Suck it Baby - You Suck it so GOOD! - 38

I love my Roomba. Let me say that again, I LOVE MY ROOMBA. It cleans so I don’t have to. Since I am not the type to have a housekeeper, because I prefer to clean rather than having someone else know of my messy ways, the roomba is the closest I will get. Now my floors are neater and no longer littered with cat litter. It inspires me to mop more often and feel like I actually have a nice home (which I do in a soulful way).
The roomba scurries around the floor and under beds, tables and couches to clean those places that I only clean when I am moving furniture. It scrambles on its way to keep my home tidy.
I just love it. Now I need a robot to do the dishes, and don’t say a dishwasher since I would still have to load and unload plus wait to have it full leaving me eating on paper plates a couple times a week.
Though, as it has been pointed out to me, I am not the neatest person in the world (that is pertaining to cleanliness, in other circumstances, I am pretty neat to be around), this presents a façade of duty that I just really don’t have.
I like cleaning, sometimes. I get a touch of Zen when I clean dishes smelling the soap and the warm water on my hands. I like the clean fragrance of a dusted house and Windex perfume of cleaned glass, but there are so many other things to do in the world, that I just can’t see the point in wasting hours sweating to make a good impression. If people can’t stand that I actually live in my home, then they are no longer invited to attend my brilliant soirees.
But now with the roomba, I am just that much cleaner and that much more alive in my soulful abode.
Thanks roomba for sucking so good.

Finding Lost Things - 37

Saturday I had quite a shock when I came home and found little Lassie missing. I was in such a great mood after having done my grocery shopping and buying a new outfit for a conference I am going to this week, and lost all my joy when his cute little face wasn’t there to greet me.
I had left both him and Misha on the screened-in porch since I needed to fumigate the house for fleas. This is something I had done several times before sans Lassie and never a problem. But on my return he was no where to be found.
I was heart-broken, and after the other heartbreak, it was like I was cursed, though I did my best to keep only positive thoughts in my head.
Into the night I kept watch sitting in the backyard and keeping sane by cleaning the house. Every few minutes I went out looking for him.
At around 10pm (he had been gone a while since I got home around 1:30pm), Guy came over. He was nearby volunteering at Drag Queen Bingo night at the gay church a mile from my house.
Guy inspected the patio, walked the backyard and the alley and kept reassuring me that Lassie would eventually come home. I was bawling.
Then as we started to walk inside, we spied a shimmer of white strolling beside the patio. Cloaked in darkness, Lassie emerged and skiddish as he is swiftly turned tail to hide again. I tried a few times to get him to come to me, hoping that he felt our bond as I did, but to no avail. I opened the patio door and the door leading into the house and put some food out. Bypassing the food, Lassie immediately headed toward his buddy, Misha. Stroking his body against Misha’s and purring, Lassie came inside and let me close him in again.
I was so glad he was home.
I have always had a feeling that Lassie may be gay do to his innate feminine sensibilities. Now I know since it took a gay man to make him come home. Either way, I have a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” household so I will never know where he went or what he did. I am just so happy he is home!!

Giving Thanks for Kevin - 36

This is an easy one to do though it took me a while to put it on paper (or at least the screen). I am very thankful that Kevin is all right.

When I look at pictures of Galveston and Houston, I get so scared thinking that I was that close to losing a wonderful friend. Kevin lives in Houston and weathered the storm coming out on the other side making better friends out of neighbors and experiencing the true meaning of community. Of course, this came with no electricity, no water and no knowing when or if life would ever be normal again.

I met Kevin years back and to him I am “Patti Louise”. His southern charm dripped from his thoughtful personality and I couldn’t help but fall in love. I have never met anyone who loves people so much and has such a big heart. Like me, he is an adopted part of Guy’s family, a brother-in-law to Guy and the man he holds most dear to his heart for taking care of his brother, Ned, when he passed. Kevin never flinched. His love for Ned was so enduring that he did what many of us probably couldn’t, be there until the end and beyond.

In fact when Guy was ill and in the hospital, I thought of Kevin often to let me be a good friend and caregiver to Guy. I channeled his presence and this allowed me to do all those gruesome hospital things that one must do for those they love.

I always joked that Kevin and I would eventually marry since he is the nicest man I know, even though he plays for the other team – minor in the real state of things. He enraptured me with his spirituality and strong belief in God, that even though we don’t agree on politics or religion, we respect one another enough not to care.

He was also the party monster when he’d come to visit as we strolled and perused the Suncoast Tea Dance, did shots at Georgies, ate bad food from Taco Bell and passed out only to get up the next morning and do it all over again. We’ve played cards into the night, talked and fell in love with life together.

I don’t get to see him much, and now think it may be a good time to think about visiting him, when the power comes back, but I do think of him often and pray for him now that he has faced yet another crisis. I can just imagine him though taking care of those broken by Mother Nature, his smiling face with a laugh to cure their ills and putting things into perspective. He is an angel, he just figured wings wouldn’t go with his outfit.

I love you Kevin.

Thanks for Panda Bears - 35

Lately it seems my gratitude has focused on more emotional and cerebral dealings. There are simple pleasures in life to appreciate without anything deep or any reason why. Like panda bears.

I am grateful for pandas. Their black and white little bodies with claws to rip the average human to shreds make me smile. I have a picture of a panda on my desktop at work and play an unruly montage of images as a screen saver. I just can’t get over how adorable they are and what pleasure they bring to me during the work day.
People walk by with their oohs and ahhs sighing at the unbelievable cuteness of these peaceful creatures.

When I see them looking back at me I just can’t help but feel at peace. I love pandas!!!

Serendipity - Number 34

According to Wikipedia, “Serendipity is the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely.” I am very thankful for how serendipitous my life has been, and for my recent discovery of how often it works. When I became single again, there was an episode of Oprah on about the book “Eat, Pray Love”. It is one of my favorite books and I love listening to the author speak about her experiences. Feeling heart-broken and alone, it was interesting how this was the topic of the day and of the hope it bestowed on me. At the same time, I was constructing my first knitted purse and I felt that so many doors were opening up for me, even when a major one just slammed. That was serendipity.

When Ronn and I decided to be friends, I discovered the power of this force once again. "In the field of observation, chance favours only the prepared mind." Louis Pasteur. I was prepared to be friends with him. Even though it hurt to not have that relationship, I was happy to not completely give up the human being who I had come to love.

My life is moving forward and I keep noticing these tidbits. When I was running out of money and just looking for a job I never realized that I would meet some wonderful friends in Effie and Renee at my new job. As a writer, serendipity has given me the gift of stories. All the bad dates and strange run-ins I have had gave me fodder for stories (like the drunk girls or even a political argument.) The Universe has a way of trying to make things work out right.

Now I wonder though, if I am aware of serendipity and the force that it exudes, will I still be blessed with it. Or in my expectation of it, will I be blessed with even greater wonders? I’ll let you know when I figure that one out.

Have you ever noticed serendipity in your life?

Not Being the Boss - Thankful for #33

In my old job I was the manager to a group of creative people. I will take this blog time to thank God, Universe, (insert deity here) that I no longer do that. I am a pee-on just like the rest of the team and I focus on what I need to do and do it. I have one main task, and usually that gives me plenty to do in 8 hours. I then go home and leave all of it behind. There are no more nights fretting about the lazy beatch that didn’t do anything all day, but talk on the phone and take smoke breaks; or the harbinger of doom who dispelled the qualities of his beliefs from a self-proclaimed cube pulpit. No I just do my job, giggle and let it all go.

Now it isn’t as easy as it may seem. I have a leadership quality to my personality. It isn’t really a control thing, just that I sometimes think I can give some good advice when it is asked of me. But that is all balanced by the fact that I have no actual power and that anything I think is right will be overturned by my boss so it is whatever.

I really appreciate not having to deal with whining hens who spend their days sabotaging a co-worker because she is prettier, smarter, better or any such nonsense – er – than them. No longer do I feel the need to strangle anyone for acting like an ass, when all I can really do is “coach” their lazy butt. Making a difference in these people’s lives was never going to happen and I gave up when I turned in my office key. They are still lazy and bitching, breeding out whiners and thinking that they are victims. Even in my darkest hours I think of them and realize that my life is so much better without them in it.

Now I wasn’t the best boss, but I did try and I did care. And some did say I was the best boss they had, and not because I let them get away with tons of shit, (they only got away with stuff because they did all their work, so I didn’t care what they did the rest of the time.) But I learned something from all of them and I see it now in bosses that I deal with. I don’t take their lack of interest as just that, I know they are swamped and can only focus on so much. I know that their abrupt snips are not personal attacks, but an accelerated way of getting their points out so they can move on to other topics. I know that their absence of knowledge about what’s going on isn’t because they choose to turn a blind eye, it is an expectation that they made the right hiring choice of an adult that would work appropriately and therefore doesn’t need any babysitting.

I am so glad I am not them. I may make less money, but for the simple thrill of peace-of-mind, I am very rich inside.

I'm Right and They're Wrong - Speaking Freely #32

The political season is really picking up and the scathing remarks and accusations are flying. Not just on TV and the campaign trail, but in the workplace, bars, malls and anywhere where at least two people with opposing views are meeting.

It’s a rugged task to debate your views while diminishing someone else’s. Recently it almost came down to fist-a-cuffs at work when the line that was drawn in the sand was violently disturbed by differing philosophies. The camps are pretty easy to distinguish with the Liberals (of which I am one) are grouped on one side (designers and most of the writers) and the Conservatives are on the other (Web people and management). Both of course are right, but neither seems to get it.

So push came to shove as one elder Webbie guy flew a few pot shots about Obama to one of the graphic designers. Overhearing his interpretation of the first book by Obama, I was sort of shocked and that only made me listen-in more intently. He said that Obama was an admitted racist, which is not what I got at all. Now this man is very very old school. He grew up in a very different culture where black people were meant to be separated from the whites. (Which some I know still believe to this day, including a couple neighbors of mine – but that’s another story.)

Well this ticked the graphic designer off and her powerful sense of liberalism boiled over. This was his open to cast the first major stone – “baby killer”. Oh and then it all fell apart. Names were thrown around like daggers and no one would let the other speak. However, she took the high ground eventually and said no more. He took it as a win for the “Right” side, but I congratulated her on not taking the bait, especially at work.

In the last big election I worked with people on both sides. I respected them, mostly. Kristin had her Republican views and I appreciated and respected what she believed. Ramsay, a die-hard Democrat also would debate, but it was always very friendly. I miss that. I think it is better when people can freely exchange ideas instead of calling names and yelling.

Now there is a time and a place to get all wired up about this, lord knows I do, but I prefer to share it with the converted since the other side is a bit too hostile. But what good does that do?? I figure I’m not changing anyone’s mind who is dead-set on a particular stance or candidate so why get everyone’s blood pressure riled?

But the name calling really gets me. I used to be a tosser myself with “Fascist”, “Hitler”, and such, but I have left that beside my acid-washed jeans. I learned and grew up. I believe in civilized discussion of beliefs and truths, but don’t go playing like a five-year-old with pinching of the truth and spitting of hurtful titles.

So what am I grateful for? That we can actually have these discussions in a positive or negative way. In some countries to disagree with the people in power means death. In others there is a complete disregard for even caring about the body politic. It is a blessing that something so powerful can be openly woven into our every day imprints on this world and that at anytime and anywhere there are people in heavy debate. Whether it makes a difference or not is not the point, it is the mere act that allows us to thrive.

So go on with your beliefs and sell your soul to whatever church or philosophy you believe. We are all customers of what they sell in one way or another. We may pick a candidate because of their stance on topics that are close to us, because of their background which may be similar to ours, because of their color or religious beliefs or because we’re horny old men and think that we want a MILF as a VP. It is your right, at least in this country, and at least for now.

I’ll save my opinions for another day, even though I must admit that I am all Obama at this point. It’s not that I hate McCain, it’s just that his first big decision (the one about a running mate) was so inept, that I lost all faith in anything else the old man could conjure up.

But there is another point to be made here. I was acosted at home from my own mailbox with a DVD that was pure conservative propaganda. They used my full name and that issued a warning bell in my mind that this “non-partisan” organization was one funded or funding the Republican Party since apparently they had access to my tax return. Should I be paranoid or should I just toss the trash where it belongs … in the can? I watched it and found not only the film making high-schoolish, but the message was so over-burdened with hypocrisy that I turned it off after 20 minutes and will pass it on to a like-minded friend who didn’t raise the red flag to get one.

So I am righter than the Right and they are just wrong – and that’s OK.

A Job Well Done - 31st

I will pride myself on being a procrastinator later. For now I am so proud to have completed some wonderful projects. I am a knitting novice and like any new relationship yarn, needles and I are in the romantic stages of our ménage a trios. It’s like going out on a date when I yarn shop. I do a yarn crawl making sure to perversely fondle each skein and explore its most intimate details – what’s it made of, dye lots, how to wash. I imagine our lives together sharing nights on the couch or the bed, going out to wonderful new places, introducing them to my friends who will ooh and ahh and fall in love like I did. I may even share them with my friends in a swap, but know that no matter how much my friends love them, they were mine first and their distinct qualities and inspirations will always be attributed to my loving hands.


Yes there are the dark days of not knowing what to do with them, not really being in the mood as they taunt me from the basket. The needles may take particular strife into account and leave a hidden bruise upon my finger tips as I kept them moving in and out all night for hours. But in the morning and especially when the project is complete, we both say “I love you” and all woes are forgiven and forgotten.


Our charming union has created such wonderfully fulfilling offspring. Starting out simple I was told to do a scarf, but in Florida, that is a bit inappropriate. So instead I made fashion scarves that are still too warm to wear during the hot months (all 10 of them), but they do add a touch of metropolitan chic in the evenings or over my leather coat in January. With these I paired up yarns, tried some new stitches and even some beading, getting braver each day that unlike the men I date, my romantic liason with knitting is true and the love is real. I can mess up and needles and yarn are so forgiving encouraging me to try again with them, no hard feelings, no lost moments only unconditional love.
I went to a knitting store with my friend Barbara and she introduced me to the owner who also taught. We sat around the table and the owner shared tales of knitting socks for the soldiers in WWII. It was intriguing, but I sucked. I wanted to be as fast at the other naughty knitters with their sweaters and tanks and socks, but I was inept at talking, listening and knitting. However, I was inspired to make a nice wrap. I took it a step further adding several different threads, opening it up a bit and sort of cocooning the design. I loved it, but once again, too hot to wear in Florida.


Practicality set in and belts and headbands became my repertoire of knitted fashion sense. They were easy to do, even while waiting in traffic, common sense since I wear headbands a couple times a week and pretty much all weekend and fun. This is when Renee, an Etsy fiend, stepped in and kept repeating her mantra to me in regards to the new crafts I was creating – “Etsy Etsy Etsy”. Still not sure of what I was doing I instead made treats for others in the forms of fashion headwear and left it at that.


Then I was given an ultimatum. Michelle demanded a knitted purse for her birthday. My new found love had given me confidence so I ventured out to new patterns. I failed miserably as the felted panels of the first purse came out uneven and squashy. I was not happy, but I found new yarn and another affair began. I eventually ended up making her a nice little red purse with a pink rose (Michelle is a rose girl). I was so proud of it. I knitted the swatch, felted it, did all the embellishing, hunted for the right beading (a red glass fish since she is a native), added the handles, hand sewed the lining (I still can’t figure out the sewing machine yet) and then sewed up the sides. I was so proud of myself. This was the moment that all women wait for – it was a proposal from knitting to me that we will always be together and nothing will keep us apart. It all came together on a day when my world was supposed to be falling apart, but like in a romance novel, one love walked away and my true love asked for my hand.


Being the stubborn kind, I had to see if I could recreate this event or see if it was really a fluke. I still was not self-assured enough to believe that I could really have a talent in this domestic realm. So I fashioned another piece, a little bit different style, but the same premise. I knitted the entire swatch, felted it (this time a little longer), added suede flowers and a button, added the funky pink sparkly handles, lined the inside in suede (very hard on the fingers since this too was hand done) and then sewed it together. I did it again. Now I really believed our love was forever. It even occurred to me that this may also be a way for me to make some sort of living, or at least some extra cash.


Maybe our love affair would produce purses and trinkets that would open up a world of possibilities. After watching the Coco Chanel Story last night I thought, why not. She too had loved and lost and coming from tragedy there is glory with, in her case hats and then the empire. Now I don’t want to work so hard as to create an empire, but I would like to make a decent living from what I love to do. In either case it is just fun.


So my latest project is a scarf – it is September and bound to get cold sometime. I found the yarn yesterday and there was only one so no purses, but the asymetrical quality of the new wool and the hues of watermelon really inspired me and it was a bit pricier than I normally spend, but I had to have it. A treat from my love to me.

I am just so pleased that I have been able to finish these projects and still have ideas and inspirations for more. A deep gratitude fills me with the thoughts that maybe the procrastinator in me has turned over a new leaf. My life seems to be changing at a high speed and this is one of the good changes to come.
It’s grand being in love!

Friends with Benefits - 30

No this is not a posting about sex. It’s about something more important; fashion shows, dinner parties, award events and other hot tickets that only one man I know can get his hands on, Guy. Now first let me state that I am very thankful to have Guy as a friend for the past 17 years. But he doesn’t read this blog, “I can’t read yours and not someone else’s.” and he sometimes says the wrong thing, “I only read blogs that are from important people.” and sometimes he is just an ass, “I asked for your opinion so you would tell me what I wanted you to say in the first place.” But I love him anyway.

So thanks for his schmoozing with the “important people” I get to ride on his coat tails to some of the hottest events in the area. Usually we get steerage tickets, but I can live with that, just as long as I am there. Except in the chance we have to stand for a 90 minute fashion show, then I throw a fit and get a VIP ticket so I can sit, take pictures and talk with the “interesting people in the important section.”

The Wearable Art Fashion Show in Dunedin was one such event. The designs were incredible I say. Kina Kouture started the night off with a bang and a whimper (striking flappers in sensual feathers). Jeanne and Bert Halle started Kina Kouture in 2007, but have been together for more than 30 years. Their style are emblazoned with fuchsia (the new pink) and are crafted in a mélange of gothic seduction and pouted flirtation. Roz Doherty is Jeanne’s creative partner, while Deborah Kynes designed the headdresses.

A student of the Academy of Design and Technology (ADT), Blaire Barham shared a spectacle of painted garments that showcased simplicity with drama. I considered them some of the most wearable pieces that could actually be spotted in a club or restaurant downtown. A small-town girl, Blaire is looking forward to taking a bite of the Big Apple when she graduates. Good Luck.

There is always a place in my heart for balloons. Mark Byrne, the Balloon Guy has been in the Bay Area for more than 20 years wowing us with his unique designs. And the Wearable Fashion Show was no different with balloon bikinis (with a surf board), red evening gown, and Iron Man there was something for everyone to giggle, swoon and ooh and ahh at.

To soften the ruckus and give us back some couture was Ben Chmura. His designs were very runway-esque and art yes, but most definitely wearable. Called the AZTECA collection, this group featured natural fibers with dramatic post-apocalyptic Germanesque makeup. Doesn’t make sense? I kept thinking of the drab East German stares the models projected paired with Paris chic and I was also confounded. It was the most “fashion” of the show and had its place in the “art” world.

Just call it Candyland on acid. Jennifer Stachon and Courtney Davis gave us all a sugar high with their candy-laced pieces featuring skirts made of cotton candy and bodices crafted out of Twizzlers. One of the highlights of the show people cheered for not only the fashions, but the rotten-toothed happiness they inspired from childhood happiness. The models danced, had fun and make it more performance art than runway staunch. Plus it was quite a step up from the sensuality of edible underwear.

Katy Long, another student at ADT, was presenting for her second year at the show. Taking the “wearable” part of the title into play, she inspired women to open up and try something new without going too overboard. Her pieces has a bit of an edge, but were truly feminine pieces that resonated with a touch of class.

Found art becomes wearable art in Rogerio Martins’ designs. From influences like Carmen Miranda to a bikini made out of meat, Rogerio let his dreams fly and invited us to transcend the norm and experience his psyche. Childlike colors and bitter realism took us deeper into his realm so that we never knew what was coming next; a mistress and her slave? A hip 60s chick with a dress made out of bottle caps? How about a flowered sheath that stood out in form and color? His works seemed to encompass the basic sense of the title of this show---it was wearable and art all at the same time.

Lastly was the true modernistic wonder, Frank Strunk III. A St. Pete artist, this was the first time I had seen his work, though the name had floated around me for a while. The most industrial and technically crafted, Frank’s pieces incorporated molded metal, what looked like auto salvage and working lights. Models pranced in black bodysuits with perfectly situated bikinis of metal coil, playing on stage like lost children unaware of how exposed they are. The innocence was lost though when the metal mavens, and one man, took to the runway. Whether a bikini top and skirt made out of Red Bull cans or the striking lighted boobs with flame headdress, Frank left the crowd roaring.

It was one of the most dramatic nights I experienced and no one got hurt. Guy was a love to invite me and give me the VIP ticket. He has a habit of including me in the wild and whacky. Next is a fundraiser for the Independent Film Festival – Party Like A Movie Star. It will be a fun night to dress up in chic Red Carpet garb and prance around with the “interesting people”. But even without his connections, Guy is still my best friend even if all we do is drink martinis and watch Celebrity Big Brother at the Swingin’ Beach Pad. I wouldn’t trade any moment for the world.

Sleeping is a Thankless Job - 29th

My week has been so hectic with all the right brain crap (or is it left brain??) focusing on organizing, managing, editing and numbers. Everyone is riled up at work with a big Marketing Summit that is coming up next month and I am in the deep doo doo with my part now. On top of that I am still working on getting past my breakup, stylizing my life back to where I want it and starting a new one. So you can see why one of my favorite things to do, sleep, is evading me.
It’s not like insomnia. I sleep, I just don’t truly slumber like I used to. I figure this too shall pass, but it is one of my favorite past times. I have always loved to sleep. Some people are more energized and have a draw to go go go, but I like a balance leaning towards the effortlessness of sleep. Sure I get to do a lot of that when I’m dead, but I won’t be conscious then so I won’t really enjoy it.
My morning ritual used to be thanking God, Universe (insert deity here) every morning for my sleep, my comfy bed, the snugglable pillows and the climate-controlled environment of my boudoir. I sort of got away from that, but a reprisal is in order. Sleeping for me is the time that I can not only rest from life, but come up with something new. Usually I am spry in the mornings, well-rested and ready for the day. I wake up plenty early for work and spend such time making coffee, reading, writing, cleaning and doing what I want to do before I got to work and do what they want me to do for 8 hours.
But lately, my sleep hasn’t been consistent. I do the old tricks of telling myself a story in visual form right when I close my eyes. It’s a two-shotter of calming me down to rest and of visualizing what I want and where I see myself in the future. I envision my house being done, some details and how I am taking care of myself. I concentrate, not too hard to disturb rest, about what the man in my life will be like. I list all his qualities and feel what that love and companionship will be like. I snuggle up to my pillows and sometimes feel him next to me. Then I am off to dream world. This has worked at my initial entrance to the dream lord’s kingdom, but at 3 or 4 in the morning, it just keeps rambling.
So I try other things like breathing and meditation, nada. This is usually when I get up refusing to just lay there when I could be doing something. A plan like this is no problem when you’re not working or don’t have many other responsibilities, but when you do it sucks, since at about 1 p.m. you start to fade and that is not a good thing.
So I tossed and turned last night, thanking my higher power for my bed, pillows, etc and hoping, like the optimist I am, to sleep. Well it didn’t work and that is why I am writing now and yawning of all things. Too late to catch another hour which will only make me more tired so I just have to up the caffeine, suck it up and visualize myself in bed tonight when I get home, in daylight or not.
Oh to sleep, perchance to dream – but I’m not asking for it all. To sleep would suit me just fine.

And The Drunker They Are ... 28th Reason I Am Thankful

I love drunk people. In fact, I love drunk people more than I love drinking. They are so fun to watch as they express their undying love (I love you man), explain the higher concepts of creation (God is like wow) and share their most valued advice (Don’t ever get out of acting, look what happened to me).

I recently had back-to-back encounters with drunks and felt so blessed to be a part of their public appearances. See I like the happy, fun people who drink, may feel a bit sick the next day, but don’t really have a problem with the bottle -- just a minor flirtation. We have all been there whether we admit it or not, and selective memory is the perfect excuse for those situations we would rather forget.

The first lucky draw was at an awards banquet. I had my share of free margaritas and was dwelling on the buzz, but by no definition had I progressed yet to soused. However, when I went to the bathroom I was spared nothing of the performance from an up-and-coming actress and what she thought was her moment on the Tyra show. I learned a lot about this young lady as I selfishly stayed in the stall listening to her eloquent advice about why an 11-year-old actress should stay an actress.

“I was like you. I still am. I’m young and beautiful and talented like you and I threw it all away for three years. I was a model too and I’m 21, but I’ll be 22 on September 12 and you could be like me.” I imagined the mother’s face smiling in bitter horror as this washed-up starlet proceeded to dictate the destiny of her talented offspring. It continued for about 5 minutes with constant repeats about age and the horrors of drinking and smoking. “You should never smoke or drink like I do, but I am 21 and will be 22 on September 12, but I started smoking and even though I am gorgeous and talented like you I shouldn’t smoke or drink because it is ugly.” And so forth. I was grabbed from my lulling buzz to record these moments so I could document them here and to share with my partner in crime (who chooses to remain anonymous).

He later filled me in that the said drunk, but gorgeous and talented model was the trophy fiancée of an older (way older by the looks of him) producer who seemed to be on a roll during this low-level Oscars. The hint showcased that she had been a teen model who posed (very exposed) on the grounds of her now-partner’s beach-front home. They struck up a relationship, him being very wealthy and her being very sexy and young, that apparently was meant to last, for a year or two. By the look of the rock on her finger, she must have other talents that she didn’t share with the preteen wonder in the ladies’ room.

Shortly after that I had another drunk chick encounter on the other side of the spectrum. The setting was more rustic and the party girl was a tad bit older, by about 40 years I would guess, but they held the same attitude of being sexy, sassy and sauced. Now I make no judgments as I proceed on with years, but I know when to stop and who to trust when it comes to dropping shots down my gullet. Vodka can be evil to those who haven’t learned the tricks the Russians have known for years, it is an acquired talent and one to hold on to hard. Plus drink it straight as a sip, such as a martini, so you know the raw alcohol feel of this luscious elixir. It is really just a sign of mutual respect for all those involved.

This lady did not respect the clear liquid and it bit her in the ass, but not before she expressed her undying love for a homosexual friend, her grievance at his homosexuality and her eventual deep sadness for not being born a gay man. Her shared intellect brought to light that he was the smartest man she ever met, she was the nicest man she ever met and that she would rock his world, if only given the chance.

I felt a bit of pity for her, while once again remembering all that transpired as I switched to water to cleanse my databanks for this documentation. I went to get her some water and when I returned I found that her and her “hopefully one day I can change you” lover were gone. In their absence it was explained to me that she had gone from the “I love you, mans” to the “My life is horrible, old, fat, ugly, yada yada yada.” I’m glad I missed that.

I don’t mean any disrespect with these observations, but feel thankful to not be either of these women. I like to drink, but not in anger or sadness, I am a happy drunk. I am thankful though that as a lesson, I was given the chance to see low self-esteem and alcohol paired up once again and the humor it can provide for those of us outside of the vomit projection range.

MMM Something Sure Smells Good In Here - 27th

There is nothing finer than home cooking. No matter whose home it is, the fruit of ancestral labors is always appreciated by me. Whether it is Arroz con Pollo from Michelle’s mom, collard greens and mac and cheese from Monica’s grandmother or Ćevapčići from Guy’s mom, it is all appreciated to the full extent by my palate.

So who was I to decline an invitation from Maria to learn how to make her family’s recipe for Baklava. Last week Effie opened up her home to a cavalcade of inquisitive ladies with a variety of culinary talents to learn the step-by-step magic of this Greek delicacy. Now as a lover of baklava, I was intrigued to witness first hand its creation, especially by a real Greek person.

I was the food freak of the group, with Maria finding her peace in baking, Renee having a touch of culinary expertise of her own, Marit trying a thing or two and Effie just happy to be learning. The wine was poured, snacks devoured and then on to the baking. Since this is Maria’s family’s recipe I have been asked to not share it with you here. And I completely understand. But what I will share is that there is a lot of butter, sugar, walnuts and cinnamon in this dish and every drop is superb. We all took turns, including Effie’s daughter Melina who was the star of the show, even over the sweet, gooey treat. She worked like a monster chopping 5 cups of walnuts in an old-fashioned, yet perfectly designed, chopper. Her arm went wild and her stamina held out where the rest of us faltered in our old age. To work so hard for a treat, that in the end you really don’t care for, is a true sign of character.

The whole night was so wonderful for my senses, seasoned with conversations about kids, tooth brushing, sex and more wine, please. Misting over the pretense of coming together for a culinary adventure was the camaraderie of women just hanging out. The domestic nature of the evening worked in par with the worldliness of this fascinating group of women whether Greek, Jamaican and Anglo. Our backgrounds gave us fodder to speak openly and our commonality gave us a new brand of sisterhood.

A mellow group of ladies to sup on ancient honey is the fruit of happiness in the friendship I find with these cohorts. I am so thankful to have this experience and to continue on with our own “Cook’s Tour” discovering more about each other, where we came from, where we’re going and what to eat on our trip there.

The Night Before The Day - Number 26

Some say that you must experience the darkness before you see the good. I am grateful for this time of hardship and pain since usually in my life it leads to something better. Not that it is a good thing in itself, but as yin and yang go I can understand it and find it a bit comforting. Sort of like “This too shall pass.”

I have experienced my own share of difficult times in this life, but I tend to not harbor them or dwell on them - only on their outcomes. I lost my mom at an early age and that catapulted me into being a self-sufficient and strong adult. I endured a lot of ridicule growing up and it gave me a tough skin. I have never been the favorite among the men I give my heart to and yet I have escaped relatively unscathed from their disdain and torment.

And now I fluctuate from the eye wall (the most strenuous and hurtful time) to the eye (a calm in the center of the storm) waiting for the latest hours of pain to pass. Instead of breaking down as I have done in the past, I am a bit elated with hope for what I will find after this too passes.

I have decided, as I have done in the recent past when I was kicked to the curb, to take this time to make me better, not for him, but for me and the world. Yes I lost the person I hoped to count on when it came to all things home repair, but now I have the time to take those Home Depot classes. I may no longer have a person to cuddle with and care for, but now I have the opportunity to get back into Hospice volunteering. There is no one to cook for now, but I always have myself and I can try even more new recipes and eat healthier without having junk food around all the time. My future visions may have changed of living quietly in the mountains with my sweetie, but now I can knit and sew and take pictures more to create my own life. I may not be beautiful enough for him, but now I have the time to work out and to really put me first so that I will be more beautiful (on the inside and out) than ever before.

These are the dark days. But as you see there is still hope glowing in my eyes, so I am thankful for the pain I feel knowing that these open wounds will heal and not leave me too scarred. So today I will go to the gym after work, eat very healthy, visit Hospice at lunch time and knit my little fingers off. Not to hide from the pain, but to let it flow through and cause as little damage as possible. And when the day breaks again, maybe I will find the man that really loves me. And if I don’t, then I will still be pretty well off on my own.