That’s what I was watching when this commercial came on.
After the segment about the CIA guy, George Tenet…
A commercial where they show this man in an elevator. He has grey hair and the voice-over asks; “Is your credibilty suffering due to your greying hair?”
I’m astonished. I’m 40 and as of today have no grey hair. (Well, I think I have no grey hair. I don’t go picking through my scalp like a monkey too often.)
Not because I haven’t earned them, more to do with genetics, I guess.
But is my credibility REALLY suffering because I’m looking more weathered?
Geez. Why are we so offended by the aging process?
Why does the slightest foot of a crow or the morphing of color turn us into these manic chasers of youth?
I think it’s because we’re scared. Scared to admit that our time here is limited.
When I get grey hairs, I hope I’ll be grateful. I have lines in my face that were not evident 5 years ago. I have lines that tell me every morning that I’ve made it this far.
I’m glad. I’m relieved, even. I’m not saying that I want to be and look old.
But really, I feel like an Olympian to have survived my youth.
I’m scared of getting on in years, too.
I don’t wanna leave here any more than that dude in the hair dye commercial.
But hey. Would you take advice from Joan Rivers before Yoda?
I wouldn’t. I like old looking wise people.
Botox free, Clairol-less.
But I guess my stance on these matters could change next year.
Same with ol’ George Tenet’s stance on the Bush administration.
It’s all up for grabs.
But I sure do hate those stupid commercials that try to negate the look of experience.
Let’s be glad we’ve lasted so long, huh?
Let’s say; “Holy shit! We’re old! Hallefuckinglujah!”
We deserve a medal.
Just like you, Mr. CIA guy.

That’s the second line after: “Oh, Canada.”
My old anthem.
That and: “God save the queen.” Which I never quite understood. Why would any God save the queen before me and my friends? Clearly, we were way cooler.
I just realized something you guys. I’ve lived in Florida longer than I lived in Vancouver.
Holy shit! I’m freakin’ getting old.
But worse than that is this; I say “y’all,” more than “eh.”
I’m scared now. I’ve always been an American. But I could always default to Canadian when the need arose.
Like in Mexico along the hippy trail when Americans were uncouth and rude.
Or when I visited friends and family back home and could slip into the lingo with ease.
No, no, they’d argue. She’s from Canada, eh? She just LIVES in Florida because she likes citrus and Mickey.
Don’t you want to come back some day? Don’t you miss home?
Hmmm…great question. Because my home is where my heart is.
Oh, God. With age must come lame sayings.
I miss it, yeah. I love Vancouver and will always remember it as the most beautiful place in this whole, wide world.
But I guess there’s beauty here, too.
There must be, because I know there are roots here that love me, that need me and would miss me.
I stand on guard for thee.
That’s fairly beautiful, eh, y’all?

I have hopes.
Hopes of becoming a successful business woman.
Hopes of being remembered for something good when I leave.
Hopes of finally getting all my laundry done.
Hopes of eating a hundred dinners at Eh-net’s house.
Hopes of feeling peace when I lay down at night.
Hopes that my family, friends and staff know how much I need them.
Hopes that someone, somewhere, thinks my muscles are huge.
Hopes that I’m living this life right.

I have hopes too, for kids who have walked in and on and out of my pathway.
I have hopes for this one kid in particular.

I went to court today. No, not because of something I did that was anti-law. C’mon, now! That was AGES ago…
Ha.
I went to court for a kid.
I went to court to fight for something I believe in.
Hope.
I got arrested once. It was in Orlando and I was 20. I got arrested with my boyfriend who decided it’d be a good idea to open a beer outside a club downtown. I was incarcerated for 3 hours. The longest 3 hours of my life.
I was so frightened and powerless.
Guess who came to get me?
Nobody.
A misdemeanor city ordinance violation that is long gone from my history. But not gone from my memory.
No one had hope for me.
I had no hope for me.
Fast forward twenty some years…
Hope’s arrested.
But that same feeling of fear came hauntingly back to me. I was scared for her. Twenty years later and I could still feel the fear. Vivid and tangible.
The difference is that I came to get her.
I showed up. I stood up.
She’s me. I’m her.
Kids need hope. Kids need a saviour. Kids need someone to believe in.
And 20 years later, I get to be believed in.
Just a day in this kid’s life to her.
But to me, the chapter can close. It’s come full circle round.
I hope that Hope stays on my path for a long, long time. I hate to miss these kids when they leave.
But it’s all good. Because now when she tells her story, she won’t have to say that nobody cared, that nobody showed up for her.

This is Hope. At its finest, glorious hour.

I had an interesting discussion with my friend yesterday.
Nothing new, really. We have the same conversation often. Me vs. her. Her ideas regarding the love of her lives. And mine.
Yup. I said lives. Because I believe we’ve been here before.
Alas, this isn’t an entry about reincarnation, though.
I’m anti-girlfriend. She’s not. She’s pro-ho.
Ha. I’m being sarcastic. She doesn’t REALLY refer to women in that vernacular.
I do.
But hey, you’ve been here before, so you already know that I’m a crude ass.
“Dee,” she asks, “Don’t you want to fall in love?”
I’m a smart woman, yet I still doubt the true weight of that question.
How the fuck would I know? What does that mean?
Does it mean that I’m outrageously jealous of any encroachment on my perceived property? Does it mean that I’d not put my hands in a passionate way on another? Does it mean that I’d force co-habitation and U-Haul rentals?
That’s what it DID mean. I thought that relationships meant that I’d have to live and love and touch and dream and walk and fall and trip and adore and be saddled with only ONE woman.
Does that sound appetizing to you?
I’d much rather have a ho to row than a row to hoe.
Wouldn’t you? Maybe not.
I failed each and every time I tried to seriously partner-up.
Until about 6 years ago.
I’d had it with freakin’ relationships. I just couldn’t do them right. I’d been slapped and kicked and pushed and plummeted over the edge.
A light finally lit up over my pea brain. Oh, to have 20/20 foresight.
Dee, I said. You don’t want a relationship, do you? Do you really want to fu** the same woman for the rest of your life? HELL NO!
Do you want to eat the same pizza every damn day for all eternity?
Nope. I don’t.
Here’s what I want: Many different experiences with many different people. Not to say that I myself, am a promiscuous ho. I’m not. Hey, I have standards, somewhere. I think. Ha. There’s not been a romantic visitor to my house for almost a whole year! AND, not just ‘cuz my laundry is in the living room, either.
I leave a lot. My suitcase barely has time to cool before I’m off again. Not simply because of my past, but because it’s my job. I gotta go. It’ll be my future, too.
I don’t want to miss anyone. Not you, not him, not her, not it.
I wanna be missed. It feels better, safer.
I don’t want a relationship with anyone other than my sister, my nieces, my friends, my co-workers, my family of choice, some dogs, cats, spiders and various other creatures. I don’t want any girl to pack up her tooth brush and an overnight bag Hell-bent on my house. Can’t do it.
Don’t want it.
Why?
Ask Ana. She’ll try to convince you that there’s: “Someone meant for you out there.”
But don’t listen. The: “Someone out there for me, is me.”
I can’t do serious with girls. I don’t even wanna try.
It’s not in my genes. Either I’ll do this or you’ll do that and we’ll be miserable.
So please, please all you dreaming people, please, please stop trying to sway me over to your side of your opinions. I don’t share your convictions. And that’s OK.
I know better now. I know my strengths. I know my weaknesses.
I love women. They’re so hot and yummy. But I’ll take y’all one at a time and leave you the same way.
One
At
A
Time.

So now Imus is fired.
He called a basketball team; “Nappy-headed ho’s.”
Um…
Here’s the thing:
Are we forgetting about the fact that he’s ALWAYS been an asshole?
Wasn’t it him who made disparraging remarks about women, gays and all ethnic groups?
I think it was during the Clinton presidency that he slandered Bill at a dinner while Hillary was to his left. And wasn’t there a song about Hillary being a lesbian?
I bet Imus’s wife’s doin’ it with ‘er as I type, y’all…
I love sarcasm.
I despise racism.
But I hate assholeism, too.
Especially broadcasted fuckwadism. For no apparent reasonism.
Where were y’all when he was poking fun at your gay cousin? Your working Mom? The democrats? The Native Americans? Any ethnic group? The Aids crises?
Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton need to fucking get real.
Yeah, Imus is an asshole. But there are so many other fish to fry. Lay off the minnows.
Google; “Chad.”
Then come talk to me about some fucking moron that has been talking shit for three decades.

Your media hard-ons are getting tiresome.