So Eh-net most graciously gifted me this Dee-brained space two years ago almost. Glancing thru its smooth new look I noticed that for two consecutive Octobers, I’ve not written anything. I’m trying to think of what may have prevented me from writing during that month.

This year, I know it’s ‘cuz I spent the whole time down in Vero, rotating management staff like my chair in the local Cracker Barrel. But last October? Hmmm…I’m gonna hafta put my head to this.

Ooohhhh…maybe some scandalous, sordid tale of debauchery? Yep. If not, I’m totally gonna make some shit up…Maybe I can sell it to finally pay Eh-net her yearly dues.

Stay tuned.

 And so does Benji, the kid who gave his all to win our gadget of the month contest.

Hence, the golden tickets to the game. Nosebleed section or not, we did park ourselves comfortably along the 50 yard line.

I do believe he was excited to see our fine Jaguars put the smackdown on the Carolina Panthers. He even participated in our ritualistic, “Move the chains,”  first down fodder…

Despite the fact that a fight broke out in the sausage line and I had to be detained for most of the first quarter to give a statement. Geesh. Why can’t overweight, no-shirt wearing, painted men just get along? Who knows. But free tickets are my lovely parting gift. I suppose my nine dollar Italian sausage will be lost forever.

 Beer should be banned. So should overweight, no-shirt wearing, painted men.

I had a great day, all in all.

And I’m so proud that I got to take Benji along.

Those folks who asked if Benji was my son, had no idea how happy I was on the inside. If only I could’ve had a son…he’d be just like Benji.

And that, my friends, makes every Jag game a winning one…

Gracie brought me down.
Yup. She brought down this one hundred sixty pound woman.
Brought the smackdown to this five foot eight, girl unexpecting…

(more…)

Hey kids.
What’s new?
Yup, I’m back for a bit.
Telling a story.

Yes, it’s mid-way through February, (spell check, Dork-o) and I’m just now getting ’round to an update. I’ve been a little busy, but moreover, I’ve not been inspired to sit here and blabber. I’m still not, so there you go. This entry might be boring as hell for you to read. You still have time to grab a cereal box or magazine…
Truly it HAS been a hectic coupla months. Started the neuvo ano with a biggedy-bang. Got that store of ours back where we were in 1998. With lotsa help from the staff, mind you. In fact, mostly because of the staff. They’re good people and I’m blessed to have ’em. Anyway, we kicked some retail ass and that makes big brother happy. You can overlook a few shortcomings when your sales are stompin’ the competition. At least, I HOPE, you can.
So moving through January had me taking a trip or two. First, to Ohio. It was business that took me there, but it never really feels like it. It feels like a family reunion. You know how your family all gets together and eats and chatters and eats and drinks and eats and eats. Well, I do most of the eating, but that’s not news. Those “business” meetings are typically 8 hours of sitting with some smoke breaks thrown in. Truly, the only reason to endure the torturesome weather is the people who gather there. Hey, I’ve been with these guys since my 20’s. They really have helped me grow up. With that responsibility comes some crazy relatives, though. You know the ones. The weirdo cousin who’s loud and disorderly, the smoochy gramma who pinches your cheeks, the food pushers who stuff you fulla fudge and cookies. But then there’s the matriarchs and patriarchs. The guides. The ones you listen to and try to emulate. The soulful aunts and the subtle uncles. Good or bad, they’re all teachers. And after spending all those years trying to get out of school, I finally figured out that I like to learn.
It’s always a treat to get re-acquainted with friends and strengthen old ties. The weather DID suck, though. And the Florida girl is always the one who takes the heat, so to speak. Tip for Southerner’s: If you’re from a warm climate such as occupied Florida, going to any point north in the winter and squealing; “look everybody, it’s snowing!” will not gain much more than groans and snickers from your audience.
Oh well, they didn’t squash MY excitement.

So then it was off to Minneapolis for a visit with real kinfolk. Sister and nieces and cousin, to be exact.
Okay, it was crazy to do that. In retrospect, I’m NEVER, hear me? Never doing that again. Holy shit. Cold doesn’t even touch the feeling I felt. Did you know I coulda actually died if I was outside exposed for 7 minutes? Saw it on the news. Now why in the hell people would choose to endure such conditions is way beyond my realm of comprehension. In a word- nofuckingway. Sorry sis, I love you madly, but I’ll see you in the spring.
Aside from the, hell-finally-froze-over, climate, it was a fabulous visit. Y’all know how I feel about my sister. I won’t rant poetic on that subject, except to say that she’s as gorgeous and lovely as ever. My nieces are growing up in between the daily lines of my life. One is 16 and the other 10. The 10 year old still thinks my diarrhea jokes are funny, so I had to play to her crowd. A troop of Girl Scouts, to be exact. I was asked- no, told- that I would have an audience of 10, 10 year olds to discuss professionalism in the female workplace. They’re earning some new badge, I guess. So I got to sit among them and talk about being a girl and how we can kick ass if we choose to. Not sure if I made an impact, but it reminded me of how much I miss kids. Watching my niece act wild and crazy makes my heart happy. I guess it justifies my own regressions somehow. Anyway, the 16 year old is, how shall I say- boy crazy. Yikes. Was I like that? Yup, I suppose so. She’s grown into a young lady and is driving an automobile. Wow. I’m getting old.
We had so much fun playing games. Spoons, Texas holdem, etc…we even taught our cousin a game called; screw your neighbor. Which, by the way, I had no idea how to play. It’s amazing what healing powers laughter has. We laughed the laughs that make your sides hurt and eyes water. Tip for Southerner’s; Do not, under any circumstances, try to be the last person to grab the spoon while playing with my sister. She’ll maim you. Seriously.
Our cousin is a grown man. 6’6 grown. We re-established a family connection, which is always a good thing. He taught me how to fish when he was 12, and I taught him how to be a hippy-dippy tree hugger at that same time. Funny how our lives change. He still fishes though. And I can occasionally be found giving an oak tree a wave, just for old times sake.
So onward and homeward. Back in the south again. I miss my life when I leave. I miss my fundamentals. My morning computer time, my trek to the store, my dinners at the fam/friends. My spider, my Charles. My time spent unloading my thoughts on loved ones. My very own little circle of life. Mine.
Going away and coming home. I can imagine myself on the hugest tree swing. Pumping my legs to gain the momentum that propels me into the atmosphere. But it’s the gravity that takes me home. The fall backward to my source that sets my mind at ease. The swing is always swinging. And I love that.
Soon I’ll be off again. Swinging to Miami for some food, fun and work. Mixing with the “beautiful people” as they like to be called. But then I’ll be coming home. And leaving again. My life as a pendulum.
There are some far away trips and close by jaunts this year. Orlando first, with Ffej and nieces to see the Rat. But then there’s a bigger adventure this summer. An opposite pole, a different coast. A place that holds a fair bit of magic, yet sets my stomach on the pre-quest jitter trail. It’s going to be what it’s going to be. And if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s to drop the reins and enjoy the ride.

That’s my update, folks. You read it here. Now I hafta go. I’ll catch ya on the flipside.
Have dinner ready when I get back, okay?

I slept through midnight on the 4th. I was tired, after all.
I’d already had an adventuresome preview. Rewind to Friday. Spent the day lolling about. Until 7pm. Dinner time. Was supposed to meet my POC’s, Eh-net and her mom at a local eaterie. I waltz in doing the “Kramer” a few minutes past 7. The gang’s all there. But, I sense an additional life-form at the table. A cute girl. From the back, anyway. I get closer…a bit closer. Holy shit. It’s my sister. She’s sitting right there. Really.
Damn. They pulled it off. I’m not easily or willingly surprised. I hate surprises. Loathe being caught off guard. Even worse, to display emotionalism, especially in front of an audience. I prefer keeping my emotions under my rigid and tight reign. But it was out of my control. I was filled with joy and it leaked out of my eyes.
Where are those damn plumbers when you need ’em, eh?
My sister. Ffej came. She showed up for yet another important (to me) occasion. What a miracle.
What a miracle it is to have my sister back. An active participant in the life of me.
What on this earth did I ever do to deserve the gifts of family and friends that I have been given?
Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch.
It goes back to that grace thing.
Eh-net, who’s been in so much pain recently, came. I’ve known her for such a short amount of planet-time, that it’s almost surreal to think we could’ve formed such a bond. That she’d WANT to be there. For me.
I received so many calls on my birthday. Friends from miles away, friends from blocks away. Friends new and friends of old.
I’m relieved, in a sense, that 40 came while I slept.
Not enough water did I drink to account for all my joyous tears.
Thanks, y’all. Thanks for a wonderful life.
I couldn’t bear it here without you.
And 40 would be so much more of a struggle without you, the ropes that pull me up.

40 is coming. 3 days away. 40. Gosh, I’m not prepared at all.
I’m way too immature to have acquired such notches on my timeline. Nostalgia permeates my days of late.
I look at the photos from my 30th. I look so young then. I see a different woman in the glass today. More wrinkles, more flab, more grief and worry. I long for the days when I thought I was invincible. Went to Mexico on a song and a prayer. Lived out of my tent on the beach and ate pescado fritas, got my huaraches swiped and ran from the corrupt policia who were trying to steal my passport. Traded my Swatch watch that my sister gave me, because I got robbed at a saloon. By two gringas who seduced me. I didn’t care about my life then. I didn’t give thought to my future. I was a morose and drama filled mujere who wanted to emulate my hippy friends. But it’s today. It’s now. It’s fast forwarding to 40. I’m concerned about mergers and acquisitions, expansions and my rung locale on the corporate ladder. I’m still a dichotomy between Wall St. and Greenwich Village. I lean towards this and sway back to that. I never wanted to be a grownup. Never had any respect for them. But here I am, in my facade, dressing for the boardroom. Ever my bored room. Who can separate my being? You? Me? Him? Her? Them?
Bohemian ways should prevail. I’d leave tomorrow if they’d just grab me.
It’s getting so close. So close to the sensible suits and the 40 year old haircut.
No stopping it now…

Happy birthday U.S.A.
230 years old. Wow. Long life you’ve had there, liberty.
Remember when my family celebrated your bicentennial? 1976. We were in Pennsylvania. We joined my mother’s parents that year. I was 10. I had pride in me for you, America. Even though we lived in another country. It was embedded, this patriotism, and no one could touch it. Not even me. It was invisible, invincible.You always lived right inside, even though I never invited you in. Do all Americans feel this way? I wonder…
There is a tangible emotionalism that stirs each time I watch your history. I never felt that way while we were singing: “God Save The Queen” at each assembly. Weird, huh? I didn’t try to make manifest this umbilical to you. Do you instill yourself that way into every American? I am reduced to tears simply by watching the stars and stripes flying in the wind, or seeing a soldier salute, or any other American-like gesture. How does that figure, eh?
I saw your ground zero devastation three months after my birthday in the year 2001. I couldn’t breathe that day. Couldn’t walk through Manhatten’s wintery bluster without tears stinging my cheeks and heart.
My soul left that day. Went somewhere to join in your sorrow, I guess.
We are all America. I am America. You are my nation. You infiltrate me. From Washington’s rainy coast to Key West’s Atlantic heat. I’ve trod your ground from there to here.
All of you. Whether I condone the behaviour of your residents or not, I’m bound by birth to defend, honor and protect. It’s just the way you made me, America.
We are so very blessed to have our roots buried in your soil. In the grand scheme of life on Earth, I know I am your daughter, and I cannot feel alone.
Happy birthday, U.S.A.
I got you a present. Me.

I can remember sitting in my classroom in grade 7. Circa 1979. Me and Jason were discussing the future. We couldn’t imagine the 80’s, let alone the 90’s and beyond. We couldn’t quite insert ourselves into the future like that. It was beyond our young imaginations. “What will we be like when we’re old?” Old of course, meaning 20. I think even then, as a child, I felt as though my life would end young. At least, I could not conceive of growing old. Did you feel like that as well?
But here I am. Months away from 40. My existentialistic belief still firmly in place.
I grew up somewhere along the timeline. Forgot Jason, forgot grade 7. Forgot that I had not anticipated being this old. But here I am. Almost 3 decades later. I’ve been “there” and made it back again. From the furthermost Northwestern tip of Vancouver to the SouthEastern most tip of America.
“Hello?” Here I am. Over here. I made it. I survived, y’all.
Will my life be measured by whom I’ve loved? Whom has loved me? Or perhaps, whom I’ve harmed along the voyage?
The parts of my physical body are deteriorating. Like my teeth. Like my uterus. Gaining pounds without neccesarily gaining strength. Have I reached the summit? Is it going to be that proverbial descent; “Downhill from here?”
My insides, I know, are lagging way behind my outsides. You laugh when I tell you that I’m way too immature to be 40. But it’s the truth. My 7th grade philosophy is racing to catch the 40 year old reality. And I hate to run, my friends.
It is hard for me to imagine that my life here is half over.
Damn, I hope I do better with the second half than the first…
And moreover, I hope to get some kickass presents for the milestone of achievement.
40. Forty. Four zero.
I’d love to sit with Jason today. Our superfluous doubts we could debate.
Should we still be here? And how on earth will we make the time count?
And without children of my own to teach, what will it matter anyway? What freakin’ legacy do I have to leave? And to who? My spider? Even she is getting old.
They say that 40 is the new 20.
But pretty soon I shall need a hearing aid, so who the heck cares what “they” say, right?

Since I’ve fit myself into the uncomfortable chasm that is my story.
I get admonished by the avid readers for not spewing my guts on a more regular basis. But really, folks.
I don’t say much unless I have something to say. You should know this by now. I’m either uber-serious, or ultra tongue-in-cheek. Not much in the way of a middle ground. Things that I take a passion to, get my un-dee-vided attention. Things that make me uncomfortable, get my quick wit and sarcasm. Not really the enigma you conjoured up in your brain, am I?
Just a simple girl, wrung out with all the emotions of a string of seeming disappointments. Mine and yours. I carry your shit too, you know. Can’t help it. Bad genes. Or so it would seem to the Jerry Springer’s of the circuitous world.
I’m feeling morose and self-contemplating these days. Wondering in the big abyss, what I’m all for.
Help me, won’t you? Help me figure out what the heck I’m doing here.
What I’m doing here.
In your space.