India 2012 ~ Day 1-3

The next 17 days are set to be completely awesome.  I'm so excited to be in India visiting my dear friends here in Bangalore...  :o)  No pics yet, but I promise there will be loads as the next few weeks progress!  And now... Let the journey begin! 

23 Oct, 4:00am (MST): Too excited to sleep!  Don't lie-- you would have been just as excited.  :o)  

23 Oct, 7:15am: Pulled up to the curb at Salt Lake City International Airport 

23 Oct, 7:40am: Bag checked, through security and sitting at the departure gate. That's got to be some kind of a record breaking miracle.  Never checked a bag and made it through security and to my departure gate that quickly.  Life is good... we're on the right track for a great trip!

23 Oct, 9:00am: board the plane... window seat-- score!  take off in 40 minutes

23 Oct, 10:40am: still sitting in SLC... Delta sucks.  According to the pilot, they've randomly and without notice changed the takeoff requirements for fuel documentation and we can't take off until they get a slip of paper from the ground crew stating exactly how much fuel is on board.  What?!  You people are totally throwin off my travel groove which is UNacceptable and I WON'T stand for it!  Out the window with you!

23 Oct, 11:00am:  We're finally off the ground-- 1 hour and 20 minutes late... my layover in Atlanta (where I'm set to meet my friends elderly  mother traveling in a wheelchair) is only 2 hours 15 minutes.  Needless to say I'm more than a little bit nervous about timing.  


Dear Delta: 
We are not friends. If I miss my connection in Atlanta, rest assured heads will roll. Changing fuel documentation procedures and take off requirements without properly notifying flight crews, thus causing an already cleared flight to return to the ramp makes for VERY unhappy passengers. Stupidity of this nature is why I generally go to great lengths to avoid using your airline. 
Hatefully, Liz.  

23 Oct, 4:30pm (EST): On the ground in Atlanta-- an hour late. Outta my way people!  Headed to the international terminal and grab something to eat on the way.  Delta is on my black list.

23 Oct, 5:00pm: Made it to the int'l gate. Hugs from Florence.  <3  Wish I had taken a picture of the two of us in the terminal.  Such a sweet sweet lady!  10 minutes to scarf my food before they start pre-boarding for wheelchairs.  Whoot.

23 Oct, 5:55pm: Paris here we come!!!

23 Oct, 8:40am (CEST):  Wheels down in Paris... Bonjour! Made it in one piece.  I've now seen "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" (Love, love, love-- If you haven't seen it you must!  It's been added to my 'must own' list), "Salmon Fishing in Yemen" (good movie, probably not one I'll own) and "Dark Shadows" (lame-- total waste of time and major disappointment because I <3 Johnny Depp... :-\).  Airline food still isn't my favorite and Paris is just as foggy as I remember.  :o)

24 Oct, 9:10am: Thank you CDG for taking 30 of the 75 minutes we have to get from gate to gate before pre-boarding to find Florence's pre-arranged wheelchair.  You are officially on my gray list.  Not sure if we're friends or not.  The next 90 minutes will be very telling.

24 Oct, 9:25am: Charles de Gaulle International Airport is a cluster.  That's all there is to it.  It's possible they made me go through the security check 3 times.  There were people around me yelling in at least 4 different languages, non of which was English and non of which I understood.  The wheelchair escort takes my carry-on bags and puts them on the scanner belt-- I totally spaced that my laptop was in one of them.  The security woman waves at me to come through the metal detector; I step through, no alarms.  She gives me a pat down and then makes me turn around and go back because I'm wearing a hat.  I go back around, take the hat off and put it in a bin and send it through the scanner, then walk through the metal detector again.  Same woman pats me down AGAIN.  Security woman in the other lane pulls my bag because I forgot to take the laptop out.  So I go back to the front of the scanner belt, take my laptop out and hand both back to the wheelchair escort to put back through the scanner.  I go to step back through the door instead of the metal detector and get shepherded back over to the metal detector to step through a THIRD time.  Queen of the Pat Down steps toward me for a third time.  I gave her the nicest "you've got to be joking" look I could come up with and she "generously" passed on round three.  *Bless her heart*  Feeling like CDG can stay on the gray list... If I spoke a lick of French it may have gone smoother.  Note to self:  Add "learn French" to the bucket list.  

24 Oct, 10:40am: On the plane set for Bangalore.  Ready-- GO!

24 Oct, 11:50pm (IST): Wheels down in Bangalore!  Made it!  Nothing exciting on the flight from Paris... except that I ate duck.  Never done that before.  Pretty sure I shouldn't measure my impression of said fowl meal based on this experience.  :o)  Haha... did you see what I did there??  

25 Oct, 1:45am: Home sweet home in India!  We have arrived at the house.  From my last trip I remember that traffic was intense.  Drivers honk instead of brake at intersections and right of way is determined on a first come first serve basis.  Lines on the road as well as speed limits are mere suggestions.  Love, love, love.  

25 Oct, 4:15am: Still wide awake from the trip... headed to bed anyway.  Tomorrow awaits!

Words

My life is defined by words, they tell me who I am

Some are spoken, others are broken

Words that I write, and some that I cried

Words that I hear, many which I fear

Words of my own, some just on loan

Words from a page, words from the stage

Words I am screaming, All I am feeling

Words I am singing, words full of meaning

Words that make my heart bleed

Words to set my soul free

Words I want to share

Words should make you care.

Ten Things I Want To Tell Teenage Girls | Kate Conner

Ten Things I Want To Tell Teenage Girls | Kate Conner

So much truth to this...  :o)  Sincerely wish I could have believed it 15 years ago...

Buon Anno Nuovo!

Happy New Year!  Ok, so I'm a little late with the celebratory cheer but that shouldn't surprise anyone who knows me... lol


New Years resolutions are lame.  For most of us, we say something like "I'm going to lose 50 lbs this year" and in our minds we really believe that we will.  If your single, you believe that this is the first step to changing everything that is wrong with your life.  Supposedly it will make you more attractive to the opposite sex.  By the way, who decided that "attractive woman" equals a bony size 00 with a shape reminiscent of a standing coat rack?  [*Note: Yes, that's an actual size of clothing for adult women.  Yes, I sometimes want to feed those girls egg salad sandwiches and lard truffles with a sling shot.  Just sayin.]  If you find or know the location of said fashion criminal let me know-- because if they're not already dead, they should be shot for poisoning the minds of the general population and I'm perfectly willing to take aim and fire.  [P.S.  Skinny jeans should be outlawed at the soonest possible moment and violators of said law should be punished to the fullest extent of the law up to and including prison time and even death.  No one is attractive in skinny jeans... NO ONE.  I don't care who you are, how much you weigh, how tall you are or what you look like... STOP IT.]


As a single person you convince yourself that if you accomplish this holy grail of weight loss you will undoubtedly and automatically have countless members of the opposite sex falling all over your new godlike figure.  I mean let's just go ahead and state the obvious here...  you're already an AMAZING person with an IRRESISTIBLE personality and a PHENOMENAL sense of humor-- it's just that no one can see ANY of that through the extra weight, be it 5 lbs or 50.  It's like fog on a window that just won't rub off.  I mean... it's not their fault that they can't see how amazing you are... [Note: everything after 'godlike figure' should be gushing with sarcasm when you say it or it just doesn't have the same effect]  


Once upon a time a very close friend of mine, who I've known more than 25 of my 32 years, actually said that to me once, almost verbatim.  I'm not even lying... it's too ridiculous to make up.  "You know, Liz, you can't really blame guys for not seeing how amazing you are.  If you'd loose all that extra weight you've been carrying around for the last 15 years so they can see that you're as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside, you'd have men falling all over you.  There's no way they could resist.  I've known you long enough to know you're THAT awesome."  Really?  First: Ru'e! SehKURitee, SEH-kuritee. [for correct pronunciation click here]  Second: at the time I was 28, which apparently means I haven't been physically attractive since I was 13 .  Third: Just for the record, I'd prefer NOT to be married to a man who needs me to be a size 4 or smaller to find me attractive.  The worst part of this ridiculousness is that at the time, I believed him and I would have done anything in my power including "How To" classes for anorexia.  Today I can say this:  Dear Nameless Longtime Friend (who is OBVIOUSLY male),  I can appreciate what you may have been *trying* to say, but you suck at communication.  Stop giving advise to broken and lonely women and take a look in the mirror.  You're not exactly the trimmed & cut all-star athlete you were 15 years ago and your hypocrisy kind makes me sick.  Love, Liz.  P.S. I have a dream.  And in it, something eats you.

At that point in my life I was in the sunset stage of a very psychologically damaging and emotionally abusive relationship.  I was completely desperate to feel real love and attention from someone who valued me as an actually person and wasn't constantly on the lookout for something "better." I was nearly 70 lbs over weight because going out and doing the active things I liked to do that helped me stay in shape caused vile, ridiculous and baseless accusations to be shot at me in rapid fire to which I felt totally defenseless.  So I gave them up to avoid conflict and 'keep the peace'.  I hated myself, what I'd become and everything about me.  


Long story short; In the last 5 years, I have spent thousands of dollars on various diets, exercise programs and medications, both prescribed and OTC to find out that until I fix the inside, the outside really doesn't matter.  Until I fix the inside, I won't have the strength or the discipline to maintain the outside the way I want to be able to maintain it.  And so, this year is about the inside.  I'm going to do the things I want to do because I want to do them, not because I think it will make me more attractive to the opposite sex or cause men to fall all over me and beg for me to become a part of their life.  This is my life.  This is my time.  This is my year to discover what it is that makes me tick.


The moral of this story is that I have decided that this year will be different.  Different means accomplishing the goals I set.  Different means having a purpose.  Different means stepping out of my box.  Different means getting UNcomfortable enough to make things change.  Different means focused.  I have a lot to accomplish this year and I'm already 3 days late in getting started... my hope in sharing this here is that you will cheer for me when I'm successful, encourage me when I struggle and kick me when I need to get back on track.  


If it all happens the way I'm hoping, it's gonna be busy, awesome and TOTALLY EPIC. 


To Do List for 2012:


January:
* Establish healthy habits relating to food, money, writing and spirituality
* Be fanatical about said new habits!
* Buy/barter/create/build additional seating for the living room
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house
* Enroll in Culinary Arts pre-req classes at UVU


February:
* Sign contracts with 2 roommates
* Trip to Jax for the Highland Games
* Spend at least 2 days at Universal Studios (Harry Potter!) while in Florida
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


March:
* Start learning Italian
* Trip to Jax for Mark & Brittany's wedding
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house
* Start Pampered Chef business with my tax return money???  


April:
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


May:
* Visit the Mama, Daddy & Jr at the farm in Texas
* Have $5,000 in savings
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


June:
* Trip to Michigan to see Chris, Heather, Shanon & Jaydan
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house



July:
* Be financially able to completely furnish & decorate the theater room 
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


August:
* Have $8,000 in savings
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


September:
* Trip to England to visit Joel & Jess and Gilbert & Kath
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


October:
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


November:
* Trip to India for Divya's wedding
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house
* Buy a REAL Christmas tree
* Allow Christmas to throw up at my house, because I can


December:
* Schedule at least 2 dinner parties at my house


So... that's the list so far...  is it just me or is there a clear pattern relating to food, fun and travel?  Coincidence?  Probably not.  ;o)  I'm thinking those things are definitely a huge part of who I am.  Never forget the truth of this: Tutte le cose sono possibili. Il potere è mio.


Ready... And... GO!

So Simple, yet So Profound

"If you want to be a writer, write.  There's no secret formula or hidden cheat.  Just write.  Write all the time, not because you have to, but because your world simply won't make sense if you don't."   Jen Lancaster

Anyone who's known me for any length of time knows that I love to read and I LOVE to write.  I go through phases where it's all I want to do.  I can sit down with a good book and loose myself for hours in the pages that become my reality, or rather my escape from it.  Likewise,  I can take the simplest of writing tasks and wordsmith it into a masterpiece comparable to Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.  There have been times in my life when the only thing that makes sense is to put pen to paper.  Be it lyrics, poetry, short stories, ranting tangents in my journal; it doesn't matter.  I just have to get it out.  And I think I'm good at it.  I write it exactly like I'd say it and exactly the way I see it.  If someone doesn't like it, that's their problem.  It's the one "place" where I have the utmost confidence.  I allow myself to be totally open, absolutely honest and completely hopeful.  I miss that kind of certainty in my life. Sometimes I say things just to hear what people think. Why else would I write in such a public forum?  I want to be heard. I don't necessarily care what people think about what I write, but I want to hear their opinions and learn from their perspective.  I love reading comments.

It's been so long since I really and truly 'detoxed' my cranium via paper and pen.  I need to do it more often.  I've come to realize it's like the glue that keeps me together.  Sharing my thoughts, feelings, ideas, hopes, dreams, wishes, pains and sorrows is what helps me feel human.  I need to be heard.  I need to know I matter.   

I've often thought it would be THE coolest occupation EVER to be an author.  I mean, really?  Who doesn't want to get paid for doing something they love?  Who doesn't want to have the freedom to be completely imaginative and totally creative just to spite the droning monotony that becomes our daily lives from Monday to Friday?  To have an idea and make it a reality.  To start with a simple thought or concept and chase it through all of the magical twists and mysterious turns as it develops and evolves into a journey unlike any other.  And then to see the way your thoughts and words take shape in the minds of others.  To write with heart and substance; logic and reasoning be damned.

Once upon a time, I started writing a book.  I've worked on it off and on for several years.  I go through phases where I can write like crazy; the ideas flow like rivers in my mind and I can hardly type fast enough to get them all out before I lose the substance of what I’m feeling or thinking right then.  And then, for no apparent reason sometimes, my brain just shuts down.  It’s downright maddening at times.  I know there’s more in there but I can’t find the words to make it come out.  

Bottom line.  I need to write.  I need to write more.  I need to write more often.  Because my life simply makes more sense when I do. 

Princes & Knaves

WARNING:  The following story has been severely embellished and significantly altered (where necessary) for the sake of entertainment and dramatic effect.  Much like a Hollywood movie is loosely based on actual events, the following is loosely based on the irritatingly repetitive nature and eternally lethal ending of romantic relationships in the last 8 years of my life.  This particular story is a conglomeration of the experiences of all those years, the men that came with them and A LOT of fantasy all balled up into one (hopefully) very funny and entertaining story.  The only actual name I’ve used is my own, for obvious reasons.  Any others "characters" are a unique combination of the male flaws & fantasticness I've been exposed to in the last decade.  I drew from experiences with people I know, people I like, people I'm not too terribly fond of & some that I just plain can't stand the sight or thought of anymore.  The end result is my own special blend of completely perfect or completely imperfect cast of male characters that allow me to capture the full effect of whatever emotion or message I may be trying to convey at that point of the story.  

I’ve been working on this particular blog for a very long time; so any apparent or implied or supposed connection to a recent, specific and incredibly painful event in my life is purely coincidental and just goes to prove that, for whatever reason, I’m a magnet for the ridiculously comedic and excruciatingly painful when it comes to romance.  Did I include parts and pieces of said horrible event? Absolutely! But take caution: because you weren't actually there, you have no right to theorize or make accusatory statements of which parts and pieces of what you are about to read actually relate to that incredibly painful few days of my life.  I, personally, am happy with the end result of what I believe to be a funny, witty, entertaining story that many women will hopefully be able to relate to.  Please do not read anything into my words aside from me needing to vent about the overwhelming and excessive decay of basic morality in our oh-so-very contemporary society and the ails of being a single woman looking for real and honest love in the present century.  If you were me and had been through the things I’ve been through, you’d need to vent too and I appreciate your letting me share some of me with you.

P.S. If you want to talk movie rights for a screenplay… I’m all ears!  :o) 

And now… the Feature Presentation… 10... fade lights... 8... 7… cue chirping birds & whimsy music… 5… 4… fade in fairytale cottage… 2… and cue narration…

Someday, I hope to be socially adept enough to avoid the causes of such reminders which seem to be popping up more and more frequently as the years go on.  Until that time, I’m doomed to live the life of a 30-something single white female, lady in waiting, who is constantly second guessing herself, her worth and her motives, as well as that of all prospective males in the kingdom.  I seem to be mercilessly drawn by some unavoidable super-magnetic force of which I have no control over, to life situations which eerily resemble the painfully awkward and incredibly pathetic scenes from really bad romantic comedies.  Just for the record: I’m not a fan and I don’t want to play anymore.  I’ve been dumped on A LOT.  I’m not suggesting that I’m perfect and that all of the problems in all of my relationships are the fault of the Current Jerk, but I’m not a doormat for crying out loud!  I just want to hurry up and start my “life” being happy with someone who loves me and cares about me and wants to be with me for the rest of their lives because they know I’m still learning how to be me and I’ll get better at it as I go along… Is that so much go ask? 

Try as I might, the story is generally always the same:  I try to loosen up and have a good time, just being myself and not worrying about men or marriage or dating or even having a desire to be attached to anyone at all in any way, shape or form and I end up sitting on the cake.  Or accidentally tripping the waiter and we both end up covered in soup and salad as the rest of the restaurant (including whomever I may have been trying to impress with my super-modelesque cat-walk style entrance) watches, doubled over in laughter.  Or my personal favorite, heading to the ladies room to take care of business and inadvertently walking in on the best man (my date) lip-locked with the bride’s 17 year old sister. “Oh! Hi! Um… Awkward… I was just… because, I drank a lot of punch… and… I wasn’t expecting… you know what? I’m gonna go now.”  Really?  Again?  I thought this wasn’t going to be a problem anymore… Is this kind of torture absolutely necessary?  I mean REALLY?  He was cute and I really liked him and he played the part of the noble, chivalrous, gallant, honorable, handsome Prince Charming SO well...  Did he really have to turn out to be the cowardly, jealous, self-absorbed, deceitful Knave making his way from chamber to chamber robbing the handmaids of their virtue?  This is LAME!!!  This is SO not what I signed up for and I want my money back!  Why are they all Knaves!

So after numerous shattered and broken hearts, I give up… I’m done keeping brooms within arms length to sweep the pieces of my heart into a bowl and trying to glue them back together.  Clearly Princes and palaces are not for me and I resign myself to being content as the crazy old cat lady who lives in the rundown cottage at the end of the lane, makes the best homemade cookies in the world and doles out relationship advice to all of the much younger and more beautiful townsfolk like a gleefully retired love-pharmacist.  I’m like the grandmother they never had… or the mother they always wanted…  Problem is that I’m not old enough to be the crazy old cat lady. I bought the cookies at the store last week and just microwaved them to make them warm and yummy.  And the only reason I give advice to anyone about anything even remotely resembling a relationship is so I can live vicariously through their blissful ignorance at the pain and angst of any type of romantic involvement with the opposite sex in order to keep hope alive for myself that fairytales are real, love is alive & well and dreams really do come true.  Oh who am I kidding… that stuff only happens in books and movies.  Lies all LIES!!!

And then; a glimmer of unexpected light at the end of the tunnel.  This story appears to have the potential to be significantly different… A man I’ve seen many times before, but never truly noticed.  He’s tall and handsome.  His face is tender and generous yet filled with strength and honor.  His eyes are determined and hopeful and full of love.  His arms are strong and protective, full of comfort.  And then he smiles at me as he gallops past my little cottage on his beautiful stallion… me! There was no one else around that he possibly could have been smiling at… Try as I might to remain calm and collected, I couldn’t help but become completely hysterically giddy and wonder if I remembered to put on deodorant that morning…  He IS wonderful!  Wait--Shut up!  Is that a kilt?!?!  How could I have not noticed him sooner?  I’m hurrying to the gate, kicking the cats out of the way as I run… I start asking the neighbors… “Is this guy for real?  No double life? No girls in the closet? No lying, no cheating, no hidden motives, no deceit?  For real?  A really real MAN with morals and values?  Get outta town!!  I thought they were extinct!  Does he know my name?  Cuz… um… If he doesn’t... you could tell him and I wouldn’t be mad about it. P.S. Don’t forget to mention that I’m VERY available and I just happen to be completely amazing…”  Oh crap!  I gotta get rid of all these cats!

I decide to take a chance.  I can put myself out there. I’m strong enough to do that much… Just to see if the smile was a courtesy for the sake of politeness or if he’s really interested. 

So, with a little help from my Fairy Godmother, I slip on a beautiful gown that hugs me in all the right places & those fantastic glass slippers I bought last year (then never had a reason to wear) and come out of my cottage… shy but willing to try.  If he’s the real thing, then it just might be worth it to try to get his attention.  He glances my direction and I see him do a double take.  I can see him size me up.  He appears to like what he sees but he doesn’t want to appear too obvious.  He eventually makes his way to me after stopping to talk to EVERY neighbor along the way… meanwhile I’m trying to look like I’m not an atomic bomb of nerves ready to explode at any second.  Introductions, he kisses my hand—every bit the perfect gentleman.  We talk.  We walk.  We laugh.  We flirt.  I trip over my own foot and loose my balance trying to be graceful as we wander through the garden and he catches me—the comfort of his arms and the protection they give me is beyond amazing—please don’t ever let go.  Can’t we just stay like this forever?  Happily ever after begins now; ready, GO!

He helps me back to my feet and puts his arm around me to make sure I’m alright.  He gives me a reassuring squeeze just to make sure I know he is concerned.  There I am, in his arms and it’s a completely flawless fit; when he hugs me, my head rests perfectly in that little pillow of pectoral manliness between his collar bone and the ball of his shoulder. I steady myself and try to recover from the now lightheaded feeling I have because my heart is skipping every other beat and the room is spinning and I’ve got fireworks and birds and stars and a dozen other things buzzing around my head… I think I’ve got my feet back under me, but then I start to sway.  I’m feeling faint—this can’t be happening to me!  It’s all so completely perfect—so why are my legs suddenly toothpicks that won’t support my weight? And why are my joints apparently made of some sort of gelatin substance that won’t hold the toothpicks together the way they should?  Without thinking and without any real effort, his arm immediately responds to my involuntary movement and he pulls me back to his chest and holds me there.  I just fit perfectly right there.  Can this BE any more perfect?  I submit that it CANNOT! 

He smells like paradise; if nothing but the incredibly sexy and completely intoxicating amazingness of his cologne ever again entered my nostrils, I wouldn’t complain.  I try not to swoon… I try to maintain some kind of composure.  I can’t let him know that on the inside I’ve already planned out the wedding and I’ve moved on to decorating the palace he will build for me and naming our children; by the way, there will be 4--children.  That would scare him & and he would run away screaming for help… No, can’t have that… he can’t know… I have to be subtle… So I proceed—with CAUTION trying VERY hard to be nonchalant about the whole thing and simply thank him for helping me back up with an embarrassed smile.  I truly can’t stand the thought of getting hurt again.  My Knave wounds have been healing for a while.  Surely there’s plenty of scar tissue to keep me from sustaining the same injuries again (for what will seem like the hundredth time) and I think I’m ready to find out how thick my skin has become.  Think positive: he’s a Prince, he’s a Prince, he’s a really REAL Prince… and I’m the Damsel in Distress he’s been searching for.

Several weeks go by… there have been walks in the garden; always with my arm in his… tea in the parlor happens nearly every day now… dinner in town several times… he always brings the most beautiful flowers and kisses my hand when he greets me… such a gentleman… so perfect…

Tonight we’ve had the most beautiful candlelit dinner in the next village over… a place he’s been raving about for days… it’s one of his favorite places.  Dinner was beautiful.  We’re waiting for dessert to arrive and I excuse myself to the ladies room to powder my nose… I get all the way there and realize I’ve left my handbag and the powder in my chair.  I walk back to the table, slightly flustered because I don’t want to look like an idiot who can’t organize her thoughts properly when he’s around.  As I walk back through the door to the dining area, I see my purse—there on the table just where I left it… And then I see my Prince and I freeze.  I had no idea a face could do that… His face is apparently welded to her face because they don’t appear to be breathing and neither of them looked up when I walked in.  Begin internal monologue:

[GGGGGAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! FAIL!  WHAT are they DOING!!! I was gone less than 90 seconds and he’s already doing the waitress??  He hasn’t even kissed me like that yet and we’ve been exclusive for more than 2 months!  KNAVE! YOU HORRIBLE KNAVE!!! I hate men… I hate them ALL… Why did I ever think I could trust a man?  Not again… not AGAIN!  Why did I think he was any different than any other man on the planet!?  OH EM JHEE! Horrible vile and deceitful creatures ALL of THEM! They deserve to have their crotches infested with the fleas of a thousand camels and to be cursed with arms too short to scratch… die yucky man!  DIE!!!  My life is over… I knew better than to try… Liz + Boy = EPIC FAIL… it’s an infallible basic equation that has been tested time and time again; always with the same result… what was I thinking… what have I done?? I allowed my self to be vulnerable… I’ll never recover… what the crap!  Why is this happening?  What was HE thinking?!  WHAT was I THINKING?!  I don’t want THIS!  I’ve done this BEFORE!  I want to die… I want to cry… why do these things always happen to me? I have to leave.  I have to go. Now!]

I leave my purse on the table beside him.  I don’t need it bad enough to interrupt whatever is going on.  I’m so embarrassed! How could I have been so stupid!

I threaten the valet with his life and he brings me the pumpkin carriage, because he doesn’t want to die.  I’m racing toward home and I want to throw up.  I’m physically ill… It happened again… Prince Charming is Knave reincarnated… they’re all the same… it’s never going to change… my luck will NEVER change… why am I always drawn to the ultra-mondo-jerk-faced men?  Wait a minute… This isn’t Prince Charming’s fault… I misunderstood what I saw… I reacted the way that I did because I’m still distraught over the Knaves before him and what they did… The waitress was a witch… There was a spell… She tried to poison me!  That’s why I had to pee so suddenly!  That had to be it… Prince Charming would never do this!  Prince Charming… NO!  KNAVE… the way he attacked that poor girl and took advantage of her… Oh! I can’t control the pain… shards of my shattered heart tumbling out the carriage window, my tears washing them away as they hit the ground… Prince Charming? Knave? I can’t tell the difference anymore… the pain takes over and all I can see is red… and I start sobbing… it’s hopeless… I will forever be the little old cat lady.

[This is where any and all resemblance to reality as I know it stops.  I’ve never been past this point… I’m still waiting for this next part to actually happen in any form… Oh! Hollywood! How well you’ve brainwashed me to think that it actually will!]

But wait! After I rush out in my fit of rage, he pushes her away… The kiss lasted less than 3 seconds… It was an old girlfriend who had been in the pub next door and was totally hammered… she missed him and realized how wrong she’d been when they fought and broke up 5 years ago… she had been waiting for me to leave so she could pounce on him!  He thinks “You?!  I love Liz and I end up kissing YOU??!! What’s WRONG with me?!! What’s wrong with YOU!!! Why would think you could kiss me and everything would be better?!  How could I be so STUPID!  I should have seen you coming!!”  He completely screwed up… and he KNOWS it… He DID see me standing there in the doorway in the split second before I ran out… He rushes out after me but it’s too late… I’m already gone and I took the carriage… the valet is still concerned for his safety and so, doesn’t offer any help to my Prince.  But it’s too late… I’ve already crucified him in my mind… he has to find me… he has to try…  How will he explain to me what happened?  How will he make me believe him?!  He must find a way! 

Everyday he rides past my cottage… Everyday he begs me to come out but I refuse.  I don’t leave the house for several months… I let the house and my heart grow dark and cold.  I am so full of hate and bitterness that soon, I don’t recognize myself.  My heart is cold and I’ve become a reclusive haggard and gaunt looking old woman, no longer the beautiful girl he fell in love with.  He knocks on the door one day to inquire about his beautiful Cinderella… I tell him she’s gone, never to return but everyday he rides by and everyday I stare him down; the kiss replaying in my mind over and over.  The venomous memory of the kiss poisoning my heart day after day until I can love no more… I cry out in the dark from the nightmares… why me!?  Never again… I’ll never trust any man ever again.  The days and weeks go by… his daily ride past my cottage never failing.  I’m so blinded by my own pain from what was a complete misunderstanding, that I can’t allow myself to even imagine that he ever really cared for me.  Any such thought would only make me vulnerable to his lies and deceit.  I can’t let that happen again.  I won’t.  He doesn’t care about me.  He never did.  It was all just a show, and when he didn’t get what he wanted from me he turned to the first floozy he saw and got it from her.  He must be punished and I’m the only one who seems to know how evil he is.  He has the rest of the world fooled… but not me.  I know better.  I saw who he truly is with my own eyes.  Nothing can change that… nothing.  They’re all the same… all of them.  Little old cat lady… that’s who I’ll always be.  It’s safer for what’s left of my heart. 

One day he stops and slowly walks to my door.  He gently knocks and asks to sit with me in the garden.  Against my better judgment, I agree.  He asks again if I know the girl who used to live here, and again I tell him no.  He persists and looks at me very thoughtfully, as if he understands my pain.  As if he can see deep into my tortured soul.  And somehow he knows.  He knows that I’ve been there all along.  He knows that he should have spoken to me sooner.  He knows it too late, but he has to try.  I ask him why he is so persistent and why he keeps asking for someone he knows is gone.  “Why won’t you let her go, this girl you keep asking for?”  As he takes my hand in his, I see just how withered and gnarled with hatred I have become.  He speaks a soft and simple reply with such honesty and sincerity I don’t know how to respond.  “I love her.”  I have no idea what I was expecting him to say, but THAT wasn’t it.  I’m stunned.  I look up in complete disbelief and I’m suddenly horror struck.  And then, just as quickly as I felt the compassion it turns to skepticism.  Oh, he’s GOOD… he’s REALLY good… all this time and he still knows exactly what to say to make me THINK he’s Mr. Wonderful.  “Since the day I first took her hand and we walked through this garden, I’ve loved her with all my heart.  I hurt her terribly, and for that I’ll never forgive myself.  And so I must seek until she is found.  My heart belongs to her and she holds it with her still.”  My whole heart melts… His face changes; it softens… Suddenly he can see through the wrinkles of pain and the scars of hate… And I can see him for who he truly is… He IS Prince Charming… I hated him for what others had done… He leans in… he kisses me ever so gently… and I’m transformed into my beautiful young self…

And we live happily ever after… :o)

Sometimes being old is humorous...

OK... so this may not be horribly original as I'm sure some of you have read it before but it's hilarious...and since it's been over a year since my last blog and since I'm still in the process of writing my next entry I thought I'd share this little nugget of  fantabulousness which is smothered and covered in awesomesauce with a bit of super-great sprinkled on top...

Disclaimer: If you sometimes pee your pants when you laugh real hard (don't be ashamed--it happens to the best of us from time to time) I would advise that you visit the Throne prior to reading this.... I was wishing for Depends before I was through...

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Random thoughts from people 25-35 years old...

• I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
  

• More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.
  

• Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
  

• Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.
  

• That's enough, Nickelback.
  

• I totally take back all those times I didn't want a nap when I was younge
  

• Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?
  

• Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You could take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft. 

• There is a great need for sarcasm font.
  

• Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the hell was going on when I first saw it.
  

• I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.
  

• How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
  

• I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
  

• I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
  

• The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.
  

• LOL has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".
  

• I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
  

• Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.
  

• Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart," all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".
  

• How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?
  

• I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent some jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!
  

• Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies"
  

• What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other.
  

• While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.
  

• MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.
  

• Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
  

• I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.
  

• Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
  

• I would like to officially coin the phrase 'catching the swine flu' to be used as a way to make fun of a friend for hooking up with an overweight woman. Example: "Dave caught the swine flu last night."
  

• I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
  

• Bad decisions make good stories.  The End.
  

• Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!
  

• Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?
  

• If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.
  

• Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem....
  

• You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.
  

• Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.
  

• There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
  

• I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.
  

• "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.
  

• I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'
  

• I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?
  

• I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
  

• When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.
  

• I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.
  

• Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles...
  

• As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.
  

• Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
  

• It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.
  

• I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
  

• Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.
  

• Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I’d bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...
  

• My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?
  

• It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.
  

• I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.
  

• I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
  

• I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.
  

• The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

That’s 2 for 1… right?

“No… 2 for $20…” “But 1 costs $20 so that’s 2 for 1… right?” “No. It’s 2 for $20. I can ask someone if you want, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.” “Isn’t that the same thing?” “What?” “What you said and what I said?” “I’m not sure what you mean?” “Are you serious?” “Um… yes?” “I’m asking about the special tonight?? I said 2 for 1 and you 2 for $20… aren’t they the same if 1 costs $20?” She laughs in a nervous kind of way like she’s embarrassed for my somehow obvious stupidity and throws her head back slightly in a somewhat mocking gesture while rolling her eyes. “Ma’am—I’ll get the manager if you want but I’m being totally serious. Tonight’s special is 2 for $20.” “But…” There’s nothing more profound than the conscious insight of sharing a conversation with someone who probably graduated high school but doesn’t comprehend simple statements that any woman who breathes and can shop a sale knows backwards and forwards in her sleep as well several languages. And then I pause. I realize the need to step outside the box and reflect on the situation. I take a moment to evaluate my current state of being from all immediately available, remotely possible angles. Am I drunk? No, so I’m at least somewhat aware of my mental state. Am I stoned? No. Am I speaking to a child? I don’t think so but I’m beginning to wonder. She appears to be an adult so there is no viable reason she should not understand the comparison or similarity between the two statements. Am I in a foreign country? No. The skyline is very familiar to the view from my office window and I am surrounded by Caucasians speaking clear and plain English with fairly obvious southern accents, so my immediate surroundings are familiar enough to determine that I am in my homeland. Am I sleeping? No. So, it’s not possible or at least not entirely likely that I’m dreaming. And—most importantly according to my medical records—I do not suffer form any mentally debilitating diseases or psychologically defecting ailments. The sun did in fact rise in the east and it appears to be setting in the west so all should be well with the universe. At this point, I take a step back to evaluate my point of view. I assess the situation from my vantage point and that of what I perceive as my possibly (or probably; dependant on your viewpoint) intellectually disadvantaged opponent. I remove myself from my reality of the situation and try to envision her perception of our conversation by putting myself in her shoes. Let’s take a moment to drink her in based upon appearance alone for the simple fact that I am lacking visual aids. About 5’7”, blonde (bleached), unimpressive curves but not too big or too small, blue eyes (half open), gauged earlobes (not excessively, but still), a little too ‘touchy/feely’ and incapable of intelligently communicating house specials to the customer --OR-- at least unable to comprehend likely multiple meanings of said special. Wow. I come to the absolute and unquestionable realization that any attempt at intelligent (or for that matter basic) communication of any kind, is completely futile and totally unmatched on SO many levels. I’m obviously speaking to a single celled organism who could not possibly (regardless of the content of conversation) fathom the opportunity for two statements to share the same meaning regardless of their similarity. I am however, slightly baffled and somewhat confused at her persistence. Is she for real?? She knows what they told her to say; but not much more. Are you serious? Ok. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. She can’t help her fairly perfect height. She can’t help her somewhat attractive although unshapely figure. They offered her a job—no—gave her a job and she passed the drug screen? I still have questions about that one but whatever. “No. There’s no need for the manager. 2 for $20 is fine.” “Ok then! If there’s nothing else I can get for you I’ll be right back with your check.” “Thanks.” I could use a fork if you have one. I want to say it. I should have said it. But thought of having to explain the humor is too much for me at this point. I may end up using the fork on her instead of my self. “Alright! Here you go and do come back and see us again!” I look at the check she has presented me with. “Um. This says that I owe $60.00” “Yes ma’am, that’s correct.” “I think you may have made a mistake.” “Ma’am?” There is it again. The mocking tone of pity; if she laughs at me again we may need the police and not the manager. “I’m sure the receipt is right. 4 items at $15 each is exactly $60. I don’t understand what the problem is?” I would like a fork. Give me the fork—I need the fork. I’m going to use it—now; on her! She’s a waste of oxygen!!! And I am not willing to risk the possibility of running out. “I ordered items that were on special.” “Special what?” That’s it. I’m done. I think my brain may explode at being forced to converse with this girl who would infuriate a toddler with her pointless circles. Completely useless waste of space and oxygen. “Nevermind.” I start to grab my credit card and then pause. Although it may be thoroughly entertaining to watch her head explode when she tries to figure out what the card is for. No. So I pay the check with cash. She gives me change. I hand her a tip (against my better judgement). “Would you like change?” Wow. What must it be like to live life with the brain power of a goldfish?

What exactly are you looking at?

I feel the need to vent and so you shall be punished with my thoughts… From time to time, my job requires me to meet new people and, in 45 minutes or less, pass judgment on them. I must talk to them, ask them silly questions that are supposed to help me determine their level of character and whether or not they will be able to follow directions and put up with me telling them what to do, how to do it and when to do it without necessarily understanding why they have to do it other than ‘because I said so.’ They call this process an interview and it ranks right up there with ‘when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad.’ I’m convinced the only reason it’s not on the list Rogers & Hammerstein came up with, is because there is nothing poetic or melodic about any part of it. Whoever came up with this idea was either on way too many or not enough drugs. I haven’t yet decided which, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Anyway, back to the interview. Have you ever had a conversation with someone who insists on looking not directly at you, or anywhere on your person, but at a spot on the wall behind you that is exactly 6 inches to the left of where your face is? They are sitting directly in front of you, yet their eyes refuse to meet yours and instead, wander and settle on something to the right or left of you or sometimes directly over your head. You’re trying to keep your composure and be as professional as possible but what you really want to do is ask them what, exactly, they are looking at. You’re sitting there wondering… “Is there a giant cockroach on the wall behind me?”, “is there someone behind me with a huge bucket of water?”, “did Publishers Clearing House just walk in with a check for me or is it for you”, “do you want me to leave you and ‘Spot’ alone… you seem to be getting along really well and I don’t want to be in the way.” But you can’t actually ask them any of those things. The individual seemingly answers all of your questions with some degree of sincerity but it’s like they don’t really understand what you’re asking. Almost as if they have rehearsed the whole thing. They appear to be attentive and attempt to engage in conversation but they refuse to look at you. You start to wonder… “is this guy for real? Or are we dealing with another M.I.B. invasion?” Halfway through the interview you expect him to say “sugar… I need sugar… in water.” And then you ask yourself “Am I about to be pounced upon by an alien?” and you begin to look for the nearest exit. This has to be the most infuriating thing about conducting an interview. If you can’t look me in the eye there’s a problem there. Not sure what it is and really don’t care to find out especially if it’s anything even remotely similar to the plot or character bio from a Steven King novel. Sometimes I want to slowly move my head 6 inches to the left just to see what will happen. You know what I mean; bait them—see what they will react. There could be some good comedy in that. Are they really paying attention to where I am and specifically focusing on a spot within an exact distance from my face? Will they move their eyes to the left in sync with my head? Or will they remain so focused on that one spot that it startles them to suddenly be looking at me again? If I move my head to the right instead of the left will they do the same, of course maintaining that safety zone of at least 6 inches from where my face actually is? Moral of the story; always look people directly in the eye when you talk to them… Why? Because I said so.

Good Old-Fashioned Ranting from a Good Old-Fashioned Raving Lunatic

This last week I had a bit of a 'rant and rave' moment. I read an article online written by one of the most vile people I think I've ever had the chance to encounter. This writer spoke opinions on certain subjects that so infuriated me I chose to respond. It struck me after I sent the email that I hadn't published a new entry here in several weeks... So here you are...

Dear Mr. Morford,

I was led to your 2005 article about the Duggar Family from a Google search related to the recent headlines announcing the Duggar family is expecting their 18th child. Intrigued by their story and your opinions (in some twisted way), I read a few of your more recently published items. I decided, against my better judgment, to take a few minutes out of my day to equally express to you my opinions on similar subject matter and so I shall. Although, I have not yet come to the determination of whether or not the time is to be well spent.

To kick things off, I'd like to mention that your small minded intolerance and unwillingness or incapability to see the joy of life through any eyes other than your own astounds me. You see, simple things like acceptance and tolerance and compassion, above all else, are the basic values on which our country was founded and in turn are the very things that give you the right to publish your opinions so openly.

I find that incredibly ironic.

This country was founded by men, women and children who suffered through great hardships of persecution and intolerance in their homelands of which you could not possibly imagine. They believed that a people should not be persecuted for their beliefs or values or any personal practices related to those beliefs and values. They willingly gave all they had to endure long and often fatal journeys across the ocean only to find more turmoil in sickness and disease when they arrived, but they were happy and contented by the knowledge they would be a free people. Throughout the past 300+ years our colonial forefathers and countless other Americans have carried on and held hope in our hearts through numerous wars and battles in this country and others because they truly believed in a cause.

Do you really have a cause? And would you be willing to give all you had to acheive it? I haven't found mine yet. I sometimes wish I did and that I would because it would mean that my actions meant something.

There are those who believe that a God or many gods symbolize their ideals of the best possible person and that they should aspire to achieve the same in themselves and whenever possible invite and encourage those around them to do the same. There are also those who take those beliefs to such an extreme that their teachings and doctrine become messages conveying quite the opposite. They are all people. They all believe in something. They are everywhere and are part of every culture and community across the globe without exception. They are straight, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered. They are black, white and all other colors of the cultural rainbow. They are Republicans, Democrats, Liberals, Fascists, Communists and so on. They come in all shapes and sizes. They are male and female; in some cases possibly both or neither as the apparent fate of their sexual orientation appears to reside in the hands of science. They are Jews, Catholics, Hindus, Baptists, Muslims, Pagans, Methodists, Sikhs, Protestants, Mormons, Orthodox, Wiccans, Lutherans, Buddhists, Atheists and Scientologists. I could go on and on. Their common bond? They are all people.

Doesn’t everyone everywhere want to be accepted and tolerated without fear of persecution for their beliefs or ‘non-beliefs’, dependant upon which side of the fence you call home? Doesn’t that display at least a one-sided theory of acceptance? It would seem that the best way to be continually accepted and tolerated by others would be to be continuously accepting and tolerant of others. No beginning or end to the effort and no one expecting to receive more than he is willing to give. No, that’s far too easy. It has to be more complicated and controversial if it’s really going to mean anything.

I find it interesting that a God, who may or may not exist for some or all or none of us, is mentioned in every governmental document that was signed and sealed in these United States of America during the founding of our nation and in countless others beyond those first days of our infancy as a country. This God who is today still, addressed in prayer by our government leaders at the start of every session in both the House of Representatives and the Congress as well as innumerable gatherings of governments and nations throughout the world.

A prayer, by definition, is quite simply for all intents and purposes a spoken wish or reverent thought regardless of who it is addressed to. In these prayers offered by the leaders of our nation, they give thanks for the gifts of freedom bestowed upon us as Americans, including I might add—our right to assemble and our right to free speech. Our leaders pray for guidance in making decisions affecting the lives of the American people. Our leaders pray for the safety for those defending our country and our beliefs.

Knowing this, I find it very ironic that our children are reprimanded at school when praying for the very same things. It does not matter if you believe it is The Almighty God or Jesus Christ or Mother Earth or Buddah or Jehovah or Allah or Santa Clause who is listening; are they not all gods by definition? The consistent intent is that they will assist in the realization of these wishes and thoughts spoken aloud. A prayer is a beautiful display of belief in something, anything, with hope of achieving a better result to benefit a greater good for all—even those who don’t believe in a god of any kind.

For the record, I do not actively practice any religious faith, organized or otherwise; I just believe in treating people the way I want to be treated. I do not claim any political party. I am white, single and in that 20 to 30-something age bracket. I think I’m considered lower middle-class according to the government’s definition. I’ve worked hard for what I have achieved in my life, which isn’t much—but it’s mine and I don’t mind sharing with others when and if the opportunity presents itself. I am by no means perfect; I’m human and I’ve definitely made my share of mistakes and bad decisions. I’ve never been on welfare. I pay my own bills which means I provide food and shelter for myself. I pay my taxes which means I also provide food, shelter, clothing and medical attention for thousands of other Americans and immigrants (legal or otherwise)—which can be somewhat uncomfortable at times but I try not to complain about it.

I struggle to understand why, when there are tens of thousands of able-bodied Americans out of work, I am required to explain my dilemma to someone in India or Indonesia when I dial an 800 number for customer service at Microsoft or MasterCard or many other major American corporations. I have friends and family in the military and am grateful for their willingness to serve and defend this country—whenever and wherever they are needed. I don’t always use recycled products but if they are available I don’t mind spending a little extra money. I probably take too long in the shower and my car is not hybrid or electric. I try to do my part to make the world a better place. I believe our problems with pollution are social as well as environmental. They are as related to excessive media coverage of personal events in the lives celebrities or anyone else that are truly none of anyone else’s business just as much as they are to bad air quality and too much waste. I try to eat healthy natural foods whenever I can and exercise as often as possible.

Bottom line is I think I’m a somewhat average American citizen.

I think what makes me different is that I don’t mind who you are or that you exist or that your beliefs and values may be different from mine; just don’t rub my nose in it or accuse me of doing something wrong. It’s one thing to share your opinion. It’s an entirely different thing to completely and intentionally degrade or deface others in the process; that’s just plain tacky behavior and bad manners.

One one hand I could say the articles I’ve read with your name attached are colorful and well written examples of a talented writer expressing his opinions, however small minded or out of touch I personally might feel they are. On the other hand I could say your articles are an incredibly profound insight into the life of a sad and lonely man who suffers from a great deal of unhappiness deeply rooted in personal insecurity and social angst at his own life choices who probably wasn’t given much attention or discipline as a child and is very likely already seeing a therapist at least twice a week to help him deal with his shame at being raised in a very large, very religious, very traditional Norman Rockwell-esque family environment where he felt persecuted and abandoned because he is a flamer and since he came out to his family they don't accept or tolerate him the way they used to... but that would be mean.

Worth it or not the time has been spent and regardless of whether or not I'd like to have it back; I won't get it.

No Regrets, S