You da best, best I eva had....

It's been awhile. Yeah, I know. Between traveling, working, holidays, social events (because I attend soooooo many of those), family [drama], and potentially courting a poor fella who has no idea what he's gotten himself into, well.... I just haven't had time to be entertaining. Or funny. Or insightful. Sorry guys, I've got a life. And sometimes that life is full of coals and sometimes it's full of diamonds. And sometimes it's full of coal and diamonds and bullshit and traffic and love and clients and laughs and crackberries and lunch meetings and hand-holding. That's my life right now, nutshell and all. 

Here is a recent phone conversation with a random person who has called me at work:

Editor's Note - After roughly 3 minutes of discussion, I find out this man's name is Robert. Robert Led-something, couldn't really understand him. You see, Robert speaks verrrrrry  slow. And Robert also speaks about anything. And everything. Forgive me, but I'm envisioning a 40-something, skinny man with Burt Reynolds' style lip spinach, maybe 8 teeth in his mouth (if we're lucky), with a rather heavy wife. Not sure how or why I think his wife is heavy, but she is.

Me: This is Jessica.
Robert: Hiiiiiiiiiii........... Jessica.
Me: Hello?
Robert: Ummmmmm.... yeah. Ummmmmmm, I.... have... a...... question.
Me: Ok. What can I do for you?
Robert: Well....... you see. I, I used to work for Conlan. Long ago [in a land far, far away]. Wait, do you have a Gordan that works there?
Me, slightly irritated at this point: No sir, we don't.
Robert: Okkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Well....... you see, I...... back in, well long ago, like back in 1994 I worked for you.
Me: Ok?
Robert: And I worked with Gordan. Are you sure he isn't there anymore?
Me, at a 7 on the Irritation Scale: Yes, I'm sure.
Robert: Well, are you new or something? Cause you might be new.
Me, at a 7.5: No. I'm not new. I've worked here over 4 years. 
Robert: Oh yeah, that's new. Pretty new. This was before that. In 1994.
Me: Ok, Robert - exactly what can I do for you? Because I'm not quite sure why you've called my direct line or what you're looking for.
Robert: Well, do you have a Steve that works there?
Me: Steve Williams? Yes, we have a Steve Williams.
Robert: Well, I don't know if that's him. Is he new?
Me, reaching an 8 and getting a bit snappy: No. He's been here awhile.
Robert: Was he there in 1994?
Me: I don't know, Robert. In 1994, I was 11 years old. I'm not sure where Steve Williams was in 1994. How about I give you his number?
Robert: Oh, no.... that's ok. I don't want to interupt him. I just, well.... you see....
Me: Are you looking for a job, Robert?
Robert: Well, you see.... I think you should go back and look in your records for the years of, ohhhhh, about 1994 or so. Yeah, 1994 sounds about right. You'll see I worked there. 
Me, clearly at an almost 10 and for the first time in my life, eager to get back to my closeout documents: I believe you. Have a good....
Robert: Waittttttttttt! I have Conlan hats and shirts from when I worked there. I have them. You see, I had to quit because my wife, she was always nagging me and telling me I had to choose between her and work. So I had to quit at Conlan, even though I was the best worker there and you can ask Gordan if you want to.
Me - At this point, I'm done: Sir, Robert, listen. Gordon doesn't work here, so I can't ask him. And I'm not sure how or why, but you've called my direct line here at Conlan.  I can give you Steve Williams cell phone number if you'd like and maybe he has some work for you?
Robert: That would be great, ma'am. Maybe I'll call him later because, you see, I really don't want to interupt him if he is spending time with his family. That time is valuable. I wish I could spend time with my family too, but.....

[At this point, my level drops from a 10 to a 1.5. My heart has softened. Total Grinch style. This poor man just needs some work, it's the first day back after the holiday break, and the best worker Conlan has ever had has decided to give us another chance at hiring him. What a bitch I am.]

Me: Robert, here is Steve's number. Give him a call, he is out in the field today and I'm sure he would love to hear from you. 

Robert thanked me in a sweet, southern, gummy voice and gently hung up the phone... surely to give Steve a call, irritate him and then soften him, and get back to his overweight wife. 

Dear Robert Led-something,
I owe you an apology. I am positive that life probably hasn't afforded you the best of everything - in fact, it's probably been bitterly cold towards you at times. You seem weathered, both in life and in person. I'm sorry I didn't take a more patient approach with you or your situation. I have a feeling you are a good person with a kind soul, but most of all you are a hard worker. Probably the best Conlan has ever had. And I wish you would've stuck around. Some people around here could use a little softening of the heart. 


Love, 
Jessica

Let the fist pumping commence...

So, I've been known a time or two or twenty to be a little critical of men... especially the ones I have chosen to be [romantically] involved with (chosen being the key word). He drinks too much, he plays golf too much, does he HAVE to wake up at the ass crack to go fishing? He wears pleated khakis and visors, I hate hunting season and wish they would cancel it, he dresses too metro, is there ANYTHING on besides sports?... blah, blah, blah. These thoughts have all crossed my mind at one time or another. But let me say it loud and clear, people - and you've got this in writing - never, ever again will I complain about the stereo-typical Georgia man. Ever. Nada. Not on my watch. And why is this? See below. 



Unbelievable. Heinous. This shit blows my mind. 

The season premiere is 2 hours long. TWO HOURS of hair gel, orange tans, "The Situation" (a.k.a. hands-down-biggest-douchebag-of-the-century-and-needs-to-have-his-ass-beat-and-hair-shaved-off Cast Member), fist pumping, Ed Hardy, jacuzzi whores and ear piercing accents. When I tell you 2 minutes is enough, let alone 2 hours, I ain't lying. Yeah, I watched all 120 minutes... and it was painfully pleasant. It's just so unbelievable, so incomprehensible, that you HAVE to watch it all. The one liners alone are worth the agony. After your viewing session, you'll probably jump on Expedia and book your next trip to hit up the super classy nightclubs they spotlight - "Bamboo" and "Karma", that actually look like really sketchy 80's strip clubs that were once on the shores of Daytona.


Apparently, these "Jersey Shore" freaks all have nicknames. Let me elaborate.

"The Situation" 

Hahahahaa... I'm laughing before I even start describing this cat. This tool bag has given himself this nickname due to his remarkable abs that apparently are their own situation. I know, I know... doesn't really make sense to me either, but let's go with it for a sec. Even if his abs could talk and pick up guidettes, the fact that he refers to himself in third person is enough to make me want to bitch slap him all the way down the Eastern Coast and let the "situations" down here handle him. Someone needs to show this boy a gun, a golf club and a hair stylist.

"Snooki/Snickers" 

Envision a 4'6", 145 pound, dark haired bimbo with skin the color (literally) of Georgia red clay. If you glance quickly at her (which is really the only thing I would recommend) she resembles an overweight Christina Aguilera in her Dirty days. Within 20 minutes of meeting her fellow cast mates, she has already downed a half bottle of vodka and most likely, a few ounces of hair gel after the scene in the jacuzzi with her guido roommates. She calls herself the 'Queen of the "Poof"' (insert a white hair clip she somehow finagles to make her hair stand at least a good 8 inches high on the top of her head... It's ah-mazing, really. Eye-catching impressive.) 

"DJ Pauly D"

Wowzers. I probably don't even need to tell you that he "spends 25 minutes a day getting his hair to look this good" or that, at the age of 29, his mother still cuts his food into bite size pieces for him - probably to spare the 20 grand they spent on his veneers. Bet you couldn't tell he keeps a tanning bed in his house and orders his hair gel by the case.... That little sneaky rat, he sure knows how to fool us. 

These guidos and guidettes "work" at Shore Shop, a place where you can get spray painted shirts and bootie shorts with the catch phrase "I love The Situation" awkwardly ironed on to them. Side note: I think it's funny that they work at a place that sells shirts, seeing as how not a damn one of them has ever owned a shirt with any sleeves on it. How 'bout Angelina complaining about having to work an 8 hour day (heaven forbid) and letting us know that she "feels like this is beneath me. I'm a bartender. I do great things." Wow. Really?! Well, we appreciate you lowering your standards from pouring drinks to spray painting tee's, we really do. You're such a trooper. I'd like to think of you as the Erin Brockovich of the Boardwalk. Later, Snooki tells us her ultimate dream is to "move to Jersey. Marry a hot, tanned, guido. And just live my life." Thank you too, Snooki. We now have another brave pioneer in the forefront of the women's movement.

 

Jersey Shore. MTV. Thursday @ 10 pm. It may not sound appealing, but you will laugh your asses off. If anything ladies, I can assure you it will make you turn to your significant other and thank him for his attempt at a 6 pack, lack of sun kissed skin and messy bed hair. All this while wondering to yourself if you've ever actually been tan before?!


Oh, and one rule.... Neva fall in lov at da Jerzee Sho.

Grattitude is the best attitude!

Well, turkey day is over. I am officially 5.4 pounds heavier (which doesn't sit well on my 5'6", pasty white from lack of sun, frame). The turkey was fried, the bloody marys were consumed, the grace was said and the pie is long gone. We spent it with family and friends, just like we traditionally do and just how we like it. Of course, to me you can never have enough of those people around... it always seems like someone is missing... that someone usually being a far-away cousin, best friend who now has her own family to celebrate with, or my grandmother who spent this Thanksgiving along with the past 6 Thanksgivings hanging out upstairs with the Big Man around His table. Minus all of these missing links, I am still so unbelievably, so incredibly, so immensely fortunate. When I tell you I am the most blessed human on the face of the planet, I really am not kidding you. Of course, my idea of being "blessed" might be slightly different than yours and we are all entitled to feel like we own this number one spot (at least, I hope you all feel this way), but I really would not change one single thing about my life or the lives of those I love. We have each other which means we have love. We can walk and breathe and speak, which means we have health. We have a house to hold us and a table to gather around, which means we are sheltered. We have turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and that God awful cranberry ice, which means we have food. These things alone make us richer than most of the world.

However, with all of that said (you had to know this was coming...) - why do we only feel this way for 6 weeks out of the year? Why do we only express our gratitude to God on the last Thursday of November and [occasionally] the 25th of December? Don't get me wrong, ladies and gents... I'm just as guilty. I'm no angel and definitely not the Messiah. But I have tried my damnest to be more grateful all 365 days of the year, rather than just on bank holidays. Maybe I'm beginning to realize that we aren't all invincible, that things do happen that are beyond our control and that you don't always get a second chance. Or maybe I'm realizing my own mortality, I don't know. Either way, I have made it a point to tell the people I love that I love them. I call my friends, I listen, I show up. I notice the sunsets, I tear up when babies learn to walk, I pay attention to the stories my grandparents share with me. I laugh at my dad's jokes, I reminisce over old photos, I savor my mom's cooking and I try to take time to remind people that they mean something to me. I thank God every.single.day for the blessings he has provided me and I've even learned (gasp!) to thank him for what he hasn't provided me. I'm a firm believer in prayer, but I think we get it confused all too often. Just because He doesn't answer your prayers the way you ask him to, doesn't mean they haven't been answered. You might not have that Mercedes, or the bigger diamond, or the overflowing checking account but that doesn't mean He's giving you the cold shoulder. Someone, somewhere is fighting a bigger battle, I can guar-an-tee you that. Let's stop being so damn superficial and materialistic and pray for more important things... like time, because no matter what there is never enough.

As I type this, I am watching World News Tonight (without Charlie Gibson, so it ain't the same) and what are they reporting? It's World Aids Day and they are in South Africa, interviewing a family of 5 children who have lost their mother to this horrible epidemic. These children have nothing... and I mean, nothing. Nothing but the too-small shoes that barely cover their feet, the clothes that expose them more than cover them and the tears running down their faces. Do you know what these people would give to have a 30 minute meal around our tables? Do we have any idea what it's like to beg for an education... and then have to walk 10 miles one-way on a dirt road if we are lucky enough to receive one? More importantly, do we know how easily we could have been one of them? It's the luck of the draw, y'all. How selfish of us take advantage of all we have all been afforded and forget all that some lack.

My point being, don't let the holiday season be the only time you change your facebook status to say what you are grateful for. Don't let THANKSgiving be the only day you send out an email to everyone in your address book, sending well wishes and blessing their holidays. Do it once a week. Hell, do it once a month if that's all you can muster up. Just do it. It takes 30 seconds, but I can assure it will sit well on your heart. One day you will wish someone was on the receiving end of that phone call or email; you'll wish their name would pop up in your inbox or show up on your caller ID. Thank your God, thank your Jesus, thank your Allah, thank your Jehovah, pray to Buddha, meditate... do whatever it is that you do. But do it with appreciation, do it with grace and do it as often as you can. If you only say one prayer in your entire life, let it be "thank you". Thank whoever you worship for the laughs, the heartaches, the good OR bad test results, the time we have left, the time we lost, the love we share and the love we once shared. Beggars can't be choosers. If you're gonna beg, be prepared for what may come your way. No matter what it is and no matter what day of the year it is, a quick gracias never hurt anyone. Gratitude can transform common days into Thanksgivings and change ordinary opportunities into blessings. Make every day a THANKSgiving.

Tonight I'll be praying for enough oranges to last the Brown family through the holidays... Mimosas are on tap through the new year, so feel free to stop by. I'm sure Mom wouldn't mind putting Dad to work in front of the juicer, she has been known to do that a time or two.

Happy Holidays to all, much love and many well wishes heading your way - today, tomorrow and always.

Hi, I'm Jessica Hamm. Nice to meet you.

So, I've been introduced to this television show. And my soul mate, but we'll get to that part later. I'm not much of a television viewer... meaning I don't have any particular shows I follow on a regular basis. If I've got the remote, it's usually on some shitty reality show, or Food Network, or Real HouseHoes, or 48 Hours Mystery. I just can't seem to find a show that I love enough to follow week to week. Until now. I didn't fall into the whole 'Grey's Anatomy' trend, I'm not into House or Nip/Tuck or any of that made up crap (This is how I justify what I DO watch... I watch REALITY television. Real stuff, people. None of that drama fiction bullshit, because we all know reality television doesn't involve drama). What show, you ask, has detoured me from my comfortable spot in front of Diners, Drive-In's and Dives? Mad Men. Seriously, it's making me MAD (and by that I mean crazy, like in a good way type of mad. Okay, maybe that was a stupid pun... I take it back). This show just concluded it's third season and I am hooked. Come to find out, I'm not the only one who watches this - apparently, it's got a pretty big following. This may have something to do with the fact that it stars Jon Hamm, a.k.a, Don Draper, a.k.a. my Soul Mate. He is heavenly, ladies. One episode and he's got you, hook, line and sinker. But don't get too attached. He's spoken for - by me. Side Note: Shout out to EB and my mother for introducing me to this program and loving it as much as I do, although I'm pretty sure EB doesn't drool over Don like Mom and I do. ****Spoiler Alert**** Is it weird that I actually got excited when (in the show) Don Draper's wife left him?! Crazy bitch.


Start your day off right every morning like I do... watch this little gem a time or two and all is well in the world. Click on this link and skip to the 21 second mark. It's a Mizzou football commercial (yes, he attended the University of Missouri. I don't judge him for that and you shouldn't, either), but who really cares? I mean, are you really considering that school anyways? 


Mr. Hamm-Brown (God, that sounds so good yet so bad together) has now entered my top 5 list. My "Get Out Of Jail Free" list, if you will... meaning, if ever in my life I am presented with the opportunity to have any sort of contact with these 5 people then I'm grasping it with both hands, putting it in a choke hold and dragging it back to my cave - the opportunity, not the person; well, maybe the person too. Single or dating or engaged or married for 25 years, I'm taking it. And I would expect my significant other to do the same if Jennifer Aniston threw herself on him. On second thought, he may have to fight me for her.


My list is as follows:


Kevin Costner 
David Nail 
Jon Hamm
Tim Tebow
Ryan Reynolds


Yes, I understand Kevin Costner is twice my age.... like I EVEN care about that. David Nail, you ask? An up and coming country singer (does the song "Red Light" ring any bells?)... watch his video and I won't have to explain any further. Jon Hamm is a given, as is Ryan Reynolds. Tebow? I mean, do I really have to ellaborate? That boy walks on water if you ask me (and Urban) andI'm perfectly fine with taking a backseat to him. Of course, if he was in the backseat with me that'd be better...  

Wait, what?! No... Seriously?!

Two blogs in one day. I know, you are itching with excitement. This entry won't be too long though, because after you click on the link you will realize that there really isn't much to say. I'm at a loss. There aren't any words I can come up with to describe what lies beyond that little web address right below, you'll just have to see for yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you.


http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=34336100

Now go get out your Christmas gift list and make the appropriate changes.

Mrs. Brown, You've Got A Lovely Daughter

So, I was hit with a strange reality recently. And I find it strange that I describe this reality as strange because in reality, well... it's not strange at all. Here is what I discovered....


I'm getting old. Okay, not that old. But old for me, seeing as though I have never been this old before. And I'm getting, wait....... wait for it...... shall I say, uhhhh mature?! I don't know when it started and I can't figure out how to make it stop. On top of all that nonsense, I find myself acting like... drumroll, please.... MY MOTHER (who is only slightly older than me, let me make that very clear). I was told many times by my oh-so-wise maternal figure that this would happen one day, but never got around to believing it and now the time has come. Damn, I hate when she's right.


Exhibit A: I have this girlfriend (whom I will refer to as Bernise because I think that's the weirdest name ever - don't worry, it's not her actual name - I wouldn't associate with a Bernise)... Anyways, so Bernise has had some recent developments in her life. Some pretty damn big ones, to be honest.  Here she was...  skipping along, smelling the roses, watching sunsets, whispering sweet nothings into her lover's ear, when all of a sudden - BAM. Brick wall, baby. Without boring you with the grisly details, I'll skip straight from A to Z. He broke up with her. Yanked that Persian rug right out from underneath her, ripped out her heart and stomped on it like yesterdays garbage, tore it to pieces kinda like the card from my ex boyfriend I recently discovered and put through the shredder - God, he was such a dick. Anyways, I am on the receiving end of this phone call after "said event" takes place and I gotta admit... it wasn't pretty. She is a girl and she was hurt, understandably so.  My heart ached for her because let's face it, we've all been there. There were lots of F bombs being dropped, lots of "Whyyyyyyyy MEEEEEEEEE????" 's, lots of tears, lots of "Damn him, that mother fucker has no idea I was the best thing that ever happened to him and he will regret ever losing me one day, that stupid ass idiot!" type of comments.  Everything she said was justifiable. She had every reason to feel this way, she earned the right to cry and bitch and moan. And this is when I realized that I had (here it comes)... apparently matured overnight. And I turned. into. my. mother.

What came out of my mouth next wasn't probably what she expected. My advice to her? Same advice my mother has given me through my last 853 breakups/1 divorce. "Babe, you are better than that. Walk away with your head held high, thank him for all he ever did for you, tell him you love him and hope he finds happiness. And you will find your happiness too,  just be patient. Life is too good to be unhappy. Everything is gonna be just fine, you'll see." I didn't curse the ex's name, I didn't tell her what a piece of shit he was, I didn't ask her if she needed help leaving his singed belongings in the front yard. Now, if you know me then you know that when it comes to my friends and family having been wronged or hurt, this mama don't mess around. Typically, it doesn't even matter if my friend/family member is the culprit or the victim... I'm defending them because that's what friends do. Open my mouth and the nasty insults would hit the ground running. I always avoided the fine "white trash" line by never taking it to a physical level, but I would tear someone's ass UP in a heated battle of words.  I wanted the name, number, address, and first born child from the ass hole that made you cry. No way were you gonna hurt someone I love and then fly under the radar, you can balee' dat real quick.



Now that I have scared away any potential suitors or anyone who isn't already close to me but could be one day, let me clarify a few things. A) Just because you have read the above and you know I am from the hills of Gaw-gia does not mean that I am a white trash, ghetto or redneck. I do have some class. And standards. On most days. B) I have never gotten into a physical fight, nor would I ever. Ever. EVER. I would be TERRIFIED if anyone ever tried to lay a finger on me. I'm talking run-like-a-damn-crybaby-while-yelling-over-my-shoulder-to-please-leave-me-alone-or-my-dad-will-press-charges type of terrified. C) I'm really not all that scary and I can promise you most of what I "say" is probably conjured up and over-dramatized in my own little head. I (used to) think I was a lot more badass than I was. It'd be entertaining to watch myself during one of those "popping off at the mouth" episodes because I'm sure I'd be quite confused as to why it didn't go down at all like I remembered and why nothing coming out of mouth made a lick of sense.



Here recently though, I just can't find the purpose in all that nonsense. Just seems a bit ridiculous. If you wanna be a hoochie mama and sleep with my boyfriend, go right ahead. I'll graciously bow out and let you have the reigns, hope you have fun and I'll catch you on the flip side. If you want to talk smack about my mom, do it (probably wouldn't let it get back around to her, though... jess sayin'). I will pity you and pray you find whatever it is that is apparently lacking in your life. If my brother calls me, devastated because his best friend stole his wallet and racked up a bar bill at Runaround Sue's, I'd say... well, I'd say 2 things: A) "Let it go, Bubba (I retract the "I'm not a redneck" statement). He is the one who has to live with himself. You were a good friend to him and what goes around comes around." and B) "Uhhhh, seriously? Runaround SUE'S? WTF? He couldn't come up with a classier establishment to spend your money? Who even hangs out there anymore?"


Life is just too damn short, y'all. Don't get me wrong, I get pissed off sometimes. I check out of reality from time to time, have my moment, and then check back in. I scream, I yell, I cuss (shocking, I know). BUT... maturity comes from being able to have those moments very seldom and only with yourself. Every single person on this planet falls asleep at night with their own conscience and no one else's. Make sure it's one that you can be proud of, one that reflects who you are and the GOOD choices you have made. Because the truth of the matter is, ain't nobody making your decisions but you. Take responsibility for them, own them, apologize sincerely if need be, pull a Jay-Z by brushin' yo shoulders off and then keep on steppin'. Sometimes having the last word will force you to shoot yourself in the foot. You know the drill... If you don't have anything nice to say, keep your big mouth shut. Trade the trashy for classy, it looks much better on you.



*** Shout out to Mom... Being just like you ain't so bad :) PS - Remember spanking me with that damn wooden spatula as a kid? It definitely got the point across. Thanks for the good tip, it's stored somewhere in the back of my sick head for future reference... and use.

Pneumonia & New Opportunities

Sorry for the mini-hiatus, folks. I've had a few events occur over the last week or so, some pleasant and some miserable. Most importantly, my boys pulled off another win this year down in Jacksonville (Goooooo Gators!) and I was reminded again why I love Tebow, Urban, Sturgis, the entire UF athletic department and college football in general. Unfortunately, I had to watch this game from the perils of my bed while sipping on chamomille tea, using an inhaler and eating some incredibly disgusting antibiotics by the handful. Walking pneumonia + bronchitis = one sick little lady. Gotta give a shout out to my nurses who took care of me, you know who you are and I owe you a drink (or 12) when I'm back in commision. 

On another note, I received a really kickass opportunity to get my name out to the public. My good friend, Chris Foster, offered me a weekly column writing for www.georgia.com. It will be published every Monday, so do the math... that's FOUR columns a week I'll be writing. FOUR. On some days it seems overwhelming and on other days it seems like a no-brainer. I find it pretty easy to write once I know what I'm writing about... it's coming up with a topic that people actually want to read about that's the hard part. My first column will be published sometime this week. Georgia.com is in the process of transitioning to a new website, so they are a little behind. We've gone back and forth with a few picture logos (Chris is amazing at this stuff, mad props to him... he said he could even make me look TAN. Do you know how excited I was about this?!). He orginally created an awesome one for me but I felt a little "stripper-ish" in my picture and lord knows we can't be havin' people know my real profession, so we settled on the one below.... not so risque. Check in every now and again to see if the column is up - and give me your feedback, people! Of course I want to know if you loved it, if you hated it, what you liked, what you disliked, if I need to kick your ass or kiss it, etc...

Look for this logo ;)

I apologize for the lack of smart-ass remarks or whitty comebacks, my mind and body have yet to catch up after such a blow. I'll be back in working order next time, promise!

They've got me beat - by 29 years.

Next year is a REALLY big year for the Brown's. Okay, not that big.... no engagements or weddings or babies (Praise God), but it's still pretty damn significant. Drum roll, please.... 


....... Swayne and Andrea will celebrate thirty years of wedded bliss on the 23rd day of the second month. THIRTY YEARS of holy matrimony. Well... Mom will tell you they weren't all holy and blissful but alas, there have been thirty of them. Do you people have any conception of how long that is? Cause I sure as hell don't. I have a hard enough time making it thirty minutes through a date with a guy, let alone three decades. 

The (most of the time) Happy Couple

Their Offspring in the center, plus a few

 

 

You just don't hear of such a thing anymore. It makes me proud and hopeful and thankful and scared shitless. Not many children have been fortunate enough to be able to see their parents celebrate such a milestone, hell most spouses haven't even been lucky enough to be able to celebrate this accomplishment together. It really is amazing, it's a blessing and it's something I strive for in *every* relationship I have with *every* person in my life. Thirty years develops a damn good history together.


In my attempt to find my 30+ years partner, my criteria has changed a bit. Okay, a lot. Okay, DRASTICALLY. Let me enlighten you....


List of "criteria" at age 18: Hot. Cool car. Funny. Nice. Cell phone. Doesn't cheat on me.
List of "criteria" at age 21: Attractive. Fun to go out with. Gets along with my friends. Honest. Decent job.
List of "criteria" at age 26.7: Humor. Compassion. Faithfulness. Willingness. Honesty. Communication. Humor. Humor. Humor.


AH-MAZING how, within a matter of a few years, everything you ever thought was important suddenly... isn't? It's like you wake up one day (for me it was in my mid-late twenties... so, uh yesterday pretty much) and it smacks you in the face. Do I really give a shit if the man of my dreams drives a "cool car"? I mean, seriously?! Is it imperative that he have sun-kissed skin and geled hair? Uhhhh, WTF? The truth of the matter is, I want someone who will make me laugh. Looks fade (and pretty damn quickly, too - I've seen it, but I won't name drop). Money comes, money flows, money goes. Kids grow up, friends fade, parents die. But if you've got someone who will make you laugh through all of life's struggles, you've got a lot. More than most. Hell, if it can work for my parents then it can work for me.  Now I've got to find someone who is actually just as funny, if not funnier, than myself. So, basically.... I'm screwed.
 
As Big once said in SATC (Sex and the City)..... "After awhile, you just want to be with the one that makes you laugh."

Dear God, I gotta question....

I found a little gem in my car this morning. No, not the earring I lost ages ago and definitely nothing of great value.... but it brought contemplation to mind and these days, that's good enough for me. I was on my way to work, applying my mascara as usual (Mom, please do not call me about this) and I dropped something between my center console and seat. I reached down to get it and discovered a cd stuffed in the crevices, clearly scratched and weathered. I recognized the handwriting on this "burnt" cd as my own and knew it was definitely old school, something from back in the day. I put it in, laughed outloud when I heard the first song and then thumbed through the next few. They were all really good songs, songs I had forgotten even existed but had at one point in my life meant something to me. Funny how one song can completely take you back, almost into another place in time, and as soon as the song is over you are back to your normal routine as if it never happened. Track 4 proceeded to begin and I was at a traffic light, mascara applied and coffee now in hand. I remembered hearing this song, oh, a good hundred times before without a second thought to it’s meaning. It had been years though since this tune had played in my head and it was somehow now a different song to me.


“But I wasn’t there the day You filled up the ocean,
I didn’t get to see You hang the stars in the sky.
So I don’t mean to second guess You,
or criticize what I don’t understand.
These are just a few questions I have.”


Hmmmm. Just as I was saying, songs can take you back. Sometimes to good places, sometimes to not-so-good places. Hearing this immediately forced me to recall a time in my life that wasn’t good. However, this “time” in my life included an event so life-changing, so embedded in my memory, that I think about it almost on a daily basis. I’ve heard before that God makes himself present in the darkest of times, right when you wonder where the hell He is, he makes himself known. And, well, dammit… He sure does.

 This day I’m referring to happened back in the very early spring of 2007, probably late March or so. The word “divorce” had just entered my vocabulary and I was still trying to absorb it. I was busy moving furniture, calling lawyers and calling on God, wiping away dust and tears, boxing up silverware and memories and trying to find a new “normal” while desperately trying to keep everything the same. You see, the steady flow of tears never really dissipates after a decision like this – at least not for awhile. My life, as I had known it, was over. I was 23. Divorced. An emotional wreck. In my mind, this was as bad as it gets. The bottom of the barrel, the lowest of lows. And then, as He always does, God showed up.


My ex and I were at dinner that evening, sitting on the patio just like we had done numerous times before – this meal was different, though. We were discussing who would keep the tupperware, who would pay the car insurance, what we would return and what we would keep, who we would tell and who we wouldn’t. We were grasping at straws, gritting our teeth, and attempting to keep our yelling to a minimum due to the crowd that had gathered at the outside tables to enjoy the same simple pleasures we once had. The tears started to come, nothing out of the ordinary, and I felt it in my gut… that feeling of total failure and lack of any good in my life at that exact moment.


I stopped yelling, dried my eyes and looked to my left. There was a family of 5, gobbling up their burritos and genuinely loving each others company. I quickly noticed what appeared to be the mother of these 3 children, her head wrapped in a scarf and lack of eyebrows and eyelashes apparent. Cancer, I assumed, and my heart became heavy. It was clear to me she wasn’t doing well. Her movements were slow, her breathing was labored, but she was there. In that moment, she was at peace with her family. Naturally, I listened contently to their conversation – I was hanging on to every word these people were saying. They were laughing and carrying on like any normal family would, obviously accustomed to the fact that Mommy was sick. Her daughter, whom I’m guessing was about 8 years old or so, was coloring in her own little world. She then said something as she colored, not even taking her eyes off her book. What she said will never, ever leave my memory. Ever. Not as long as I live. It haunts me.



“Mommy, the kids at school keep asking me what I’m going to do when you die.”


I can still hear her voice in my head, almost baby-like. The innocence that God affords small children amazes me sometimes (p.s. – Thank you, God for that). Here I am, arguing with a man that I married about bedroom furniture and wedding china and the magic bullet (the infomercial gadget people, get your minds out tha gutta!) and this woman is in front of me, desperately trying to live for her babies. My life, my struggles, my depression - this was peanuts compared to hers. And there God was… coming through the darkness, giving me perspective, showing me the light that is ever present but just not as bright at times. That poor woman would have traded circumstances with me in a heart beat, you can bet your sweet bottom. And from that moment on, my life was different. By that, I don’t mean it was different as far as marital status, or my address or my income – although all of those did change. I mean it rearranged who I was.


I don’t know why God gave that woman a deadly disease. I don’t know why he blessed her with 3 beautiful children and what appeared to be a committed husband, just to leave her hair-less and sick and in pain. I don’t know why my own mother, sister, grandmothers, aunts have all avoided that same circumstance. It's obvious to me that God knows all, the bible even tells us that He knows all the days of our lives before we are even born. So how does He pick and choose? I mean, I sure as hell wouldn't want that job. How does He decide which babies are born into poverty and war-stricken countries and which are born with free will and most likely won't ever go hungry? It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever understand in this fair, yet so unfair, life that I am SO fortunate to live. But I am grateful. And if you are able to read this, than you should be too. In the words of Jack Johnson, give people presents with your presence alone. You just never know.

I'm jealous. There, I said it.

So... I'm not too keen on public speaking. Actually, my stomach just turned when I typed that - true story. This tid bit probably surprises most of you, seeing as how I am typically the loudest in the crowd, the one cracking jokes and popping off at the mouth. You wanna laugh about your husband cheating on you? Call Jess. You wanna find the humor in the fact that your dog died? Again, call Jess. You want me to help you see the optimistic side about you gaining 20 pounds? Yep, me.  I do find that at times being loud and boisterous can get me into some trouble - I'm used to it.  I suppose it's a good thing that I'm also pretty comfortable and secure with my opinions and decisions, and the people I surround myself with know this about me and appreciate all the funny and not-so-funny stuff that tends to exit my mouth without a first, let alone second, thought.

I dropped my Communications class in college. No way in h-e-double hockey sticks was my happy ass getting up in front of 100 people and reciting a *memorized* speech for 5 minutes. Not on my watch. If I don't know you on a somewhat personal level, I'm sure as hell not going to attempt to stand in front of 100 of you and have you judge my public speaking abilities and social skills. Thanks, but no thanks. Play again. I'm just not comfortable in that type of environment; it's wasn't who I was at that age and still isn't completely who I am now, although I'm getting better... just at a very slow pace.

You see, I want to be a fabulous public speaker. In my dream world, I'd write incredible books about the wisdoms and tragedies that life has afforded me - and hopefully make people laugh their asses off in the process. And after I write them, I want to TALK about them. In front of other people, not just alone in my mirror. Which brings me to this video. Hands down, it's one of my favorites. Of. All. Time. No kidding, I have this entire excerpt memorized. No shit, I have the text printed out onto an 8.5 x 11 and I read it. Sometimes outloud and in the car, sometimes to myself in my office. Not only do I think that this woman (I'll refer to her as Kelly Corrigan because, well, that's her name) preaches the gospel, but I'm jealous of her. Like to the core, want-to-be-her type of jealous...  of course, minus the time in her life when she fought breast cancer with 2 small babies and husband in tow. I mean, this woman is a survivor in every sense of the word. On top of all that, she writes incredible books and even... gasp!... speaks [so eloquently] in public. She is good, people. Damn good. And I want to be like her. And I will.  

Kelly Corrigan - Transcending: Words on Women and Strength

A Google Nation

Ok, I have a confession. As much as I'd like (well, love) to take credit for the following post, I just can't. It is superbly written and wayyyyyy better than anything this brain could come up with or these fingers could type. However, it was just too good not to share with my fellow blog readers... all 4 of you. Read it, think about it, soak it up, let it sit in the fore-front of your thoughts for awhile. It really is that good.

A Google Nation
by Augusten Burroughs

We are a Google Nation. Type in a few words on any subject and a staggering amount of information hurls forth in two seconds flat. In fact, if it's longer than two seconds, you call your computer a motherfucker and stab at the Enter key. A mere ten, fifteen years ago, if you wanted to research something you went to a library. You opened the unwieldy card catalogue, deciphered the geekishly long code, and walked a quarter mile into the stacks to locate a specific book, and somewhere in that book was the little piece of information you needed. Now, the only reason to go into the stacks is to have sex. And just last month, one of my out-of-town guests remarked of my local town library, "That building would make piss-elegant condos." My guess is that within the next decade, that's exactly what it will be. Libraries will be converted into more useful real estate -condos and coffee bars- and the librarians that work in them will be rounded up and re-trained to operate industrial espresso machines and cash registers.

I remember the day I bought a microwave, back when it was called a "microwave oven." I was nineteen, living on my own in San Francisco. I bought the microwave not because I cooked, but because it was the coolest thing in the world. It was the video iPod of 1984. You had to have it. Even if the only thing you could do with it was boil water. I remember watching water boil, timing it with the second hand of my Swatch watch. Sixty seconds. Miraculous! How lucky I felt to be alive during that magic time in history! Now, of course, I seethe at the lumbering dinosaur pace of the microwave. Sixty seconds for boiled water has been trimmed down to forty seconds which is still entirely unacceptable. There should be no wait, none at all. Just like hitting Send for my Google page, I want my liquid positively roiling the instant I hit that button.

We are a speed-obsessed culture. When the newer, faster, smaller model comes along, we toss the old one without hesitation. We cream our jeans when we read about a quarter-inch thin laptop with dual processors and ten hours of battery power. We go to the store and there's a waiting list. And in that instant the decision is made: We WILL get that laptop. And we do. We show it off to our friends. And for the first week, we even wash our hands before we use it, to keep the keyboard clean. But in a month, we'll be used to it. In six months, it will seem slow. We won't care when we drip instant Cream of Wheat onto the keyboard, causing a short. In a year, we won't carry it on the plane anymore because it will be embarrassingly obsolete.

So imagine trying to have a relationship in this environment. And by that I am referring to the arcane concept of the long term relationship. A marriage, even. Imagine living in this culture and not walking out the door at the first sign of trouble. The second you hear "WE NEED TO TALK" OR "I'VE BEEN THINKING," you hit the Eject button. Do you know the chances of celebrating your fiftieth anniversary? Something like 2%. Go ahead. Google it and see for yourself.

Successful, long-term relationships take two things that we, as a culture, have mysteriously become de-programmed to avoid: work and persistence.

We want our relationships to be great and great all the time. On their own. Work-free partnered bliss. As soon as issues occur, we think, "This one's not right for me." Or, "We're growing apart." Of course, the world is filled with psychos, and sometimes they are attractive and we end up married to one. Which is a pity. And in this case, leaving is a very good thing. But most often, we're just coupled with another normal person and experiencing normal problems and leaving is the easiest idea, not necessarily the best one. I think part of the problem is that we marry too quickly. We fall in love, and then trust our hormones and brain chemistry and we get engaged. Before we really know what we're getting into.

Our divorce rate hovers around 50%. Even I, with my few years of formal schooling, recall that 50% is most certainly an F in American Relationships. And it's because we're viewing the first marriage not as the final exam, but as the homework. The trainer marriage. The one where we can make all our mistakes. So that we can nail it the second -or third - time around. But guess what? The statistics don't show that. In fact, the statistics show the jaw-droppingly, sphincter-clenchingly opposite. They reveal failed first marriages, followed by failed second (60%) and failed third (73%). I should know. I Googled it.

In my own relationship (now in its seventh year), there have been many times when I've said, "This isn't working," and felt like walking out. Lucky for me, my other half is more reasonable than I. He's patiently explained, "We have to work through this. We have a solid core and we can't just give up." So we talk about problems that come up. And if one of us (me, usually) needs to modify his behavior, he does so.

This is new for me. I was always a relationship serial killer. I ended them either before the other person could leave me, or because I decided the relationship had been a mistake in the first place. Looking back from the vantage point of my life with Dennis, I can now see those other people were, in fact, wrong for me. Some of them - the crack fiend, the married cop, the Guy All My Friends Detested - were life-threateningly wrong. So I learned a lot of bad habits. And when I finally did meet a person who was right for me, I continued to behave in the old bad-for-me ways.

When relationship experts say, "Relationships take work," they really mean it. Now, I find myself talking about things I'd rather avoid, having to face weaknesses of my own character head-on, sometimes at two in the morning. (The fact that Dennis likes to go to bed around midnight does not stop me.) To make a relationship work, you don't always get to win. And you don't always get to look good. And things are not always neat and organized. Compromise is another word that's bandied about, but what does it mean? It means, I really like to spend my free time home, reading quietly. And Dennis really likes to spend his free time traveling. And because it's important to him, it becomes important to me and off we go. I bring a book.

I never take Dennis for granted, because he's so damn emotionally healthy I worry he will trade me in if I start slacking. I've had respect for him from the moment we met, and I continue to respect him all these years later. In fact, the more people I meet, the more I realize how lucky I am. Because I found somebody who is willing to put up with me, even willing to stay with me even though I am seriously lacking in many ways. Dennis knows he could find somebody else that maybe had things a little more together. But he also knows we have a history together, now. He knows he can trust me. And he knows I try. It's true that we've both given up certain things to be together. (He more than I.) But the combination of us together, the "marriage" we have made makes up for a lot. I know I'm not the person he thought he'd end up with. And sometimes I do wish I'd thought to pick somebody who owed a fast food franchise so I could have access to a professional frialator. But it works, because we make it work.

The other week, I was in L.A. having a meeting with a Very Famous Person. I say this not to brag, but to tell you that this Very Famous Person is not married and has never been married and is just about to hit Middle Age. Truly, this is a person who has all the possible toys and luxuries anybody could ever dream of. But they don't have somebody to share all this with. And so, what do they really have? It's fine and dandy to fly everywhere in your own private jet. But when you can't lean over to somebody sitting on the seat next to you and whisper, "Aren't you glad we're not common trash anymore?" the moment is drained of its meaning.

Here's something else. There's always going to be somebody better looking than the person you end up with. Somebody funnier, smarter, richer. But if you're fortunate enough to meet somebody with whom you are compatible, you have to close certain doors. You have to recognize that yes, you may indeed meet other people you could fall in love with. But by sticking with the person you chose, you gain a level of intimacy that is not possible by hopping from one person to the next every couple of years.

And there's a payoff, you see. When you're old and pitiful and need to be pushed around in your wheelchair, you'll have someone to do that for you. And not only will they not mind at all, but they'll probably be happy to do it. They might even attach playing cards to the spokes that your chair makes a nifty sound. Even if you suddenly lose your money, and you're significantly uglier, they'll continue to push you around in your wheelchair because you have spent all these years weaving this sort of fabric together.

I take marriage very seriously. Even though as a homosexual living in sin, I am not allowed to be married and will most certainly be cleaning Satin's toilet for all of eternity in hell, just because I happen to share my life with somebody who also pees standing up. Even so, I do take marriage more seriously than I take anything else. And I honor it and I respect it. And I think that if you can make it work, you ought to make it work.

So though I'd like my water to boil faster, and though the computer I bought nine months ago is painfully slow, in my relationship I'm willing to sacrifice speed for quality. It's a formula that works. Google it. You'll see.

Nobody puts Baby in tha Co'na...

I'm back from my mini-hiatus. A much needed vacation was had that included shit tons of laughter and booze and food and friends and family. It also included a few of those "I appreciate my life and am completely undeserving of all that I have" moments alone on the balcony along with a couple of  "am I in the twilight zone?!" stories that are wayyyyy more fun to discuss, so that's what we'll do.


Background: Last Thursday, I hit the road and headed south to my parents condos in Gulf Shores. It was a family weekend that also included my best friend Suzanne and her husband, Adam. 

On the 3rd night of our adventure, we realized that (yet another) trip to the local liquor store needed to take place. After discovering our typical ABC Beverage was closed, we scope out the sketchy "package store" down the street - which happens to be located between a gas station and a Christmas Shop/Florist. We were desperate, people. Cut us some slack. 


(Side Note: PUHLEASE keep in mind, we are in lower Alabama. It is mid-October and the mad rush of halfway-decent looking tourists is long over. The natives have come out to reclaim their land and it's quite obvious they haven't seen the light of day since going into hibernation right before Spring Break.)

Let me set the scene.... we enter this "package store" and notice the (what I am assuming to be) cashier huddled in the corner, sitting on her stool and watching television. She weighs a good 3.5 bucks, bottled blonde hair from Walgreens and sweat suit to match. I'm assuming either her best friend or sister is the one who runs the gas station next door because the prison scratch on their biceps that reads "Baby Girl" is eerily similar. Anyway, we proceed to the vodka section which consists of Burnett's, Smirnoff and the oh-so-top-notch Pinnacle vodka (all in plastic bottles) - which, in hindsight, is probably all along the same lines as Equate brand rubbing alcohol from Wally World. 

Voice from beyond: "Hey, ya'll need any help findin' anythang? Need any rekomendashions?"
Me: "Uhhhhh.... nooooooo. We are just trying to decide which poison to pick tonight! You know how that goes!"
Voice from beyond, which we have now concluded belongs to Baby Girl: "Nah, I quit drankin' after I got married. All that alcoholz n fightin, ya know it jus don't mix."
Suz: "Yeah, marriage will lead you to drink!"
Me: "And get divorced!"
[Insert laughter, but only between Suz and I... apparently Baby doesn't find it quite as humorous]

Baby Girl: "Well, then I found his porno stash he wuz hidin. Dat dumbass didn't even hide it good. He hid it where I hide my journal! So you know what I did? I waited till his ass gots home and he sat down to watch him some tv. And I ax him - you gots somethan you wants ta tell me? ANYTHING?! And he said, 'nah baby'.... and I came right in n I popped that porno in tha VCR. He didn't have nuthin to say after that."
[Awkward glance between Suzanne and I]
Me: "Ohhhhh. Ok. Wait, really?!"
BG: "Oh yeah, gurl. He was normal until I married him. I mean, I knew he had a porn problem n stuff, but I thank he wuz messed up in tha head."
[At this point, I'm starting to notice the not-so-normal atmosphere we have entered. There is lube on the shelves behind Baby Girl and a giant glass fishbowl on the counter full of dollar bills with a sign in the same prison scratch that reads "Plese Help Jerrys Kidz"]

Suz: "Sounds like it." [We proceed to head to the door]
BG: "And you know what else?" [We get sucked back in... it's like a bad train wreck] "Dem girls from tha college round here, they told me he used ta go up to da laundro mat n take their dirty underwearz n go in tha woodz behind da place n (insert funny noise and jerking motion with her hand)  sniff them. Can you balee dat? Man, I couldn't balee dat eitha. Shit is nasty."


Oh. my. lord. I have NEVER in my life. For the first time, my legs could not move. I was hearing voices in my head reminding me that this was, in fact, actually happening. Things were hazy. I literally had an out of body experience.  I picked my jaw up off the ground and attempted to drag my feet to the front door. I just about made it out alive and I'm halfway through the Lord's Prayer when I hear....

"Hey, yaw wanna donate any money ta Jerry's Kids? They need tha help, ya know."

Oh, sweetie... bless your heart. Your approximate 22 years of existence has afforded you way too much and not near enough, all at the same time.

PS - Both condos are on the market if anyone is  interested. They are oceanfront and located just a half mile from the nearest licka sto.

What a day. One for the (to be trashed and burned) recordbooks.

I've been sitting at my desk, laughing consistently for the past twenty minutes. I know I tend to over-dramatize things at times, but it really has been twenty minutes. And it really has been consistent. And I'm sure inquiring minds are dying to know... 

If you know me well enough or if you have gotten to know me at all in the past 3-4 years, then you will know what today is. Does October 7th ring a bell? Anyone? Yeah, barely does to me either. I have to dig really deep, into my stash of very distant and vague memories to pull this one out. And even after all that, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around it. It's been three years since I entered the world of marital (non)bliss and two years (to the day, people - to the day) since I legally exited that same world. I suppose God has a sense of humor, making my divorce final *to the day* and all..... thanks, Big Man. I think about HOW MUCH my outlook has changed since then, how it seems like lifetimes ago. I am so different now, much stronger in some ways and in other ways, not as much. It doesn't change who you are, it just rearranges you a little bit. (I'm still laughing as I type this, is that even normal?!) 


My husband once told me... wait, now here is where it gets confusing. You see, I have a husband. Currently. Maybe not legally, but kinda? I mean, we got married at Illinois Creek on Lake Allatoona over the summer (pretty much like the "Cocktail Cove" of Allatoona, for you rookies). It probably isn't legit, I can understand that - the marriage has never been consummated (Sorry to call you out, D) and I "married" one of my closest friends. But I love what we "have" and all jokes aside, it's the best marriage I've ever been a part of. What some people may not understand is that my friends and I do it up BIG. Never a dull moment with us and that's how we like it. What do we do if we're bored? We plan a wedding on the lake, of course. Or devise a plan to merge drinking with Olympic sports, hence the "AlcOlympics 2009" which also occured on the 'Toona. See below.

Waiting on my Groom, Best Man and Bling in tow

 Hubs and I - Post Wedding

 

 One Half of our insanely kick-ass team for AlcOlympics 2009

 

Just a glimpse into the madness....

 

 AlcO Gals

 

AlcO Guys

Wow. That was a tangent I totally had no intentions of going off on. I kinda liked it. ANYWAY.... back to the matter at hand. October 7th. Like my husband tells me, "People who expect nothing but the best for themselves, very often get it." And so you have it. I expect the best and although I haven't quite gotten it (yet), I'm still patiently waiting. Three years and many moons later, I'm still waiting. Sometimes the "best" of life doesn't even have to do with a marriage. Sometimes, plain old boring life really is that good. Looking back (and still giggling) I think.... October 7th. Of 2006? A fairly good day that, in the long run, ended up bad. Of 2007? A fairly bad day that ended up being good. Of 2009? Best October 7th of my life, thus far.

Excuse me ma'am, are there roofies in your coffee?

I know I promised to be funny. And I am, trust me. However, life doesn't always feel like being funny and sometimes it's just downright shitty. You can choose to laugh about any situation, but real life doesn't always afford you those privileges - at least not at first. I have a good life, don't get me wrong. I am fortunate beyond belief and there are mornings I wake up and question whether or not I deserve to live this blessed life. I haven't done anything out of the ordinary, I'm no evangelist or Peace Corps member. I am a smartass and I'm tactless at times. I say things I don't mean and I mean things I can't always say (which is hard to believe, I know because I say SO much). I've come to the conclusion that maybe it's just the 'luck of the draw' and in the end, it's how you choose to deal with it. Some people can lie and steal and cheat their way to the top and wake up the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing, your wife and 2.5 children sleeping next to you in your mansion off West Paces. Or.... you can do everything perfect and by the book. You can visit Jesus every Sunday morning, feed your children organics and bible verses, call your parents, love your husband more than you love yourself and still wake up one morning to find him sleeping with the next-door neighbor. 

I make this last statement with a heavy heart because in my world, that is the reality for someone I know. She followed the rules, made the right decisions, cleaned her house, bathed her babies, made love to her husband. However, it just wasn't what someone - whom I like to refer to as God or, on occasion, the "Big Man" - had in mind. I'm convinced that He does things sometimes just to get a reaction out of us, to see how we hold up in the face of diversity and despair. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not putting her husband's bad decisions off on God..... Noooooo, no, no. God lets us make our own decisions, let me make that very clear. I'm just here to remind my friend (who will remain nameless) on a daily basis that what has happened to her isn't about her. It just is. And while she didn't choose these cards, they are still hers and she’s got to play her best hand. Some mornings she calls me and we laugh, some mornings she calls me and we cry, some mornings she calls me and we cry and cuss and bitch until we laugh. It's just what you do. 

This morning started out as a typical morning for us.... and I say typical meaning 'typical for the past couple days' because there really isn’t any more 'normal' or 'typical' in her world. It was a negative on the tears type of morning, an affirmative on the vulgar language and low blows. After our ritual of chatting for the 45 minutes it takes me to get to work, I shot her a BBM (that's 'blackberry message' for those of you non-blackberry owners). I was sitting at the stop light on the corner of the 120 Loop and Franklin Road, wondering when they were going to tear down that awful eye sore of a building that has sat there for years... and I looked over at the car next to me. 

Jess: "Can I just tell you how jealous I am of the (clearly) rich bitch in this Mercedes SUV next to me? She's just sipping her Starbucks, that she happens to be holding in her hand that also holds a 482 carat rock on it. Not a care in the world. Must be rough to be her."

Friend: "Don't be. Her coffee is probably cold and has roofies in it. Her husband slept with the babysitter last night while he was "working out". She is tired, but has to get up and go to work anyways because she is sleeping with the 80 year old CEO of her company just so she can drive that Mercedes. Her kids are sick with the swine flu, probably at home with the babysitter... same one who is sleeping with her husband. "

And this is how our morning fuel ended. In a fist full of laughter. It always does.