A Time Long Gone By

Obviously, if you know me, you know I have no children of my own. However, I find a great many things troubling with the youth of today. They most certainly don't get "it." "It" being any number of things. For instance, they will never understand the art and beauty behind the mixed tape. With all that they have, there are so...SO many things the ipod generation will miss out on. The mixed tape is not ANYTHING like a playlist you can slap together with three mouse clicks on itunes...that is, if you even bother to do it yourself and not just let Genius do it. Mixed tapes took thought. Planning. Commitment.  Which songs do you include? Which do you leave out? What order should they go in? Start out with the best song? Close with it? Build to the highlight in the middle and then wind down from there?

Then came the business of handling the play/record combo button pushing just right.....with enough down time between songs, but not too much dead time. Finally realizing the pause button would keep you from hearing the play key snap back when you stopped the recording to switch songs.  If you were recording from the radio, and the DJ stomped all over the opening or closing of a song with inane chit-chat, I'm 90% certain that burning down the radio station would have been a viable and reasonable response.

Trying to hit the 30 minute mark without cutting off the last song or ending with a bunch of wasted tape? An absolute exercise in futility if there ever was one....but a valiant and never ending quest.

Ahhhhh the good old days...when men didn't use hair products, women were the only ones who dared to/could pull off skinny jeans, mixed tapes meant love and vampires didn't sparkle.

Tip your waitresses and try the veal

We buried a friend this weekend. Trouble is, they buried him at the graveyard that I hate the very most. It is seriously one of my least favorite places in this valley. Granted cemeteries are not pleasant places to being with, but they have charm and link us to history. Once the immediate sting wears off, they are really beautiful, sweet places. In fact,  every set of pictures that I have from my travels around the world have at least 50 pics devoted strictly to cemeteries.

The problem that I have with this cemetery is that in the past few years, I have buried about 4 or 5 students at this same location. There hasn't been time for the sting to wear off and the feelings of history, peace and charm to break through.

Pretty sure he was at the poppy fields with his wife and twins. 

However, I did gain a sense that this may have been the perfect place to bury Todd. Knowing that he was the constant joker....and adamant about having a good time, I parked the car and got out, only to see a head stone that read this,

"Happy to be here"

In my head, I am going to think that the deceased actually wanted it to say, "I'm happy to be here. I'll be here for eternity. Tip your waitresses.....and try the veal." But for the sake of space, his family settled with just, "Happy to be here"

When I die, I hope to have the people I left behind still realize that regardless of where my body resides, my spirit remains exactly the way it always has been. And my spirit is freaking hilarious....so I want something clever on my headstone, dammit.

There's a Little Black Spot on the Sun Today, and a Big Black Spot on my Heart.

So far 2011 hasn't really made many friends with me. I thought that I broke my toe. After weeks of pain killers and walking around with two of them tied together, I'm noticing that it is not my toe that hurts. Actually, it's the spot where I originally broke my foot in college. So that's awesome. Tricky thing about pain killers, they may mask pain and help you feel better, but they may also mask the actual problem, which must eventually be dealt with. 

With that in mind, I wish someone could come up with an emotional or heart based pain killer. Those are the pains that dig the deepest and linger the longest. But as experience and wisdom will always show, some pain shouldn't be masked, but rather should be felt,  experienced and worked through. 


The pain of my broken toe pales in comparison to news that one of my good friends from high school passed away in his sleep Sunday night. He was 32 and has twin boys that are just barely a year old.  I have known and loved Todd since we were kids. Unfortunately, most of our contact of late has come simply by bumping into each other at church every now and then, or passing stories back and forth between friends that see him more frequently than I. We obviously lost touch once he got married and started having kids.  I was single, traveling and doing other things. We were at different points in our lives. I guess that sort of thing just happens. But this totally has come as a slap in the face. Huge reminder not to let friendships and relationships slip thru the cracks just because we get tied up in the minutiae of our own lives. 

 For some reason, I can't shake this off, or even begin to wrap my mind around it. At this point, I'm not really sure I want to just yet. As the mormon grapevine swoops into full swing, there are all sorts of "What if's" and "How's" and "Why's" being whispered in hushed tones, like there is supposed to be some intriguing and tabliod-esque answer to feed peoples desire for salacious details. But those details, in my opinion, are none of our business. Better left as questions. That is between Todd, his wife and the Lord.

At then end of the day, I go to bed thinking that Todd was a good man, who sometimes stumbled, but tried his best. Heck, sometimes he tried so hard to help those on his mission hat he wound up getting him and his companion blown off of a rooftop in Mexico by what they thought was a dead power line! (One of their contacts or friends got a pair of shoes stuck on the power line, if I remember correctly) He even had the hand print burn and the hole in the bottom of his foot to prove it. He loved his family and left everyone feeling better than they did before they met him. I can picture the 14 year old Todd, who would put hand lotion in his hair instead of gel, "Because it even makes your hair softer, see?" just as well as I can the 30 year old Todd, looking exactly the way you would expect the parent of newborn twins to look. Though time had taken it's toll, there was a part of him that would never, could never change. He would know I was upset about something, cock his head to the side and put that smirk on his face, stick his arms out and wave me into some of the best hugs I can remember. Sometimes to remind me that the guy I was dating (or getting dumped by) was a loser, sometimes just because I looked frantic and upset (which is sadly, more often than you would think). Sometimes he would hug me because I hadn't seen him in a while, and the hug smeared out all of the space that had passed since last we talked, and sometimes..... he'd hug me just because. No reason. And it was fool proof. I don't know if I ever told him that, but I always felt happier, more loved, and more cared about after a Todd hug.  

I moved into his parents ward last month. I saw ma and pa Houser sitting up toward the front of the chapel, and thought, "I should call Todd and see how he is holding up with the twins." Leave it to me to ignore promptings of the spirit.....and now I'll never get the chance to tell him what a great influence he was in my life. And what a great friend he was. Pretty sure I will kick myself for a while for that move. 



I just hope that one of Todd's buddies  or brothers will take up the mantle and make sure the boys know all of the schenanigans their dad got himself tied up in. Like taking a group date to an abandoned mine where they staged his death by falling down a shaft, impaling a metal bar through his shirt, complete with fake blood and everything....just to freak the girls out. (which, by all accounts worked like gang busters.) The camping trips that we went on where his ONLY job was to bring chili and can opener, only to show up with about 15, one gallon cans of chili (for 5 people) but not a single can opener. "Relax, we'll just find a sharp stick or rock." I'm actually shocked that we all didn't get tetanus right there and then. If I had a nickel every time I heard that phrase, "Relax, we'll just..." I'd have a crap load of nickels. To this day, that phrase speaks fear and trepidation to my soul. Even more so if it is said whilst in the wilderness during the time period just before cell phones that could be used to call for rescue. And, someone's definitely going to have to  teach his children the art of pulling off a perfect toilet papering....which of course includes MUCH more than toilet paper, a-la street signs, flashing cones, for sale signs, crime scene tape and liquid soap.  


But above all, I hope that those little boys have in them that special part of Todd that makes everyone they encounter feel a little more loved, a little more cared for and just plain happier than they were before they met. Because if there is any silver lining to be found in such a sad situation, that's got to be it. 

I just became that crazy girl...again

I enjoy being honest. In person, I don't hide my feelings well. Normally, my face reveals much, if not all, of what I am thinking. I don't just wear my heart on my sleeve. I blow it up, tie it to a string and march around carrying it like a balloon. But here on the internet, I tend to shy away from actual matters of the heart...and gravitate more toward things that are ridiculous and/or amusing to me in some way. Because really- who wants to read all of that touchy feely crap anyway? I think blogs, by definition are meant to communicate information via sarcasm and whit...with an occasional ridiculous video.

That being said, there have been some things bouncing around my head lately that I have not been able to shake. I can't shake these thoughts because much, but certainly not all, of the drama 'round here, has been my doing. Don't you hate when you step back and see that you are making trouble, but can't stop if from proceeding? Ah well, if anything good has come from this, I have at least come to recognize where my super-sensitivity and overreactions come from. I'm Mormon, single, over 30, but smoking hot and hilarious, and the only one of my siblings who has yet to wed and reproduce. I am the veritable, Last Unicorn. If you are at all familiar with Mormon culture(not necessarily the same as Mormon doctrine) you can imagine the feelings of failure, doubt, loneliness, embarrassment, confusion, etc. that come along with my lot in life.

Being that all of my siblings have had children of there own, most of them live nearby, or visit quite frequently, issues of auntie/child interaction come up periodically. "Don't give that to the baby," "I'd rather you not_______," "No they can't stay with you for the summer." While most times, their parents have had reasonable requests, sometimes they have seemed mildly ridiculous to me, but whatever, they're not my children. I'm not the boss. I need to allow my siblings to raise their children as they choose. Even if I think it will be funny to see how the baby would like a ride on the dogs back.

The problem is that my reaction to these requests to not poke, prod, pose for funny/perhaps compromising photo op's and otherwise lovingly torture my nieces and nephews could be described in Fat man/Little boy, Chernobyl type proportions. Granted, I may have a tendency to overreact occasionally. However, every time, these little mini dramas have cut me pretty much to the bone. Totally shaken me. Leveled me to a sniveling, blubbering, mess who mutters things like, "How does no one understand and/or care about how this is all making ME feel. I am not a child. I love these kids and do not need to be chastised!" (Yes- I recognize the selfishness in that sentence.)

Earlier today, I had a mild mini-revelation as to why I get so upset by my family questioning how well I am able to care for their children. My patriarchal blessing talks about being a mother and a grandmother to a multitude of children. However...as can be gleaned from the aforementioned description of my relationship status...that blessing doesn't appear to be coming to fruition any time soon. The next step my mind takes is to ask the question, why? Knowing full well that the last time I kissed anything, it was a long, hard, wet, goodbye kiss to that good for nothing frienemy, Logic. The only thing I can come up with is that I must have screwed up somewhere along the way. As a result, Heavenly Father must have lost faith in my ability to care and raise happy and healthy family of my own. Thus....I am doomed to wander the planet alone. Like the Incredible Hulk, but more pudgy and white than musclebound and green. Point being...when my siblings hover and question how I treat their children, it reaffirms the fear (illogical though it may be) that Heavenly Father, and apparently my family has lost faith in me as well.

And that makes me sad...which has a tendency to lead to tears....and full scale emotional breakdowns. It's just how I work and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

Who is That?

I'm all for the underdog. I would be lying if I said that I didn't get a little bit teary eyed when the Saints ripped the carpet out from under the Colts. I would also be lying if I said that the, "Who Dat?" chant isn't getting on my last nerve. Don't get me wrong. I'm not against colloquialisms per se....but you're not Huck, I'm not Jim, Drew is no Mark Twain and I can't think of anyone who is ridin' the Mighty Mississip' to freedom.

Chant all you want....you're not fooling anyone.

Amazing Grace

I am not sure what upsets me more- 1) That I am not on the next Amazing Race; or that 2) The Fictious Love of My Life appears to be running it with his newly minted millionairess girlfriend, who is not me, by the way.

Let me just say, that I would totally rock the Amazing Race. Yes, I am about to toot my own horn, but it's my blog, and I can toot what I want to. I am awesome at traveling. I am practically a savant when it comes to finding my way around airports, am like freaking Magellan when it comes to public transit, I have no problem climbing things, or throwing my body off of ledges, be they stationary or air born. And who are we kidding, I am built more like a linebacker than a ballerina, but I could do a passable job at activities requiring either skill set.

The only thing that has kept my application out of the Race is that I can't figure out the perfect person with whom I should enter. Keeping in mind that theoretically, I would like to actually have a chance of being competitive, and still both of us should come out the other side of the race physically, and emotionally unharmed. I have thought about this a lot.

Option 1- Two girlfriends- Ehhhhh I am a firm believer that this would be a friendship killer. No. Matter. What. That is not to say that I don't have any friends that I love to travel with, I do. You don't get to be my age and single and not develop good, good girlfriends that will go on wild adventures with you at the drop of a hat! I have been blessed many ways in that regard. But adding competition, and exhaustion to the mix, and knowing how I react based on the few times I have been lost, would be a recipe for disaster. I would just hope that the camera crew would be able to intervene quickly enough, to save my teammate from permanent damage after being choked out and left on the island to die because of one too many screw up's with the map. When in the jungle, jungle rules apply. Only the strong survive. Can't read a map? Weak.

But in the spirit of Karmic retribution, I also have the type of girlfriends who don't bother to mention to the group that we are snorkeling with sharks. My friends just hop back in the boat, smile, wave and take pictures from the safety the watercraft. All the while we are swimming with death at our heals. Just helping Darwin along, right? Nope. Not gunna work out. Fail.

Option 2- Me and a parent. No. Just no.....for various, yet, significant reasons in both regards. I love them both, more than words can say. And in an effort to keep it that way....nope on the parents. Fail.

Option 3- Me and a guy friend. Hmmmmm 1)I can't even think of any guys that I would want to spend that much time with (or I would be dating him). 2) If I have spent sufficient time with him and am not dating him, there is probably a douchey, obnoxious, Ed Hardy-esque quality about him that I would be forced to mock incessantly...and that would only drag our team down and breed negativity. At some point he would muster up the nerve to call me out on being a bee-atch. I would cry, because deep down, I probably have a monumental crush on him. And no one wants that girl on their team. Fail.

Option 4-Me and My sister. Well, due to the fact that I would refuse to be seen on any plane/train/automobile with her and her 'anxiety/nausea bands,' she would most assuredly be barfing most of the race. Tick-tock-tick-don't have time for that. Plus- we would fight a lot. (I have a vague recollection of someone getting their boob bitten in one particularly nasty fight. And another time when mom had to drive to Utah to keep us from killing one another, when all I needed was a ride to work in the snow) Plus-she is knocked up with kid number 4, so she's gonzo. Sorry, Jen. Fail.

Option 5- My little brother. My last and best chance. He was a college football player, so pretty fit. If there was a roadblock or task that required nothing but a strong back, he'd grab that one. He is able to think pretty quickly on his feet, too. (Read: not above being shady) He may have even perfected and is the literal 'King of the Cheap Shot'. So that would come in handy. Plus, he's my brother, so I can be mean to him all I want. Then he can smack me in the back of the head and tell me I am being a butthole....and at the end of the day, we're good. WIN!

A Perfect Plan, right? Yeah- Then he went and got married a few years ago-knocked his wife up and is now officially an infant baby daddy and - off the roster. And there went all of my viable hopes and dreams for ever winning the Amazing Race. Dammit. Fail.

FINAL OPTION- So Jeff is now my only hope. If by the grace of God, Jeff can't do the Race with Jordan....I'd totally do it with him. (HEEEY- double entendre-totally intended)

*UPDATE---Usually, they have one 'special' team...whether it's the angry deaf kid, the midget, the really old guy, or a chick with one leg. The only way Jeff and I wouldn't be the PERFECT Amazing Race couple, is if they tried to get slick and have another midget on this season. It would be like my kryptonite. I would be so awkwardly fascinated that I wouldn't know what to do. Do you let the midget win....cause, "Dude, you out ran a midget. Are you proud of yourself?" or "Dude, the midget out ran you. How do you live with yourself?" I would be trapped by my own anxieties and would eventually implode. So there you have it. Do with it what you will.

They Only Come Out At Night

So- I had a metric crap-ton of errands to run the other day. Since many of them could be loosely described as 'work related' (What? I wear shoes at work.....and there was a sale! Back off) it only seemed reasonable that I get them done during my conference period and lunch. It really is convenient that the two flow together, let me tell you! If I did my errands after work, that would mean I would have to postpone the meeting of The Great C-dub. Simply, out of the question.

Anyhow-Earlier that day, on my drive to work, I made the upsetting discovery that my eyebrows and she-stache were a little more out of control than I normally allow them to be. Since there was a salon in the same parking lot, I stopped to remedy the situation ASAP.


In perfect Vietnenglish the lady said to me, "You sure you don't want me wax the rest, whole face?"

I stammered about with various renditions of, "UUhhhunnn ohhh, whaa? Work. Go. No thank you." In my mind I was thinking, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EFFING MEAN?"

She didn't say, "Do you want me to...," like it was an off the cuff remark. She said, "Are you sure you don't want me to...." Like I should really put some some thought into this, if I have not yet done so.

Is it possible? Could I have survived 31 years of life, being pretty self aware, almost bordering on self conscious, and not known that I look like this?

Seriously? What. The. Hell.

Shoot. I knew I should have given Jacob more of a chance.

Desperately Seeking Dash

My lovely friend Heather, who I don't think reads this, posted a poem on her facebook the other day. I read it. I heard it. I felt it.I let it rumble around in my head for a bit. And I may have gotten a bit choked up. Not for any one reason in particular, but rather as a result of the sum of many parts. My dash has not gone the places I expected it would. My dash has been neglected. Sometimes I've been mad at where my dash has gone. As a result, I've treated it poorly, ignored it, infact. Poor Dash. I've let my dash be controlled by so many things that I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I'll try to make it up to you. Things are looking up, though. As of, May 8th, Dash, you are all mine! I will be done with this masters work, shortly after that I will be done with real work....then it's just me and you. Jill and the Dash......doin it hard core.


The Dash
by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
©1996 Linda Ellis

Don't Call Me Mellow Yellow

Dear Mother Earth,

In light of your day, I just wanted to clear up a few things. I love you. I really do. I love to visit with you in far away lands. I love to swim in your oceans and hike up your mountains. On some level, I might even call it communion.

I traded in my gas guzzling SUV for a jelly-bean of a car, which can only be respectably driven if you are a 20 year old co-ed. I turn off the water when I brush my teeth and I recycle each and every one of the 36 Diet Coke cans I drink on any given day. I'm nothing if not a team player.

However, I have a few things I would like to make clear. I don't think that we are solely responsible for your temperature. You're a woman. Sometimes you're hot. Sometimes you're cold. You get to change your mind just like the rest of us. Do what you need to in order to make yourself more comfortable. Who am I to try and regulate your hot flashes? I'll do my best to turn the air down for you, but ultimately, you're changing. I have every faith in the fact that you will do what you need to get through it. And we will change too, or we will go the way of the Woolly Mammoth. It's a pretty simple equation. I don't think that we can take all of the credit, or the blame, for the changes that you go through.

Also, could you please pass a memo to the dirty hippies, steeped in patchouli and mired about in their own filth? The, "If it's pee, let it be," plan for conservation, is not appropriate for the workplace. It's disgusting and it's rude. No one appreciates those who leave behind their biologic waste, regardless of their noble intentions. One flush is NOT going to change the world. And please, drink a glass of water, for Heaven's sake. Urine should not be neon yellow.

Go green, not insane.
Jillian

I'll take a Mini

For those in the know....you'll understand why I find this disturbing.

I am not proud.

Things That Make me Happy

My nephew meditating at the Salt Lake Temple. Apparently he is a Mormon-Yogi

My brothers new puppies Abby and Axel. They're crazy but so very cute.


Speaking of The Family, I love The Godfather. Something comforting in always knowing where you stand.

I also love this scene from this weeks Big Bang Theory The embedding won't work right now...so just click the link and then come back.

And the last thing that makes me happy for today, is this guy....

Tag That

You know how everyone says that they, "I don't normally do this," but then go ahead and tag people to their hearts content anyway? Well, I'm no different.

Here's how it works: For each question, look up the answer on Google image search. Then choose your favorite image from the FIRST PAGE OF RESULTS ONLY.

My Name (and my husband.....if wishing made it so)

Favorite Food

First Job (and you wonder why I was fat in high school)

Nickname (It's mostly my Aunt Marty who calls me Jillibean, but after nearly 30 years...I notice that it is catching on.)

Born (I'm kind of thinking that this is PVMC, not really sure what they are cleaning, but it seems like a typical sight 'round Pomona)

Bad Habit (I've never contemplated killing anyone, but I think I know that walrus)

College Degree

Want to go

Favorite Place (Quite possibly the most beautiful beach I have stumbled upon in my life. Unreal.)


Favorite Color

Favorite Animal (But mine is way cuter)

Past Love (At any given point in time I am/may have been infatuated with one/more/most of these players...and I'm playin it kind of fast and lose with the whole 'Past' thing. I prefer tocall them "The Ones That Got Away")

Doing Now (And knowing my luck, still will be doing it from here to eternity...barring some divine intervention by way of a kind, loaded, hot, rich, husband, the lottery, inheritance, accident payoff. I'm not picky.)

Where I Live (The photogs are tricky buggers, at sunset it doesn't look so bad)

Favorite Object (I Guess)

Grandma's Name (But don't call her Baby)

Age (25-ish days to go!)


Oh Gosh, that was very complicated. I have no idea who even reads this...so tagging anyone else is kind of a risky venture. If you have read this, then yes, consider the gauntlet thrown your way.

Today, I am sad

This last week at school has been a bit of a roller coaster ride. I guess not a roller coaster ride so much as a free fall.

Monday, they found a 13 year old girls body wrapped in a carpet and dumped in an onion field right by my school. Turns out she was a student at a neighboring jr high, but don't know much about what happened to her yet. That same day we got word that one of our freshman passed away due to complications from an emergency operation. Then, later that week one of our teachers was arrested for having sex with a student. I am not even going to begin to editorialize on the details of these events, for a number of reasons, but oy vey. Rough week.

Anyhow-The freshman who died was not in my class, but I have had both of his brothers and know his family well. Such good people. Sweet, kind, thoughtful. Quality people. I am glad that I was able to go to the service today, even though I felt like a bit of a fish out of water. I've never been to a Catholic mass, let alone a mass in Spanish. I think my Mormon was showing all over the place. I understood very little of what was being said. I tried to be the quiet observer and stand at the right times, kneel when everyone else did, etc. but I must not have done a very good job. After the service, but before the precession, one of my cute little girls came over with tears in her eyes and said, "Why don't you come with us Ms King? You look confused." She was so sad, but worried about how I was feeling. Then seeing the boys say goodbye to their brother and seeing what sweet and thoughtful kids I get to work with everyday, that was right about the time I lost it. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Ughhh. Long, sad day. Burying kids is rough.

Kentucky Downer

My Grandpa Young was a pretty interesting character; a relic of a time long gone by. He was nearly twenty years my grandma's senior, and depending on whom you ask, there are various explanations for that.

Maybe it is my exaggerated little girl memory of him, but I equate him to the likes of the Rat Pack, Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin. He always wore a fedora or golf cap tilted just a bit to the side, carried a cane that he never really used, and had the swagger and popularity of a small time rock star. They called him Shanghai. Everyone knew Shanghai. As a child, I was shocked to see how people would hop to when you started a sentence with, "Shanghai wants you to _________." Things got done. It was crazy.

However, the most notable difference between my grandpa and the Rat Pack is the fact that he was absolutely NOT a velvety voiced crooner. In fact, he had one of the worst stuttering problems that I have ever heard. Never before or since have I heard a worse stutter. The best part of it was that the only words which came out clearly were swear words. For a good portion of my life, I thought that you were supposed to drive while waving one fist out the car window and I was never quite sure if G*dD@mnS*nofaB!tch was one word or six. Pretty funny that those words came out clear and crisp as a clamoring bell. I am still convinced that if the person driving in front of you knows that they are a "lousy sh!t," they should certainly get out of your way. My mother winced and cringed; we giggled like mad and took feverish notes.

He was the sweetest old man....if you were his grandchild or wife. Otherwise, it was kind of a gamble. That's what my grandpa was, a gamblin' man.

I am not sure what his job title was, but he did something along the lines of managing a concession company. That's how we ended up spending summers running around the clubhouse and rubbing elbows with the likes of Tommy Lasorda and Vince Scully at Dodger's Stadium, and betting on the horses at Santa Anita and Del Mar Racetrack. That's also the reason we spent many a summer hanging out outside beer stands at the LA County Fair, but that's a story for another time.

My grandparents used to let us pick our own horses. Funny thing-my grandpa would always go on a campaign of disinformation if we tried to find out who he had picked to win. Betting on the horses is not like betting on a sporting event in Vegas. You split the winnings, so he would never let us know who he had put his money on. Clever old man.

We used to have picnics on the field before the races would start. The last time I remember going to the races before he died, my cousin and I got ice cream cones. On the way out to the car, my ice cream fell off the cone. Being the chubster that I am/was.....I nearly lost it. I was busy trying to choke back a mild emotional breakdown and without even a question or a moments hesitation, my grandpa, who must have been closing in on 80 at the time, shuffled back to the field house to get me a new cone. What a devoted grandpa. I can see a lot of him in my parents and how they treat their children and grandchildren. We take care of each other.

The reason all of this came rushing back to me was because of the Kentucky Derby Debacle. I love horse racing, if for no other reason but nostalgia. The horses are absolutely amazing animals. I love that they remind me of my grandparents who are both now gone. But as I grow older, I feel myself growing a little more softhearted as to how hard the animals are pushed. I wonder whether or not it is ethical to race them at all. I don't want to start a debate, or an argument, but maybe just some discussion would be appropriate. Poor Eight Belles breaks my heart. It really has kept me up at night.

I can't help but imagine how my childhood would have been different if something like this would have happened while I was hangin' out with Shanghai at the track. In fact, that bumms me out and I refuse to think about it. I'm sure he would have protected me from seeing something so sad. But me and my grandpa, we had a great time at the track and that's good enough for me. No, that's great.

And so it begins....

I have sacrificed my first chapstick to the gods of summer. I carelessly left it lying in the cupholder of my car, and now have a huge mess in there.

It's bitter sweet, really. Happy to have warmer weather. Angry to have lost my favorite chapstick to my own stupidity. Couldn't even have left it standing straight up. Stupid. Stupid.

It's official. Summer-Game On. HooRah!

You Got the Right One, Baby. Uhhhh Huh.

The significance of sustaining our leaders is not at all lost on me. I love having the opportunity, every six months, to check in and restate that I love and support the leadership of my church.

But I gotta say, I did get a little choked up when they read through the list of promonent members who have passed away since last conference. Still kind of tugged at my heart. Still a little bitter-sweet.

The Final Countdown

Today begins the countdown to the end of my 20's. Six months from now, I will be 30. It's my unbirthday. I'm not too worried about it at the moment. I've sent out a few forerunners, and they say it ain't so bad.

Nonetheless


If you feel so inclined, you can start saving for gifts. I will get a wishlist going soon. But know that I like things that shine and sparkle. And things that involve plane tickets. So yeah- saving up would be appreciated.

And could someone get on a countdown chain? You know, rip one off each day till the Big Day. That'd be great. Thanks.

After all, it's my birthday.

Stains that Remain

How is it that some stains never seem to disappear? Scrub and scrub but that damn spot never seems to go away. Out, damn'd spot! out, I say! Disobedient, blasted spots.

For the past little while, I have taken to a plan of denial. "No I don't have feelings for him. I never did. That was just merely helping to pass the time." Obviously, a defence mechanism of sorts. Ignore it and it goes away, right? RIGHT? That plan seems to fall apart when you run into them unexpectedly and the carpet gets pulled out from under you all over again.

Being that I grew up in the family that I did, where Wrestlemania XXIV was as regular an occurrence as the changing of the guards, I can tell you that it feels exactly like being kicked in the stomach. The nausea, lack of breath, sudden cold sweat...exactly the same. All at once you are no longer the clever, intelligent, confident lady that you once prided yourself in being. But now, you are a weak and fragile creature who wants desperately for what she can't have and wonders about what could have been. The aching comes and consumes with a voracity that is hard to explain. And you hate yourself, just a little, for being so easily derailed.

I wonder if this is strictly a female phenomenon or if guys just don't let on that they are affected the same way. If they aren't, lucky b@stards.

Only Option?

I am really not one to be superpolitically active, or much interested in the economy. But I read this today and it just makes me wonder.

I wonder how one gets to the point where, *insert sordid activity here,* seems to be the "only option." I realize France doesn't have a monopoly on social problems. We have plenty of people making similar choices here in the states. Heck, some of them are related to me. I just don't get it. It doesn't seem to me that the failing economy is not the only problem at work.

What is the internal conversation that takes place? How do people talk themselves into things that can't make them feel good on just a basic human level? Aside from the obvious, "Well, I'd rather turn tricks than be homeless," thought.

I guess that the thing that bothers me most is that everybody seems to do this to some degree. Not necessarily turn to prostitution in exchange for housing. Haven't done that since 'nam. But, why do we talk ourselves out of becoming more than what we currently are? Why not hold out for some thing better, be it a job, relationship, excercise, etc. Sure, sometimes people trade down out of what seems to be necessity, but not always. I guess that is the group that I wonder about. Probably because in many ways, that's me. I wonder how I trade down and give up great things for good things.

You're not Sick. You're Single

Most of my (non)dating life can be summed up here.


So when this little gem made it my way a few days ago, I've gotta say, I had very mixed feelings.

Like Maury said, it boils down to the age old debate of, "Do I settle and get married, or wait for Prince Charming and die alone?"I don't fancy myself overly optimistic, but this still made me feel like I had been kicked in the stomach. I read with an eye for satire, but I think that she was serious. And that really scares me.

I understand the premise of her thoughts, many people are destined to be single due to their misconceptions about what 'love' is and what marriage is supposed to be. Beyond that, I have decided that chick is a FREAKING LOON.

Being one who has an idea about the Plan, I REFUSE to believe that this lady is onto anything that even remotely resembles the right track. She has some good points. Love isn't always going to be fireworks, wine and roses. False expectations lead many to unhappiness, but I really don't think that she has struck the right balance between mature compromise and settling for whatever is available. That being said, I have a really hard time believing that the reason I am single is because I have set the bar TOO high.

Another idea that I jump on board whole-heartedly with is how very obnoxious it is to be told how lucky I am to be single. Yeah, yeah,I know that I have had many opportunities for travel and education that would have never come about had I been married. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for each and every one of them, but give it a rest!

For 1) that's kind of patronizing and 2) it's crap. Do you really think that my vacation pictures are, in any way, a fair trade for a family and posterity? Super cool vacations only keep you warm at night for so long. (And really- if your husbands are so terrible, leave them....send them along my way. Especially if they're hot!)

I don't think that the picture is as bleak as she has painted it. I don't think that it is nearly as black and white as she would have us believe. If I ever plan on sleeping again, I am going to have to tell myself that there are many shades of grey being ignored here. If that doesn't work, I'll just pop another ambien or two.

Anyhow-If this is what kicks her skirt up, then good for her. I guess. I just wonder how she plans on selling her package to perspective suitors.

"Hey, Mr. Just Barely Good Enough, I've got nothing better goin' on. Why not just get married so we each have someone legally bound to keep our household pets from feasting on our rotting flesh?"

Who on earth would sign on for that? Would you marry someone if you knew you were just their Mr/Miss Good Enough?

Sell your crazy elsewhere. I'm all stocked up here.