, to this day, to be some of my favorite audio stimulation for any situation or circumstance.

Like many others, I first discovered Sarah Brightman through the brilliant work of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom. Her voice just inspires . . .there is no other way to explain it.

I was all but a pesky kid when I first heard the Phantom score. Until then, my music scope was limited to the great works of Michael Jackson, REO Speedwagon and, of course, New Kids on the Block. This was a departure from the norm for me. Seriously, musicals were for old people, like my parents, and those who walked with their noses at a permanent 45 degree angle. Not for a youngster with a penchant for bubble gum and boy bands.

But I can remember hearing "Think of Me" for the first time and feeling my eyes fill with tears. I had never heard anything so beautiful or moving. I couldn't understand the lyrics, the thematic meanings or the significance. . . I only knew that listening to the music made me feel like crying and moved me more than words could express. When I finally got to see the stage show, I seriously cried throughout the entire show. Can't explain why, I just did.

Over the years, I have continued to follow Sarah's music evolution. She certainly has come a long way from Christine. When the Symphony album came out, I can remember being in a bookstore and hearing it over the audio system . . .Well, the predictable happened, and I ended up sniffling in the Romance section. Three kleenex and two CD's later (gotta get one for Mom too), I was on my way. I think I must have listened to the CD no less than 8 hours straight when I first got it. . .Rarely, if ever, do I find an album where every track moves me.

Sarai Quii is, without a doubt, my favorite song from the album . . .and no, not just because the man on the duet, Alessandro Safina is an Italian Stallion of the first order. Even in Italian, a language not in my personal repertoire, the song carries tremendous meaning for me. I don't know the English translation, and frankly I don't need to. I just know it is good music, and even now, I still need kleenex when it comes on.

Please Don't Go Girl -- New Kids on the Block

2010-01-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

Tell me you'll stay
Never ever go away
I need you (I need you)
I guess I always will

Please don't judge me internet . . . Every once in a while I like to relive the days of my youth (except the middle schools days because, let's face it, middle school sucked lemons). These guys and their bubble gum lyrics help me do that.

I was a huge, and I do mean HUGE New Kids, or NKOTB, fan. At one time, photos of the band from smuggled Bop, Bopper, Seventeen and Teen, magazines were used as wallpaper in my room. I had the pillow, the pillow case, the tapes, the buttons, the tour jacket, the posters, the teddy bear, and the official membership in the New Kids fan club. I wrote to the boys, who never wrote back because I am sure they were all fighting over me. . . let me live the dream. I literally drove my mother crazy with the music. I was somewhat of an outcast in my school for liking these guys. Everyone else was into "real" music groups like Pet Shop Boys, Survivor, INXS and Guns 'n Roses, but I was all about the Kids.

My favorite was Joe . . .I mean, look at that punum there. When he did this song, he had that sexy high voice (damn puberty for taking that away from me). He just is too cute for poetry. Donny scared me, Danny was just there, Jon was a fantasy of an older man sort (if I am being completely honest, he made my tooshy tingle just a bit but he was into Tiffany and I could not compete), and Jordan could make my toes curl with the falsetto . . .but I was lost to Joe.

This is my favorite of their songs, primarily because of the Joe starring role. Lets face it, the lyrics are average at best, and boy band trite to say the least, but oh they spoke to the young and starstruck me. I used to play this over and over and over singing to the lyrics and imagining that Joe was in my room singing to me.

When I finally got to see the guys in concert, which is a story for another time, I lost my voice screaming for Joe while he was singing this song. Sadly, he probably never saw me in the crowd that night, what with the thousands of other screaming fans who had the audacity to come to my concert. But he sang this for me and only me.

His girl still ain't gone. She may be a bit older, and somewhat (being generous here) more mature, but the song and the memories can still cause tooshy tingle.

Barry Manilow -- The Concert

2010-01-14T19:54:00.000-08:00

Because music comes in all forms, and all formats, I decided to share some of my most memorable concert experiences as part of the new blog format.

There is a story here. . .don't judge. I love my brother Mike. I really, really, REALLY love my brother Mike. He is the only one in the world I would have done this for.

With that, let me set the scene . . .Picture it, St Louis, the late nineties. I am in college getting ready to come home for the holidays when I get a call from my mother. The conversation basically went as follows:

"Hi Sweetie. We have the laundry room cleared for you. How many suitcases can I expect and should I bring the SUV to pick you up?"

"Very funny," I replied. And after a prolonged silence, "alright, two large ones and two carry ons. You may want to bring a dolly."

After much laughter, Mom carried on. "Honey, you may need to sit down, I have news. I left your father unsupervised with your brother recently . . ."

"Mom, we have discussed this. They are never, ever to be left alone. Mike is sneaky and Dad is susceptible. Just tell me. How bad can it be?"

Mom took a deep, dramatic breath, and then she let fly with the horror. "Your brother learned that Barry Manilow is coming to San Diego soon, and he told your father, and your father got tickets, and he got four tickets, and I am not going without you."

"I need a drink."

"You're too young to drink," Mom replied primly.

"Mom, do you really want me to remind you of the Mexico incidents from your youth?"

"I should have never encouraged you to speak. Moreover, I should have just waited until you were home and let you find out the hard way," Mom replied. "Anyway, that is not the worst, I mean best part. Don't you want to know where we are sitting?"

"Isn't it bad enough that we are sitting in the arena?" I replied glibly.

More silence, and then the dreaded words. "Kelly, your father went through a ticket broker. We are sitting on the floor, in the front row, dead center."

The remainder of the conversation is not fit to print . . .sufficed to say, I hit at least three of Carlin's Seven Dirty Words in the remainder of the conversation and then I hightailed it to the campus bar for liquid courage. But lets face it . . .there is no amount of liquid that could dull the senses enough.

Fast forward to me coming home, somewhat subdued and drowning in dirty laundry. Mom and I girded our collective stomachs and prepared for the Barely Man-enough (did I say that) concert. Some brilliant person, otherwise known as my masochistic Dad, suggested we make a night of it with dinner before hand. Oh goody, so I will have a full stomach to throw up with.

The concert was at one of the local arenas and before I knew it, I was plunked in a folding chair on the front row between my brother and my mom. All too soon, the lights went down and the show began.

Can I just say that Barry Manilow is one of the smallest men I have ever seen. I mean, I could seriously span his waist with my hands (not on a first date of course). He was wearing a purple suit and enough make up to put Mary Kay in the black for decades. And lucky me, I got to see it all up close and very personally.

Mike, on the other hand, missed a good chunk of the concert. Apparently, Barry has a large, and I do mean LARGE following, in the form of very voluptuous women. I mean, seriously, there was not a Weight Watchers meeting that night . . .all the ladies were screaming for Barry.

The largest of the large Marge's was conveniently seated right behind Mike. The reason Mike missed a majority of the concert is because his "lady friend's" bodacious and humongous tatas were literally covering Mike's head. Every once in a while, Mike would swipe blindly at the woman trying to move the gazungas out of the way, but it was useless. Mike spent the entire concert head banging to the great sounds of Copacabana, and not voluntarily.

Mom and I were in tears . . . The laughter had us completely breathless. Dad, in the meantime, was practically sitting on Mike's lap because the person next to him took up all of her seat and half of his. None of us really saw the show on stage. The one in the audience was too good to miss.

It was one of the best concerts of my life, simply because of the stories and memories that we have as a family. Also because we all ended up having to have chiropractic treatments and massages to recover from the beatings we took.

Standing Outside the Fire -- Garth Brooks

2010-01-13T18:37:00.000-08:00

Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire

I found Country music in college. I was a hard core, pop rock, high hair, trendy and boy band crazy fiend all through middle and high school. Then I went to St Louis, and a couple of my friends turned me onto the Country music genre.

I was forever hooked, much to my family's dismay. I started talking with a twang and saying "y'all" constantly in conversation I had the boots, the hat, and the tendency to frequent the stuff-kickers bar, otherwise known as Stampede, on the weekends. I mastered line dancing, and I tried to become proficient at the two step . . . for which I will eternally remember the men whose toes were sacrificed in that fun pursuit.

Garth Brooks was HUGE when I was in college, and there are so many of his songs that I love. This one speaks to me from the lyrics to the video. It is, at its most basic, about not letting life go on without you and not being afraid of the scrapes, the scars and most of all the adventure.

There is a point in the movie The Holiday where Kate Winslet's character talks about being the master of her own life. For a long time I lived to fulfill the expectations of others. I was afraid to step off the path that had been set before me . . . education, a stable job and a predictable path. It has only been in the last decade or so that I have learned to make life mine.

It is so much easier when the only map you follow is your own. Don't get me wrong, I am so grateful to all the people who have pushed me to succeed, but I am so very happy to be choosing my own paths now. I stopped asking permission and I started asserting myself and speaking to my feelings and emotions. It is so empowering to know that I do not have to be afraid of having thoughts, feelings and emotions.

If I want to jump into the fire, the only person I need to check with is myself.

Sound of Silence -- Simon and Garfunkel

2010-01-10T12:44:00.000-08:00

"Fools," said I, "You do not know
"Silence like a cancer grows."
"Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed in the wells of silence.

Those who really know me probably would question what I know about the sound of silence. I like to talk . . . whether people like to listen is a topic for debate at the highest levels.

In all honesty though, silence is something I am familiar with. I can be, in equal measures, very devious and very vulnerable when I get quiet. Dave's first warning sign is normally my silence, for it is pretty stark when it hits. What I don't often say is that, for me, the silence is just as important, just as loud, as the talk. We can learn so much in quiet.

Sidebar here -- Have you ever noticed that some of the most intelligent, outgoing and gregarious people can often also be the quietest? If they are anything like me, it is because there are times when they crave the precious resource of peace and silence. Silence is restorative at its most basic, but it can also be a powerful path to any number of ends.

I consider myself to be a smart person, but sometimes song lyrics just do not make sense to me. The lyrics to "Sound of Silence," for the most part, go right over my head. Except for the passage that I quoted. I can see how silence can eat someone whole and leave nothing behind. But I also see how constant noise without its peaceful counterpart can be just as empty.

Communication is so integral to our social structure, but it is amazing how bad we can be at this very fundamental skill. Books and lectures have been written, seminars conducted, millions of dollars have transferred hands, but in the end we, as humans, can really stink at talking to each other.

In my opinion, basic as it may be, it is because we forget that God gave us (yes I am going there) two ears but only one mouth. We need to listen twice as often and twice as well as we speak. So much can be avoided through active listening, and really hearing the words in their context as delivered. If we put half the money we have spent into listening seminars, I think we would be a lot better off.

Words can mean so much, but the silence can be just as instructive.

A Pirates Life For Me -- Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean

2010-01-08T18:02:00.000-08:00

We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads
Drink up me hearties, yo ho

Ok, well, I had hoped there would be more time before we got into full blown confession mode, but the Ipod has other ideas. It wants me to admit that I, a supposed adult, am totally, completely and utterly ENAMORED with all things Disney. I am a super fan of the House of Mouse. . .I even have gone so far as to purchase art that previously hung in the Disneyland Hotels. Seriously, my walls overfloweth.

When I was about 4 or 5 my parents started a new tradition for my birthday which is in early September. Every year, right before labor day, we would go on vacation for a week. The first three days were spent at the Disneyland Hotel and in the park . . . The rest of the week we spent in Big Bear. The three days at Disneyland were always like a bribe to get me ready for the rest of the week at Big Bear. I got car sick every year going up the mountain and I learned to hate the drive and, by default, the destination.

But those Disneyland days were magic for me. I have so many memories from those trips. I got my first Barbie at Disneyland. I used to love those large multi-colored suckers that they sell all over the park . . .much to my father's frustration when the sucker made a "reappearance" on the drive to Big Bear one year. There were years of stuffed animals, most of which I still have, and clothing of the unique Disney variety. I had birthday dinners with the characters, and for a couple of years we were able to get into Club 33 (the uber super secret, sort of, private club located above the Pirates of the Caribbean ride) for lunch or dinner.

Pirates of the Caribbean has always been one of my absolute favorite rides. I love the sights, sounds, and (surprisingly) the smell of the ride. Because it is a water ride, in the dark, there is a sort of dank and musty smell to the ride that is forever the Pirates smell for me. Smells are big memory triggers for me. No matter what, a musty, dank smell will always remind me of riding in the dark past the fabled, and cursed, pirate treasure.

Having some of the Disney soundtrack is a fun, and budget friendly, way for me to be close to the house that Mickey built. I can listen to the pirates, and for a moment, I am in New Orleans square, looking for the booty and trying to avoid being sold as a wench at auction.

Oh Holy Night -- The Priests

2010-01-06T21:37:00.000-08:00

A thrill of hope
The weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks
A new and glorious morn

What a way to start the new blog idea . . .One of my favorite hymns for the Christmas season and, since I swore to be honest, all year around.

I discovered the group The Priests one day on CNN.com when they were profiled in conjunction with their album release. It is a group of three Irish priests who make some of the most beautiful harmonies I have heard. They are the kind of priests that you can relate to . . . I am not Catholic but I would cheerfully sit through one of their masses. What amused me the most about them was that, even with the recording deals and notoriety, they are always and ever devoted to their parishioners and their primary calling. Plus, did I mention they are Irish? That, for me, is a muy mucho mondo bonus.

I love Ireland. I loved it even before I was able to travel there. Ireland is one of those places where I can literally feel the history around me. The country as a whole is rich in culture and steeped in traditions that are older than our nation. Plus, there is a wonderful, mystical quality to the Irish countryside . . .must be all those Celtic myths that have seeped into the soil.

Dave and I were blessed to have 4 precious days in Ireland as part of a cruise/land tour package. Now, aside from the fact that I fell asleep constantly on the bus portions of the trip, those four days were pure magic. I cannot stay awake in a car I am not driving . . .It is like a drug when you put me in the passenger seat. I go out faster than the lights on the Griswold's street at Christmas.

I can remember the first day, being up at 5 a.m. and exploring the area around our hotel, only to come across the ruins of a church and an old cemetery with stones that predated the founding of America. How freaking cool is that . . .to find a piece of history on a morning walk. For the remainder of the trip, we made our way along the west coast of Ireland, stopping at the Cliffs of Moher, Blarney Castle, the Shannon River and various points along the Ring of Kerry.

I bought so much in those four days that I got a reputation as a shopper (not one that I am shy about either). I can remember the men of the tour group asking Dave how he can let me shop so much . . . bless his heart, he just smiled. It was as close to heaven on Earth as I can imagine.

So when I want to relive those four days in Ireland, I plug in the Priests, and for a while I am in the land of faeries and the little people.

Hello Again . . .

2010-01-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

It has been awhile.

I took an extended blogger leave of absence . . .oh . . .forever ago plus a day because, well, just because. Life came over me like a wave or five and I forgot to remember how much I enjoy this.

Well, I am back world, and thanks to a movie (see next post), I am chockerboc full of ideas for a new year of blogging. It will be interesting. . .there will be laughs, tears, and some hair loss by yours truly, but I hope to enjoy the ride.

Listening History

2010-01-05T17:42:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has seen the movie "Julie and Julia" will relate to me on this one. I dare you to watch that movie without immediately trying to find a way to create a unique blog. You can't do it . . .I swear, it is like the images on the screen trigger some latent writing gene to wake up and smell the exclusive rights.

Well, I admit it . . .I have been searching my overly stimulated and undernourished creative brain for something to make me unique in the blogisphere and after not too much thought I had an idea.

Something that has always been a constant for me, even in the worst of times, is music. I cannot live a day without hearing music . . . any music (except muszak because that only reminds me of the dentist and that makes me want to hide in a dark place). There are so many songs that inspire me, cause me to pause and remember the times past and generally just get my groove going into overload.

My Ipod is a constant in my life. I cannot even remember what I did before the mini-apple of my life . . . Oh wait, that's it . . . I made mix tapes and then mix CD's. Ah, there was nothing so sweet sounding as hitting record to try and catch my favorite songs as they came on B100 or any of the other radio stations of my youth.

Anyway, thanks to the Jobs man and his minions I now do not have to rush to hit the record button when "Eye of the Tiger" hits the airwaves. Nor do I have to fumble through mutliple CD catalogs to try and find the exact Yanni song to fit my mood.

Consequently, I have, probably, the worlds most interesting playlist of all time. I mean, who else could possibly have Sarah Brightman side by side with Eminem. Each and every song holds some memory or feeling for me. Music is my link to the past, the key to my memories, and a lifelong companion.

So my new idea is to use my Ipod music library to record my history. As often as I can, I will use the Ipod to select a random song from which I will concoct a posting. It may be a memory, a thought, or just a random passing of eloquent nonsense. No matter what, it will be interesting, honest and all me.

Let the tunes begin . . .

Transitions

2009-08-15T14:33:00.000-07:00

Transition . . .simple word, three syllables, packed with meaning. At it's most basic, transition means change . . .A change in circumstance, situation or status.

Every year around this time, I start thinking about transitions. I think it is the back to school thing. For me, the start of the school year was not always fun. I was the fat, unusual kid who lived in the boonies and did not fit in anywhere, and I was the absolute favorite target of the school bullies. Add to that, I went to a secular private school, where the core classmates never changed, and that just added a heck of a lot more pressure. I hated grade school, middle school was hard, and by high school I was just resigned and focused on getting out. I just wanted to get to a new situation, and I knew that was coming in college.

The transition between high school and college, though, that was tough. College for me was the most incredible time in my life (short of the time I am now living in with my husband) but I really was not prepared at all for the changes and issues that come with moving from my parents house to a dorm, and I was really not ready to be on my own. I found myself really wishing my high school had some program for seniors and recent college students to get together and discuss the issues and complications that come with the transition from one situation to the next. Then again, I don't think anyone's particular situation can translate to another.

The longest I had ever been away from home before college was two weeks. And I had never lived outside of San Diego before. I had never shared a room before. Never had to pay bills or really create my own schedule for everything from classes to laundry before. And I really had never had to deal with a roommate who started sleeping with the "love of her life," one week into the year and in our room every night before. I was 17, and all of a sudden I was on my own, in the midwest, away from everyone I knew, and completely unprepared for the life I had transitioned into.

Looking back on it, I am glad that I went through what I did. It forced me into a "grown up" situation with no safety net . . . and you know what? I survived. Even better, for the first time in my life, I thrived. I found my first best friend, I found acceptance from people for who I was and not for who I should be. And I found that I could balance my own checkbook and pay my own bills on time. All of that and more, I did on my own. No guides, no boundaries, and no lectures. I survived without supervision . . .What a concept!

So here is what I think . . . We need to do a good job for our kids when it comes to preparing them for that fateful transition to freshman year in college, or that first year out of high school. We need to give them the capabilities to survive and thrive on their own.

But in the end, we just need to give them a push and let them find out for themselves how to work in transition.

Terminal PMS

2009-04-05T20:31:00.000-07:00

My husband must really love me. He has to put up with my emotions, my legal thought process (that alone is grounds for an evaluation by a trained professional) and, on occasion, terminal PMS.

I say terminal not because it is terminal for me, but more because it can be terminal to the happiness, sense of well being, and general bodily intactness of those around me. Many have seen the psycho, wine consuming, chocolate hogging beast that sometimes inhabits my body, but few have lived to tell the tale. Therefore, the warnings have not been written.

This is a story of how my husband and his satanic cat fell victim to the beast. I say his satanic cat because the cat refuses to acknowledge the fact that, despite 6+ years of marriage and cohabitation, I am not going away. That, and sometimes the cat looks like this:

Note -- This is a simulated image. The actual image of the satanic cat has been altered to protect your computers from demonic possession.

Anyway, one fine day my head was located roughly three inches above my neck and my skin was a sickly shade of green. . .I may have even been speaking in tongues. My husband was on my list (you know the one) because he was doing something . . .I can't remember what that something was but I guarantee you it was something that deserved the list, something like breathing too hard or being nice. The cat was prancing around the house, and the dog, well he was the only smart one. . .he was hiding from me in the backyard.

Also, he is too cute for me to hurt. . .just look at this handsome fellow:

Pardon the doggie porn.

Anyway, as a recap we have one hiding dog, one innocent husband, one satanic cat, and me.

Well, the innocent husband decided to take a shower, because it was the safest place to be at the time, or so he thought. I was puttering around the house when I heard a tell tale scratching sound which signaled that the cat had found our newest piece of furniture and decided to mark it as his own.

It must have been the hormones, because all of a sudden I had the super human speed of The Bionic One, and I was able to grab the cat in the middle of his dash to his hidey hole. I caught the little bugger just in time.

I am beyond peeved at this point because there are now scratches in our new chair, and I am holding a hissing and spitting cat. And then it dawns on me. . .the cat likes my innocent husband so much, maybe he should be spending more time with him.

And that is when it happened. I walked very calmly into the bathroom, announced to my showering, innocent husband that HIS cat needed some quality time with him, and then I very calmly dropped the cat into the running shower with my innocent and compromised husband.

I will never forget the look my husband gave me . . .It was a combination of sheer WTF and concern. The cat, well, he fell fast, hit the water and then proceeded to jump (as only cats can do) back into the air, through the shower curtain and out of the bathroom.

Told you I was terminal!

_____________________________________

For everyone concerned on the welfare of the ~~satanic~~ wonderful cat, here is a post shower picture of him IN THE CHAIR!

A Weighty Issue

2009-04-01T20:28:00.000-07:00

We have already established that I am a somewhat curvaceous woman. I have my own area code, and I am reluctantly proud and somewhat resigned to that fact.

One thing that I have learned more recently is that my feet also have a challenge when it comes to weight. Specifically, I have an extremely heavy lead foot. And boyo does the California Highway Patrol know it.

Recently, the local Monitor/Official Pastry Tester was ~~trying to make the monthly quota~~ doing his job in keeping the speed low on a local road, and I happened to come by when he was tuning up his radar.

Lucky me . . .Is there really anything better than seeing those lovely lights behind you?? Better yet, Officer Not So Friendly looked nothing like these guys:

Sidenote here: I LOVED John . . .Ponch not so much. But John, Hottie McHotterson! And John would never stoop to doing infomercials for Florida swamp land.

Back to the lesson: Some apologizing and lecturing later, I was on my way with a lovely yellow piece of paper by my side, and Mr. Officer Man was on his way to the local doughnut shop.

Oh well, it has been a while since I attended online traffic school. Maybe I can best my last time of 1.4 hours from start to finish for completing the reading and test sections (supposed to take 8 hours, but I am the speed ~~cheater~~ reader supreme).

I don't remember when exactly the Highway Patrol target was applied to my car. I only know that my bank account started taking some hits in the last about 6 years. I can be going with the flow of traffic and get singled out by Officer Quota. I can be in rush hour traffic and get a ticket for going 20 miles per hour over the speed limit (that one I should have fought, but I am a woosy baby). I have even gotten a ticket for coasting downhill too fast.

A couple of years ago, my collection was so big that I became the proud recipient of a DMV warning letter . . .too many tickets+too little time = DMV Nasty Gram. For a while, my insurance record resembled an early inning baseball score, points wise and my husband had enough material on me in terms of driving that I could not compete.

Recently, I thought I had finally turned a corner. . .foolish mortal that I am. But no, I just had to find Quota Man and now I am stuck with a fine and a list of acceptable traffic schools.

Where is the Krispy Kreme light when you need it????

Thank You Mr. Lipton

2009-03-28T20:22:00.000-07:00

I love the show Inside the Actors Studio. I wish I had the talent to act, just so I could be invited by James Lipton to be on the show.

At the end of every show, just before he turns the guest over to his students, he uses the famous Bernard Pivot questionnaire to find out more about the guest of the day. I love the questions, and I thought that, since it does not look like I will have the chance to talk to Mr. Lipton or Mr. Pivot any time soon, I would just answer the questions anyway.

Here is more than you probably wanted to know:

1. What is your favorite word?

Discombobulated -- Just like to say it.

2. What is your least favorite word?

Hate -- Very little is worth the power and emotion this word carries.

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

The pure sounds of happiness. My brother Mike has the best giggle when he gets going, and there is a sparkle and light that both my Dad and my Husband get in their eyes when they are just getting ready to cut loose with a genuine smile and laugh. That look and those sounds . . .It may as well be opera.

4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Sounds of pain and despair, and anything that even resembles abuse of an innocent being. Nothing makes me lower than to see someone hurt that which is innocent and unconditionally loving.

5. What sound or noise do you love?

Good Music and Loud Laughter.

6. What sound or noise do you hate?

The sounds of utter despair and sadness.

7. What is your favorite curse word?

Lord forgive me for what I am about to type . . .Rusty C#nt Bucket F%$&ing A$$ Headed Hole.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Actor or Teacher.

9. What profession would you not like to do?

Veterinarian -- I cannot even face the thought of dogs or horses or any of my favorite animals in pain and there is no way I could put an animal I knew down.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

First off, yes there is a God and yes there is a heaven. And yes, I cannot wait to see it and all my family again someday.

When I get to the gates, I hope to be greeted simply with "Welcome Home."

My Cups Runneth Over

2009-03-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

OK, here is something else that frosts my cookies . . . mmmmmmmm cookies . . . When the Hollywood "Press" claims the latest flavor of the week has put on some pounds, all of a sudden she is "curvy."

No, I beg to differ . . .a "curvy" Hollywood starlet is simply bloated, off the water pills and laxatives. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jessica Simpson, Meghan McCain (tee hee I am a size 8) and Kim Kickintheassets are not curvy . . .intellectually challenged maybe, but not curvy.

No, curvy women are women who consistently haunt the double digit clothing racks. They are the women who actually eat when they are out with others (even men and dates at that). They are the women who know there is more to life than leafy bunny food, vegetable juice and micro-greens. You know, women whose bras aren't filled with Kleenex and silicone.

Curves mean cellulite and muffin tops. Curves mean back fat and shoulder divits. You cannot have a curvy woman without the thunder thighs, and you cannot have the soft and natural pleasure pillows without the tummy. Truly curvy women know that jeans are the enemy, and that pants application can also double as aerobic exercise.

I am a curvy woman. I have not seen a single digit size since I was a single digit age, and even then I think it was more of a fluke. I have never known the pleasure of sitting while hugging my knees to my chest (both tummy and thighs prevent that), and I cannot remember a time where my weight was not a pain in my larger than standard assets.

My thighs have been know to start fires (from the friction) and my butt has it's own zip code. My mom still loves to tell the "funny" story of how I was the only baby to gain weight in the hospital . . .and how I have been drinking skim milk since I was two weeks old. I don't skinny dip, I chunky dunk.

What really bothers me is women like me are more and more the norm, and not the exception. Those toothpicks, who double as shadows, they are the exception, and in my opinion, an unattractive exception at that.

Thanks to that wonderful source, the internet, I know that a majority of women in America average out at a size 14 (that would be whale size by Hollywood standards). Screen Goddess and Pinup Gal Supreme Marilyn Monroe was a member of the double digit club, and that woman was HOT! Queen Latifah, Cameron Manheim, Nicky B. (from Hairspray) and Raven Simone . . .Those are some gorgeous and curvy women.

So here is what I think . . .Curves can be dangerous, in both good and bad ways. Obviously, you cannot just throw all caution to the wind and gorge . . .there you risk your health, and that is always dangerous.

However, women need to know and see that healthy, gorgeous beauty comes in more than a single digit size, and famous women need to stop making excuses for what the powers-that-be call fat. Just once, I would love to see a famous person, previously stick figure size wise, unapologetically embrace a fuller, more gorgeous figure.

Beauty is only skin deep, and the more skin there is, the more beauty there can be.

'Til Death Do Us Part

2009-03-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

Recently, my husband and I passed a milestone . . .Six years of marriage and no end in sight.

While it seems only yesterday that our wedding day began with a stretch limo dumping its transmission and most of the fluid contents of its engine on my parent's driveway (there is a story for another time. . . let's just say that a stretch limo plus a steep driveway equals disaster) we actually have made it six years.

To many, this may not seem like so much, but to me it means we are continuing towards a remarkable victory. You see, when we got married on that beautiful February day in 2003, we were honestly making a commitment that, short of a felony, will last for the rest of our lives. In other words, we took the "Death" line seriously.

It never ceases to amaze me how cavalier people can be about the rite of marriage. However, with such worthy shows as "The Bachelor," "Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire," and most every news story out of Hollywood, I really should not be shocked at how lightly a lifetime commitment is taken.

You know, I actually went to a wedding where, on the day the couple was united, the Bride had the audacity to say that if it did not work out, she would just divorce him. On her wedding day, the woman is already looking for the emergency exit! And what did she mean by "If it doesn't work out . . ."? What, like if she wakes up one morning, and the morning breath is a little worse then normal, oh well then she has an out? What the %^&@ ?!?!?!?

For my husband and I, there was no "Emergency Exit" briefing before our wedding. Just the opposite. . . while I am a devoted Christian, my husband is still trying to find his way. But before our wedding, he did something wonderful. . .he actually went with me to pre-marriage counseling at my church. There we spent some time with one of my ministers, not only discussing the basics of the ceremony, but also talking about what the marriage commitment means for us.

We did not agree on everything, but the one thing we were adamant on is that there would only be one marriage and one union for us. This was going to be it, for better or worse . . .we were taking the permanent "E" ticket extreme ride of a lifetime, with no station breaks or track switching.

There was a time not too long ago that our choice was the only choice for a couple. Divorce was not the option that it is now . . .it was the exception, as opposed to a common day standard. While I do not necessarily advocate a return to those times . . .for one thing, I hate ironing and I am not so good with the "obey" thing . . .I do think that more needs to be invested in this commitment we call marriage.

It's not easy, it sometimes is not pretty, but God at the end of the day it is so worth it. I look at my husband now, and not only do I see the face I so love, but I also see the experiences, the laughs, the tears and the fights that have brought us to this moment in time. We have been through so much and learned so much in six short years. I can't even fathom what the future is going to throw our way.

Nope, I did not know what I was getting into on that February day six years ago, but I would not have missed this ride for all the world. I cannot wait to see what joys, challenges, and experiences the next 50+ years will bring. Thank God I know who will be in the seat beside me!

Grammy

2009-03-14T10:26:00.000-07:00

I only have one grandmother now. I lost my other grandmother (Nana) when I was still in High School. God, I still miss Nana constantly, especially around Christmas, when I still attempt, in vain, to re-create her cut out cookies. She took that recipe with her when she left this world . . . We will have a talk about that eventually.

Anyway, I still have Grams, who gives me some of the best material for thinking. Grams is . . . well, one never reveals a woman's age . . . We'll just say that she is well down the road of the Presidential letter recognition path. Of course, for a woman who spent the majority of her life supporting the Republican party, I think she is just going to keep living until "her" President can sign that famous milestone letter.

Anyway, I digress. . . Grams used to scare the heck out of me. Ok yes, she is all of 4 feet 10 inches tall and she used to ask Mike and I to sit down before she launched a lecture at us. . . She was freaking scary!

Now, well, Grams can still scare me with just a look. But the light in her eyes is different, and the memories in her head, well, they are fading. The fear I have is different. . .I fear I am going to lose her before I am ready to. So any more, I try to memorize every thing she does and says. It is not hard because there is a lot of repeating now. . .the same stories, the same memories. I don't think I will ever get enough.

Best of all, she still remembers how to make my Mom speechless.

Recently, Mom and Grams were going another round on faith and the afterlife. Mom was trying to tell Grams that she needed to watch her P's and Q's if she wanted to see all her family and friends in the hereafter.

Grams, without missing a beat, looked at Mom and said "How do you know I am going up there? I want to go below. . .I'll know more people down there."

I don't know what made me laugh more. . .the look on my Mom's face, or the purity and blessed simplicity of my Grams reasoning.

Either way, that is a memory that can be repeated, for all I care, until the end of time.

Older or Younger?

2009-03-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

I have one brother, Michael. He is one of the most special people in the world, and not just because he is my brother. He is a special kind of guy, and he is all mine. Michael is my older brother, and he is autistic.

Growing up with Michael in my life, well, lets just say it was interesting. I can remember being in restaurants with him and having him take food from other tables. He went through this phase where all he wanted was greeting cards. . . everything was about how many greeting cards he could amass. And it did not matter the occasion . . .wedding, birthday, funeral, anniversary. Mike had to have them all. It was interesting to be a kid and try to explain why your brother had a fist full of greeting cards.

Mike also had some interesting tendencies. . .he loves to flap his hands when he is excited or nervous. Picture a bird flapping its wings to try and fly, and that is Happy Full Of Nerves Mike. Mike also talks to himself, and half the time, no one really knew what he was saying. Take Happy Full Of Nerves Mike, throw in a little Chatterbox Mike, and then combine those with some greeting cards . . .well, sufficed to say, my brother used to attract a lot of attention, a lot of stares, and a lot of people who thought they could show their superiority by making fun of Mike.

I think I was probably under 10 the first time I actively wanted to fight someone for making fun of Mike. As I got older, my protective instincts only got stronger. I can remember being left in charge of Mike when I was around 11 or 12, and I was so nervous that I was going to do something to either hurt him or burn the house down.

Time passed, and somwhere along the way I went from the younger sister, to the one in charge. Now, I think of myself, more often than not, as the older "Sissy." Mike is as much my brother as he is my charge.

Either way, he's mine, and I give thanks to God everyday for the gift he is.

Mine's Better Than Your's Is

2009-03-12T19:25:00.000-07:00

It's a rare two-post day for me. Such are the contents of my brain . . .They are looking for an exit and the blog thus benefits.

I am turning again to faith and Christianity, and a topic that constantly burns my biscuits . . .The Holier than Thou Club (otherwise known as the HTTC).

I have been a target of the membership of the HTTC, and I, at one dark and misguided time, was a member of the HTTC. Either way, it S-U-C-K-S!

Last fall there was a ballot measure here in California known as Proposition 8. For those who don't reside here, or don't have access to CNN, Proposition 8 was the equality in marriage proposal which would have legalized marriage for all couples, regardless of gender. In otherwords, the Gay Marriage initiative.

I support all forms of marriage for all couples, no matter what genders, faiths, ethnicities, or backrounds. Everyone in love should be able to make a committment before God and their friends and families, and that committment should always be respected and treated legally and equally. I even believe in single-gender parental units . . .Surely, the HTTC will have me in the seventh level of H-E-L-L for that one.

Some neighbors and former (you will see why) friends of ours are founding members of the local HTTC. Of course, not one person can judge them for what they may have done in their pasts, but they are free and open to judge others, all the while using their tattered and well read Bibles as sheilds.

When the female half of the HTTCer couple saw on my Facebook page that I supported voting "No" Proposition 8 (it is a little backwards, but the short 'splanation is that a "No" vote meant I was for Gay Marriage), she took it upon herself to question my faith, my connection to God, and my adherence to the "true" Christian Bible. Wow, I did not know I had such a powerful person in my midst. . .maybe I should have genuflected more.

Of course, female HTTCer forgot that passage about loving our neighbor as we love ourselves, and she just glazed over the do unto others section. And all those passages in the Bible about Jesus loving and forgiving those who no one else would deign to make eye contact with . . .Well, those are just the filler sections.

Nope, she was right, I was wrong, and one of us was the lesser Christian for it (there is a dispute in my mind over who has that dubious distinction, but rest assured there is no confusion from her side).

Anyway, back to the story. When I attempted to point out the seemingly two-facedness of her belief, well, let's just say it did not go over well. To this day, she has never spoken to me again. She even went so far as to de-friend me on Facebook (I know, big loss there). She won't let her kids visit with my husband and I like they used to, and everytime I see her outside, I get a Stinky Skunk-Eyed Sneer. My lesser faith made me a lesser person in her eyes, and therefore I was no longer, and still am no longer, worthy of any sort of acknowledgement or friendship.

What is it about faith, and specifically the Christian faith (it may happen in other religions, but I am sticking to what I know) that makes people feel worthy of judging others? I mean really, it is not like we are given a golden wand when we give our hearts to God. . . just the opposite.

In giving our hearts, we confess that we are sinners, fallible human forms, who seek and need the love and forgiveness that only God, through the gift of Christ Jesus, can give. We are not the judge, we are the convicted. I don't know why so many people choose to forget this little cornerstone of the Christian Faith.

Maybe they just can't see through their own self-rightousness.

Being a Believer vs. Being Religious

2009-03-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

Today I was at a funeral for a dear family friend, and the minister made a point to distinguish the fact that while the departed was not a religious man, he was a believer. And that got me thinking.

My childhood was spent in constant church attendance. Only contagiousness or travel kept us out of the Sanctuary on Sunday at 8 a.m. (8:30 eventually, but either way you cut it, early). There was no choice . . .I would be in church, or face the dreaded silent treatment.

All those years in the third pew on the right were spent in, what appeared to be, revernt devotion. Truth be told, half the time I never knew what was going on, and the other half the time we were either singing or going through the liturgical motions (I was raised in the ELCA Lutheran Church . . .otherwise known as Catholic Lite). We had one of those very learned ministers who liked to fill the sermons with original greek words and traditional hebrew history. Yeah, that is really going to hold the attention of a teenager at O'Early Thirty on a Sunday Morning.

As I got older, I started to stray from the Sunday Sancuary tradition. College was my real downfall, primarily due to activities from the previous Saturday evening, night and late night (I was in a sorority, and I liked beer . . .any questions?).

However, even though I was no longer in the Sanctuary on a regular basis, those earlier lessons stuck with me. I may not have been a church goer, but I was and still am a Jesus follower and God lover. It's who I am.

My parents still don't understand how I can be true to my beliefs without showing up in the third pew on the right every Sunday. For them, there is no trueness of faith without the pew. But for me, I kind of look at it like I look at work . . .Just because I go to the office every day, it doesn't make me a lawyer. Only knowldge, experience and practice can make me a lawyer.

The same is true of my belief in God. Going to church does not make me any more convinced of my faith. Knowledge, experience, practice and trust are what make my faith, and my beliefs real. As the minister at today's service said . . .God doesn't care what is in your backround, He only wants to know what is in your heart.

I lost my heart to God a long time ago, and it was not in the third pew on the right.

Un-Fair and Out of Balance

2009-03-10T19:35:00.001-07:00

Some national news organization . . .I honestly cannot remember which one . . . uses the slogan "Fair and Balanced" with regards to its news reporting.

The closet cynic in me (I keep her subdued with massive doses of chocolate) sometimes wondered if there was anything even remotely close to fair and balanced when it comes to the news and journalism in general. Well, that would be a "No" in case anyone, other than me was wondering.

Truth be told, I have enough personal sense to know that most everyone (including major religious figures, sports figures, personality figures and figure figures) has an opinion, and will use that opinion when conveying any message they see fit to use breath on. However, I did want to believe that our national media, and the journalists that report the news, did have some sense of separation between personal belief and fact (you know, like the members of the Supreme Court are supposed to have).

I didn't want to believe that "Ethical Journalist" was a member of the super secret Oxymoron club, like "Honest Lawyer" and "Fat Free." Alas the dream is over.

Lately, a project I have been on the front lines for work wise, has received some local press. Nothing CNN worthy, but press nonetheless. And much to my dismay, and to the delight of that closet cynic, I have seen a story become so completely, for lack of better term, bastardized, all thanks to that noblest of professions, journalism.

Facts, whatever those are, have been dropped in favor of sensational headlines and out of context quotes. The idiots of the asylum are getting top billing, while the actual knowledge holders are either omitted or, in some cases, made to be the bad guys.

And the worst part is, there is nothing really that can be done. If you protest, you not only draw more attention to that which is blatantly false, but you have to repeat the falsehood in order to correct it with the actual truth. Now I ask you, what is someone going to remember more . . .that sensational falsehood, or the bland, dorky, non-sexy truth? Yep, the sensation is going to sell every time and twice as often.

I know that we, as a society, need to be entertained. That is why shows like "The View" and "Real Time with Bozo the Clown" exist, right? But to say that we now need entertainment with our news, well, that is just wrong.

Call me crazy, but isn't the news supposed to look like the argyle-wearing, pocket protector sporting, high-waisted pants donning nerd that we all know and love? Since when does journalism go hand in hand with sensationalism? Since when is the news supposed to be sexy, and therefore truth-loose?

I am not sure what to do with this new found knowledge and unwelcome realization. The cynic has been confirmed, and no amount of chocolate is going to dull that awareness.

Big People Conversation

2009-02-15T13:21:00.000-08:00

One of the things that I remember with complete clarity from my childhood is when I was told to leave the room for "Big People Conversation Time."

I came to understand much later on that "Big People Conversation Time" was actually the time my parents had those serious marital discussions. The ones that are never clean, often difficult, and never pretty.

But those conversations are also the ones where some of the best growth in marriage occurs. Those times of discomfort and progress . . . Those are the times I wish I could have some first hand perspective on.

Now I am not saying that we should expose our children to those "Big People Conversation" times, but as I grow in my own marriage, I often find myself wondering "Is this normal? Is our marriage normal?" I wish I had a point of view or some personal observation that I could recall, that would help me answer the "normal" question.

I don't know if it is just me or just a female thing, but I often wonder if what I am doing is normal. Is the way I live my marriage, and deal with issues normal . . .or am I really the psycho hose beast I fear I am.

But then I think, who cares what normal is? What we do works for us in our lives. . .it may not be the "Dr. Phil / Dr. Laura" way of conduct, but it works. Maybe that is normal, and maybe that is what I need to remember.

So here's what I think . . .Big People Conversation Time has its place in every home. But leadership by example and life lessons need to happen along the way. If for no other reason than to save our kids from the never ending and pointless inquiry that is the "Am I normal?" saga.

I'm Entering the 21st Century

2009-02-14T14:21:00.000-08:00

So, a good friend of mine told me today that she was going to update her blog. . .and I finally ask (because I knew she would not tease me for not knowing) what is a blog.

She sent me the link to her blog, and I thought, well I can do that. I like to write, I love to share, and it looks like a great way to do both.

So now I am blogging. I am not sure if there will be anyone besides me reading this, but hey at least I am doing it.