The Past Returns

Someone from my past has found my blog, and I've been expecting this to happen for some time now.

This post is the cause of all the hub-bub. I used the person's full name in the hopes they'd sometime run across it. Dontcha just love Google? Dontcha?

Anyway.

I've had lots of hits lately apparently from people who have recently heard through the grapevine about my little blog.

I deleted the post a few days ago, but I decided to return the original text after much encouragement (kisses to GOP Big Wig and D-Money) to keep my initial post. I also suppose people who are googling intentionally for the post want to see what was said in the first place.

I don't really mean to open a can of worms.

But really.

You can't just crap on someone and actually think you're going to get away with it.

Back In Porkopolis

I am home. Bushed, but home.

I had no idea I'd miss my car as much as I did.

I'll post more when the dust settles and I have some more time.

Cheers.

Mistletoe and Mimosas

Dateline: Connecticut

Kisses and cheers from the mecca of a Quaint Christmas.

Santa apparently thinks Kate has been quite the good girl this year.

Much love to all of you.

I'll report back after my whirlwind trip to the Big Apple (probably around Wednesday or so).

XOXO

Christmas Wish

Me. Sitting with my legs crossed -just so- in a stunning pair of black velvet pants and a v neck wrap top. Hair in an up-do and the most fabulous leopard slingbacks (very pointed toe) on my tootsies.

Sitting at the bar and casually sipping on my dirty martini. Sipping, sipping, sipping.

Hiccup.

The snowflakes flutter by the window as the streetlamps twinkle outside. An old Karen Carpenter Christmas song plays on the background and I sit, staring empty at the tv showing some NBA game I could care less about. I'm just about to dive into one of the olives left on the tooth pick (Stuffed with blue cheese. Score!) when he pulls out the stool two seats away, sliding into the spot at a nondescript, casual speed.

Being that I'm the only other person at the bar, he looks my way and gives me a Hey with one of those little chin lift/nod things that guys do to be cool. I say hello back without much thought and do a double -no- triple take, then quickly bow my head down like in church, just so he doesn't notice that I noticed.

"Can we put it on ESPN? The Bearcats are playing right now," he asks as he sips the Miller Lite the bartender brought him without even asking. I guess he's a regular I start thinking. Why in this neighborhood? Well. I guess people wouldn't care here, would they.

He looks around the place to see if he didn't notice anybody else sitting in a corner or in one of those booths with the high backs.

"You a Bearcats fan?"

I tell him I'm more of a Kentucky kind of girl but I'm always happy to support the hometown team. He nods and concedes he's had a lot going on lately and he hasn't really paid attention to UK's squad.

A lot going on. I'd say.

I don't know what to do. Do I ask him if he's liking California? Do I ask him if he's moving back to town? Do I ask him if it's true what they're saying in the rags?

What I really want to know is how Jessica lost all that weight for the movie, but I know better than to bring up her name. I mean, this is his personal time, in a tiny little corner of the world I happen to be inhabiting, too.

"Last call, guys." We order another round.

He asks me what I do for a living and I make something up because I don't want him to know I'm in the media. It's not like I'm going to run to the bathroom and write everything down on a notepad so I can relay it to People, but still, his finding out I'm in television would be a bad thing.

He tells me his mom lives in Connecticut when I mention I'm from there, and so we start talking about the East Coast versus Cincinnati. He likes home because it has all his old haunts and some of his good friends are still here (even the former boy band singer who ran for mayor).

"But I had a good time in New York too when I was doing some press stuff for The Show."

The Show. Ouch. Glad I wasn't the one to bring it up. He says he really loved Jessica and he was hoping their differences would make them a well rounded couple. I don't tell him that I knew the countdown was on when I saw him cleaning up the pool and fighting the hornet's nest when she was out shopping.

"Time to go guys, pack it up."

I put my coat on and he takes a last swig out of the bottle. We head for the door and for just one brief second we look at each other and I know I am not lonely at all. There's at least one other soul searching for his spot in this crazy world, working to make sure he doesn't mess up.

We walk to our cars and I see that big black Escalade drive away, wondering about what could have been.

Peter Pan Syndrome

I haven't explained this phenomenon, have I?

Sure, you might have read the book by psych author Dan Kiley, but you really have no idea how dangerous a condition this is until you're burned by it.

I've met a couple Peter Pans, boys in all-grown-up bodies with the thoughts and desires and aspirations of those who play with Matchbox cars and drink Capri Sun.

One severe case involves a man who has a great job. He's probably earning close to six figures in a very high profile profession. He wears nothing but the best suits to work and drives around in a fancy German car with two names.

On paper, it seems like he has it all together, but his personal life is quite the opposite. He has every Star Wars movie memorized. He's turned his dining room into his own personal pool hall and he always has a stash of smoky treats on hand.

Patient A likes to wear a baseball cap backwards on his head. His music tastes have yet to evolve from his college selections of Dave Matthews and the Smiths. His food tastes lean towards the frozen pizzas on standby, chips and salsa, or those taquitos you can buy in bulk at Sam's Club.

This man is a lot of fun to be around. He throws caution to the wind, ignores all sense of responsibility and even commits federal crimes (and other crimes that are illegal in several states) from time to time. The trouble is he fails to make the jump to reality when a situation warrants it.

Patient A likes girlfriends. He likes going on dates and hanging around inside. He likes all the entrapments that lead up to a serious relationship (sleepovers, trips to Vegas, fun presents), but his ailment prohibits him from actually cementing any sort of responsible, emotional bond with a woman. He has left several victims in his path, all believing they were going to be able to cure him of his affliction.

I've met a few other victims of this virus. They all have similar symptoms: Dave Matthews, hat on backwards, stockpile of junk food. Usually you can find a Sega or an X Box or something similar in an apartment that has remmants of the Fraternity House.

Steer clear of Peter Pan. He's terminal.

May I have your attention, please?

There are few things in life better than getting a little lovin'.

I'm not necessarily talking about coitus here, more like just a little attention from someone, whether they be family, friend or fiery paramour.

Earlier this week I got some unexpected attention from a nice man I know. Nothing that was tawdry (this guy is married and doesn't seem the trashy, despicable cheating type), just a few compliments and a little innuendo.

And it made me feel pretty good, and I don't know why.

One thing's for certain: I've been stuck in a stagnant kind of doldrum where romance is concerned (except for that lightning night, there's been pretty much nothin'), and I've lately been considering the possibility that the rest of my existence on this globe could be an asexual one.

That's not really okay with me, but hey, a girl's got to make do with the life she's handed.

Thanks to God for double A batteries.

My good, dear friend Bling has said time and again that there's nothing better than a compliment to give someone. It's free, it's pretty simple, and it can do wonders for their disposition.

I was telling D-Money last night that I realize now that I am quite stingy with my compliments. Sometimes I see someone with a pretty bracelet, or I notice someone doing something kind, and I miss my opportunity to toot the horn in someone else's direction.

This is a situation that needs to be rectified. In the mean time, men everywhere: feel free to flirt with me. As long as it's not overtly dirty or suggestive, I'm happy to oblige.

Cheers.

Is Gwen Stefani Having A Baby?

The girls at Go Fug Yourself posted this picture with a little write up suspecting there's a baby on board.

I did a little Google search and couldn't find anything about a special delivery, but I DID find these articles saying she won't put out a second solo album soon.

A connection, perhaps?

Is This The Way To Amarillo?

So soldiers in Iraq can have fun, after all.

This video was all over CBS' morning show this morning (I should know, shouldn't I?)

It's a music video with a bunch of British soldiers dancing around in various stages of dress.

I thought it was pretty funny.

29 and I'm Falling Apart

So. The actual day of my birthday was a blast. Great dinner with a great friend and lots of attention from the good people in my life.

The day after was horrible, but it wasn't my fault, nor was it the Sake Bomb's.

I had a 24 hour flu bug and had to miss out a night of post birthday celebratory drinking with some fun people. Instead I was chained to a bucket (we used to call it the chuck bucket when I was a little girl) and writhed in vain as I battled the shakes and the cold chills/hot flashes.

Yeah, it wasn't fun.

Saturday I ran up to C-bus with D-Money and hung out with her family and our friend Micah. Good time, though my stomach was having a tough time with dinner.

And that's where the problems started.

Five days later, I am still battling a bad stomach ache and have a host of other symptoms I will spare you the description of, but it all boils down to a rudimentary diagnosis that I may have an ulcer.

We'll find out Friday (unless this crippling snow storm is just that) when I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist.

Anyway.

That's where I've been. Stuck to the chuck bucket and downing Maalox (the wild berry kind - tasty) like it's my job.

Birthday Horoscopes for 12/01

The December 1st person is outgoing mainly because of the ruling planet for the day , the Sun. they are individualistic and have the fire of their sun sign and the sun under their belt. Most are financially prudent. they spend a lot of time on their careers. As a mate, the December 1st person has one special love. The mate of this person has to realize that their mate loves to be admired by everyone.

A look ahead; Even a jet needs to land and refuel sooner or later.

Famous Birthdays; Bette Midler, Woody Allen, Richard Pryor, Lou Rawls, Treat Williams, John Densmore (drummer for The Doors), Eric Bloom (Blue Oyster Cult), Gilbert O'Sullivan.

This thing is spot on. Well, except for that financially prudent part.