A Yuletide Meme

Thanks to Kilroy for coming up with a Christmas-related meme and for thinking my answers might be interesting enough that he included me in a tag.

• Favorite seasonal movie. I went to a friend's house last week to watch Christmas movies. That experience made me realize that, in general, I am not a big fan of seasonal movies. I'm just not that nostalgic. I know, what kind of heartless Scrooge am I? If someone put a gun to my head and forced me to pick a Christmas movie to watch before I die, I guess I would pick "It's a Wonderful Life." Or maybe I'd tell them to go ahead and pull the trigger. I'm just that ambivalent about the whole thing.
• Song you enjoy most this time of year. This is an area where I am not so ambivalent. My favorite Christmas song is "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree." On the other hand, "Jingle Bell Rock" is nice too. So is "I'll be Home for Christmas." Oh, I can't pick just one.
• Holiday Greeting. Since Christmas is a religious holiday, I try to be respectful of others and say "Happy Holidays" unless I am certain of the other person's religious beliefs.
• Do you make a list? If so, how many people are on it? Yes, I usually make a list. The length of the list varies depending on my financial situation at the time. In general, it's a relatively short list. When I win the lottery, I'll make longer lists.
• How up to the last minute do you shop? I have a serious aversion to stress and I usually organize my life so that I experience as little stress as possible. To me, waiting until December 24th to shop is about as stressful as it gets. I don't wait until the last minute to purchase Christmas gifts. I don't start shopping in June like some people but I'm not a last minute person either.
• When do you open your gifts? As early as the giftgiver will let me. Watching an unopened present sit there and mock me for not being able to open it until Christmas Day is just plain torture.
• Holiday food you most savor? It's a toss up between cornbread dressing and sweet potato casserole. It's a travesty in my book to have one without the other.
• Favorite holiday book? Does the Williams-Sonoma catalog count?
• New Year Resolutions? I usually try not to make New Years resolutions because I always break them but I made a short list this year. Oh, I'm not going to reveal them here. If I don't tell anyone, maybe I'll actually have a snowball's chance in hell of keeping them.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

I'm sorry

I apologize to the faithful readers who comment here but haven't switched to Blogger Beta yet as you probably won't be able to post a comment on my blog. I was forced to switch to Blogger Beta against my will because I got tired of trying to comment on beta blogs and having access denied when I attempted to sign in. At first I thought it was just technical difficulties. Now I suspect it's a ploy to force bloggers on the old platform to make the switch. Nazis! To get around it, you may be able to post a comment anonymously, although even that trick quit working for me after awhile. I'd like to encourage the lone stragglers to give up the fight and convert your blogs to Blogger Beta. I completely understand though if you decide to dig in your heels. I'll support you in spirit.

Six weird things

Props to Steve for tagging me to reveal 6 weird things about myself. As I am often hailed for being the embodiment of all that is considered normal and healthy (not), this proved to be a difficult task but I gave it the old college try. Here goes.

• I have a fear of amusement rides. I'’m fine as long as the ride is spinning furiously while still on the ground but once that thing becomes airborne, I start behaving like I need to be contained by a straight jacket. That'’s normal, right?
• I put my name on my office supplies, making it easier to determine where my wrath should be directed if they come up missing. I don'’t label everything, just the things that send me into a tizzy if I reach for them and they are not there, like my pens and my post it notes. Nine out of ten psychologists agree that turning into a fire-breathing dragon is a totally appropriate reaction to finding out that one of my co-workers has rummaged through my desk and taken my stuff as if my workspace were the office supply closet. GET YOUR OWN DAMN PEN!
• I can'’t watch those real life crime shows. After watching an episode of Forensic Files, I spend weeks contemplating how long it would take the cops to find the serial killer that chopped my body up into Ziploc baggie size pieces and stored it in the freezer.
• I prefer to NOT have the toilet paper hanging from the toilet paper dispenser. To me, it'’s more practical and convenient to leave it on the bathroom counter. When I'’m sitting on the toilet in a dark bathroom at 3 o'’clock in the morning, the last thing I want to do is spend a lot of time searching blindly for the start of the toilet paper roll. I'’d rather quickly do my business so that I can get back to the dream involving me and a Jacuzzi full of Chippendale'’s dancers.
• After observing the hygiene habits of my fellow office dwellers (men and women alike), I'’ve come to the realization that the urge to wash my hands after every bathroom visit makes me unusual, a freak of nature that should be displayed at carnivals.
• I rarely watch TV shows that have actors and a plot. For some reason, I don'’t have the patience for those types of shows anymore. If the people on TV aren'’t dribbling a basketball, making a souffle or redecorating a room, I'’m not watching it.

Work is kickin' my ass!

I would go into detail but it would only bore you. Suffice it to say, due to the incredible amount of work I have been saddled with and the unreasonable deadlines I have been given in which to accomplish said work, GrizzBabe's Den will be on hiatus until the end of the week.

Settle down people! No need to write your congressman or anything. I know I've just dealt a serious blow to the blogging community but please. . . find a way to hold it together would ya'?

Vibrators and The Modern Male

My friend, Anita, conducted an unscientific poll among her male co-workers. She asked if they had any objections to their girlfriend or wife using a vibrator. The responses ranged from the caveman ("No. Not even if I'm on a business trip") to mild disapproval ("Well, only if I were there to use it on her.") The conclusion she drew from this experiment was that men do not want their women experiencing sexual satisfaction unless they are involved in the process.

I found this to be an interesting hypothesis and encouraged her to test it on my boyfriend when he came to town. While we were all out to dinner, she posed the question again. My boyfriend is fairly open-minded so I was not surprised when he responded that he had no problems with me using a vibrator. A few weeks later, he sings a slightly different tune.

I get a call on my cell phone from the boyfriend as I am on my way to a Bath Junkie party. Because he's a guy, I knew he had no clue what a Bath Junkie party was and I really didn't take the time to explain it to him. When I talk to him again later in the week he mentions that he was worried that the party I went to was a sex toy party. I asked if he didn't want me going to sex toy parties. He admitted that he would rather I go with him the first time I purchase a vibrator. I stifle a chuckle at the idea of him proving my friend, Anita, right, at least in part.

This whole thing has been very fascinating and has inspired me to conduct my own little survey, so here goes. Men (ladies feel free to offer your opinions too): Would it bother you if your woman used a vibrator? If so, what is it about the idea that does not sit well with you?

This is why I stay away from attics

My friend, S., came home one day, looked above her garage and saw that there was a big, gaping hole in her attic window. With a bravery that I can only aspire to, she headed upstairs, plastic garbage bag and tape in hand, and ventured toward the broken window while balancing herself precariously on a support beam. As she inched closer to the window, S. noticed a flock of bats peacefully dangling from the attic rafters. It was all very Bela Lugosi.

Although frightened, S. managed to keep her composure long enough to exit the attic without startling the bats. Once she was within the safe confines of her own living space, she calmly called a company that specializes in removing such critters. And then she had her window fixed.

I admire S. for her coolness under pressure and for her unflinching resolve to keep her emotions in check so that she could handle her business.

I, on the other had, upon noticing the bats, would have let out a blood curdling scream, thrown the garbage bag and tape in the air and went running in the opposite direction, forgetting that I am on a support beam. If my scream didn't wake the bats, my fall certainly would.

And if by some miracle I managed to avoid a Tippi Hedren like scene that ends with me dying a gruesome, rabies-induced death, my call to the critter company would prove to be very unproductive as the shock would reduce my verbal skills to something reminiscent of Phil Hartman's Frankenstein character making a 911 call.

"Uuhhh, uuuhhhh, uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh!"

And then, I would pass out.

Not the most effective way to get rid of bats.

The power of suggestion

I was standing in the snack aisle of the grocery store laboring over what kind of cookie to get to pack in my lunch box. I just couldn't make up my mind. Lemon Jumbles, Ginger Snaps, Pecan Sandies. So many choices, so little room left in my waistband.

After several minutes of pondering, I start to notice the demonstration lady planted at the end of the aisle. She is offering to everyone who passes by a sample of either pita chips or Ritz chips and finding no takers. Not only were people not stopping, they were not even acknowledging her presence. I stand in the cookie aisle for a few more minutes, finally make a selection and, out of pity, decide to try one of the demonstration lady's samples.

I pull my basket up to her table and grab a cocktail napkin full of Southwestern Ranch flavored Ritz Chips. I place a chip in my mouth and proclaim "These are really good!" with a surprised tone in my voice. Within seconds someone else tries the Ritz Chips. And then someone else. Soon her table is surrounded by taste testers.

After finishing my chips, I grab my basket and steer it away from the crowd. I look back at the demonstration lady and congratulate myself on a job well done.

Celebrity citing

I entered the baggage claim area for Northwest airlines. I was there to pick up a friend and I was a little early. I sauntered past a very attractive woman leaning against a support beam. I look at her for two seconds and recognize her immediately. It was Cameron Diaz. Even disguised with long black hair, I could tell it was her.

When my friend arrived, I instructed him to walk past the woman who was now sitting on a big, black suitcase and tell me if she indeed looked like Cameron Diaz. He did as he was told and reported back that she looked exactly like her but concluded it could not be her as she was sitting out in the open like some commoner. That didn't seem strange to me at all. There's something to be said for the effectiveness of hiding in plain sight.

Like everyone else, Cameron was there to pick up her luggage. Her carry-on was a brown Louis Vuitton. Her black suitcase looked like something I would own. I did think it odd that a celebrity of her status and fortune did not have matching suitcases. But maybe that was a tool of disguise. One could reason that a regular shmoe from Topeka probably couldn't afford to have an entire collection of designer luggage. This little detail might throw potential admirers off her trail.

Such trickery may fool imperceptive observers but you've got to get up pretty early in the morning to outfox my Sherlockian deductive skills. Scotland Yard has got nothing on me.

Gone Fishin'!

GrizzBabe is going on vacation.

Actually, the term "vacation" is misleading as I'm too broke to go anywhere.

I am taking the week off. How's that?

I'll be back to my old tricks in a week.

Tagged, again!

Thanks to Kilroy for the tag!

1. What time is it? 10:45 a.m on a Sunday. I went to Bedside Baptist this morning.

2. What was the last thing you had to eat? Breakfast -- biscuits, bacon and orange juice.

3. What is your favorite television program? Now, it's HGTV's House Hunters (I love buying houses vicariously through other people.) When basketball season starts, it will be NBA basketball Thursday nights on TNT with Ernie, King Charles and Kenny.

4. You can travel anywhere in the world; one destination per day from Friday through Monday. Where do you go? Chicago, New York, Paris, and the Tuscany region of Italy.

5. Who is your favorite character from a cartoon or comic strip? Fat Albert

6. What would you like for breakfast? I've already had breakfast. But had I not been so lazy this morning I would have fixed: scrambled eggs, bacon, rice with butter and sugar (a childhood favorite) and biscuits.

7. Who is the first public figure that comes to mind that you think is attractive? JFK, Jr.

8. Who, outside of your family and "God", has had the greatest impact on your life? My college roommate.

9. You retrieve a bottle floating in the water. What does the message say that you find inside? "Here is a winning Powerball ticket. Claim it and the money is yours."

10. What movies do you select {limit of six} for a one-day film festival? Three quirky French movies -- An Affair of Love, Dreamlife of Angels, and The Piano Teacher.

11. Do you have a hobby? If so, what is it? If not, what do you think would be of interest to you? Cooking

12. Given the opportunity to travel back in time, when would your destination be? History has not been kind to people of color, especially in this country. I don't think I would want to go back in time.

13. Vietnam gave us China Beach. M*A*S*H came from the Korean War. What will the name of the television series be that results from our current state of military affairs? How to Use Fear to Scare A Country into Going to War (Kind of rolls off your tongue doesn't it?)

14. What is the last book you read? Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs

15. What five people do you MEET in Heaven? My grandmother, Jesus, Jeffrey Dahmer, Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King.

17. What's the first thing that comes to mind when you see the word pleasure? Sex

18. Eliminating price and availability as considerations, what six things do you put on your list when you go grocery shopping? Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, Grand Marnier, saffron, Vahlrona chocolate, champagne.

19. What is your favorite non-blog related link? www.allrecipes.com

20. What will the title of your life story be? Beating The Odds.

21. What three people alive today would you like to have join you for dinner? Augusten Burroughs, George Bush (I'd like to tell him a thing or two), Ina Garten.

22. Which candle scent do you find most pleasing? Floral scents.

23. What question would you suggest I include the next time we play this game? Most embarrassing moment.

Men: Protect yourselves

Work is kickin' my ass right now so I decided to go through some draft posts to see what I could get up quickly and came across something I wrote back in June when it was announced that Prince Albert of Monaco had fathered yet another child out of wedlock. I'll try to get something new (and up to date) posted this weekend.

****************

Someone should tell Prince Albert of Monaco that they make condoms. They've been making them for quite some time now. I don't think he knows. He's certainly procreating like he doesn't know or at least doesn't care. Of course, Prince Albert can afford the luxury of not caring. He is rich enough to birth a dozen kids out of wedlock and lavishly provide for each one.

But indifference toward the use of condoms is not just an affliction of the rich. Men from all walks of life are more than willing to hop into bed without the proper protection. Protection, not just from unwanted pregnancy, but from sexually transmitted diseases as well. What is it about the opposite sex that makes men accept without question what women they hardly know tell them about their birth control methods or sexual health?

Some women can be conniving, opportunistic creatures. They will use what they have (read: sex) to get what they want, whether it be a man or his money. But this is no secret. Men know this. For ages, men have been the well publicized victims of unscrupulous women. And still, they refuse to protect themselves.

Lizard in an office

After barely graduating from high school, her son apparently had bribed enough of his college professors that the local university had no choice but to put him on the honor roll. The mother was so proud (not to mention shocked) that she asked us to print a writeup on his "accomplishment." She submitted the geekiest high school photo she could find to inform the entire community that her son wasn't the dunce cap-wearing bonehead they thought he was. We did our civic duty and printed the picture with a cutline lauding the student's questionable achievement. She had now returned to retrieve her son's photo.

She said, as I was searching for the picture, that it was the only one she had. I would have felt better had she told me she possessed a million copies as lone prints have a tendency to disappear inexplicably. I said a silent prayer of thanks when I discovered we hadn't managed to lose the photo. I handed it back to the proud mom. She thanked me again for publishing the photo and turned to exit the office.

That's when we saw it. A vicious lizard. It was grey with white markings and had a blue tail that looked as if the creature had been captured, it's tail wrapped in painter's tape and then set free. We were frozen in our tracks. Despite being only 4 inches long, I was certain if the reptile was allowed to get anywhere near us, it would swallow us whole.

We nervously devised a plan of action. Even though our first urge was to beat the thing senseless, we decided if we could somehow guide it out the door, that would be much more humane and a lot less messy. I grabbed a newspaper with the intention of using it to gently nudge the animal outside.

The lizard had other ideas.

When I leaned down and pointed the paper in the general vicinity of the reptile, it scurried off in the direction opposite of the door, seeking shelter in an empty cubbyhole of a bin where back issues are stored. I screamed like a scared kindergartner as it sprinted past me. Once the Proud Mom was able to coax me down from the ceiling fan, we came up with Plan B.

Plan B consisted of the Proud Mom repeatedly kicking the bin in an effort to freighten the lizard back into the great wide open. It wasn't working. I asked if she would rather use a broom. She declined. After several frustrating and agonizing moments trying to scare the lizard to freedom, the mild-mannered suburban mom decided she'd finally had enough.

"I'm tired of this motherfucking lizard in this motherfucking office!" she yelled. And with the authority of a drill sargent, she barked, "Get me that broom!"

This was no time for disobedience. I ran to the break room, grabbed the broom, then hurried back and deposited it in the Proud Mom's hands. She then proceeded to beat the floor with the broom while screaming at the lizard, "Go, lizard! Leave! Get out of here!" The startled lizard ran out of his protective hole. And with each swat of the broom against the floor, he inched his way back to freedom.

Her work being done, the Proud Mom took her photo and went home. In wonder and amazement, I watched from the doorway, broom in hand, as she drove her minivan into the sunset.

What?!? And I thought I answered the questions so well!

You Are A Bad Date!

Sometimes it just seems like your heart isn't in it At least, not unless the guy is a dead ringer for Brad Pitt (with more money) You just don't spend enough time wondering if he's having fun... And newsflash - he probably isn't!

Are You a Good Date?

I'm supposed to get paid for this?

You Are A Professional Girlfriend!

You are the perfect girlfriend - big surprise! Heaven knows you've had enough practice. That's why you're a total pro. If there was an Emily Post of girlfriends, it would be you. You know how to act in every situation ... to make both you and your guy happy.

I don't understand how I can be a bad date and a "professional" girlfriend?

What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?

I'm amazed at how accurate this is

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion: You have low extroversion. You are quiet and reserved in most social situations. A low key, laid back lifestyle is important to you. You tend to bond slowly, over time, with one or two people. Conscientiousness: You have medium conscientiousness. You're generally good at balancing work and play. When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done. But you've been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it. (As evidenced by the fact that I am posting this from work while my boss is out of town!) Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness. You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly. Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone. You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium. You are generally broad minded when it come to new things. But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it. You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue.

The Five Factor Personality Test

My first tag!

Thank you, Old Lady, for tagging me! My very first tag. A momentous occasion.

1. A book that has changed your life. The Search for Significance by Robert S. McGee. This book told me a lot about myself -- why I feel the things I feel and do the things I do. It effected me at the very core of my being and I haven't been the same since.
2. A book you have read more than once. The answer to this is going to say a lot about my personality. I tend to read cookbooks like novels, anxiously turning the pages as if they were suspenseful thrillers. Grab any cookbook from my shelves and you will have picked a book that I have read countless times.
3. A book you would want on a desert island. Emotionally, I would not handle being on a desert island very well. I would need my Bible to help me remain calm and to keep me from hanging myself from a banana tree or from slitting my wrists with a coconut.
4. A book that made you laugh. The first book that comes to mind is Naked by David Sedaris. I remember sitting in my car in a McDonald's parking lot eating a quarter-pounder with cheese while reading the first few chapters. I laughed until there were tears streaming down my face. My goodness, that book was funny. Just this past Monday, I purchased tickets to hear David Sedaris speak in my city. I can't wait!
5. A book that made you cry. I don't cry very easily. It is rare for me to become that emotional during a movie or while reading a book. But if I did possess the ability to weep at the drop of a hat, I would have cried while reading Anne Sebold's Lucky, a memoir recounting her rape experience.
6. A book you wish you had written. Every fluffy chick lit novel that has ever been made into a multi-million dollar movie. Then I would be typing this post from my mansion in LA while filming an episode of MTV's Cribs instead of hacking away in a tiny guest bedroom/office in some podunk southern city.
7. A book you wish had never been written. The editor of our newspaper gets a lot of books in the mail in hopes that he would review them. Since our editor never reads books (go figure, an editor that never reads!), he usually passes them along to us. One of those books was What They Want by Omar Tyree. Forgive me for criticizing a brother trying to find his little piece of the American dream but that book was horrible.
8. A book you are currently reading. It's actually a book that I've read already, Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs. I am rereading it in an attempt to satiate my hunger while waiting for his most recent book, Possible Side Effects, to make it to paperback.
9. A book you have been meaning to read. For two summers I have wanted to read Nabakov's Lolita. Two summers have now passed and I still have not read it. At the beginning of the summer, a blog commenter, Steve, suggested I read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I haven't read that yet either. The 1,000 plus pages are scaring me.
10. Now tag 5 people: Kissyface, CreativeSoul2005, Two Write Hands, Broken, Angel, Dre, and PlainJane. I know, that's 7 people.

Thank you, Lawdy!

After months of torture, my boss finally switched his radio from country music to a light rock station.

Blessed be the Lord! He doth answereth prayer.

Dayumn, Blogthings is good!

You Are Likely an Only Child

At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated. At work and school, you do best when you're organizing. When you love someone, you tend to worry about them. In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic. Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management. You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

The Birth Order Predictor

Everybody's a comedian

You Should Be a Joke Writer

You're totally hilarious, and you can find the humor in any situation. Whether you're spouting off zingers, comebacks, or jokes about life... You usually can keep a crowd laughing, and you have plenty of material. You have the makings of a great comedian - or comedic writer.

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Not just a B but a B+

You Have A Type B+ Personality

You're a pro at going with the flow You love to kick back and take in everything life has to offer A total joy to be around, people crave your stability. While you're totally laid back, you can have bouts of hyperactivity. Get into a project you love, and you won't stop until it's done You're passionate - just selective about your passions

Do You Have a Type A Personality?

This is such an accurate portrayal of my personality it's scary.

An independent woman's guide to replacing your car headlight

1. When you turn on the car engine and notice one of your headlights is out, curse.
2. Reminisce about the last time you attempted to change the bulb on your car headlight and recall what a pain in the ass it was because you had no idea what you were doing. Curse some more.
3. Concoct a way to dupe one of your male co-workers into changing it for you.
4. Go to your local auto supply store and tell the woman at the counter (who is obviously just the check out girl) that you need a new bulb for your headlight.
5. When she asks if it's the low beam or the high beam that's out, stare at her like she's speaking a foreign language.
6. When your silence causes her to go with the low beam option, wait for her to consult with one of the male employees because she's a woman like you and you assume she has no clue, just like you.
7. When she fails to confer with her male co-workers but proceeds to go get your bulb for you like she knows what the hell it is she's doing, which you're certain she doesn't, stifle your laughter.
8. When she promptly returns with bulb in hand, resist the urge to ask, "Are you sure this is the right bulb? Maybe you should double check this with him."
9. When the check-out girl asks for $8.95 for the bulb, think about how much money you're saving by doing it yourself. Well, you're not actually doing it yourself, you're gonna get someone else to do it for you but you get the point.
10. Walk into your office and announce that you had to purchase a new bulb for your headlight. Wonder out loud how on earth you're ever going to replace it all by yourself. Place back of hand on forehead for effect.
11. When your boss volunteers to do it for you, say "YES! I mean, would you? I would be so grateful!"
12. Watch from your air-conditioned office as your boss changes the bulb on your headlight in 95 degree heat.
13. When the bulb is installed and working properly, pat yourself on the back for being a liberated woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself.

Independent woman, my ass! Part II

All the women who are independent
Throw your hands up at me
All the honey's who makin' money
Throw your hands up at me
All the momma's who profit dollas
Throw your hands up at me
All the ladys who truly feel me
Throw your hands up at me

chorus to Independent Woman by Destiny's Child

Sorry, Beyonce', I've turned in my independent woman card so I won't be throwing my hands up anymore. It's no great loss really. I'm sure you were looking for women who are actually independent instead of women who merely put up a facade of independence. I don't blame you. I wouldn't want me representing independent women either. Especially considering I gave up my last notion of being a self-reliant woman today when I discovered that one of the headlights on my car had gone out. Consistent with my true, unevolved self, I immediately started plotting ways to charm my male co-workers into changing the headlight for me. A low cut blouse was strongly considered.

I'm certain such tactics violate the ethical standards that have been set for independent woman everywhere. Independent women do not use their sexuality to get men to do their bidding and they handle their own minor auto repairs.

These are not the only standards in which I fail to measure up. From my observations, women who are self-sufficient are not afraid to go in their attics to change the filter on their air conditioner. Real independent women don't retch at the idea of disposing of a dead mouse. Truly liberated women scale ladders to clean their own gutters or change their own light bulbs.

I do none of these things. And I really don't want to, which is why I am forfeiting my membership. I don't want to have to deal with these little mundane tasks anymore. That's what men are for. If I were married, I'd be perfectly happy to simply putter around the kitchen wearing pearls and taffeta while my husband, Ward Cleaver, takes care of all those manly household chores. If I have to give that up, then you can have my independent woman card.

I am officially published!

I did it. I wrote my very first article. You can find it here at a business/personal development blog called FOR YOUR SUCCESS. This has been quite the learning experience for me. I had to face/deal with/conquer/ignore much fear and self-doubt. But I did it. I can do nothing but pat myself on the back for the accomplishment.

I am excited about the work I am doing at FOR YOUR SUCCESS. Not only do I get the chance to develop my writing skills but I get an opportunity to shed some of the fears that have held me back for years. It's about damn time!

Nobody accomplishes anything on their own, so I have a few thanks to dole out.

I want to thank the folks at FOR YOUR SUCCESS for encouraging me, believing in me and for taking me under their wing. In our busy society, mentoring is such a lost art and I appreciate it when people take it upon themselves to not only pass on what they know but to also provide an opportunity to put that knowledge into practice.

I'd also like to thank my friends (you know who you are) for listening to me when I was stressed, for recognizing talent I was unwilling to acknowledge and for encouraging me to do what I love. And for promising me shoulder rubs ;).

Lastly, I'd like to thank you guys, the folks who read this blog on a regular basis and who have deposited little nuggets of support in the comments section. You have no idea what that has meant to me.

I believe a toast is in order. Raise you glasses everyone! Here's to silencing the inner critic and the unlimited possibilities that brings. Cheers!

Planes, trains and automobiles

As this post suggests, I have made a safe return from my recent trip to the Windy City. My luggage, apparently, enjoyed itself so much that it hung around Chicago a little longer and took a later flight. I am anxiously awaiting our reunion. To pass the time, I am offering some observations from my travels.

• I don't know why I continually request a window seat when flying as sitting by the window stresses me out. I'm not really afraid of flying -- I'm fine once I get in the air -- but I am afraid of takeoffs. This fear is intensified when I am staring out the window watching the ground beneath me disappear. I finally had to turn away and focus on my magazine. For some reason, reading about Tori Spelling's much publicized rift with her mother was strangely soothing.
• When I was a kid, it was well known that airlines placed strict weight requirements on stewardesses. It appears those rules have been thrown out the window. The flight attendants on both my flight to and from Chicago were full-figured. Way to go airline industry! Now could you please give me my free honey roasted peanuts back?
• The one thing that I wanted to do while in Chicago was go to the top of the Sears Tower. The original plan was to go on Tuesday but it was pouring down rain so my friend and I decided against it. Boy am I glad! As it turned out, a train on the line we would have taken to downtown Chicago ended up derailing. As much as I like adventure, crawling out of a pitch black, smoke-filled, rat-infested tunnel would not have been my idea of fun.
• My friend, a Chicago native, graciously accompanied me on the cab ride to O'Hare this morning. As he talked, it struck me that cab drivers must be privy to a lot of interesting conversations as people have the tendency to talk as if no one else is in the car. I imagine they have more than a few stories to tell.

As I was typing this, I received a phone call that my luggage is taking a cab ride of its own back to my home. As displeased as I am that it went on such an unsupervised excursion, I am just thankful that my luggage will be back home where it belongs.

Vacation

I'm going on a brief vacation, folks. No worries though, I should be back to meaningless blogging by the end of the week!

Silencing the inner critic

"The thinking my father tried to discourage in me is the thinking that stops all of us at one time or another. It is the small critical voice inside that says we don't have what it takes, we don't measure up. It's the voice that keeps us from trying new things. It's the voice that -- if we listen -- keeps us from living our dreams."

from The Playful Way to Serious Writing by Roberta Allen

Based on the suggestion of a well-known blogger turned author, I recently purchased the book quoted above. It is full of interesting creative writing exercises. I have often dismissed myself as not being creative enough to write about anything other than my life but I thought I would give this book a try.

The first lesson involved a picture of paint splotches connected together with lines. The instructions were to write down the first 6 words that come to mind then write a story about the third word. The time limit, a tool designed to force you to write without criticizing, was 10 minutes.

I felt a twinge of anxiety as I started this exercise, fearful that my failure would prove once and for all what I had allowed myself to believe all these years -- that I lacked creativity. I forged ahead anyway. I set the timer and stared momentarily at the blank tablet. I wrote down a sentence. And almost immediately, I wrote down another sentence. Ten minutes later, I had 2 pages of sentences.

I sat back and marveled at my creation like a 3 year-old taking pride in a messy painting. Granted, my first attempt at fiction won't garner any literary awards but the exercise had a huge affect on me. Writing creatively no longer seemed out of the realm of possibility. I could do this. I was ecstatic that my critical inner voice had not only been silenced but discredited as well.

Gremlins in the attic

At 12:40 a.m., I was awakened by a noise.

BOOM!

It sounded like a car ramming into the side of my house.

THUD!

No, I think it's actually coming from the attic.

Thump...Thump...Thump, Thump, Thump!

It's definitely coming from the attic.

This is not the first time I've heard noises up there. For months, there have been a plethora of sounds emanating from above that, with enough denial, could easily be confused with the settling noises of a house -- a knock here, a bump there, the occasional scratchy sounds of nails dragging across plywood. Whereas those noises may have been ambiguous in their origin, these screamed an undeniable truth -- something living and breathing has taken up residence in my attic.

Who knows what kind of creature has decided to share my abode. A squirrel, a raccoon, the Loch Ness monster? Whatever it is will remain a mystery because attics, like basements, are scary places for me. Based on the number of horror films involving attics, I think it's clear that nothing good ever happens there.

When I purchased my house 11 months ago, the inspector, accurately sizing me up as the clueless, mechanically-uninclined woman that I am, tried to lecture me on how to change the filter on the air conditioning unit located in the attic. Did he say change it once a month, once every few months, once a year? I don't remember. I wasn't listening because I had no intention of ever going up there.

My attitude pretty much ensures that the one critter will eventually turn into a family of critters intent on building an entire community in the critter-friendly environment that is my attic. Whatever. I don't care. Just keep the noise down so I can get some sleep.

The not so Good Samaritan

On the way home from the grocery store, I spot a car sitting on the side of the road with its hazard lights on. As I turn down the street that leads to my house, I notice up ahead a guy walking. I assume that he is the owner of the disabled vehicle. I feel a twinge of pity for him, as it is over 90 degrees outside, but I do not stop.

This is my normal reaction whenever I see a broken down car with its owner stranded. I sympathize but I never stop. As a single woman, I am usually by myself. To say it is unwise to pick up strange men walking on the side of the road would be an understatement, regardless of how unfortunate their situation.

This all brought to mind an incident I experienced some time ago. One rainy--okay, it was pouring--afternoon, while driving in a well-to-do suburb, I passed a luxury vehicle parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights blinking. I approach a man walking in the rain wearing khakis, a dress shirt and a tie.

Despite the serial killer uniform, he looks respectable enough and I contemplate stopping to pick him up. As I slow down, I can see a glimmer of hope on his face as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. Before coming to a complete stop, I have a change of heart and decide that he looks too much like Ted Bundy. I promptly speed off while watching his shoulders slump with disappointment in my rear view mirror.

I laughed out loud at my unintentional cruelty. It really was brutal to give the impression that I was going to stop only to drive off in my warm, dry and operable vehicle. With good Samaritans like me, who needs enemies?

So pathetic, but true

I'm a Lifer!

To you, a job is what pays the bills. You put in your hours, follow the rules, and then go home. Occasionally, you consider quitting, but then you think of how bad the job market is and you reconsider. Whatever happiness you get, you get from your life outside the workplace. Relationships, family, hobbies, and outside creative pursuits are what really matter to you. You're probably taking this test at work because you don't have anything better to do.

Talent: 46%
Lifer: 56%
Mandarin: 36%

Take the Talent, Lifer, or Mandarin quiz.

*********

And could they have picked two more pitiful characters to represent my personality type?

I'm gonna go slit my wrists now.

100 Things About Me

1. I am 39 years-old.

2. I have never been married.

3. I work for a newspaper.

4. I should really be doing something else with my life but my own fears have prevented me.

5. I am an only child.

6. My biological father is from Jamaica.

7. He and my mom divorced when I was a baby. He went back to Jamaica and I haven’t seen him since.

8. My stepfather was neither a good husband nor a good dad.

9. It’s not that I missed having my biological father in my life so much as I missed having a positive father figure.

10. My grandmother had premonitions, or what she called, “revelations from God.” I like to think I inherited some of her intuitiveness.

11. I’m learning to trust my intuitions more and more each day.

12. I have never had children.

13. As a professional babysitter, I’ve spent the last 20 years taking care of other people’s children.

14. Sometimes I fear this is as close as I will ever come to having kids of my own.

15. I love to cook.

16. I especially love to bake.

17. In my next life, I want to be a pastry chef.

18. I have almost 1000 recipes stored on my computer.

19. I sometimes attach my self-esteem to how well a dish turns out.

20. I collect kitchen gadgets.

21. I think I got my love of cooking from my stepfather’s aunt. She made awesome potato rolls and a multi-colored, three-layer cake with caramel icing that was to die for. I regret not getting that cake recipe before she died.

22. I would love to have a professional pedicure but think $30-plus is too much to pay.

23. I love my beautician, not because she does my hair especially well, but because of the hen-party atmosphere she creates.

24. I am also jealous of my beautician’s marriage.

25. I have seasonal allergies.

26. I take Claritin everyday, not for my sinuses, but for hives that break out inexplicably.

27. I told my allergist that I think my hives are caused by air.

28. My allergist thinks I’m nuts.

29. I am frustrated by the fact that I can’t seem to find a purse I like for under $100.

30. I’ve been told that I am a good listener.

31. At work, I am usually the person everyone tells his or her problems to.

32. I often ask probing questions to avoid talking about myself.

33. I sometimes wish people would ask me probing questions.

34. My friends can learn more about me from reading my blog than they could ever learn from me face-to-face.

35. When I was 16, I failed my driving test twice.

36. I was so emotionally scarred that I didn’t try again until I was 25.

37. I have never had a speeding ticket.

38. I have had 2 parking tickets.

39. Relationships are very important to me.

40. I let my love (overvaluing) of relationships delay my college graduation by 2 years.

41. My favorite TV shows are The X-Files and La Femme Nikita. Yes, I know they aren’t on TV anymore.

42. The only things I watch on TV now are basketball, The Food Network and HGTV.

43. The book, The Washingtonienne, inspired me to become a blogger.

44. I am very ticklish…(whispering) down there.

45. I also have a spot on my back that, when touched, turns me into a giggling 3 year-old.

46. I can’t swim.

47. But I am a world-class dog paddler.

48. I can’t find anyone who can wax my eyebrows the way I like them, or the same way twice.

49. My favorite color is navy blue.

50. I have never been to the dentist.

51. I bought my first house in August of 2005.

52. The flowerbed in my backyard looks like a jungle and I don’t care.

53. I have never mowed a lawn.

54. I color my hair because I started turning gray at 25.

55. I voted for Ralph Nader in the last presidential election.

56. While living in a college dorm, my suitemates were having a lesbian affair and I didn’t find out about it until after the fact.

57. Two years later, my college roommates were having a lesbian affair and I never knew it until after it was over.

58. Apparently, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

59. I am not a lesbian. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. ;)

60. Foods I hate: beets, sauerkraut, anchovies, and sardines.

61. Foods I love: meatloaf, pizza, chocolate cake, fried chicken, anything spicy, liver and onions, cheeseburgers, French fries, mashed potatoes and gravy, green peas, rice with butter and sugar. In other words, nothing healthy.

62. I believe aliens exist though I’ve never been abducted.

63. I spend most of my free time at my computer.

64. I love movies.

65. I usually forgo typical Hollywood movies in favor of more edgy, independent films.

66. I especially like movies where the characters are twisted and/or highly dysfunctional.

67. I have started a “weird” movie collection.

68. My two favorite Hollywood hotties are Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves.

69. Most of my favorite music is sung by women: Jill Scott, India.aire, Erykah Badu, Sade, Alanis Morrisette, Sarah McLachlan, Cyndi Lauper.

70. I am deathly afraid of amusement rides.

71. My most embarrassing moment involves a tube top and a moon bounce.

72. During PMS, I eat like there’s no tomorrow, I get really horny and I become emotionally sensitive.

73. I have two weeks out of the month where I am normal. The rest of the time, I am a slave to my hormones.

74. I let my seventh grade crush get away because I didn’t know how to express my feelings.

75. I am 39 years old and I am just now learning how to do that.

76. I love bookstores and libraries.

77. As a kid, my mom and I would go to the library where we would spend hours.

78. I have fond memories of having breakfast at the Steak N’ Egg with my mom on Saturday mornings.

79. Chick lit is my secret indulgence.

80. I am allergic to nickel.

81. I can only wear nickel-free earrings.

82. My favorite cookie is chocolate chip.

83. I am a night owl.

84. While compiling this list, I listened to Janet Jackson, Erykah Badu and Sade.

85. I am dancing in my chair to Janet Jackson at this very moment.

86. I won’t let the kids I babysit put too much sugar on their cornflakes even though I put 1/4 cup of sugar on my Cheerios every morning. I feel like such a hypocrite.

87. My favorite cereal is Crunch Berries.

88. In college, I got caught cheating in sewing class.

89. Jane Austin is one of my favorite authors because she had a knack for exposing the plight of women of her time without appearing to be a feminist.

90. While working on this list, my electricity went off for an hour. I have never been so bored in my life.

91. Now that the electricity is back on, I am chair dancing to Janet Jackson again.

92. One of my favorite things to do with my girlfriends is to go to a Mexican restaurant and pig out on tortilla chips and cheese dip while drinking a margarita.

93. My sneezes are so loud that I often scare people.

94. Going to the grocery store is the highlight of my week. I love grocery shopping almost as much as I love cooking.

95. I always wear a bra, even to bed.

96. My parents were part owners of a convenience store. I spent my junior high and high school years working there. It was slave labor.

97. I did perfect my Miss Pacman skills though while working at the convenience store

98. I love to spend my lunch hour in my car, eating fast food and listening to sports talk radio.

99. I hate coffee. It tastes like watered down dirt. I like my dirt undiluted.

100. Coming up with 100 things about myself was really hard, like pulling teeth.

Father's Day

My stepfather won’t be winning any Father of the Year awards. He was an habitual adulterer, a tyrant, and an all around excellent example of what a dad should not be. But on this day, Father’s Day, if you put a gun to my head, I could find a couple of reasons to thank him:

1. Even though he was a whoremonger, my stepfather came home every night. There’s a certain security that comes from knowing your father will always be there. I was never burdened with the fear of my stepfather abandoning us. Not everybody can say that.
2. He was a good provider. My stepfather went to work every day to make sure we had food on the table, a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. And it wasn’t just the necessities that he gave us. He also tried his best to satisfy the material wants of my mom and I. For that, I am grateful.

As much as I hated my stepfather as a child, I realize now that he was doing the best he knew how to do and as best as he was emotionally capable of doing at the time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough and I still carry the scars. But, in his limited ability, he tried to step up and fill the shoes my biological father left behind, something that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Stranded

A friend was telling me about a TV show called "Stranded" where B-list celebrities discuss who, among set choices, they would prefer to be stranded on an island with. Riveting television, I know, but the show succeeded in one respect, it got me thinking about who I would want to be on an island with. I came up with a list of choices. I tried to stay away from selections that tempted me to focus solely on sex appeal and opted for some unusual pairings.


Pee Wee Herman or Gilbert Gottfried

I find both of these men very annoying and I suspect they each have no skill whatsoever that could be used to get us off the island, which presents quite a dilemma for me. Since I would end up killing whichever comedian I ended up with, I am going with the one who doesn't give me the creeps.
Advantage: Gottfried


Bill Clinton or George W. Bush

I thought my choice here would be based on whom I respected more but since both gentleman have, in my opinion, dishonored the presidency in different ways, I had to come up with a different criterion. Skill, as a determining factor, was out because both of these men have the usefulness of a gnat. Bill would spend all of his time seducing the young island women while George would probably organize an attack against the angry natives to control all of the coconuts. I finally decided to go with the president who wields the most influence over an electorate that can pressure the federal government into a fervent search and rescue effort. Since the red states have dominated the last two elections, I'm going with their leader.
Advantage: Bush


Osama Bin Laden or Saddam Hussein

Let's see, how do I want to die? In a slow, calculated attack or in a fit of emotional rage? When death is the inevitable conclusion, does it really matter how you go?
Advantage: None


Princess Diana, Grace Kelly or Jackie O

All of these women were the epitome of grace and beauty but Princess Di gets my nod. She had a knack for always being perfectly coordinated regardless of the occasion. Her shoes matched her handbag, which matched her suit, which was perfectly accentuated by her jewelry. Assuming that car accident never happened, I would want her to impart her fashion secrets to me before Dodi Al-Fayed comes to rescue us.
Advantage: The Princess of Wales

Grocery store etiquette

As I was walking down the frozen food aisle, I took notice of two single guys. They had to be single. The contents of their shopping cart screamed bachelor: chips, soda, frozen dinners. That's it. They each were standing in front of a freezer with the door wide open trying to decide which nutrient-deficient, trans-fat laden item to place in their basket next.

Apparently they were unaware that glass is see-through or else they would have decided on their selections before opening the door thereby avoiding the foggy glass syndrome that results from staring at frozen food items with the door open. The problem is perpetuated when the next bachelor comes along looking for tasteless Hungry Man dinners. In order to see the selection, he has to stand with the door open too.

Single guys, just keep the door closed until you've decided what items you're buying. And would it kill you to put at least one vegetable in your cart?

My Myers-Briggs Personality Type

I’m a sucker for personality tests so when I came across www.personalitypage.com, a site that tests for your personality type, I got excited. With little regard for the integrity of the site, I eagerly surrendered my credit card number. The test cost me $5 (and probably Chinese takeout for the site administrator and his entire fraternity) but it was well worth it. I'll spare you most of the boring details and hit the high points.

I am an

INFJ

That means I am an

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging type.

This particular type is labeled "The Protector." I have no idea why.

According to my results, as an INFJ my

"...primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in primarily via intuition. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit with your personal value system..."

This is definitely true. When faced with an important decision, I will research, collect data, and analyze until the cows come home, only to end up going with my gut feeling. And my gut is usually right.

"INFJs are gentle caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. Only one percent of the population has an INFJ Personality Type, making it the most rare of all the types."

I knew I was a freak of nature. This just confirms it.

"INFJs place great importance on having things orderly and systematic in their outer world. They put a lot of energy into identifying the best system for getting things done...INFJs put a tremendous amount of faith into their instincts and intuitions. This is something of a conflict between the inner and outer worlds, and may result in the INFJ not being as organized as other Judging types tend to be. Or we may see some signs of disarray in an otherwise orderly tendency, such as a consistently messy desk."

Sombody alert the authorities! These people have found out where I work, broken into my office and surveyed my desk! The lengths some people go to achieve accurate results.

"...most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back a part of themselves, and can be secretive."

Anyone who knows me can attest to the accuracy of this statement. I've been told that I am not very open and that I am very hard to get to know. In addition, I am so secretive, that nobody, and I do mean nobody, knows everything there is to know about me. I always hold back something. There are a few people that if you locked them in a room together to confer with each other, they might begin to have a grasp on who I am. I have a difficult time being vulnerable enough to allow one person to see the whole me. This is an area of my life that is a work in progress.INFJs are"...very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict my drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger..."causing Shenequia, the goddess of angry black women, to rise forth and crush all those who dare step in her path."...INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them..."This is it! This is why I am rarely ever happy or content with my life. Now I understand! This is the best $5 I have ever spent."INFJ is a natural nurturer; patient, devoted and protective. They make loving parents and usually have strong bonds with their offspring. They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best they can be. This can sometimes manifest itself in the INFJ being hard-nosed and stubborn."The two young boys I babysit can vouch for the fact that I am very hard-nosed. But I do it with their best interests at heart. I require a lot from them and I expect them to meet those requirements. There have been instances where homework time has resulted in tears and cries of "I can't do it!" and "I don't want to do it!" I tell them to suck it up and do it anyway. When they quit the negative self-talk and put their minds to it, they end up doing the very thing they declared they could not. Now, when the kids have to study for a test, they opt to study with me instead of their mom, because my stubborness and hard-nosed approach usually results in a better grade.

Hello, my name is Grizzbabe and I'm a people pleaser

Sometimes, when I describe myself as a people pleaser, I experience a twinge of shame, like I should be in a 12-step program to rid myself of this self-destructive behavior. But I have come to accept that being eager to please can have advantages as well as disadvantages. For instance, being a people pleaser helps me in my job. Because I am motivated to make people happy, I am able to provide a level of service to our clients that they may not get from someone who is less concerned about their satisfaction. Most of the time, being a people pleaser works for me, except on days like today.

My neighbor across the street rang my doorbell this evening and announced that her husband's brother is running for U.S. Congress and asked if I would mind putting a removable sticker on my car. This candidate that my neighbor wants me to endorse is the son of one of the most disliked politicians in the city. The father has anger management issues, is a womanizer and, most recently, has been indicted for accepting money in exchange for supporting legislation. I've learned not to hold the sins of the father against his offspring but what I really dislike about this candidate is that he doesn't live in this district. Hell, he doesn't even live in this state. He's an entertainment lawyer from California moving here just so he can run for office.

When my neighbor asked me to put that carpetbagger's sticker on my car, I wanted to respond by saying, "I would rather have someone saw off my right arm with a steak knife and then beat me over the head with it." What actually came out of my mouth sounded more like, "Yeah, sure." What is wrong with me?!? Why was I so concerned about hurting my neighbor's feelings that I compromised my beliefs? Couldn't I have come up with a diplomatic reason to deny her request? Or couldn't I have at least lied and told her that I don't like to put political stickers on my car? Anything to prevent me from driving around the city endorsing a political candidate I hate.

Maybe I do need to be in a 12-step program.

Flying off the handle

I dialed the toll-free number for the service and repair department of a major appliance store and patiently listened to the recorded message. I become slightly annoyed at having to speak cryptic one-word answers into the handset. "Why can't I just punch a number?!?" I mumble. After 3 minutes of talking like Tarzan and 10 minutes on hold listening to product advertising, I finally get to speak to a human being.

"The water barely trickles out of the water dispenser on my refrigerator," I explained, "I need to make a service appointment."

"Have you tried changing your water filter," suggested the woman on the other end of the line, "That can sometimes cause poor water flow."

"No," I responded. Despite my calm reply, Shenequia, my angry black woman alter ego, is starting to surface. I didn't spend $800 on a new refrigerator only to have it diagnosed over the phone by some operator.

"Are you certain that is the problem?" I ask in a tone that would make Shenequia proud.

"No, but we try to troubleshoot over the phone."

"Can you send out a repairman to tell me if that is the problem or not?"

"No, we don't send out technicians to tell you if you need a water filter."

"So you're telling me that before I can make an appointment to have my refrigerator serviced, I have to purchase a water filter?"

She gave a long-ass reply that I interpreted to mean, "Even though you have a warranty, you have to spend all of your money to try and solve the problem before we spend any of ours."

"Fine," I say frustrated, "how much does a water filter cost?"

"Oh, we don't sell those but I can give you an address where you can purchase one locally."

There was a pause.

"Well, thanks for nothing!" Shenequia says before slamming the phone down.

After work, I drive to the parts store in the pouring rain and spend $38 on a water filter. I labored to remove the old filter and inserted the new one. I get a glass from my cabinet, press it against the dispenser and...(must I type the embarrassing results?)...the water flowed freely.

That poor woman. I feel bad for her. She was just trying to do her job only to be harassed by some raving lunatic in obvious need of an attitude adjustment. And all this after a friend lauded me for having the good sense to know when to keep my "hidden ghetto girl" in check. I know you mean well, Shenequia, but girlfriend, sometimes, you need to keep your mouth shut.

Who am I?

Every damn year, I wait until the last possible minute to renew my car tags. I really need to see a doctor about this rare form of selective amnesia I seem to have that wipes out all memories of how crowded the county clerks office gets at the end of the month. There has to be a medical explanation because to procrastinate again after having such an agonizing experience the previous year would imply stupidity.

Yeah, I think it's amnesia.

Do I have to?

My co-worker was scheduled to play a lunch-time gig at a local park today. My boss asked, "So, are we going to hear B. play?"

I responded with an enthusiastic, "Ummmmm...I uhhhhhh...well?"

If we didn't live just outside of Hell where it's 1000 degrees in the shade, I might have been a little more excited. But I was not jumping up and down at the idea of spending my lunch hour, my one hour of peace, in the sweltering heat watching two aging hippies trying to relive their musical youth.

Eventually, I relented and agreed to join the gang for pizza in the park. I sat at a picnic table in the blazing sun, tanning against my will, and listened to acoustic renditions of "Mustang Sally" and "Blue Bayou." I so want that hour of my life back.

Race determines quality of life?

My co-worker, M., told me that her daughter's ex-husband was trying to sell his house. "It's in a bad neighborhood," she explained. Knowing that M. lives in a subdivision where the homes cost several hundred thousand dollars, I was curious to know what the term "bad neighborhood" meant to her.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, his house is surrounded by Mexicans."

"That doesn't mean it's a bad neighborhood."

"I know that, Grizzbabe!"

I don't think she does. This is the same woman who said, when describing her hometown in New Jersey, that the neighborhood is not what it use to be because it has now been taken over by Puerto Ricans. That's like me saying that my uncle lives in a bad area of town because most of his neighbors are black. Never mind that he lives in an upper-middle class suburb where the homes cost more than I can make in a decade.

My ex-roommate's neighbor had his house for sale in a cove where the neighborhood kids congregated to play basketball. This neighbor called the police to have the kids remove their goal because he didn't want potential home buyers to be scared off by the sight of a bunch of young African-American males hooping it up. If this man could have looked past skin color for a moment, he would have seen that these kids come from respectable, hard-working families and that basketball goal has brought the neighborhood together in a way that wasn't evident when I lived there.

Race does not tell the whole story and should not be the reason that a community is deemed a bad place or a desirable place to live. A neighborhood's quality of life is determined by schools, crime rates, property taxes, pride in home ownership, etc. One's race does not influence any of these criteria.

Denial: not just a river in Egypt

I watched Sybil the other day for the first time in years. That movie is a prime example of what happens when you combine extreme child abuse, repression and denial. Sure, Sybil didn't want to admit how abusive her mother was, but if her father had taken his head out of his ass for 5 minutes, or if the family doctor wasn't so content to look the other way, Sybil may not have felt the need to dissociate into other personalities. Denial really is a bitch and fraught with all sorts of consequences.

I have MPD, does anybody else?

It has long been my belief that the reason so many nutcases post on the Internet Movie Database messageboards is because whenever the floor nurse goes on break, she leaves her computer unmanned, resulting in patients, all of whom must be on anti-psychotic medications that haven't kicked in yet, posting willy-nilly and unsupervised. Yesterday, my theory was partly validated.

There was a thread on the Sybil messageboard entitled, "I have MPD [Multiple Personality Disorder], does anybody else?" Of course, they were not alone. Several posters (or maybe they were the same person) admitted to being similarly diagnosed. I think the same psychologically challenged people must post on the espn.com messageboards too.