ouch

Does anything hurt worse than a papercut on the end of your tongue?

The answer is no. If you are curious, nothing hurts more.

I'm at a conference trying to entertain myself, and feel like a complete ass. I just sent a completely inappropriate email to a friend at their work address instead of personal. I feel so stupid and really awful.

I'm sorry. Seriously.

And to Darth Vader sitting next to me. Invest in some Halls cough drops. I'll even bring them in for you tomorrow. Provided of course, you don't read this over my shoulder and bring your own.

Yeah... that bad.

Everyone else that's watching television right now is likely watching the Oscars. We are watching a PBS documentary on the Roman Empire.

Yes. I am that big of a nerd.

BD, Bert Grant's Mandarin Hefeweizen & Hoegaarden

BD = Beer Diary

I picked up a six pack of BG's Mandarin Hefeweizen (made in Yakima, WA) at the liquor store yesterday along with my bottle of Chopin and Jack and another six pack of Hogarten . I am such a good baptist girl at heart. *chuckle* I could pretty much operate a full bar straight out of my kitchen, but the thing is - most of the bottles are dusty.

The way that I look at it, most things that are "sin" are only such because we take them to excess. Obviously there are exceptions to this rule - but I live a life of moderation and I think if we all did the same, well the world would be a much better place. To be honest, there are bottles that have been unopened in there for at least three years.

So sitting here still uploading music...

I want to be stereotyped. I want to be classified.

Anyway, about the beers (and this is more for me than you):

BGMH: Fruity (to be expected with a name like Mandarin Hefeweizen), brewed with cascade hops it has a good taste. Cascade hops always taste better. I've had this about eight months ago or so but don't remember it. The aftertaste is almost a little too fruity for me... but overall is o.k As I have a crazy nose the scent is a little bit of a turn off - reminds me of the metallic sweet scent of opening a can of mandarin oranges. Would be nice in the summer - oh wait. Here that means all the time.

Hoegaarden. I've enjoyed this witbier for awhile. Pleasant notes of coriander and banana. Cloudy, sort of a heady musky scent. Tasty - would be even better on tap. Isn't particularly strong - not a criticism per se.

From the ashes, my cookbook fetish explained

I am a passionate person. I feel that if something is worth my time - it's worth doing passionately.

I adore cooking. All aspects of it - and while not trying to sound conceited, I am a really good cook. Although I must say that I never really learned the true joy of cooking (thank you - Julia Childs) until I was in early adulthood. Admittedly, I was not always this way. When I was about twelve I made lemon sugar cookies that somehow ended up more like lemon tortillas that my dog even turned her nose up at. Cooking was definitely an acquired skill for me.

I tremble in kitchen stores, I salivate in Williams-Sonoma, I could spend weeks just looking through a single shelf of cookbooks at Barnes & Noble. I own some of the most bizarre and unusual kitchen implements known to man, some incredibly old (a ladle from my maternal great-great-great grandmother, a cake plate from my paternal great-grandmother) to the latest innovations. My single most prized possession is probably my Kitchen Aid stand mixer.

I didn't grow up in a house of cooks however. My mom was a pretty decent cook - but when you were as poor as we were you were pretty limited in what you had to work with. On the way home from the softball tournament yesterday (which lasted the majority of the day) we were discussing white trash cooking and some of the horrific "dishes" we were force-fed as children. Who could forget the concoction my stepmother called goulash (elbow macaroni, stewed tomatoes, random vegetables and ground beef) that still sends shivers up my spine? Or this one dish that my mom used to fix when we were really down on our luck which consisted of a box of macaroni and cheese, canned peas, and tuna? Ew.

I started experimenting with cooking when I had my first apartment, but to be honest until I met an exboyfriend of mine cooking was a necessary evil - not really something to be enjoyed. He loved cooking, the selection of ingredients, and the presentation with the same gusto that most people give only to the consumption aspect of food. I learned a tremendous amount from him about food and cooking (along with the fact that you don't date people who in all likelihood would prefer to be with someone of their own sex). And no, it was not the cooking that made me question his sexuality. A man who can cook is an amazing turn on. He had other issues, let's just leave it at that.

Cooking also let me break away - in a way - psychologically from my childhood of abject poverty. Gone were the days of tater tot cassarole and swiss steak. I have a ton of cookbooks. So much so that I could really use a bookshelf in my kitchen. Some of them were gifts, other guilty clearance purchases from Hastings back when I was in college. Still others are almost tomes, beautiful books with pictures that are simply amazing.

So this morning, while uploading tons of cds onto my mp3 player, I had Willie Nelson cranked up in the background (Don't laugh. Seven Spanish Angels and Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain choke me up. And yes, I have been to Luckenbach, Texas many times). Part of adulthood is dealing with your past, not merely pretending it didn't happen. Tonight we're having red beans and rice and cornbread. Elegant? Perhaps not. A culinary extravagance? Certainly not. But it reminds me a lot of my childhood, of my roots... of who I am.

And that is by definition comfort food. And no amount of gourmet fancy-pants cooking can replace that.

But rest assured... goulash will never be made in my kitchen.

hilarious

Get 20 (mostly hung over) attorneys on the field, none who have read the USSSA rules or the local deviations, and well - absolute chaos results.

And of course - the team we're playing a team that's full of collegiate champion sb players.

And we have no coffee.

You have got to be kidding me.

DNR

As I mentioned briefly, I've been in a coma before. My parents were married way too young, and I came along when my mom was about two months shy of being 20. My dad wasn't quite 21 yet.

When I was maybe two or three months old - there was a cyst/tumor type growth that was found on top of my brain. The doctor told my parents that if left there, the growth would slowly kill off blood supply to my brain, cause blindness, and eventually irreprable brain damage. So, they shaved off the shock of black hair that I had and removed it. I have about a six inch scar going from left to right at the crown of my head.

After the surgery, my mother was - understandably - distraught. The doctor prescribed a heavy sedative to calm her down - in liquid form. A valium derivative I believe. The nurse came in - read the chart - and gave the prescription to Miss D., not Mrs. D. She only got about a third to a half of the medicine down me, and instructed my mother to give me the rest.

She didn't. She threw it away. After a bit, she said that I became extremely still and just went limp. She called the nursing station and a nurse talked down to her - belittled her for being upset, and told her I was probably just tired. But my mother insisted that something was wrong. Very wrong. The nurse came to see, and never said another word to my mother - but sprinted down the hall with me in her arms.

I was in a coma for about 36 hours. They told my parents that it was best to take me off the ventilator. They told my mother to pray - and to let me go. She prayed fervently. Everyone did. They told my parents that if I didn't wake up by a certain time, that in all likelihood I never would. At the precise time, a lusty wail came from deep in me. The nurse was dismissed, and the hospital settled with my parents so as to prevent a lawsuit. The doctors cautioned however, that I would grow up with severe mental and physical set backs.

I, of all people, recognize that doctors can be wrong. I recognize that sometimes, when everything in medical knowledge says that it's impossible the grace of God makes it possible. While perhaps a quaint notion, I still believe in miracles.

That said, I hope that I make it loud and clear to my loved ones... do not make me a Terri Shiavo. Do not keep holding on to me when I have no hope left to live a life worth living. DNR.

Let me go with grace. Let me go with dignity. Let me go when I no longer have a quality of life that makes it worth living. Do not let me burden you with my care, with the sustainment of a life that is such in name only.

Do not deny me peace after such a long journey.

I hope Terri's parents can do the same for her.

http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050225/ap_on_re_us/brain_damaged_woman_27

Even Morrissey's happier than me

Tomorrow a.m. at 9 a.m. I have a softball game, and I was hoping to get to go to the beach after it was over -but if it's anything like today the chances of that happening are between slim and none [a recurrent theme for me] - as it's absolutely dreadful looking out.

Oh sure, when I was cooped up in the office all week it was beautiful out. My two days of freedom - let's see - dark and rainy.

BAH!

Why yes.

As a matter of fact, my lunch did consist of five Girl Scout Samoa cookies and a cup of hot chocolate - why do you ask? It's not like I'm stressed out or anything (said utilizing lame air quotes).

I just got word that I'm taking over a major presentation for someone Monday morning on the topic of perhaps the most complicated legislation to come out of the Internal Revenue Service in a generation.

Uh thanks. Spending my weekend cozied up with IRS regs - now that's hot.

Wha-wha-what?

The phone rings a few minutes ago, and there's a man on the phone. He says, "Hey April - do you want to go out tonight?" The voice sounds partially familiar - but I can't figure out who it is as I don't recognize the name on caller i.d. My response - "Uh - who is this?" "This is Greg, and I think you're hot. And um, I'm a pledge, and I have to do this - so can you just do it for me please... please... I'll pay for your dinner."

Laughing, I said "Uh, sorry but no."

"C'mon please..."

"Uh, no. Goodbye."

I suppose it's better than the UM pledge a year or so ago who drowned when forced (while incredibly intoxicated) to swim across the crocodile infested pond on UM's campus. But still, yeah kid sorry the answer's no.

As Ms. Brovlowski would said - Whaaa-whaa-whaaat?

Ahhh. Buying friends and influence. Can you tell I was never a sorority girl?

Dawn

I love watching dawn break over the ocean. The grey sky muddled with shades of ochre and lavender, until the sun slowly rises above the horizon sending out the first streaks of pink and orange across the sky.

It takes my breath away every single time.

Yum.

The grill is hot, and the steaks are about to go down.

I would be a vegetarian, but I love a juicy medium rare filet too much.

Dancing on my desk

The judge was 45 minutes late to the hearing this morning. There was a lot of controversy, and it got quite heated at times - but... I WON!

That's me - shaking my groove thang - on top of my desk.

Woo hoo!

Now, I think I'm going to step down and take a nap.

Lemonade - Serenade, one of us is right, but I don't remember who.

My heart is overwhelmed. Through tears, trust in your heart that I am grateful - for everything.

Cat bathing and other tricks of the trade

Do you know how incredibly difficult it is to bathe a 20+ pound long haired cat with claws intact?

I came home early tonight so I could get ready for my hearing tomorrow, and Alex was violently ill - all body systems were in evacuation mode. Poor kitty. Because he's a really long haired cat - that means there was a BIG nasty mess in his fur.

Enter bathroom. Mayhem, hair flying, scatching, screaming (both him and me).

Now he's clean, wet, swaddled in towels laying next to me.

And like any male when he's sick... he just wants to be babied.

Poor kitty.

Your day breaks, your mind aches...

Tomorrow a.m. is my first court appearance. Granted it's only a motion hearing, but I am absolutely scared out of my mind.

Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

Unbearable temptation

I must get these girl scout cookies out of my office. This is torture. And I am so weak... so very weak in the face of temptation so delicious.

Genuine artificial

So sad. There's a new burrito place downtown that everyone is raving about - how good the salsa is, how great the burritos are. So a few of us went for lunch today and well -

Puhhhhhhhhlllleeeeaaaaassssssseeeeeeeeee. That was the closest to genuine artificial mexican food I've ever seen.

Huffing

In highschool there were a lot of kids who huffed - paint thinner, gasoline in paper bags, xylene markers - if they even thought it would get them high, they'd try it. Not me... I was spray painting alumnimum cans for an art project and the resulting headache made it clear to me that this wasn't my cup of tea.

My office was painted over the long weekend, and the painter ran out of paint mid way through having it done. If you know you have to paint an office - and you already have the paint to do it with, and your profession is to paint - how do you run out? Anyway, they had to come back and finish it up last night. These fumes are noxious. I am completely incapable of coherent thought processing right now. Thus the following innocent, but rather poorly thought out exchange:

Still gleeful from my evaluation yesterday, I ran into my boss this morning in the hallway and gushed "Thank you so much for last night, it really meant a lot to me. It made me feel so good, so special" He said "No problem babe." and winked. Of course - one of the most gossipy people I know was standing behind us the entire time. Ugh. My office is like high school with the rumor mill... and while most of the time the drama that goes on here is true - the rumors that I'm sleeping with my boss definitely aren't. I have enough problems trying to explain how I got a partner's office with an ocean view as a first year associate without that hanging over my head.

"C'est la vie", say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell"

My evaluation actually went really well. In fact, the only thing that was addressed as a "needs improvement" is my hours, which were acknowledged wasn't my responsibility to generate. Everything else was highly complimentary. If there's one thing I love, it's praise.

Someone just sent me a link to my site as translated to cockney. Rather humorous to read myself like that - in addition to Redneck, Swedish Chef, etc. http://www.rinkworks.com/dialect/dialectp.cgi?dialect=cockney&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.texasonmymind.blogspot.com.

My mp3 player is in love with Bob Marley, Riot Squad and a Kansas City Jazz from the 1920s cd. It has literally thousands of songs, maybe 20 of which are Bob Marley and I swear I've heard almost all of them today on the ride home. Same goes for the other two.

The random last ten (wow that is random):

1. Liza and Louise - Punk O'Rama - NOFX (With a flick of the tongue)

2. Pale September - Tidal - Fiona Apple (And all my armor falling down, in a pile at my feet)

3. Bad Bad Whiskey - 20 Best of Blues - Amos Milbourne (Bad Bad Whiskey made me lose my happy home)

4. Like a Parasite - Hopelessly Devoted to You, Volume 2 - The Queers (Like a parasite, I want to crawl all over you)

5. Disappearing Boy - 1,039 Smoothed Out Slappy Hour - Green Day (Don't say my thoughts are not for real)

6. Oh Bondage (Up Yours) - Punk You Volume 1 - X-Ray Spex (Bind me, tie me, chain me to the wall)

7. All Shook Up - Elvis 30 # 1 Hits - Elvis Presley (I'm proud to say that she's my buttercup)

8. The Devil Went Down to Georgia - The Charlie Daniels Band (I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cause I think I'm better than you)

9. Blister in the Sun - Violent Femmes (I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out)

10. Son of a Preacher Man - Pulp Fiction - Dusty Springfield (The look that was in his eyes - Stealin' kisses from me on the sly)

And to the lady who heard me singing in the grocery store. I'm really sorry. I didn't realize that I was singing out loud. I guess she's not a fan of Pansy Division. Eh. I don't really want to be a slut.

Stilettos

Turns out that the new stilettos are sexy as all get out - but OUCH.

I think between that and the evaluation tonight, I am entitled to a massage tomorrow. Although, I hate paying for them from people I don't know. I would much rather just pop my feet up in someone's lap on the couch and have them knead my problems away. But, yeah - that's not going to happen.

So I'm trying to find a place that will take me tomorrow. The usual place I go (a legitimate spa - not the "you want big finish?") kind of place is booked. Bah!

Breathe in, breathe out...

Ugh. My annual evaluation is this evening. I had a really bad year and fell far below my target billable hour requirement (like 500 hours below). And through a bizarre string of events, it's going to be via phone. How awkward.

Due to the holiday yesterday, I kept thinking today was Monday. After taking TWO HOURS stuck in traffic to get here, I find a million things stacked on my desk, a number of cranky phone calls from people all demanding that their project be completed immediately. There is only one of me. They will have to be put into prorities, into line - and just have to wait their turn.

Can I just go back home and crawl into bed? Please?

I could really use something uplifting today, something to make me keep my sanity - as it's quickly going.

Head in the clouds

Tis morning I decided that I wanted a new tablecloth, so I set out to see what I could find. In my defense, my kitchen is painted pumpkin orange and I needed something to match my dishes (Fiestaware - various colors) and my only criteria was that the tablecloth couldn't be white. So with that in mind, how did I end up coming home after being gone for four hours with:
- Petunias;
- A giant foxglove plant;
- Snapdragons;
- A centerpiece for the table of creamy peonies;
- A new pink, white and black string bikini;
- Grapefruit flavored IZZE soda;
- Yellow paper lanterns for the porch; and
- Three bottles of pink nail polish ?!?!?!?

There's a roast in the oven, which has been slow cooking all day - and it smells so good. I've got homemade bread dough rising - and am looking forward to entertaining tonight even if I don't have a new tablecloth.

Necessito Burrito

I spent hours grocery shopping today (first at Publix and then to BJ's). I really miss the grocery stores at home. I've been craving mexican food something fierce, and I'm a pretty decent cook - but the problem is that I can't get the ingredients that I need here to cook what I want. I would do anything for good mexican food and a margarita right now. Anything. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

I can't even find decent tortillas here. I would make them myself but I don't have a tortillas press anymore. That and I don't know where to buy lard here, as they don't carry it in the grocery stores here like they do in Texas. I can't even get decent peppers, so I grow my own jalapenos, habaneros, serranos, etc. I miss enchiladas. I miss tamales (and I don't even care for them that much). I miss chili rellenos, carne guisada, empanadas stuffed with pumpkin or pineapple (ohhhhhhhh), mole...

There are so many delicious things at home that I miss the taste of.

Get that out of the house!

After my divorce, I bought a beautiful buff colored cocker spaniel to keep me company and to sound frightening if someone was trying to get in the house. I mean, what's scarier than an eight week old puppy right? I loved that dog desperately, but when I moved here, my new apartment wouldn't allow dogs. My boyfriend at the time was finishing law school in Texas and she adored him. So he took custody of the dog, and she stayed behind in Texas.

I moved to Florida both for the free law school and also to be with him. Only, he ended up taking a job in Arkansas after graduation, so I was stuck here without anyone. No boyfriend, not many friends to speak of, and an incredibly empty house. I was afraid to sleep alone. It was one of the loneliest times.

In January, he came to visit and we went looking at the shelter for something for me to bestow my love on, to give me a reason to get out of bed in the mornings. We found three kittens, only five and a half weeks old, fleabitten and scrawny which were going to be put down because the shelter didn't think that they would find homes for them as they were so small. They had to be bottle fed because they weren't weaned. Before them I had no idea that they even made kitten formula & bottles. I didn't really want a kitten, and I sure didn't want two of them, and three was out of the question. A family that was there while we were took one of the kittens, and the two remaining were so pitiful, that I folded. I took them home.

Two boys, a medium length haired grey cat, and a little puff of black, brown and white hair with ears. I named the grey one Ashton [and no, I did not name him after Demi Moore's boy toy. He looks like he's covered in soot, and is my little chimney sweep - well, assuming I had a chimney], and the fuzz ball Alexander the Great (pictures forthcoming later this afternoon maybe if my camera batteries will ever charge, and assuming I actually make it home from the grocery store - which is a feat when you live in South Florida and every old person in the world winters here and their favorite social gathering place is the grocery store... ) Wait, where was I?

Oh yes, Ashton is a cold blooded vicious murderor. I lived in a penthouse apartment when I first got them, next to the intercoastal waterway. Ashton was always adventurous, which nearly led to his death when he was about ten weeks old. I had left the patio door open, and he decided to pounce on a bug that ran under the porch railing, and I managed to grab his tail before he plunged sixteen floors to his death. After that, the only time I allowed them outside was in a carrier to and from the vet.

When I first moved into this house, they would sit at the front and back french doors, watching the world outside, but they would never go out. Alex seemed to be the more adventurous of the two and we finally took him outside one day. Mind you, by this point Alex weighed over 20 pounds. He's a BIG cat. Michael picked him up and carried him onto the bricked back patio, and Alex was so afraid that he urinated all over him. Once I finally stopped laughing (o.k. wait - I'm almost finished... almost), we decided maybe the boys were just too afraid to be out there. So we didn't push the issue, but when we were in the yard we would leave the doors open for them to come out if they wanted.

Now we can't keep the little rats in. Our back door is scratched from them begging to go out. We have literally hundreds of lizards in the backyard and they boys love to chase them. Alex is a bit of a bumbling idiot, so if he ever catches one, it's likely only because he sat on it. Ashy however is a mean lizard killing machine.

The problem though, is that he likes to bring his prey in the house - and bestow gifts of maimed and injured critters to me. I do not appreciate my cat's hunting ability. It doesn't impress me at all. It FREAKS me out. So here I am making a list of what I need at the store, and this GIANT lizard now missing a tail and a back leg, comes scrambling up my leg in a fit of sheer panic, with Ashton looking triumphant on his heels, er heel.

Screaming and mayhem ensues. I'm sure the neighbors think I'm being viciously attacked.

There is a five inch long lizard under my couch, and I am so skeeved out. Ew. How am I going to find this thing?!?!?

Paperclip heart

A paperclip heart dangling from the zipper of my green jansport held me together long after the end.

Of course, to be an end, I suppose there needed to be a beginning. But therein lies the problem, there simply wasn't a beginning, not one within the accepted time paradigm. We disagreed on a lot of things, although that first moment of simultaneous recognition was something undeniable.

Don't I know you from somewhere?

No, and yet in ways that are simply beyond the bounds of comprehension, yes.

I had nearly forgotten about that paperclip heart, and how strong it was. How strong it made me.

Route 44 Cherry Limeade

My first job (other than babysitting for my preacher) was at Sonic. I was 14 and lied and said I was 16 so I could bring in a few extra dollars to help buy clothes for school, etc. I worked inside, making drinks and shakes/ice cream cones, etc. I worked there about three weeks before I picked up a second job. Yep, two jobs at 14. I worked from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. straight at an insurance agency and then from 4:30 p.m. until close (usually about 12:30 or so) at Sonic. I was absolutely exhausted all the time, but without child support coming in, and since my grandfather didn't leave any life insurance or savings, I felt like I had to do what I could to help Granny make ends meet. It wasn't her fault no one else wanted me, and it wasn't fair for her to have to foot the bill of my keep.

I worked this way for about a month and a half (during the summer) and I just couldn't do it anymore. The insurance agent I was working for found out about my other job and doubled my salary so that I could have enough money but only would have to work one job When school started back (my Sophomore year) I had to continue working - and was thus forced to give up my coveted position on the j.v. basketball team. I started playing basketball in seventh grade, and what I lacked in true athletic ability I made up for with heart.

At first I played basketball, volleyball (I was a setter) and track (shot put, discus and triple jump - no actual running events). But I fell deeply in love with basketball... I was horribly slow (god I hated running suicides), but I had a lot of stamina, an amazing jump shot and was a good rebounder. That and I had the stereotypical redheaded temper, and ended up getting fouled out of almost every game. I guess I was the requisite thug. Sort of a female, white, nonhockey playing Donald Brashear. I have a 2 inch scar on my left elbow from slamming my elbow into another girl's mouth in retaliation for trying to steal the ball from me while we coming down from a rebound. I got a technical for that and was pulled from the game. I tried saying it wasn't intentional [really, it wasn't... *batting eyelashes innocently*] but it didn't matter, they yanked me from the game because I was gushing blood. And Maryl - I'm really sorry about that now, honest.

That fall, I remember staying after practice to tell the coach that I had to quit because I simply couldn't make all the practices, and I didn't feel that it was fair to the team to stay on. I was valedictorian of my class, and was involved in competitive theater on the weekends, and was working too many hours after school. She said I was a disgrace because I was a quitter. Through hot angry stinging tears I told her that I had to quit. If I wanted to eat, if I wanted clothes on my back, if I wanted electricity on in the house, I had to keep working. She looked stunned for a moment, and then shrugged and said "well, fine then - quit. But just remember that you were the one who decided to quit. You were the one who decided what your priorities were and obviously they included letting me and your teammates down."

I haven't picked up a basketball in years. I never was very good at dribbling, but I could outshoot anyone from anywhere in the paint, three pointers, half court - it didn't matter. I'm lounging on the loveseat right now watching ESPN (college basketball) and listening to the highschool boys that live next door slam balls over and over and over again against the backboard. Don't they know how great it is to hear nothing but the swish of the net?

Since we don't have Sonics down here, I would really appreciate it if ESPN would stop showing the damn commercials - because I'm thirsty for a Route 44 Cherry Limeade now - or a coconut cream pie shake. And some cheese tots... yum.

Sandy girl blues...

Went to the beach this morning for brunch, and sat in the cool sun trying to protect myself from the rather fierce wind popping in off the water. The waves were pretty choppy, but not really big enough to justify the people who were attempting to surf. I didn't know seagulls would ride the waves, but they just sort of sat on the crest of the water... very cool.

The beach I frequent is within walking distance to the house (about a mile to where I like to stretch out on the less populated far side of the beach). While South Beach is topless and plastic surgery heaven, the place where I go is more of a family environment, with people of all shapes and sizes and colors (milky pale (that's me), burned (sometimes me), peeling burned (too often me), and tan (never me, unless my freckles decided to all meld together, as then I'd have a kick ass tan), and burnt to a well done brown crisp(every snowbird that's here, but never me in a million years)) all mingling together. There are a lot of people who wear very itsy bitsy teenie weenie swimsuits, and as I'm not a stick and bones kinda girl (I never really have been aside from when I lost an amazing amount of weight my first year of law school and tried that whole emaciated look for a bit before I realized that well, you needed to actually consume food to survive) it makes me happy that people are comfortable enough in their own skin to wear whatever they please. Well, mostly anyway. I still feel strongly that if you are wearing a speedo it's a crime against nature. I don't care how nice of a body you have, there's just no call for that.

There's a lot of development going in to that area of the beach, which is sort of sad, because it's losing it's kitchsy old Florida seashore feel and is becoming too modern, too commercialized. As much as I love Haagen Daz, I was sad to see it go in there - as I knew that was the beginning of the end for the mom and pop places. In three years, I won't recognize this place. [And G-d if you're reading, it's really quite cruel to make someone love ice cream as much as I do and then to smite me with lactose intolerance in my early adulthood. Seriously, not cool].

But what a great start to the morning. I think I'm going to use our outside shower [yes, it's outside, and installed for the sole purpose of trying to keep sand off the hardwood floors] and garden a bit. My tomatoes need to be staked because they're falling over with fruit. The herbs needed to be cut back or else the rosemary may take over the world.

Days like this make me think I could never leave here.

There's your trouble...

I am in such an amazing mood today. A good night's sleep (full of incredible dreams), a pretty new skirt, spring sandals, a fresh pedicure (toes decked out in a goldish-pink hue) and new hair color (back to my more natural red rather than the blondish tone it was) will do that for a girl I guess. I feel so pretty - and feminine. So girly.

On the way to work I got slammed between two brand new Lamborghini Murcielagos which were racing. Racing in rush hour traffic. Hello jackasses, let's race a car that retails at nearly a quarter of a million dollars each in RUSH HOUR traffic where the top speed you're going to hit is perhaps 18 mph - for oh, I don't know maybe ten seconds or so. Before I lived here, I would have been amazed to see cars like that on the road - but after a while you get used to those things. Since the Boat Show is on Miami Beach this week, a lot of celebrities and uber rich are in town, and traffic getting to and from the beach (how I go home) is a madhouse. The other day on the way to work, I was stuck in traffic on the causeway and looked over at the new light blue Bentley sitting next to me and I realized that Ben Affleck has to sit in traffic just like the rest of us. That made me happy in a sick twisted way.

After being nearly splattered by a half a million dollars of [rather ugly, in my opinion - and f'ing LOUD] car, I got caught behind two bridges stuck in the 'up' position. Rather than getting irritated, I turned the music up loud, and danced my little heart out in the car. Well, as much as one can dance while seated in the car. I'm sure people thought I was crazy, but I don't care. Sometimes you just have to do what makes you happy.

And since I'm sweet - a stock tip for the day - buy Gillette. At the rate I'm going, Duracell is going to have to buy other factories to increase production capacity. I feel like Charlotte.

I think I may go snorkeling or canoeing tomorrow. It's too beautiful here to stay cooped up inside. And my office is being painted this weekend, so I can't be here. HOORAY! I just realized that Monday is a holiday - so DOUBLE HOORAY!!

This day just keeps getting better and better.

Tasty treat

There is perhaps nothing more delicious than pink grapefruit jelly belly candy.

How's this...

For random today - the last 10 songs on shuffle -

1. Count Your Blessings - Pat Green (Works for me may not work for you)

2. Won't You Come Over to My House - George E. Lee (Come on over to my house baby, ain't nobody home but me)

3. Shameless - Ani DiFranco (We're in a room without a door)

4. What'd I Say - Ray Charles (See that girl with the diamond ring, she knows how to shake that thing)

5. American Idiot - Green Day (Everything isn't meant to be okay.)

6. Sangria - Jerry Jeff Walker (Just like I love old friends of mine)

7. Norweigan Wood - The Beatles (We talked until two and then she said "it's time for bed" )

8. Mama You Got a Daughter - John Lee Hooker (Mama talk to your daughter)

9. Kiss Me Where it Smells Funny - The Bloodhound Gang (Like a DC-10: guaranteed to go down)

10. No Woman No Cry - Bob Marley (Oh, my little darlin' please don't shed no tears)


The funny thing is, if you read the lyrics in sequence - it almost makes sense together. How did I ever survive without this at work to drown out the loud people on speakerphones?

"I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

MSNBC - Kissing school teaches the art of locking lips

A woman runs a "kissing school" where people pay $275 for her to teach them tips about kissing for a few hours. Now, don't get me wrong, there have been people in my past who could have used this type of training. People who had attack jackhammer tongues, or were overly slobbery, or just skeeved me out to kiss.

A bad kisser is a deal breaker for me. I love to kiss. I adore it. I'm a kissy kissy kissy person. I love the relationships where you can spend HOURS just kissing. [After all, if the person is going to spend that kind of time kissing - I think of it as a pleasant prelude to finding out what else they care enough to spend time on]. I love the feeling of warm butter coursing through your veins that leaves you feeling as if the ground is moving beneath you the entire next day.

While I assume that I'm decent at kissing - as I've had no complaints [but I suppose this is inherently misleading - as how many people are going to be that painfully honest with you]. But I wonder (while admittedly simultaneously mocking this woman) do other people think of me as the one that was the bad kisser in their past? Do I need to enroll in this class?

Do we all assume that we are good kissers? Have you ever been with someone who was just a horrendously awful kisser?

Looking out over my desk...

Is there any wonder why I'm distracted?


The water today is almost green, instead of the beautiful aqua and teals that it usually is... The picture clarity and depth is off because I took it on my Palm Zire - which has a pretty crummy camera, but nonetheless - now you can see why I do so much daydreaming at work.

Last dream before dawn

Tiny white lights are strung overhead, their luminescence echoing the thousands of stars splayed over the velvet summer sky. Silver moonlight filters through the canopy of pecans, silver maples, and cottonwoods, dusting our bodies in lavender shadows. Cloying honeysuckle clings in the air mingling with freshly cut hay. Your hands encircles my waist, drawing me closer to you. The small pearl buttons of my dress press into you as our bodies meld. Crickets softly hum, providing a melody only faintly remembered.

A gentle breeze tousles my hair. [1, 2, 3, and 4.] You smile, tucking a renegade curl behind my ear. [1, 2, 3, and 4.] My breath catches in my throat as your fingers graze my cheek – slowly outlining the pouty curve of my lower lip with your thumb. [1, 2, 3, and 4.] My dress swirls against my legs, caressing my bare skin. [1, 2, 3, and 4.] With each step the dance becomes more familiar. I am no longer mitering out the time in my mind, but folding myself into gentle submission of your lead.

My mouth opens – and nothing but a silent confession passes my lips. “Shhh”, you whisper quietly into my hair, “there is no need for words. There never have been for us.” Sighing with relief, I lay my head to your chest. We dance quietly for a few moments, our bodies communicating the complexities that words fail to explain. You lift my chin – raising my eyes to meet yours.

You know. My eyes have never been able to hide from you the secrets of my soul.

Randomness

Turns out that wearing my new creamy beaded flip flops to the Ren. Festival yesterday was a bad idea. I guess they'll be relegated to beach wear now. Sad, I spent more on them than I normally would for those type of shoes, and I bought them literally on the way to the festival.

Some of the costumes were really beautiful. Some of the people, though I have to admit I was seriously concerned about the state of their mental health. There is a fine line between exuberance and insanity. We were flilthy by the end of the night but I really enjoyed the different performers (the apothocary/wizard was quite amusing as were the mud show and the magicians & acrobats). There was glass blowing, axe hurling, archery contests, and knife throwing. It was a nice distraction from the everyday life I normally lead.

No surprise I dreamed of castles and knights all night long. But they were incredibly good dreams. It was nice to have a night full of sleep and bestowed with such sweet and vivid dreams. I was disappointed to wake up this morning, in the midst of such an amazing dream...

m'lady

Full of Guinness, roasted turkey legs, pretzles, and pickles... Covered with mud from the mud show, pixie dust and glitter. I smell like patchouli and incense. The jousting is about to begin. My knight is decked out in blue and silver and is riding a chesnut horse. I want to learn to fence. We saw falcons, had a tankard of ale, and amused the village idiot.

Aside from lack of dental care and the dirtiness, I could easily have been born at the wrong time.

I want a sparkly princess crown, and a knight in shining armor. Preferably not knocked from his horse... oh and a corset too.

Alguna vez has visto estrellas con los ojos cerrados?

Today, mixed in with interoffice memos and a pile of pension plan guides in my inbox was a small red envelope made of homemade paper emblazoned with tiny white hearts - without a return address. While it is always a welcome surprise, I rarely get personal mail at work, so I double checked the front of the envelope to make sure I wasn't about to open someone else's letter.

Once I had identified that it was indeed for me, I curiously opened it - peeling back the silver seal of acanthus leaves wrapped around a single initial - "J." Inside, written in gold ink was an incredibly sweet note from someone I went to law school with. Someone who was incredibly lavish with compliments the entire time I knew him. Someone who when I cut my hair and walked into class in a new outfit my first year whistled and got everyone to give me a standing ovation. Someone who tried to convince me to travel to Spain and Italy with him. Someone who told me every single day that I saw him - and often when I didn't via IM - that I was beautiful. Someone that I never even went on a date with. Never kissed. Never even spoke on the phone to.

Thank you Jojo. Thank you for making me feel so incredibly special today.

Magnetic, breathtaking, dazzling and graceful I am not - but I am very appreciative. And quite flattered.

empty

hollow

numb

I'm tired of being surrounded by people and being so lonely.

She.

1. My favorite color is blue, although I’m quite partial to green, purple and red.
2. Childhood nicknames have included: Princess, Woody, Strawberry Shortcake; Red; Spot (for my freckles); and Queen Bee.
3. I have very small hands, my ring size is right about a 4.
4. I however, am not a size 4 – and I’m o.k. with that. I believe a woman should be curvy.
5. I have a lot of freckles and I sunburn very easily.
6. I made my face bleed as a child trying to scrub my freckles off.
7. I can roll my tongue.
8. My tongue is abnormally short, the lingual frenulum is attached too far toward the tip. But I can still tie a knot in a cherry stem with it.
9. I’m allergic to bee stings.
10. I collect bee themed stationary.
11. I got an A in my graduate accounting class without ever getting a single problem completely correct.
12. I’m an excellent cook.
13. I used to play cello, but I smashed the bridge post with my head through the back of the cello – leaving a giant hole.
14. I don’t remember how to read music anymore.
15. I’ve willingly eaten rattlesnake, rabbit, shark, and alligator.
16. Sadly, I don’t know how to rollerskate.
17. I’ve always wanted to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center at Christmas.
18. I’ve helped to butcher a deer.
19. I could never kill one.
20. But, I love to fish.
21. At nineteen, my hair suddenly started getting curly.
22. While I don’t believe in astrology, those who know me say my sign (Cancer) is pretty accurate.
23. I love to dance.
24. I took years of tap, ballet and jazz lessons.
25. I would love to be brave enough to try to make a living as an artist.
26. While I love watching football – I don’t know how to throw one.
27. I am incredibly ticklish.
28. My first car was a hideously ugly 1989 Ford Escort with pinstripes and a sun roof that my great aunt bought me. It got great gas mileage though.
29. I bought a standard truck without having a clue how to drive it.
30. I learned quickly. Aside from getting out and kicking it once in the middle of the street when I stalled it at a red light.
31. I can speed read.
32. I have three dimples when I smile.
33. I fully believe well done steaks are sacrilege. If I wanted to eat a hockey puck I would. As long as it’s not still mooing – I’m o.k.
34. I’ve never had a cavity.
35. I’d say I’m a horrible procrastinator, but I can do that later.
36. I’ve always wanted to learn how to fly a plane, and to knit.
37. I used to make beautiful quilt tops.
38. I’ve had my heart broken because of my own stupidity.
39. I am really good at wrapping presents.
40. I hate to shop.
41. My mother was afraid I would grow up and be an arsonist. I used to torch all of my toys in my Easy Bake Oven. Burning barbie heads really stink by the way.
42. I can twirl a baton.
43. I love legos and lite brights.
44. I always wanted a toy train set for Christmas.
45. I hate reality t.v. shows.
46. I’ve had brain surgery.
47. I’ve been in a drug induced coma.
48. Both happened when I was two months old and the nurse was supposed to give sedatives to my mother to calm her down, and instead gave them to me.
49. My parents were told I would grow up to be severely retarded.
50. I had a B.B.A., M.B.A., and J.D. by the time I was 23.
51. I used to have over 180 pairs of shoes, but now I have maybe 10.
52. I have very pretty eyes.
53. I also have pretty lips.
54. I’m very pale. My skin is almost translucent.
55. I eat tomatoes the way other people eat apples.
56. When I eat an apple I even eat the core.
57. I was raised Southern Baptist.
58. I was Lutheran in college.
59. Now I don’t really identify with any organized church.
60. I still consider myself to be a spiritual being though.
61. I feel closest to God outside, but I love stained glass windows.
62. My shoe size is a 7 ½ or 8.
63. I am the ‘classic’ hourglass shape. I have a 12 inch difference in my waist and my hips and my chest. It’s very difficult for me to find clothes that fit.
64. My first concert was Jon Bon Jovi. I was in third grade – and he said he was going to “play Bad Medicine” for that little girl and pointed at me. I thought I was so cool. Shut up. I was in third grade.
65. My family’s heritage is German, Irish and Native American.
66. I hate cigarette smoke.
67. In elementary school I had a pen pal from Australia who I thought I would grow up and marry and live in the Outback and raise kangaroos with.
68. I jello wrestled in college. But no one who knew me then would believe it.
69. I love crystal, china, good linens and nice things for my home.
70. I buy way too much food. I think it’s an innate fear of going hungry again.
71. I’ve woken up with a tarantula crawling on my face.
72. I love baseball, but only if I’m at a game. Watching on t.v. is excruciatingly boring.
73. Ketchup is disgusting. When I eat french fries (rarely) I eat them with barbeque sauce or mustard. And I like fries burned and a little soggy.
74. I have an amazing sense of smell, and remember times, places and people by their scent.
75. I’ve had chicken pox about six times.
76. I love blues and jazz.
77. I’ve been in a number of plays and musicals. My favorite part was that of Kimberly Bergalis in Patient A by Lee Blessing.
78. I crowd surfed in a mosh pit.
79. I’m incredibly shy and assertive at the same time.
80. I love really spicy food – thai, indian, mexican, creole, etc.
81. Because of the movie “Cats Eye” I was always afraid to sleep with my closet doors open at night.
82. I would love to have someone wash my hair on a daily basis.
83. I’ve seen ghosts before, but I’m not sure that I believe in them.
84. But everyone I know says my house is haunted - by a three year old boy.
85. I like to sleep nude. But I hate for anyone to see me unclothed.
86. I would love to be brave enough to do a striptease.
87. But I adore lingerie – and wear it for myself.
88. I love going camping but haven’t been in probably ten years.
89. I’ve carried the same $2 bill in my wallet for the last fourteen years.
90. I had five pet snakes that got loose in the house when I was in 5th grade. We never found them.
91. More than anything else in life, I want to be a good mother someday.
92. I’m amazingly good at trivial pursuit.
93. My left eye is slightly stronger than my right.
94. I started wearing glasses in graduate school, and switched to contacts in law school.
95. I’ve only mowed a yard one time. I don’t even know how to start a lawn mower.
96. I’ve changed my own oil though.
97. I’m an amazing shot with a rifle, but guns freak me out.
98. I used to sleep with a butcher knife between my mattress and box springs.
99. My second toe is longer than my first.
100. I still love to color in coloring books.

claustrophobia

I'm very claustrophobic. As a predominantly left-brained person, it irritates me that I can't find a rational reason for the paralyzing panic that sets in when I feel 'boxed in.' If someone pins me down where I can't move a full fledged panic attack ensues.

I work almost thirty stories up in my building, and while I'm in much better shape than I've been in for a long time - walking up all those stairs with my bulging briefcase and purse and in four inch heels really isn't what I think of as a good time. I've done it before, and I couldn't walk for about three days. Funny, because the stairstepper at the gym doesn't affect me that way, but then again, I'm usually not in heels and carrying all the extra crap I tote to and from the office.

The elevators in my building are notorious for randomly dropping a floor, stopping in between floors, etc. The banks of elevators that I use don't open before floor 21 or so, so if you're stuck below that floor - well basically you're just stuck until someone can retrieve you. Today on the way up to the office, the elevator I was on started slowing down and then stopped somewhere before 21.

Then it suddenly picked up speed, halted abruptly and quickly fell about four stories and then just stopped. Pushing all of the buttons in the elevator I could feel my blood pressure rising. I just wanted off the particular car and the doors would not open. It felt a lot like the "Cliffhanger" at Six Flags - except without the view. [I wonder if that ride's still open? In middle school thanks to a season pass, we used to go almost every weekend - putting nickles on our knees to try to get them to hover during the free fall]

Needless to say, even without coffee this morning, I am wide awake now. I will be taking the stairs down though I think.

Elementary teacher accused of having sex with boy, 13

MSNBC - Elementary teacher accused of having sex with boy, 13

This woman seems to be pretty attractive, and let's be honest here - it's not that difficult for a woman to get whatever she wants - when she wants - from whoever she wants.

But a 13 year old? I just don't understand. Maybe because I've always liked older men, but when I look at boys I don't have *those* kind of thoughts for them. I remember being thirteen and boys being gangly and awkward, pimply with voices that were still cracking at inopportune times. Not exactly sexually attractive to a grown woman.

Was it a power trip? A need to feel beautiful? A kinky messed up fantasy to deflower someone?

I just simply cannot understand. But the a part of me is skeeved out because my husband is that much older than me and then some. When I was thirteen he was twenty-eight - almost twenty-nine. Our age difference never really bothers me, until I think about something like that... but when we met - I was twenty-two, I already had a graduate degree...

Surely that's different. Isn't it?

Yawn.

I am purely a transactional attorney, I don't "do" litigation. However, there are few attorneys (transactional or litigation) in the area I practice in. I'm working on a case right now and am researching federal preemption of state law.

Dear g-d this is boring. I am so sleepy.

yaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

19 boxes of documents just got delivered to my office.

ew. Somehow I don't see the sleep issue going away soon.

Good morning

They were having a Fat Tuesday celebration on the beach last night and we took a lot of our beads from New Orleans (and for the record, I never said I *earned* the beads, I merely said that I did not buy them) and threw them out to the throngs of people who were acting very similarly to a flock of starving seagulls. We had them in a rubbermaid tub and were throwing them into the crowd when we were literally ambushed with people pushing and shoving and grabbing beads out of the box. They're just cheap plastic beads people!

I had to be into work early this a.m. to work on a project that is causing me a bit of consternation. And by a bit, I mean I am going insane. The sun is slowly starting to break over the horizon, the dark sky turning shades of grey and lavender. As the sun rises, the water looks like molten gold. It's absolutely breathtaking.

Well, back to work - but what a beautiful start.

Mardi Gras recap

-Beignets and Cafe au Lait at Cafe du Monde (2 days in a row)
-Crawfish Ettouffe
-Bourbon St.
-Beads (lots and lots and lots of beads). Mermaid beads, Beads that light up, ten foot strands of beads that were three inches in diameter, two suitcases full of beads - none of which were bought.
-Pirates
-Parades
-Shrimp po' boys and remoulade
-People marching with anti-sin placards and bullhorns professing that we were all going to hell
-A stolen purse, phone and identification somewhere on Canal St.
-Abita Amber
-Gumbo
-Red beans and rice
-Street performers
-Drinks at Pat O'Brien's (Hurricanes, Sky Labs, Cyclones, Mint Julep, a Bloody Mary, a Pousse Cafe (I'm told I said it tasted like turpentine)).
-Debauchery.

Yep. That about sums it up.

To the people at Pat O' Brien's on Sunday - I'm sorry. Well, mostly. To the cute little frat boys buying me drinks, I'm not sorry. You needed to be corrupted. To everyone else, please - let's just repeat it all together - what happens in N'awlins stays in N'awlins. That should include the pictures and film as well. Pretty please?

Waking up a new woman

I really wanted to finish growing my hair out for Locks of Love before I cut it (they need 10 inches) but I just couldn't do it. I tried but I felt like I was drowning in hair.

Yesterday I whacked off around 8 inches of it - and it's now a short stylish stacked bob. I am so incredibly happy with it - but I literally feel lightheaded.

Michael isn't a fan of the new cut, but whatever - I like it. It looks a lot like the way I wore it in college, and it just really suits me better. I think it's the perfect mix of professional and sexy. He freaked out this a.m. when he rolled over and woke up. He thought he was in bed with a strange woman.

It's sort of funny though - people at work keep asking - "did you cut your hair?" I just smile and say "no - it shrunk in the wash." It's gotten some odd looks.

Chowing down on wings (so hot you could burn out your entire esophagus) at dinner the other night at this little dive, someone winked at me from across the restaurant and my breath caught in my throat. He looked exactly like an older version of someone that I was quite smitten with long ago. He came up and introduced himself - and he had the same first name of his much younger doppelganger. He said - "I just wanted to say hello. I feel like I've known you somewhere, sometime before." How bizarre.

Michael and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day (his choice, not mine). He's adamantly opposed to blatant commercialism that stands in as an expression of love. I however am a sucker for flowers, perfume and all that 'girly' stuff. He's never even bought me a card. However, yesterday he surprised me - he bought me a new 20 gig mp3 player - and had uploaded all my favorite songs, washed the dishes, folded laundry, and cleaned the cat litter by the time I left for work this morning. I'll take that over a cheesy card any day.

I am a lucky woman. It's not the type of relationship I would have designed, but you know - I wouldn't trade him for anyone in the world.

And another thing

If, on the way to an important meeting, you decide to suck on a piece of candy to get rid of the "I smoke 8 cartons of cigarettes a day" scratch in your throat make sure that it isn't a blue raspberry jolly rancher, because everyone will spend the entire meeting wondering if you've given a smurf a hummer.

A word of advice.

No matter how badly the miniscule little splinter of glass in your finger hurts, a staple remover is really no replacement for tweezers, no matter how much you rationalize this.

It will just make it worse, because now you will have a hole in your finger, and the splinter will be jammed further into your finger rendering any extracation attempts you contemplated completely futile.

Just take my word on it, m'kay.

And speaking of m'kay - I have to admit, I'm a South Park fan. Trey Parker and Matt Stone are hilarious, and it takes a lot to offend me. C. (best friend) tivoed (no clue how to spell past tense of tivo - seeing as it's not really a verb per se). Anyway - she recorded for me their Woodland Critter Christmas episode and I watched it last night before bed. That was some screwed up shit. Seriously.

They're backkkkkkkk....

The window washers are back. I am so not kidding.

My best friend teased me yesterday that I would have the cleanest windows in the entire country. I really didn't believe it would happen.

Sweet jesus.

Absurdity and Embarrassment

There are some things that no matter how absurd, and how incredibly unlikely they are to happen to others, seem almost commonplace in my life.

While leaning over my desk to get a pen I had dropped between it and the window, I heard ripping fabric. That's usually never a good sign. I looked myself over and didn't see any gaping hole in the seam of my skirt, and my sweater seemed intact.

As I stood up, I felt my bra strap ricochet over the front of my shoulder like a popped rubber band. I shut and locked my office door and took off my sweater and searched for the sewing kit I keep in my drawer. Since the rip was where the strap hits the back of the band, I took it off so I could properly mend it.

So here I am topless, cussing, in my office. You see where this is going right? Well you're wrong. But only sort of.

I realize I can hear muffled giggling. I bolt around to see if my door had come ajar. Nope. Then I see two men outside - window washing - directly outside of my window on the 28th floor.

I have only seen window washers one other time in the entire three years I've worked here. Of all days, it had to be today. Of all times, it had to be right then.

I just waved, and then turned my back to the window. Because really, at that point what can you do?

The longest six minutes ever

We have to account for our time in 6 minute increments. I am perhaps the worst associate in the firm about keeping track of what I'm working on.

Every two weeks we have to close out all of our time. Hmm. Sometime between now and 5:30 I have to figure out what I've done for the past two weeks.

Help!

the oldest child

I can remember being about six years old and having a bar of soap jammed in my mouth in my grandparent's guest bathroom. It was a blue striped and it tasted something dreadful. I don't remember what I said which had caused such an uproar at the dinner table. All I remember was choking on the bubbles and that my teeth left impressions in the soap.

As each of my sisters came along, the punishment for various transgressions became less and less. When I was home, my next oldest sister got angry with my father and slamming the dishes in her hand on the counter told him to "Fuck off!" She's an adult now (just barely), but there's no way I still would have the guts to tell him that. Absolutely no way. I live half-way across the country and she still lives at home. And I would never say that to my father no matter how many times I've thought it.

My father's mother (my namesake) died when he was just a child. He was the oldest and she left two daughters much younger than him. Dad pretty much raised them, and I suppose that after raising his sisters, it fueled his desperate desire for a son. Unfortunately that was not to be. Instead he had four girls - each of us incredibly different. I am the oldest, and technically an only child. When I was 2, my father remarried and had my three younger sisters with his wife. D. the oldest child of that marriage - is funny, outgoing, blonde and rail thin. V. the middle - has dark brown hair, is shy and very athletic. C., the baby, her head a mass of tight curls is disciplined, reserved and at times almost sullen.

Each of us, in our way - have always strived to be the favorite. Even now, I won't drink in front of my father. I don't cuss in front of him. If I am blessed enough to have children, I will likely try to convince him that the stork brought them and dropped them off on my doorstep. I poured myself into school, hoping to win his favor by racking up degrees and accolades. When my first marriage crumbled, I never told him why - as I was too ashamed that I had made such an incredible mistake.

I'm just recently realizing that a father's love is not finite. He has enough to share with all of us, and in his way - he does. He's not outwardly affectionate. In fact he didn't tell me he loved me until I was twelve years old. He thought that his actions were enough. I have no doubt now that he did (and does) love me, but I am always hungry for outward reassurance. I need the validation.

We're not incredibly close. There were around five years of my life that he missed out on completely. But I make the same face he does when he's confused. We have the same eyes. We are cut from the same cloth - no matter how imperfect it may seem to others.

I am tired of trying to be perfect. He will just have to love me for who I am, because that's all I can do anymore.