Happy Bday 2 Me! Happy Bday 2 Me!

WARNING: You may tire reading this birthday account. Perhaps you should sit down. Breathe. Now hold on ....

My friends really came through for me this weekend. Miss "e" worked on making me a pretty girl all Friday afternoon. After she got through with me, I had a new color on my hair, my eyebrows and CURLS!!!!

I went home and slipped into the most cleavage-bearing dress I have ever worn in all my 46 years!!!!

Then Shane and Brit escorted me to a downtown restaurant where about 25 folks showed up to wish me well. Most of them were shocked that I'd gone the girly route. I must admit to varying degrees of amusement watching their reactions!

After good eats and conversation, we walked over to the Alley where we saw a play called The Gospel According to Tammy Fay. She was an icon in the AIDS community and among gay folks since she was so accepting early on when many in the church were more focused on condemnation. We found out Sunday that she died the night we saw the play! Wish I could brag on the play but what I can do is not pick on it so I'll just tell you that several of us (we'd lost a few and gained a few more at the theater) went on to the Chocolate Bar after the first act of one hour and forty minutes was over.

At this point, my wonderful escort Shane also took me to get jeans casual. A woman of my age can go the girly route only so long, you know?

Now back to the evening ... Imagine if you will a place where vanilla doesn't belong, isn't even allowed to enter! Candies, cakes and ice cream all featuring chocolate -- ahhh!

Chatted there a while and lost a few more but gained a few too and soon we were headed for a country and western dance place. Not much dancing going on there however because there weren't that many people either. So we packed us up and tried another locale. FUN TIMES!!!

We actually closed that place down or close to it and Brian was gracious enough to offer his place as our next stop. He's got a pool, hot tub and extra suits. We agreed and ended our "night" around 4 a.m. on Saturday morning.

Saturday was all about getting ready for a more intimate dinner party Roger and Brit were throwing at my place. Since I like to cook I served as her sous chef. Mostly that meant I chopped.

I left the premises at 2 p.m. for errands and to allow my humble apartment to be transformed by Geary, Bob and Roger. When I re-entered, they had created a bistro! Four linen clad tables with linen napkins, centerpieces that stood at least four feet tall with white flowers and a single butterfly in each (because Dian said that was the perfect representation of my new life), candles, and lanterns softened the room. We even had a cocktail bar where my dining table usually sits and my leather sofa made for a warm cozy corner.

Geary was also the culprit behind some yummy mojitos. Brit had worked on some olive stuffed cheese balls and also had out edamame and cheese and nuts.

First course was two salads -- grape tomatoes with mozarella and basil in a balsamic vinegrette alongside one of my concoctions of English cucumbers and red onions with champagne vinegar over avocado.

Next came a cold pasta dish with Asian dressing and shrimp and vegetables.

After that we paused for a bit. The next course was butter chicken with Indian spices and vegetables over basmati rice.

Dian and Cyndi cleared plates each time and kept the kitchen tidy. Brit and I plated. The conversations kept going as we occasionally mixed up the seating.

Dessert was Stan's famous carrot cake with cream cheese icing (he even brought me my own container of that yumminess) and Brit's family recipe for an almost flourless chocolate cake that would just make you cry if you weren't so happy to indulge in it!

Several wanted to return to the country and western place and so some did and this time I got in at least three dances! Woo hoo! and Yee Haw!!

Sunday we restored my apartment to its sanctuary status and I drove out to Tomball to do something I've wanted to do for quite a while -- give my friend Becky the massage she was due back when she helped so much when my international friends were in town. She's down 30 pounds so we celebrated with my longest massage to date and some of the best conversation we've ever had.

AND I had a very, very, very happy, happy, happy birthday weekend!!!!

*We even shared in the festivity by calling my mom on Saturday during the dinner and singing to her for her 77th!

Happy Birthday to ME!!!! (and my twin brother and my mom and ...)

Kelly came out 20 minutes earlier than I did so someone's been around me from pre-emergence into this world. May explain my love of a good party. I have a feeling he and I may have had a little cake in the womb before we decided to say hello to the rest of the world.

My mom's birthday is the day after ours. At no point growing up did I ever have a non-shared birthday.

As an adult, I was amused at the idea that finally I would know what it was like to be the center of attention ... until I started working my very first job post-seminary and the executive director of the more than a million strong organization had the exact same birthday. Ahhh ... thanks to buddies I really never suffered from a lack of a good time at the mid-July point when we were usually traveling with workshops but still ...

Last year, I was once again on the road for the actual day. And as I sat and chatted with the young man who had been such a terrrific host to a bunch of would-be emerging leaders, he revealed that he was having a birthday ... at the exact same time that I was.

Sooooooo .... (looking around for any evidence to the contrary) .... I think .... that I am actually celebrating without anyone else to share the limelight. And you know what? I'm nervous!

But tonight I plan on sharing good times with a loads of folks I love as we eat, drink, laugh and then make our way to a production on the life of Tammy Fay (yep, that one) that will help support one of my favorite local AIDS support networks. Who knows what will follow? And tomorrow we're going to keep the party going with a smaller dinner at my house.

Today, I woke up to torrential downpours and darkness. I decided then that I was going to be the warmth in people's lives today that we've been missing in these parts. I've shared my birthday wishes with those who have sent any kind of acknowledgement and I've fashioned each wish for the person who sent me their good thoughts. I figure that if I'm getting older there has to be some benefits and wishes to share is one of them.

So here's wishing you warmth, friendship and the joy of knowing there's always someone to share your birthday with.

Actually Happened

Waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to drip its last drip this morning, my boss asked the office manager how the switch to the new database was going. Good news was not forthcoming.

"I can only see one envelope when I open the program."

"Maybe there's a glitch and the others just aren't visible but there."

"I don't know"

As they begin to explain the scenario to me, I semi listen, recognize a response is in order and say:

"Oh ... sorry ... and I realize this is totally inappropriate but while you guys were talking I just realized my toenail polish totally matches one of the colors in this blouse."

I am sooooooo outta here!

Big News! Big Changes!

I'm leaving my job ... and in many ways, my career.

There! I said it. Whew! I feel better.

Actually, I feel great. Those who know me well know that for the last couple of years, I've struggled with feeling somewhat like the proverbial fish out of water. I loved the work environment that I was able to enjoy every day. I was good at my job. But the idea of working for institutional church life and especially working somewhat closeted about some of my convictions that would just not please those who I serve ... well, that troubled me.

I kept waiting for something to be "done unto me". I thought that the next right job would come about because of my connections with charities or organizations with which I easily agree.

Nothing.

Then I realized that I wasn't really that interested in simply changing my environment. I already had a great one. I realized that I couldn't fathom doing yet another newsletter.

That's when the convergence became noticeable. My lease on my place was about up. I was planning a short trip on a sailboat with friends and one of them mentioned rather playfully that I should just take off and work as the ship's cook for a while. I was asked to fill a very public volunteer slot with a very public organization that my place of employment would not be pleased if I accepted.

And I knew.

So I have no plan other than take a year and see what happens. Ok, I actually have several plans. (Again those who know me will appreciate the emphasis on options that continues to be a theme in my life!)

I may work on this boat at some point. The captain and I will chat in detail when we set sail at the end of July.

I am checking on doing some work with AIDS orphans in Africa.

I know when the two courses that would insure I have the proper certification for ESL occur and have all the paperwork at hand for applying.

And several friends have already offered their guest rooms. Since these friends extend from California, to Washington, to New Mexico, to Alabama and right here in Houston, I feel fairly sure I'll have a place to put my pillow.

I would love to see a novel come out of all this. I'm already writing much more than previously. Feels as though the freedom has unleashed a bit of creativity as well. I need to explore what it would take to make a living as a writer for magazines and such. I need to "try on" some roles and see what works best on me.

My stuff goes in storage to wait patiently for my return at the end of the year.

I tell the leadership at my work (my bosses and co-workers already know) in less than an hour. So I thought I would tell the folks who sometimes read this blog the news first.

Big news, right? Big changes? Definitely. Let the adventure begin!

7 on 07-07-07

While someone has already suggested that this was just a bit too dorky for their taste, I have to brag on my buddies and I for how we chose to recognize the numerical phenomena of the past weekend.

Having planned on an hill country exploration for the post-July 4th weekend, we gave up when the hills were alive with the sound of rushing floodwaters! Then after checking out our options, we discovered that the Austin area stood a better chance of being dry than any other drive-to locale near Houston. So we decided to pack the blow up bed and descend on our friend Geary who is studying in our capitol city.

Roger, Brittany and I made it over on Friday night and on Saturday morning over coffee, Brit, Geary and I determined that we should somehow observe the day's significant 7 nature.

"Let's do at least 7 things," I think our Austin virgin Brit was the first to say that one.

"And each thing has to have 7 in it."

"Like we'll see 7 major sights."

"And each of us have to do 7 things we've never done before."

"How about 7 meals?"

"As long as they're small ones."

"And we talked about going to a winery so we'll taste 7 wines."

"We are also going to Pedernales Falls so we'll take 7 photos there."

"And I want 7 trashy souvenirs," again this from our virgin.

"And then at 7:07 tonite we'll do something related to 7, ok?"

So the plan was set. Roger, who had been in the shower, had no argument against it and we set off.

The Magnolia Cafe was our first stop and there I did something I have never done before. I engaged Brian our waiter regarding his tatoos (that I have done) and then requested his help in accomplishing our goal by assigning him the task of locating 7 things in his kitchen that he could give me (that I've never done). He willingly and thoughtfully complied with a to-go box that even included a pink crayon because the cafe used to be known for the pink flamingos the staff wore on their shirts.

We had made our first 07-07-07 convert.

By the time the day was over, the two waitresses in the wine bar had come over to our side as well. Lisa changed the way they do wine flights at Cliffords outside Dripping Springs to comply with our request for 7 tastes. And when the alarm went off that 7:07 p.m. was approaching, Jessica let Roger leave without signing the bill so he could join in our recognition. When she heard what we were doing, she asked to join us (bringing the credit card slip) and her own word to add to the seven words of kindness we were speaking into the universe on a Texas hillside.

"Grace."
"Peace."
"Gratitude."
"Passion."
"Forgiveness."
"Friendship."
"Us."

And, Jessica added her favorite, "Love."

Mt. Bonnel, the capitol, Lake Travis, The Drag, UT campus, Amy's Ice Cream, and the State Cemetery were the sites we chose to note as our 7.

We didn't quite make 7 meals but since the last stop was a 7/11 just before midnight and we were at number 6 by that point we thought we would give ourselves points for the location alone!

Asking folks to get involved with our little project on at least three occasions was totally outside of what I might have done once upon a time. Eating at the South Congress Magnolia Cafe and standing in the waters of Federnales Falls were also first-time events for me. The Mansfield Dam, which I'd never seen before, had four flood gates open to deal with the rising waters that had so threatened this area. And I saw at least 7 famous Texans graves in the State Cemetery. Ann Richards still doesn't have a stone by the way!

When I shared the story with e, she pointed out that by the time we had enlisted the help of others, our merry band of 4 had become another complete 7.

Call it "cheesey" or me a dork, I love that we took a holy number and made a holy day of it!

Yep .. what he said ...

William Falk in the July 13 issue of The Week writes:

It's such a reassuring notion. Imagine a Supreme Court in which the justices do not make their decisions based on partisan biases, personal whims, or constitutional "penumbras" and "emanations" perceived by the justices alone. "The Constitution means what it says," says Justice Antonin Scalia. "You figure out what it was understoond to mean when it was adopted and that's the end of it." In practice, this philosphy of "originalism" or "strict constructionism" sometimes proves more vexing than it sounds: Did the Framers understand the right to bear arms to mean that every citizen could own a musket, or were they also guaranteeing the right to wield semiautomatics with 50-round clips? How about machine guns? Bazookas? When the Framers said Congress could not infringe on the freedom of speech, did they really mean "speech," as in words, or does speaking freely include the right to hand a 6-inch-thick pile of $100 bills to senators to do your billing?

Being human, you and I might succumb to the temptation to answer these questions to suit our own desired ends, and then reason backward to create a constitutional justification. (That's how justices get "penumbras" and "emanations.") But not Scalia and the orignalists. They know what the Framers intended. In its rulings thus far, the new Supreme Court has sided with religious groups, corporations, developers, the current president, and the white males, and against students, women, blacks, and atheists. Now, this is a wholly legitimate change of direction: The Constitution empowers presidents to appoint judges who share their political prejudices. Pretending that the court's rulings -- or for that matter, the rulings of any previous group of justices -- represent anything but a raw exercise in power, however, is transparently silly.

Can't help but read this and think about those who say the same kind of things about interpreting scripture . . . how they somehow also know what was intended . . . how equally transparently silly that idea is.

Clicking My Heels ...

"There's no place like home."

'Course for folks like me, just exactly where "home" is poses a dilemma. When I'm in Houston, I speak of going "home" to Tennessee to visit my family -- as I did this past weekend.

When I'm in Tennessee, I look forward to returning "home" to Houston where my other family -- the chosen one -- primarily reside.

Today, I landed in the Houston home after an extra night in Nashville due to bad weather and/or questionable practices of my favorite airline (c'mon, TWO plans had to cancel because of weather that no one on the other end of my cell phone said was really all that bad????).

As we touched down, I exhaled -- that soothing sigh that comes when comfort and joy are within reach -- comfort in the form of people who know and accept me in all my eccentricities just as I do them ... joy in the utter surprise each day holds as you brave I610, discover a new ethnic edible, watch God's great diversity actually reside side by side and revel in the enormity of a urban center that feels so much like the small town I just left behind.

No matter how far I roam ... Houston is definitely one of my best-est homes.

If You Had a Convertible, Wouldn't You Be Smiling?

And if your friend has a convertible, you might muster up a grin as well, don't you think???


Come one, come all, 'cause night time in Houston is the time to use this little Beetle!!!

I Forget

Why don't I remember . . .
the name of the first boy to ask me out on a real date, where we went, and if I enjoyed him as much as I did the idea that I was on a date,
the literature I read in college and what did and did not move me (other than the frustration I felt at Sozenhitzen's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denosovitch upon realizing it really was just about ONE day),
every vacation I have ever taken . . . in detail and including the views I knew in that moment I'd never forget?

Why don't I remember . . .
movies that brought me to tears,
those after school TV shows that were supposed to teach me moral lessons,
the reason for each time I walked the aisle and rededicated my life at First Baptist in Greenfield,
how it felt the first time I was truly loved?

Why don't I remember . . .
a night of wining and dining has a morning after,
would-be lovers say things I want to hear and real loves don't always hear what I have to say?

Why don't I remember . . . that I don't always remember?

NOTE: If you like poetry -- and even if you don't like mine -- check out Ellen Bass. Her Pray for Peace rocked me!

Coming Soon to a Dream Near You

Early this morning in that space between the end of the dream and the reality of the clock glaring its get-up message at me, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. Usually, I make myself conclude the dream, resolve the story line. But today . . . I realized I just didn't care.

The locale of my slumber-induced experience was something like a seminary classroom. I did mention this was a nightmare, right? I was taking over for a professor and using Powerpoint to teach the class, except the presentation was giving me trouble. So much trouble, in fact, that I had lost my place and was scrambling to multi-task -- fix the slide order issue and keep the class engaged in conversation.

But mostly, I was filling time. I knew it and soon enough they did too.

Some distant part of me wanted to give those preacher boys their money's worth, challenge them with the news of the changing environment they were planning on serving. But mostly, I wanted the commitment to end, the class to be over, and me to be free.

Can you say "foreshadowing"?

Surprise! It Worked!

My friend-as-long-as-I've-been-in-Houston Cyndi turns 50 next week. Her family asked me a few weeks back if I would host a surprise birthday party for her. I hesitated only on the "surprise" part. Experience has shown me that usually the only surprise is how early they discover there's a surprised planned.

We did it!

Last night, Cyndi thought she, her husband, and I were going out to dinner. She called to tell me that my chariot awaited and I told her I wasn't quite ready and asked if they could come in for a few minutes.

One of the guests (who were all now standing in my dining area, eyes glued to the window and the gate that Cyndi would be entering) said that the ease with which she heard me lie kind of scared her.

Surprise! Freckles buy me more trustworthiness than I probably merit!

They entered and before she turned the corner into my den she knew something was up. Could have been the Warning: Someone's Turning 50 crime scene tape covering the foyer or maybe the explosion of color and balloons the family had decorated with, but that was the first clue she had. She truly didn't know.

We shouted. We sang. We ate (my contribution was a buffet menu based on some of her favorite things to order in the restaurants we frequent). We played a trivia game about her life (I knew that one of her first boyfriends later got a job as an exotic dancer but I didn't know why she'd been kicked out of church camp). We even decorated flip flops (her shoe of choice) for her to take home.

Cyndi wasn't the only one surprised by the evening. I had fretted that it wasn't going to be received well or that the mix of folks might not work, but I was totally wrong.

And I'm NOT lying when I say I had a great time celebrating a great friend.

610 Salutations

I'm driving on 610 yesterday and in a jovial mood, listening to tunes, checking out the surrounding vehicles for storylines I could fabricate on the way home when a white pick up pulls alongside me. The driver isn't visible but his "voice" can certainly be heard.

In the back of the truck, this guy has created his own billboard. It's probably three or four feet higher than the cab's hood and runs the length of the truck bed. White, pristine even, the visual announcement includes an encased-in-glass American flag in one corner. The rest of the white board is dedicated to proclaiming the following:

When terrorists kill terrorists and Muslims kill Muslims, the world is a safer place.

America the Beautiful got a bit uglier the moment I read the words. I'm thrilled that he has the right to say what he thinks. I'm even happier that I have the right to think he's an asshole.

Mind in the Gutter

Note: If you are easily offended by innuendo, do yourself a favor and stop reading now.

Writers and editors have long known how violent editorial-speak really is.

Clark Kent may have been working that "mild-mannered" persona but in all likelihood he knew he was Superman long before he donned those tights. He had to deal with deadlines and the knowledge that his story could be killed on a whim. His points would often be made with bullets. Long stories could bleed.

You non-writers might have thought it was all keyboards and white space but I'm telling you, it's a violent, violent word world.

And then ... there's the sleazy side.

One must avoid the gutter in print but we don't hesitate to ask for two more inches to fill the hole.

Oh if it were only that easy!

I Can See Clearly Now

I'm often asked how I have happened upon the friendship network I enjoy. The question sounds innocent enough when read, but how it sometimes should be translated is, "I can't stand some of the people you know, how do you enjoy them so much?"

I was toying with that when it hit me. I don't see what others see.

Now mind you ... if I were to walk into a bar (sounds like a set up for a joke but it's not) I could be just as superficial as the next person. I can objectify a man or woman in minutes.

"Nice chest." "Nice ass." "I'd do him."

See? Crude-avoidance is not what I'm talking about here.

While I can see physical attributes and hone in on the ones I like, I have also trained myself not to see both physical and pyschological characteristics that might be glaringly obvious to others.

Just as I once had to be told that my best friend had shaved his beard (a week later and after years of knowing him with it), I would have to pause for a minute to conjure up a list of any reason why I wouldn't want to hang out with someone.

Because I think I see the essence of people . . . and their potential.

I liken it to women I know (and for some reason it's only women) who see auras eminating from individuals.

I don't see colors, but I think I do see hearts. I see what people want to be, and I'll do everything within my power to help them realize it. I recognize the efforts. Trying matters to me. Even when I am on opposite sides of an argument, if the person truly believes, I applaud their passion.

I learned this from loving my brother (not the twin, but the one who died). We were on the extreme opposites of a theological spectrum. I had friends who could slice and dice and then deep fry others of his particular slant. But I couldn't. Because I saw that while I totally disagreed with almost every belief he held dear, I held dear his belief. He was in and in deep. I had no desire to take it away from him.

Sometimes I entertain the idea of change and, as I said, I am more than willing to walk alongside the transitioning on the path toward realizing their potential, but it's not what drives me.

I don't think that lots of people look at people in this light.

But it's a bright shiny place and I find it warm and inviting.

My Massage Table Is Here!

I love getting massages. I love giving massages. I'm pretty popular at parties when I turn a chair around and start working on backs. A while back I decided a great gift to give myself was the gifts of massages to all my friends. So I enlisted a therapist to "train me up in the way I should go."

Today, the table I ordered weeks ago arrived.

Ahhhhhh...let the relaxation begin.

Playing It Safe on the Ark

Last night I went to a screening of the new movie Evan Almighty. The marketing gurus must have decided that to insure they didn't get any flack from churches concerned with Hollywood envoking God stories (and perhaps not getting it EXACTLY right) they would give out freebies to local pastors and let them see that respect for God and country were evident throughout the flick.

Shame they kept the respect and left out the comedy.

Oh, it's cute enough, but the cleverness of Bruce Almighty is totally absent. Physical humor must trump a good line and bird crap seems to be what someone thought would have us rolling in the aisles.

There's only so much crap you can take before the whole movie smells.

And mostly it smells because everyone was playing it safe -- the writers, the actors, the producers. I think the animal wranglers may have been the only edgy ones in the bunch and even then I'm wondering if most of the two-by-two ensemble were computer generated!!!

Seems "Thou Shall Not Offend" was written on everyone's contract before production began.

And thus, saith the Karen, "it was not good." (Still I love Morgan Freeman and I'll take him as God whenever he's willing to take on the role.)

Wouldn't it be a good day, a day that maybe even the Lord hath made, when Christians could laugh at themselves and remove their righteous indignation and need to protect God (hello!? omnipotent ring a bell?) long enough to encourage artistic risk-taking and maybe even applaud it?

I'm not holding out much hope for a flood, but a cup of cold water for the creative efforts of others wouldn't be too much to ask.

Demolition Therapy

When the Longs first told me they were going to try and save some money on their new house by doing their own demolition work before the remodeling begins, I volunteered to help out. I had no clue what I was committing to, mind you. My "building" experience is limited to roofing under a summer sun on numerous mission trips with youth. I know how to sweat. I don't know that much about tools and what exactly one is supposed to do with them.

But, as an enabler who is very self-aware of her family issues, I was more than willing to "help" -- whatever that might look like. The first glimpse at what I'd signed on for happened the first week. We were tearing out the kitchen cabinets. These stained fortresses to the kitchen gods were built with a bit more care than the ones I've encountered in the apartments I've lived in the last few years. I pushed. I pulled. I figured out leverage might come in handy and grabbed a screwdriver to wedge the hinges loose. I continued to push. I continued to pull. Soon I was playing a blues song in my head as I wondered if anyone was noticing that the non-handy-woman was still on the first assignment as they were removing large portions of dry wall and entire countertops.

When the sweat began dripping off the end of my nose, I found some new resolve and eventually, those doors came off!

Next we took on a bathroom and I held my own with a crowbar as the ceiling came down on top of my dirt-covered, sweat-soaked breasts.

This weekend we did the upstairs bathroom. Now catch that if you will, ok? "Upstairs" translates into trips both up and down, up and down, up and down as the various cabinets, wall fixtures, tiles, and bath tub pieces had to be removed and placed in the dumpster on the street.

This time I traded in the crowbar for a sledge hammer and took out three walls of tiles from Spain. I probably didn't look like a pro while in action but I got the job done.

Breathing was a priority in the heat-always-rises level of the slowly evolving home. Conversations were limited to "excuse me, did I hit you with that?" And/or "sorry ... so quiet ... just ... trying ... to breathe."

I must say that while there were definitely stresses and strains to the body, I was mildly amused at how much satifaction I found in destruction.

As I left the culprits who had engaged me in service to the final stages of the tear out, I had to laugh. "Thanks for saving me a couple of hundred dollars in therapy costs!" was about all I could muster.

They grunted and hit the tub one more time.

I Love the Way . . .

• Preschoolers stare at my freckles. Someone suggested it was my earrings but I'm convinced they are actually trying to connect the dots.
• When people are invited to mingle and cross cultural, socio-economic, or religious barriers in a spirit of true openness, they do. (Don't believe me? Come to one of my parties!)
• How one funny line delivered well can change everyone's mood.
• My friend Stan tells absolutely corny jokes and I laugh every time. "Three legged dog walks into a saloon. Crowd goes quiet. He speaks. 'I've come for the man who shot my pa(w).'" HA!
• A man in a crowded restaurant will look at a woman when she enters and choose to either acknowledge that he's looking or pretend he's fascinated with the sign above the door. Today, he acknowledged . . . and he had a really nice smile.
• If you tell people you love and who love you that you are in a not-so-good-place, they listen, they care, and they remind you that you are not alone.

Visualizing Something Better

When your life begins to resemble a plot twist in a "hope we get to Sundance independent film that features b-list actors and the word quirky in the tagline", it's time to re-think your choices. Of late, I feel like I've been banging my head against a relational wall and looking around for who I have to pay for the pleasure of the pain!

Am I complaining that my own choices have netted me too many nights listening to the non-silence of apartment living (what are those people building on the second floor?)? Well, yes and no. I'm weary of waiting for the next phase of my so-called love life, or maybe I should say lack-of-love-life. But I have no delusions going that anyone else is responsible for where I am other than little old me. (And if I keep on this self-sabatoging path "little" will have little to do with describing me and "old" will look truer than it has in quite some time.)

So this morning when I was assessing my life in my favorite assessing place -- the shower -- I decided it was time to kick ass -- my own. I am not giving up on me or allowing myself to let go of wanting something more. I am not going to accept some script fashioned by someone other than me. I may not be a great writer but I know this material better than anyone.

And just like those independent film folks, I intend to be a triple threat -- writer, producer and star.

I am ready for my close up.

OK . . . I Thought It Was Funny

Justin and I were texting. He's often a bit silly in that tiny space of lighted characters and shortened speech.

J: We need 2 shun Jerry. I just found out he's a Methodist.

Me: It's worse than that. He was a Baptist.

J: We shd strt a club and Jerry and Gary (NOTE: another Baptist and a preacher we know) can't be members.

Me: Anyone with the -ary sound in their name can't be mbrs!

J: We cd have cool t-shirts.

Me: And we wd be called the missing-arys!

(I crack myself up sometimes!)