The Lingerie Curse

When I was about 22 years old I was dating a guy that I was head over heels for. Now, I have to confess something embarrassing. I had never bought any lingerie at that point in my life. No fancy bras, no pretty panties, no merry widows, no thigh high hosiery. Everything was pretty ho-hum basic in the undergarment department until then. I figured it was time. We had been dating for a few months and well, guys like eye candy. So I took a trip to the local store and spent hours picking out the right things. Since I was a lingerie virgin, I wasn’t sure what qualified as sexy and what qualified as skanky so it took some time to figure out the right combination. I’ve since learned that most guys really don’t care so the best bet is to satisfy you (words to live by).

I took my bounty home and deliberated what I would wear first. I was excited and couldn’t wait to see the look on his face the next time we were together. When I got home there was a message on the answering machine. He needed “space” and it was over. Out of the blue! Fine. See ya. Bye. The next time I decided to buy sexy lingerie while in a relationship the same thing happened within days of my purchase. After the third experience, I learned not to buy lingerie while in a relationship PERIOD.

I initially thought this was just me but one of my friends had the same type of experience. To this day, I will not buy lingerie if I am even THINKING of dating someone. If I see a sexy babydoll in a store or catalog my first thought is of THE CURSE. Have I pissed off the lingerie gods? I’m not sure what I could have done. Maybe it was that year I went commando? I know…but I was young and I thought it was hot. I’m sorry, o gods of the lingerie. I will never go commando again!

A tag from Poet

40spoet tagged me last week so away we go.....

5 things in my refrigerator.....
My fridge very rarely contains anything life sustaining. Although, I'm sure there are a few things that could be used for pharmaceutical research.

1. One plastic container of very, very bad Mexican veggie soup. Blech. It's very nutritious with all kinds of veggies and wild rice but absolutely NO taste. Maybe if I added hot sauce?
2. Condiments: 2 types of hot sauce (because 1 is never enough), 5 bottles of salad dressings...most of which are blech, 1 thing of lemon juice in the lemon shaped bottle...that thing's probably as old as my house & 2 jars of pickles....mmmm, love pickles.
3. Beer, Limeade - which is used as margarita mix, and a container of OJ that is sooo old it probably tastes more like home brew than OJ by now. Is OJ supposed to be chunky???
4. Mangos (is it mangoes or mangos????), pears, lettuce, onion & peppers.
5. The sustainer of life: Diet Coke

5 things in my closet.....

1. 1 recently purchased very sexy black sundress.
2. Several pieces of lingerie (remind me to tell you the story of the lingerie curse)
3. Numerous pair of heels and sandals in varying heights and degrees of pain
4. 5 pairs of boots. Sometimes I think if I ever get married it will be to a man works in the shoe industry as I have a very unhealthy fettish with leather boots..............Sorry, just drifted off thinking about them. Is that drool on my chin?
5. 1 pair of pants that have been hanging in the corner for 6 months because they need hemmed. Damn short legs!!!

5 things in my purse.......

I had to clean out my purse to do this because I never know what will find its way in there.

1. 7 sets of keys. 2 are for the car, 1 goes to the front door (I think), 1 is for a friend's house, 1 is for Mom's house.....the others....I have no idea. I have come to the conclusion that spare keys run away from home and deposit themselves in my purse.
2. Gift cards. I am the Queen of Gift cards. I have several at any given time. Don't ask...I'm just assuming they find the trail of bread crumbs left by the run away keys.
3. 6 old insurance cards. I'm not even sure why they print these out anymore...isn't it all in the State's database? Along with my Sudafed addiction...
4. 1 piece of Super Bubble bubble gum. I LOVE this stuff...until all the flavor goes out of it. Then it just tastes like you're chewing tire rubber.
5. $2.....the weekend must be over since I'm almost out of money.

I'm not going to tag anyone but feel free to steal this.

The "Too Tired" Answers - Part II

What is your favorite sexual position or act and why?

My first thought was to name a position because that’s probably the easiest way out of this question. But I think favorite positions change depending on the lover. What works well with one may not bring on the hallelujah chorus with another. Besides, that would take the fun out of this exercise.

Your question was favorite, wasn’t it? As in can’t get enough? Prefer to do it every time? The answer is simple…foreplay. The problem is that I hardly ever receive enough of it. Most men focus more on the end as their goal. Who can blame them? I mean most can only orgasm once during sex therefore it would make sense that their focus is on the end result rather than the journey to it. However, as women have the ability to orgasm multiple times during sex it would make sense that we prefer to enjoy the journey. And I’m not talking about trying to tune in Tokyo [tuning in Tokyo is a reference to using nipples in a fashion similar to knobs on a radio]. There are a multitude of erogenous areas on a woman. Take time to explore and find them. For example, there is a nerve ending behind my ear lobe that must run straight to my g-spot. A light kiss there combined with a warm breath is almost enough to send me over the edge. You’d never know that unless you explore a little. Running a hand along my side or inner thigh combined with light kisses will also do the trick. Actually, a few light touches anywhere around the genital area will raise my temperature quickly. It’s not about touching obvious areas but the anticipation, teasing if you will, created by touching the areas that aren’t obvious that I enjoy the most.

The "Too Tired" Answers - Part I

I will answer the other question but this should tide you over in the meantime.

Assuming you are like the 99.9% rest of the women in the world (me included, of course), is there anything that you would change about one specific body part? (Bigger/smaller boobs....longer legs...smaller thighs...stuff like that).

One body part??? This isn’t like poker where I can keep one and give the others back???? Normally I would say a flat stomach but I’ve developed a new theory recently. I’m carrying a few extra pounds for my 5’ 4” frame. I have a friend who’s the same weight as me but a few inches taller and she looks fabulous. Therefore I’ve decided that my problem isn’t weight but rather height. If I was 3 inches taller I’d be the perfect weight for my height. I’m vertically challenged. I’ve decided that should be the next major telethon. Do you know what it’s like to have to climb the shelves at the grocery store to reach that box of cereal on the top shelf? Or to be lost in a crowd because you’re too short to see over everyone else to find your friends? Please give a $1 to help the vertically challenged, won’t you?

So, to answer your question, I’d like longer legs. Way longer…long and svelte.

How did you come up with your blog title?
I’m actually thinking about re-naming it. I came up with much cooler names after the fact. But I’m too lazy to actually go through the work to do it. Back to the question…It seems that at least once a week I hear the following, “you know you opened a can of worms”. It appears that I have a knack for it. My philosophy is that I can open the can now and fix the problem OR let it explode all over you later. Just don’t get upset when I point and laugh at the worm go on your shirt. Since it’s a reoccurring theme in my life, I used it for the title.

Have you ever had to run for your life?
This story seems silly in the context of today’s society with suicide bombers and genocide but, yes, I have once. When I was about 7 we lived on a farm in a fairly isolated area. The house sat toward the back of the property and our driveway was a half-mile long. At that time, my mom didn’t work so she was always there when I arrived home. I got off the school bus that day and made the long pilgrimage to the house. I was about at the half way point when a black Chevelle with tinted windows pulled in the driveway. At first I thought it was just turning around so I stopped and watched it. Then it started down the driveway. I freaked. This is what Mom had warned me about all those times she yelled at me for wandering off in a store or in a crowd. I took off running as fast as I could for the house, knowing that reaching the front door was now a matter of life or death.

Somewhere along the line I dropped my book bag because the weight of it was slowing me down. Thinking I wasn’t going to make it I screamed at the top of my lungs for my mom…anyone to help me. I finally reached the screen door and jumped inside to safety as the car pulled up in front of the house. My heart was beating so loud that it blocked out all other sound. I tried to open the front door but it was locked. Dammit, where was she??

Then, the car door opened and my mind began to race. What was going to appear from inside that car??? A hairy monster?? One of those people that Mom had warned me about that like to take young kids away from their families??? What??? Then I saw it…or should I say her. Turned out that my mom and my aunt had decided to go shopping in my aunt’s new car. She got out of the car, proceeded to the house and asked, “What were you trying to do…race us? We were going to give you a ride to the house.” Yep, Mom, that’s what I was doing.

Too Tired to be Creative

I think this cold has sucked the creativity from my body (well, what little there was to begin with). I have several half-finished posts lying around and I don't seem to have the ability to do much more than stare at them. I stare. They stare back. It's turned into quite a game. Well, actually not much of a game since they don't have the ability to blink, I obviously lose each time. Maybe I need to take a sick day? I know, greedy isn't it? On the verge of a 3 day weekend and I'm thinking of playing hooky just to get some sleep. Have you figured out yet that I don't have a post for today?

It's random question day, my merry bunch of misfits. Ask anything and I shall answer.

Why I Deserve Hazard Pay

***GUYS - - - There is discussion of an OB/GYN visit within. You've been warned ***

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret that I usually don’t tell anyone….I work for an insurance company. Yes, the ones that tell you that you can’t have that boob job or penis enlargement surgery. Before we get any further let me just state that I don’t make THOSE decisions and, no, I can’t help you get your claim paid. I can’t even get them to pay MY claims correctly. Having worked in this business for years, I’m aware of and am sympathetic to the controversy that surrounds it. The physician community is always upset either because they are being told how to care for their patients or because they feel they don’t get paid appropriately for the service they provide. I don’t blame anyone for being upset. I see both sides of the issue. I’d just prefer not to be in the line of fire.

I was at the OB/GYN’s office for the yearly discussion of the health of my favorite body part. I’ve been a patient for about 10 years now so we tend to talk to each other like old friends instead of the normal doctor-patient relationship. He is aware of what I do for a living and usually it’s not a problem.

“I see your boss got a big bonus the other day.” Ah, yes, the CEO’s multi-million dollar bonus. “Yep, that’s why they didn’t have money to pay bonuses to the peons this year,” I said figuring that camaraderie was the best approach. I was getting a little nervous because this man had already inserted an archaic torture device to stretch the one part of my body that’s still tight. I was frozen, not from fear of him, but from fear that if I tried to move the damn thing would flip me inside out.

His face was getting red with frustration and I could see his body tense up. From between my legs he leaned over my body, “You know HE’S TAKING MY RETIREMENT!” Whoa, Doc! Calm down a little there. “I’ll be happy to discuss the failings of the healthcare system with you but kindly REMOVE YOUR HANDS FROM MY CROTCH FIRST. You’re confusing my brain by having this argument now. My crotch is used to being felt up AFTER the argument.” He laughed, the tension broke and all was fine in the world again.

Because this is not my first such encounter with unhappy physicians, I decided to request hazard pay from my company. If they’re going to insist that I receive my health care from the very physicians they infuriate on a daily basis then they could at least pay me extra for being in the line of fire. Here’s their reply:

“Dear Ms. [insert name of ungrateful employee here]:
We have reviewed your request for hazard pay and the evidence you provided. Rather than increase your pay we have decided that the best approach would be to cancel your health insurance. Now you are free to receive care from physicians not associated with our company. Because you requested a resolution to this matter, we do not feel the need to reimburse you for other health insurance coverage. We feel this solution benefits all parties involved.
Sincerely,
The Evil HR Department*”


**before I get fired...the request for hazard pay was a joke. The rest of the story is true.

6 Degrees of Separation in Blogland

While I was searching Retro Girl’s blog the other day I saw a link that looked familiar so I clicked on it. Sure enough, it was someone that used to comment on an ex-boyfriend's blog. I clicked 2 more links and was suddenly at said ex’s blog. It reminded me of the 6 degrees of separation game. For those unfamiliar with American culture, Kevin Bacon is an actor who has appeared in dozens of movies. The game is that you can pick any random actor and by associating people they’ve worked with you will make your way back to Kevin Bacon…supposedly within 6 steps, hence the title.

Realizing that I’d made a connection to myself so quickly…3 clicks. I wondered if you could apply the 6 degrees game to the world of blogs. I clicked on a random blog from someone’s blogroll, Overworked & Underf**ked, [great site by the way, careful opening at work]. On her blogroll, I clicked Lightning Bug’s Butt because he sometimes comments on PQ’s blog. And then, the gold mine. Bug’s Butt had Memphis Steve on his blogroll. Memphis Steve has The Peanut Queen on his blogroll and the PQ has little ol’ me on her blogroll. I had managed to stroll through the blogland and make my way back to myself in a few easy steps.

I thought it must have been a fluke, so I tried it again using Dead Guy, the Cartoon because it was a blog I stumbled upon with, I thought, no connection back to me. Within 2 clicks I was back to Denny's blog who has me linked.

Maybe the big world-o-blogs isn't as big as I think. Maybe people of like-minded thought congregate together. Maybe, given enough time, we would eventually all link each other. Or maybe I'm the Kevin Bacon of the blogosphere. Ummm, I'm not sure if I like that thought or not.

Hot Tea and Tagless Undies

I'm sick. I'm tired. My throat feels like there's a grapefruit stuck in it. Breathing has been reduced to a single nostril function. I feel like someone kicked me in my sleep and there's a 400 pound man sitting on my chest. I'm jumping into a hot tub and praying that I don't get comfy and fall asleep there. I wish my mom was here. She always made me feel better when I was sick. She'd rub my back until I fell asleep. If I was staying home from school, she'd make me get up out of bed and go lay on the couch in the morning. I'm not sure what the purpose of that was other than to avoid staying in bed all day. But then she'd bring me toast with cinnamon and sugar on it and some hot tea and I'd forget about being forced out of bed and settle into watching Captain Kangaroo or some kid show like that. Aaaah, I never knew how good I had it.

Since I'm in the mood to bitch, can someone please tell me the thinking behind making tagless underwear.....

and then putting a tag in it anyway?
Tagless = sans tag. It's false advertising. They can't say these are tagless underwear because THEY HAVE A TAG. I'm just asking that they be truthful in the advertising. "New! Improved! We moved the tag to the hip so you don't have to stick your hand down the BACK of your pants anymore! We are GENIUSES!"

Destiny, Chance & Reincarnation

Have you ever met someone and instantly felt like you’ve known them all of your life? It’s more than just having things in common. It's a feeling that that person was in your life all along…you just hadn’t met them yet. I have been lucky enough to have a few friendships like that. From the moment we met it was like we were old souls getting reacquainted in a new era. Like there was history between us before we ever said the first word to each other.

When I was younger I used to believe that this was reincarnation at work. That we had previous experiences together centuries before and that somehow our souls knew how to find each other every time they made their way back to earth. I used to wonder how we knew each other and what adventures we had together in our past lives.

Now that I’m older and a little less romantic in how I think about life, I wonder if it was just destiny that two like minded people who were both looking for a friend happened to be in the same place at the same time. A meeting left up to the chance that had my shirt been red instead of blue or had wine been ordered instead of beer, would have never happened.

I may still be acting a touch romantic. It’s probably just a result of chemistry and timing along with a few shared interests. But still it is kind of nice to think that there’s a larger force in this world pushing us all together. That meetings aren’t left up to chance. That the people in your life are meant to be there for a reason. Isn’t it?

Happy HNT

I have nothing for you today because I am out hunting for half-nekkid photos of men. There were several requests for more stories like this one for HNT (half-nekkid Thursday for all of you that are new). In response, there's a new link on the sidebar. Take care at work....wouldn't want to get caught peeping, would you?

Now, excuse me, but I have some drooling to do.....

Times Like These

Today has been a shitty day. The very-costly-almost-brand-new riding lawn mower has decided to do nothing more than sputter and then die. I tried to fix it. The neighbor tried to fix it. We've both decided that the money-grubbing repair man is going to have to come sprinkle fairy dust on it to get it working again. The sod in my front yard has a fungus and is slowly dying. The lawn company that’s supposed to take care of it doesn’t handle fungus…only weeds. They couldn’t tell me this because I’m a lowly woman and why would I want to know that? They decide to tell my neighbor, THE MAN, who has the same problem. Now I’m left wondering what in the hell they have been doing with the shitload of money that I’ve been paying them? The nail pops in the walls are still there. The house needs power washed. And the funding to do all of this is disappearing quickly. To top off the day, the person who I thought would be in my life, as a friend, for years to come has suddenly decided that he no longer desires the position.

Its times like these that the all powerful me, who is happy being single and can deal with anything, feels very alone and very, VERY vulnerable. It’s times like these when I want to curl up in the fetal position, bury my head in the pillow and cry. Until it all magically disappears. Except there is no magic wand to make that happen. It’s times like these when I wish I would have married some poor sap along the way just so I didn’t have to deal with times like these. It’s times like these when I wish I had someone to take care of me. Someone who would hold me and let me cry and tell me it will all be ok. It's times like these when I want to run away and never come back that I realize I'm not as happy as I think I am.

Things You Always Wanted to Know But Were Afraid to Ask

By royal order of the PQ, here are the first 25 things that you always wanted to know about me but were afraid to ask.....

1. I don’t eat generic cereal. I poured what looked like a gray hairball into my cereal bowl one morning. I still can’t walk down the cereal isle at the grocery without getting nauseous.
2. I can change the oil in my car (notice I said “can” and not “do”)
3. I have a birthmark that runs down the back of my left leg from my butt cheek to my toes. No one ever notices it [Thank God!]
4. I love popsicles - the kind that come in liquid form that you have to actually freeze yourself.
5. I have a low tolerance for incompetence.
6. #5 is why I could never work in a fast food restaurant.
7. I believe in ghosts and a higher power.
8. I believe that true evil exists in each of us – if we allow it.
9. I love fresh fruit and veggies.
10. One of my friends nicknamed me Stinky when we were younger. There is a story behind this that will never be revealed. Never. Stop asking…I said NEVER!
11. I like to turn all the lights out in the house and watch scary movies at night.
12. I sleep with the bathroom light on when I do # 11.
13. I will stand naked in my back yard while it’s raining…as soon as I get a 6 foot fence.
14. I believe in fate and chance.
15. I also believe that I create my own destiny. Go figure that one out.
16. I won’t eat American cheese unless it’s melted or drink milk unless it contains some sort of chocolate.
17. Ingesting either of these in the wrong form will make me gag.
18. I believe that my computer, car and riding lawn mower are out to destroy my financial well-being.
19. Tequila makes me silly, wine makes me cry and beer seems to get me drunk with no apparent affect on my mood.
20. I believe that the thirst for knowledge is the sign of true intelligence.
21. I believe that there is one thing that will make each of us happy and that life is about the journey to figure out what that thing is.
22. I fear I will grow old without ever figuring out #21.
23. Watching the movie Twister makes me cry. Don’t ask. I’ve tried to analyze it. There’s no reason.
24. I read constantly. Sometimes fiction, sometimes non-fiction. It just depends on my mood.
25. I love peanut butter.

Now I've Done It

I received one of those chain emails the other day from a friend. You know the ones...you'll be doomed to Hell for eternity if you don't forward this email to 100 of your closest friends within in the next 10 seconds. Now, being the rebel that I am, I never forward those emails. Unless, of course, it's a particularly sadistic joke then I'll forward it to 2 or 3 people simply because the joke is funny. Which probably explains why I'm doomed to Hell, can't find a man worth having a relationship with, and why the neighbors dog gets laid more than I do. However, forwarding emails simply to avoid bad luck is not in my nature. The lastest one caught my attention though. Instead of rendering me a friendless heathen, it said this....

Post This Within:
1 hour- You'll have bad sex
20 min - Your crush will kiss you
15min - Your crush will tounge you
5-10 min - Your crush will ask you out
under 2 min - You will stay with your crush forever

[lol. *snort* Sorry that part about "your crush will tongue you" cracks me up. ]

Did you notice what it said? "Post this within" So it's not bad enough that I have 15 years of bad luck accumulated from all the previous emails that I haven't forwarded but now, they've tied my blog into my sex life? Is that bad sex forever or just once? Because if it's just once....I'll take my chances. I guess this means that blogs have finally hit mainstream culture.

HERE is not THERE

I read an article the other day that American’s are failing in the bedroom because we don’t communicate our needs to each other. I’m personally guilty of this. I’ll move my hips, wiggle around and do my best contortionist impression to get the angle I desire rather than just say “could you move a few inches to the left?” This person has seen me naked, knows where my few extra pounds are hidden, knows that my mascara is water-proof but not sleep-proof and has seen the little string of drool fall from my mouth and land on the pillow. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t feel comfortable asking this person to move in a way that would bring me to the brink of pleasure. But…there is.

One guy I dated wasn’t particularly that great with his tongue. He thought he was and insisted on starting every session this way. Ever seen someone actually lick the last morsel off their plate? That’s what it felt like except he was all over the plate. I had this mental image that, in his head, he was chasing the last drop of ice cream around the bottom of the bowl. I know enough about men to know that their egos are rather delicate so I decided to clue him into my needs by sound. When he would hit the right spot by accident, I’d moan…LOUDLY. Thinking of Pavlov’s experiment, surely he would understand that no moaning = bad, moaning = good, moaning loudly = motherload. Nope. Then I decided to wiggle around a bit and put myself in a position to where he’d have to hit the right spot. Ever seen those gymnasts during the floor exercise when they sit on the floor and arch their backs so high that their head touches the floor? Needless to say that session ended early due to back spasms. Finally, the next time when he made his way down my body, I decided I had no choice but to talk to him. “Honey, do you think you could maybe target a little higher this time?” “Sure, here ok?” Amazing! A choir sang Hallelujah in my head. He’d figured it out. I was an idiot. He hadn’t taken this as criticism but rather just as me stating what I needed. Why had I not thought about this sooner???

But, I’d spoken to soon. After a minute, he was back to his old position. The voice inside my head was screaming “higher, higher, THAT IS NOT HIGHER!!” I was trying to stay calm but the only thing I could think was “if this one is THE one, I better get used to watching TV during this part…and pray that there’s porn on.” This man needed an anatomy lesson. I sat up and put my finger where I had been desperate for his tongue to be.
“See where my finger is? THAT’S where you need to be.”
“But that’s where I was.”
“No, you were HERE,” I said while waving my finger, “HERE is not THERE.”
“It’s not like I can SEE where I’m AIMING, Angie”

I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. In my frustration I had bruised an ego and there was no turning back. As much as I tried to reassure him there was no getting past or taking back that 2 second conversation. That, my dear sirs, is why no matter how many surveys you conduct, we will wiggle, contort and moan to communicate our needs but we will never actually speak them out loud.

Another holiday is fast approaching. That means another frantic search for a present for my mom. She’s had a fairly hard life and its times like these when I look for things to get her that she would never buy herself. Some way to pamper her. The problem is that because she’s not had an easy life she is a very practical gift giver. For my 16th birthday she bought me a tire iron and jack for my car. Can’t get much more practical than that.

Because she’s practical and I’m more about whimsy and pampering, she’s managed to return everything I’ve ever bought her. One year for Christmas she told me that she wanted a new robe. It should be thick, floor length and she’d prefer blue. [I had learned to ask for specifics due to previous gift-giving failures.] I found one that was floor length, baby blue and so soft you thought it would melt in your hands. I could picture her sitting on the couch in front of the TV wrapped up in her robe on those cold northern nights. It was perfect. She was delighted when she opened the gift and I was happy because I had made her happy.

About a year later, I was home on vacation when she presented me with the robe and asked if I wanted it back.
Me: “You don’t want it anymore?”
Mom: “No, it’s very nice but it’s too hot.”
Me: “So you did actually wear it?”
Mom: “Once or twice.”
“AAAAGGGHHH,” I said as I slapped myself on the forehead. I had followed her instructions to a T but still failed.

I’ve tried other things but they never work either….
Pedicure – “I don’t think I’d like someone touching my feet.”
Massage – Again…other people touching her body parts
Facial – Skin’s too sensitive
Manicure – “Did you know you can get an infection from those?”

But this year, I have beaten her at her own game. I have gotten her the one thing that she can’t take back and I know she wants. I know she wants it because she asks for it every time I talk to her. I am buying a plane ticket home. She may complain about my hairstyles, question me incessantly about when I’m getting married and return or give back every gift I present to her but she’s still my mom. And I’m going home to hug her….as soon as she finds a break in her schedule.

2 Tacos Please

I’m glad to see that the money the car insurance company pries out of my hand goes to good use. Which one of you is eating tacos while driving??????

A Tasty Morsel

I have a very, very early morning flight tomorrow to Raleigh for the day. So, you are on your own tomorrow my dear ones! However, I did leave a tasty morsel for you.....

Your Deadly Sins

Lust: 100%

Sloth: 80%

Envy: 60%

Greed: 40%

Wrath: 40%

Pride: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 49%

You'll die while in the throws of passion - the best way to go.

How Sinful Are You?

I'm not sure how I ended up with a greater chance of going to hell than Grant. Something's not right there....Recount! I demand a recount!!

I'm Going Straight to Hell

Isn’t that a song lyric? I’m rather perplexed by my plight. I was on the phone with a friend when I was informed of my future.

Now, let me stop and say that I have recently considered going back to church. Mainly because I’ve felt that something was missing in my life. I was raised in the church. I appreciate the social opportunities offered by church. I have had trouble finding a church that I liked since moving South, mainly because I was raised in a very liberal protestant church. It’s been very hard to duplicate that since moving to the Bible Belt. I digress, back to the story.

This friend has recently started going back to church. There’s a miraculous thing that happens to some people when they return to church after a long absence. Their field of vision seems to narrow. The gray areas seem to disappear and everything is either black or white. Let me explain.

This friend tried to convince me to worship at their church. I wouldn’t have been opposed but it was the line of argument that stopped me. It seems that if the apocalypse was scheduled for today, I would go to hell and this person would go to heaven simply because they have been to church recently and I haven’t. The interesting thing is that this friend continues to break one of the 10 Commandments on a regular basis (let’s say there’s a little more going on than just coveting of thy neighbor’s wife’s ass). Now, while I know that sins can be forgiven if you repent, I could have sworn that repenting meant that the act didn’t reoccur at every given opportunity. But, then…maybe they use a different dictionary than I do.

Maybe I need to re-think this. I can commit any sin I like and still get into the Promised Land, as long as I go to this church every Sunday. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea….

Happy Friday

Happy Friday and Cinco de Mayo. I have nuttin for ya today. I'll be traveling into the main office today and having lunch with a friend and maybe I'll do some actual work later in the day...Nah. I'll try to read through your posts this afternoon. If my comments don't make sense, it's because I had one to many margaritas at lunch.

I will leave you with an irritating tidbit. A blogger, who lives in my area, has called for a boycott of all Mexican restaurants today in answer to the immigration protests on Monday. Two flaws in your theory, sweetie. A) you're rather unfairly targeting Mexicans...there are illegals from other countries, you know. I know it's Cinco de Mayo but the other cultures don't have cool holidays where we all go to their restaurants. If you're going to boycott, make it all inclusive and B) planning your demonstration at a U.S. owned chain restaurant accomplishes nothing. Illegals don't own that restaurant, Bob Evans does. Actually, the Mexican's should protest that restaurant for providing a very poor example of their native food.

I do have a story to add to this. There's a Mexican restaurant that I used to frequent. A few days after 9/11 I went there with a friend for lunch. There was a memorial service on TV for the fallen. It was hard enough to choke back the tears while I ate given what was being displayed on the TV. I couldn't hold it back any longer when the servers gathered hands in the middle of the restaurant and, in broken English, began to sing Amazing Grace. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Nope....I'm having a taco for lunch today. Thank you very much.

I'm outta here. Have fun!!

A Story for HNT

She remembered their first kiss fondly. They had talked for weeks, spending hours at a time every night on the phone getting to know each other. He told her stories about growing up as a military brat. She described what it was like be the farmer’s daughter. They talked about past relationships…the things that had gone wrong, the mistakes that couldn’t be overcome. They knew each other well even though they had never met.

She waited nervously for him at the bar as she listened to a regular discuss politics with the bartender. She heard the door creak and knew it was him before she turned her head. She smiled. He was better looking in person than in the picture she had of him. Broad shoulders, dark hair and a warm smile. They talked more over dinner. His kids, her friends, their lives. When they parted ways, she wondered if she would ever see him again. Things seemed so different in person. The warmth they had developed over those long nights on the phone seemed to have given way to nervousness and fear.

When the phone rang later he asked to see her again. They sat in her garage and discussed their philosophies on life while rain soaked the ground. It was hot and muggy, like mid-summer nights are in the South. The stark coldness of the beer provided some relief. The warmth and ease of the conversation had returned. She felt at home with him. He asked about her favorite book and then about her favorite color. She was in the middle of her reply when he leaned in, placed his hand on the back of her head and kissed her. The quickness of his movements startled her. It wasn’t a hurried kiss but more of the type that couldn’t be held back any longer. Bodies pressed firmly together, drinking each other in. She could smell the spices in his cologne and taste the sweetness of his gum on her lips. Time seemed to stop at that moment. She hoped it would never start again.

You Did WHAT???

I've been in a bit of a funk for a little while now. I have this urge to do something exciting, out of character, maybe even a little scary. Not "boo" scary but more like "you did WHAT?!!" scary. Or maybe something goofy, like I used to do in high school. Who am I kidding? Like I used to do up until a few years ago. Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis….or maybe it’s just spring fever....or boredom...or maybe I just need a good vacation. The problem is I have no idea what I want to do to scratch this itch. I've started a list but I don't think I've hit on it yet. Any ideas???

1. Take a week off work and drive up the coast. Stopping at any place that looks interesting. Who wouldn't want to see the world's largest ball of twine?
2. Sail around the Caribbean island-hopping for a summer
3. Meet a bartender there named Raul (No, not Denny's Raul)
4. Get a tattoo
5. Drive a car around Daytona for a few laps at top speed
6. Not wreck it into the wall on Turn 1
7. Lay on a nude beach
8. Leave on a moment's notice to Rome for the weekend (No, not Rome, GA...the other Rome)
9. Meet a bartender there named Giovanni
10. Be an extra in a movie
11. Learn to drive a motorcycle
12. Fall in love…again
13. Walk into McDonald's at 10:31 a.m. in my pjs with bunny slippers on, no make-up, hair unbrushed and demand to be served breakfast
14. Say yes when someone dares me to do something without thinking about the consequences

Pssst...I got some Sudafed

Ahhh, spring time in Georgia. Everything is in bloom. It’s beautiful but it’s killing me. My eyes itch and burn; my ears feel like they are stuffed with cotton; I sound like a dragon lady and my nose runs at the most inopportune moment. I feel like my Grandmother because I have to carry a tissue with me everywhere I go.

I couldn’t take it any longer so I went to Wally world (aka Wal-Mart) to get some drugs to put me out of my misery. I pick out an antihistamine along with the 40 other people standing in the 2 foot long aisle trying to do the same thing. And I grab a card for some Sudafed. A card, you ask? Yes, a card. There’s a small problem…well, actually a very large problem with people cooking methamphetamine (aka Meth) in rural Georgia. Any time a trailer blows up it’s not because of faulty wiring or a personal heater but from cooking meth (which evidently is very volatile). Sudafed is a necessary ingredient to cook meth so the lawmakers institute a policy that Sudafed must be sold over-the-counter…literally. You take the aforementioned card to the pharmacy counter and they will give you 1 box of Sudafed.

Now, I’m not particularly happy about this new policy but I understand the reasoning behind it and consider it a necessary evil. So I patiently stand in line at the pharmacy counter. I finally get to hand my card to the pretty, young thing behind the counter.
“Can I see your ID?”

I hand it to her. I find it odd but thought maybe the lawmakers decided that Sudafed is now like alcohol and you must be 21 to purchase it. No, she proceeds to inform me that I must now provide my drivers license number, phone number, birth certificate of first born, wildest place I've ever had sex, and favorite brand of toilet paper in order to purchase Sudafed. The State, in its infinite wisdom, will keep this information in a database should they decide to harass me for anything in the future.

The State? The State? Are you serious? You expect me to give my personal information to the state for them for them to sell to the highest bidder....oops! I mean expect them to keep the information safe? I don’t think so. Ok, I realize the state already has this information. Well, most of it. The whole thing is starting to reek of big brother. I always pictured selling my soul to the devil for something really spectacular...like fame, fortune or a flat tummy and perky boobs...not Sudafed.