Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Hold Your Breath--And Don't Touch That Doorknob!

As I was heading out to see my shrink, my phone rings. It’s my friend Tamar. She sounded all raspy. She came down with the flu really bad and stayed home from work. Now, Tamar has to be one of the healthiest people I know. She runs marathons and takes such good care of herself; however she works in an office where the bug cubicle hops from one pod to another.

This weekend, Madelene (my partner) and I went out with Tamar & her friend Brian. They were both healthy. We went to this really nice restaurant nearby. It was so crowded that we had to squish ourselves in a mob full of people who were also waiting to be seated. I knew something was lurking in the air when I heard a few coughs.

So yesterday, I rushed out the door to pick up some needed things for her, such as tea, honey, medicines, a roasted chicken as well as beautiful tulips to lift her up a tad. I checked in on her, and she sounded as though her condition worsened over a matter of a couple of hours. Her cough was productive and she sounded awful. Her fever kept going up. I decided to bring her to the doctor.

First time readers—here’s the lowdown. I have OCD. I fear germs. I fear walking into doctor offices full of sick people. I fear being around anyone who is ill. I fear being in a car with someone who has the flu, (limited air) and I don’t touch doorknobs. That’s an issue I’m dealing with in therapy. I packed up my antibacterial gel and wore gloves the entire time. I kid you not.

Preparation: See shrink before attempting any emergency situation that entails dealing with the sick.

Done.

Madelene and I picked up our little buddy and headed over to the dreaded doctor’s office. Madelene wanted to take the trip along with us. Brave girl. We walk in, and the entire room was crowded with zombie-like people coughing and hacking in every direction. Kids from wall to wall with colds, flues and other ailments and babies crying their eyes out. Where were we? Are we at the pediatrician’s?

I come to find out that there was no appointment made. It was ‘walk in only’, since it was after 5pm. Great. That means we have to wait for a slew of sick people to go in before we do.

“Want one?” Madelene says, as she picks up a magazine.
“NO! Are you kidding? Why don’t you just lick the doorknob?” I said, in this loud, whispery-type tone; annoyed that she offerrd me a magazine, since she is well aware that magazines in a doctor’s office is full of germs. Forgedabawdit’!!!

All three of us sat there like sardines; sandwiched between folks that looked like death warmed over. Lovely. It was 0 degrees out, and the office was just as cold. I kept my coat, scarf and gloves on. Even if it was 90 degrees, my gloves would still be on. Don’t ask. You already know why.

What amazes me about this whole doctor office experience is that no one talks. They sit there in silence and read magazines. Even if they’re with someone, they hardly say one word. People occasionally will shoot a glance over to you, especially if you get up to grab a magazine…God forbid.

Tamar and I didn’t care. We were talking loudly. We were entertaining that entire office of flu-ridden peeps. Madelene sat there in silence, reading her filthy magazine. No, it wasn’t porn; it was just dipped in flu soup.

Of course, I looked over at my friend Tamar, and said, “Well this is certainly blog worthy.” She laughed and said, “There’s really nothing to tell.” Oh was she wrong. My mind was going a mile a minute as I saw people sneeze into their sleeves, cough into the air without covering their mouths and then to have the audacity to open the door with the same hand. Ew!

I started to get a tickle. ~^~CoUGH~^~^HaCK~^~ What the?...Why the?...Huh? Am I getting sick? Can it happen this fast? I think my mind was playing tricks on me. I was having a false alarm—or hoping I was.

Tamar got called into that small examination room where she had to wait for probably another whole hour for the doctor. Now the fun was gone. It was Madelene, me, and the sickies staring at one another. Great. The silence was deafening.

Forty-five minutes later, Tamar comes out. Oh thank God! I thought I was going to duct tape everyone’s mouth so they would just shut up and not cough anymore.

“Deb? The doctor didn’t come in the room yet. Do you think they forgot about me?”
“Huh?”
I said, almost wanting to cry, thinking we were finally out of that place.
“Go to the front desk and tell them!”

She did, and I went into the little waiting room with her. It was this teeny weenie little room that was lit up like a baseball field. The florescent lights were blinding. My eyes were bugging out. Anytime someone would pass our room, we thought – wait – could it be the doctor? Will the door open up? But it didn’t.

Then we saw the doorknob move. ~^~wiggle wiggle~^~ …Could it be? ~^~wiggle wiggle~^~
The door opens up, and the most beautiful woman walks in--dressed like she was going out on the town. This blond bombshell walked into the wrong room! This couldn’t be the doctor, until I saw the stethoscope. Tamar shot me a quick glance to see where my eyes were. Tamar’s lesbian friend was checking out her doctor. Believe me, if it was some hot Jewish male doctor that walked through the door, Tamar would be all over it!

Tamar got her medicine and we were out of there. Today I am going over her house to bring her some chicken soup. I want to make sure she’s okay---she’s family to me. I love her like a sister. I’d do anything for this girl. For me to go into a place full of germs to face my fears is a huge feat for me. But she’s worth it. Look at that face? How can you not? Love you Tamar! Feel better!

Men Only: Tamar is a single woman looking to meet an interesting man who’s attentive, sensitive, caring and yes--well groomed. With her permission, I am setting up a dating service for only her—to find that perfect man. Can you be him? Email me if you’re interested in meeting Tamar. She is well traveled and a cultured woman with a lot to offer. She’s compassionate, funny and very intelligent. If you are intimidated by an independent woman---please do not respond. Not only is she beautiful on the outside, her inner beauty is just amazing. Any man would be lucky to have a woman like her. Email me at dtimagery@hotmail.com if interested. (NYC men preferable) Please send photo and a description of yourself.

Monday, February 27, 2006

My Mind: The Natural Disaster

It’s just not healthy for me to watch documentaries or shows that deal with natural disasters. My mind can’t fathom it, and I go into a silent panic mode. I sit in fear watching things like The Weather Channel’s “Storm Stories”, to the Discovery Channel’s special programs on any other disastrous events that can take place. I don’t even like watching the news at night. Madelene (my girlfriend) always puts it on so she can see the weather for the next day—and I’m like, “NO! Get your weather elsewhere! I can’t watch this stuff!” I finally figured out why I get most anxiety attacks at night---it’s because I watch the news right before going to sleep.

Anyway, yesterday I was watching a documentary on volcanoes. Why in the world would “I” have to be concerned with the threat of a volcano erupting? I live in New York—not Hawaii. I figured this would be a ‘safe’ show for me to watch. I was wrong. More Ativan please, and pass me a beer while you’re at it!

So, I was watching the Discovery Channels docudrama, “Supervolcano” last evening. It's located in Yellowstone National Park. To my surprise, we can end up with a whole new ice age if this volcano erupts. The strange thing about it is, it’s so large underneath the surface, that there is no ‘mountain’ or ‘volcano top’ to erupt from. The ground just bursts up into the sky like a huge nuclear-like explosion. 1,000 cubic kilometers (240 cubic miles) of magma (partially molten rock) can erupt. The last time something like this happened was approximately 74,000 years ago at the Toba Caldera in Sumatra, Indonesia.

The scary part (besides living nearby) is that the ash can spread throughout most of the United States. This has happened before way before we were here, and caused catastrophic results. The ash in itself has millions and millions of little glass-like shards that gets distributed in your lungs when you breathe in. Crops would be ruined and the United States’ population would practically diminish; almost making humankind extinct. The ash that gets rises into the atmosphere would have drastic changes to the global climate---leaving our crops and vegetations next to none and causing famine.

I have no idea why I end up watching these shows that deal with natural disasters and other potential catastrophes. They did mention that it can be a very long time until we something like this happen, but it’s a definite possibility at any given time. So what are we to believe? Can they accurately predict when we’re at a ‘warning level’? They say they can, but for some reason, it doesn’t sit well with me.

It took a long time before I could get any sleep last night. I didn’t realize why I had insomnia. Was I planning to wipe out the shelves of the supermarket? Maybe I should pack my storage room full of gallons and gallons of water and canned foods? When do we know it’s safe to say, “Let’s go shopping for a potential catastrophe?” Or should be more lax and just let things happen as they naturally do?

“I thought you had faith in God!” They all say, as I rant about the dangers of the earth. I do have faith in God, and I believe that we are in the times of the Revelations, but my anxiety disorder won’t have it. It’s freaking out. It’s saying, “Run! Go to the supermarket and get your supplies! Pack your bags and move to another country! Quick!” With my luck, my boat will sink traveling to my new location. I guess we can’t fear things like that or we’ll all go crazy. Just let me go crazy. I’ll do it for all of you.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Who's That Girl?

The mysterious Leesa has always captivated us. Her stories and life experiences have swept us into her world. Who is Leesa though? What is she really like? We only have one headshot photo of this beautiful southern woman whose intelligence is far beyond the average blogger. Her inspiring words pull you in as well as her risqué erotica.

She is a woman who’s faithful to her husband; yet a woman with many fantasies to be told. Have they been carried out? Have her journeys been all a façade? What about her tales---are they all from a secret past? She is an enigma to all who read her. She is brilliant in her writing, which keeps us coming back for more.

Leesa forces us to do this; to be our own judges. To fantasize what she is like. So, with that being said, I present to youLeesa.


I only had a headshot, so I drew in what I thought she may look like from the head down. You left us only to imagine...

Saturday, February 25, 2006

America's Most Wanted

Please be on alert for our very own blogger, Mike. Investigators on ABC News and CNN reported last night of Mike’s arrest for attempted robbery and indecent exposure. He was first seen by Walmart’s cameras sifting through women’s lingerie and apparel. He has been growing his hair into a mullet and has been seen wearing make up on occasion. Mike has escaped from prison and is now headed towards the northeast—particularly in the New York area. He is armed and dangerous! Do not attempt to approach him.

Rumor has it that Mike is trying to do whatever it takes to make his marriage work, so he is trying to appear more like a woman. He refuses to shave his mustache, but is willing to do what is necessary in order to keep Deb happy. Some say he has already started hormone therapy. Changing his sex may be a possibility. He has already booked a trip to Thailand. This may be the reason why his behavior is erratic and unruly.

If you see Mike, please report this to your local police department or call our confidential hotline 1-800-CRIME-TU…(Transvestite Unit)

Your tip might provide valuable insight and investigators may want to ask you for more information. Additionally, some cases provide rewards for information leading to capture or recovery. In this case, there is no reward. Personal information will be treated with the utmost security and privacy.

Friday, February 24, 2006

How May I Help You?

There are things I just don’t understand. I’m not one to make a list of pet peeves, but this is probably going to come out looking that way. I just get baffled when I come across certain things; the way people behave or just the way things are set up. Why, oh why, would you not use an English speaking employee or person to handle your deliveries? I promise you, that I will no longer order Chinese take out to be delivered and give them directions to my house over the phone.

“Okay, where you live?”
“123 East Nunya Ave. Just make sure you make a left at the corner deli.”
“Ah, right!”
“No left.”
“Right!’
“No. Make a left at the corner deli. I’m the third house on your left.”
“Right! Third! Right.”
“No, do not make the third right, it’s left at the corner deli, and the third house on your left on that street.”

I love these guys with all my heart. They are the sweetest people, so I really feel bad poking fun at them, but this is a huge problem. Well, not really, I just have to get off my lazy ass and drive there for ‘pick up’.

Issue #2

What a pleasure it is going to Walmart. Or is it? Yesterday afternoon, I had to make a trip there to pick up a half fridge. I’m creating a little ‘dry bar’ in my living room, so it’s convenient to have a drink at all times. Of course for guests…who else? I saw someone else do this and I was a little envious. Their living room looked like a suite. So, I basically pulled a copycat routine and did the same thing. My favorite bottles of alcohol on the top (like a bar) and crisp cool beer and goodies in the fridge. Great idea--right?

If you don’t know me and this is your first visit here, I have repeatedly discussed in previous posts that I have a slight case of agoraphobia. My biggest fear is walking into a supermarket that is ‘too large’. Give me farm markets any day; give me little produce shops--fine. I’ll pay extra for ‘organic only’. Whatever. As long as I don’t have to walk into those giant supermarkets. It’s just God awful.

I even tried looking up one of these half fridges online on the internet. I was very particular of the one I wanted. It had to have freezer (for my vodka) it had to have numerous shelving, a draw for fruits and veggies, and of course, I needed it to be black to match my living room. No, my living room isn’t all black—just the couch. I wanted it to melt in. Anyway, before I even attempted to go, I sat down, meditated and prayed. “OH GOD HELP ME PLEASE!" Seriously, I prayed before walking into this store. Anytime I walk into one of these giant chains, I get instant tunnel vision. I begin to feel lightheaded and start feeling anxiety almost instantly. I first get that ‘pins & needles’ type of feeling, and then it graduates to the pesky palps. I should really consider carrying a flask around with me at all times.

So, I run over to Walmart and found a parking spot out in Carajoland. Nothing wrong with that, I could use the exercise anyway. I walk into that foyer where they always have a little old man checking for your receipts. I grab a cart and knew---this was it---I’m heading in.

I walk inside, and all I see are florescent lights that looked as though it went on forever. I could not see the end of the store.

Here’s what my mind goes through:

“Just push the cart. Push the cart. Push the cart. Keep going. Come on. Go. Keep going. You’re not going to die. Shit! A palp. Just keep going. They say I can’t die. Can I die? Oh my God, what if I die right here? Would anyone notice? Would they leave my carcass lying on the floor until someone says, ‘Clean up aisle five please!’”

Not healthy, huh? I know, but it’s what my mind goes through. Then I see one of those happy-chipper employees with a huge blue smock that have gigantic words on the back saying, “HOW MAY I HELP YOU?” So with that being plastered all over this girl’s back, I thought it would be safe to ask for help.

“Excuse me?”
(A blank stare is all I got. A stare with a thousand words—saying, “Don’t you know this is my coffee break?”)
“Sorry to bother you, but do you know where I can find those half fridges—I believe they’re considered compact?”
(Girl rolls her eyes at me before speaking)
“Aisle eight.”
She says, and turns around, while rolling her eyes once again.

Not only was she wrong, because the fridges were located in aisle five, but the nerve of this wench to wear a big blue smock with the words, “HOW MAY I HELP YOU?” Take off that smock and put on something that says, “LEAVE ME THE FCUK ALONE!” It would be more appropriate.

There it is. The perfect midsize fridge. It was quite large, and sitting on where? The top shelf of course. Now I consider myself to be a strong chicky, but this was a bit much. God help me if I have to fetch another pissy employee. I’m fetching a man this time. No PMSing bitch with an attitude. I need an employee who loved ‘his’ job.

“Excuse me? Can you help me lift this fridge onto my cart?” I ask the gentleman with the same blue smock with a helpless 'I'm just a girl' type of tone.
“Sure! No problem!” He says---with a smile! These are times when I question my lifestyle as a lesbian.

He picks up the fridge and tries to place it in my cart. It wasn’t happening. It was too big. He placed it on top of the cart—where I had to push it without seeing what’s in front of me. I thanked the happy employee and continued to make my way to the check out lanes.

My only obstacle was to not run over these little Hasidim kids, as they bounced around from aisle to aisle as though they were prisoners set free. Out of fifty lanes or so, there was only ONE lane open. No, I am not exaggerating. They had ‘self checkouts’, with a person moderating the whole scene—which I find ridiculous, because the girl who was moderating everything had to help each and every person purchasing something. Totally useless.

They put an item down, and the robot-like voice says, “Please place item on the tray.”
So they place it again on the tray.
“I do not detect an item. Please place item on the tray.”
They pick the item back up and place it on there again.
“I’m sorry. I do not detect an item on the tray. Please place item on the tray.”
Okay. Bring in the men with the white coats because someone’s gonna go postal here! Then the girl that is moderating the three self checkouts walks over and has to do it herself. I was not about to join this crew and have my anxiety increase to its all time high. So I joined the old fashioned checkout line…The only one that was open. As you can probably imagine, the line was almost to the back of the store. People had their carriages piled up to the ceiling. I had to occupy my mind with entertaining thoughts. Then I decided to give Madelene (my girlfriend) a call to pass some time. I thought this may ease my anxiety a tad.

"Mad! Hey! I'm at Walmart on line and I got that mini fridge that we've been wanting. It's big though!"
"Oh great! How much is the shipping?"
"Nothing...I'm putting in my truck...why would I pay for shipping?"
"And you're online buying it?" Madelene asked, sounding very confused.
"Yes, I'm on line at Walmart buying it now."
"But they charge for shipping, Deb."
"No...Not if you are purchasing it from the store."
"But you'll have to go to the store to pick it up if you don't want shipping charges."
"Madelene! I'm at the store!"
"Oh I thought you were online?"
"No! I am on the line at the check out counter. I gotta go. I'm having an anxiety attack."

CLICK!

I ended up waiting over thirty minutes because the line was held up by someone who’s credit card was maxed out. Great. I flipped through paparazzi magazines and checked out who broke up with who and who and who got busted cheating on their wife. Good gossip always passes the time.

Tomorrow’s mission: Buy new coffee maker at Walmart. Here’s the plan. I’m going to bring my camera with me. I may even make a video blog for you to show how ridiculous this store is. I’ve wanted to do an ‘on location’ video for a while now. I want to show you what I go through. So once I get educated on how to utilize the ‘vlog’, (video log oppose to a web log) I'll have some great footage to release. I’m going to have my dear sweet mother with me as well. You’ll get to see her in action bumping into everything with her cart—and everyone. If I manage to do this correctly, it will be very entertaining to say the least. I have to hide my cam to do this too.

So for now, you’ll have to just settle for the pictures. But, keep an eye out for the video. I promise it’ll be entertaining. Not only will it be narrated by me, but it’s going to be secretly filming those nasty blue smock wenches in action. Be on the look out! I just might be filming you!

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Faking It

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a lesbian going on a blind date. (Yes, it’s a true story even though I just ‘once upon a timed it’…) Back in the days of newspaper personal ads, there were no pictures to be exchanged, nor a free way to contact your ‘person of choice’. There was the good 1-900 number that you needed to dial in order to listen to your messages. Fine. $2.99 for the first minute, $20 bucks thereafter. Whatever. I was still in the closet and really didn’t want to ~start spreading the news~ in New York. I preferred my lifestyle to be a little more discreet at that time.

The phone call was quite pleasant. No complaints. Now, I have to change names to protect the guilty. So her name will be…hmm…Brittany. Why did I pick that name? I’ll let you know in just a little bit. We spoke a few times over the phone, and became very good friends automatically. She explained to me that she worked for a publishing company in New York as an editor, as well as attended NYU. She was twenty-two years old and ambitious. Brittany also informed me of her part time job, before she got the publishing job…as a stripper. Okay, fine. Gotta do what you gotta do in order to get to point A. to point B., right? Right.

Brittany made the suggestion to go out that following Friday. I agreed. She even offered to pick me up and take me out. Fine. This was different—because I’m the one always picking up & hauling everyone around, so I was okay with it. I’m usually a control freak (oh hell---I’m always a control freak) and I never hardly let anyone drive me around. It’s all part of that control issue that I’m not working on. I refuse. I like it this way. Okay, demented. On with the show.

The doorbell rings, and my stomach feels like I just ate ten thousand worms and a million butterflies. I was scared to open the door and see some weird freak smiling with no teeth. That didn’t happen though. To my surprise, Brittany Spears walked through my fricken door! I heard the angels---I was seeing the light---I was in my glory! She was absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing this long business raincoat with a beautiful expensive looking scarf. Her hair was bright blonde, down to the middle of her back and she had the most amazing doe-like brown eyes.

She took off her coat, and underneath that ‘business looking jacket’ were low rider jeans, a beautiful dressy half top, and…………..IMPLANTS! She had the most amazing body ever. My eyes were fixated on her as she handed me her coat. We were just planning on going out for a drink at a local sport’s bar. I kind of wanted to stay home with her at this point. I thought to myself, “Oh she’s not going to like me…Oh I’m so not her type…Oh she’s not going to think I’m cute…She’s probably into masculine women.” All these thoughts rushed through my mind as I sat there and technically ‘judged’ her on how she looked. I know…I know… Give me credit, I was only nineteen years old here!

We go out to the bar and she ‘told me’ to sit down and she’d be right back. Apparently she took charge and covered all our drinks for the entire evening. I wasn’t used to this at all. Again, I felt out of control. I was starting to like it actually. Our conversation flowed so nicely, and I felt as though I knew her longer. Her teeth were perfect; big--like a model’s, and her lips looked like she had collagen---but not that extreme look.

(Romey would have went gaga for her.)

Every single man looked over at her. Every head turned---guy or girl. She was a looker. My thoughts switched to, “Oh she is only going to want me as a friend…ah well…make the best of it…”

“I find you so unbelievably attractive, do you know that?”
Brittany says to me; eyes gleaming from the couple of beers she had. Great. She is now looking at me through beer goggles. For the love of God---I gotta get them drunk to make em’ see I’m a catch!
“I wish I could kiss you right now.”
She says, now rubbing her foot on my leg.
“Ugh, yeah, no… This is kind of a conservative area, and I know a lot of people here, so that wouldn’t be good. Although---it’s mutual.” I said, in this nerdy ‘matter of fact’ tone. What a dork. I could have kissed a hot Brittany Spears look-alike in front of everyone I went to school with! Perfect! No. I’m a BIG NERD. Say it. Deb’s a BIG NERD!

Remember “The Goddess” I told you about? The Goddess being the first girl I ever had a crush on that lasted over fifteen years? The one I grew up with? Yeah, her…Well she walked into the bar and saw me talking with Brittany. At this point, Brittany’s legs were overlapping mine and her hands were all over me.

“Hi Deb!” The Goddess says, as she walks up to greet me.
“Hey!” I introduced the both of them, and after I said, “This is Brittany.” Brittany said to ‘The Goddess’----“Oh I’m her girlfriend.”
The Goddess gives me a quick look; a look that would ask me, “HUH?” Yeah. I was outed by Brittany to the past love of my life. Shoot. Me. Now.

The Goddess gave me this weird look of approval; almost like, “Way to go Deb!” Great. After doing a few shots and some beer chasers, I got used to everyone getting acquainted with my “new girlfriend”. First date and she labels herself as “my girlfriend”. I introduced her as “Brittany” to the rest of my buddies, and she reinstated the fact that she was “my girlfriend”.

Guys? Lesbians? This is a bad sign for a first date. This is technically a RED FLAG. So TrappedInColorado---this means you. Do not attempt to continue dating someone if she pulls this stunt.

We leave the bar and head over to her car. Of course she has to warm the car up since it was so fricken cold out, right? 65 degrees will certainly make your car stall from the frigid temps. I then felt my head being tugged into her direction. There was no game playing now, and no ‘getting out of this mess’ even if I tried. Did I want to get out of it? Hmm.

This kissable attack lasted about thirty minutes. I invited her home of course. Oh yeah---and you wouldn’t Mikey? Now, those of you who read me on a regular basis know that I never dabble into the sex scenes. Erotica isn't my cup of tea. So I will have to do this tactfully.

Relatives and friends who don’t want to read this---look away I tell you! Look away!

There was no time for small talk over a nightcap. Oh no. That wasn’t the plan she had in mind. Her plan was to drive me home and well….’drive me home’. On the way to my house, we get pulled over by the cops. Lovely. Great start for a first date, huh?

Brittany had to walk the straight line and touch her nose. (No Leesa, that wasn’t the sex part.) Obviously she was drunk because she practically stumbled over her own feet. Not good. See how I don’t like being out of control? I needed to drive.

The cop comes over to me.

“You’ve been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“Come out of the car please.”

He asked me to touch each finger with my thumb, and with each tap---say, “1, 2, 3, 4….and back again….4, 3, 2, 1….1, 2, 3, 4….4, 3, 2, 1…." I did it perfectly.

“Drive her home please.”
“Err…okay.”
It looks like everyone was giving me their approval that evening. I was surprised he didn’t give her a DWI. I’m even more surprised that he let me drive! I figured, if she was driving, then I could drink like a fish. My alcoholism saved me that night. See how a negative thing can become a positive thing?

We get back to my house, and go straight into my bedroom. It was like a mad dash to see who can get there first. She did. She didn’t even know where the bedroom was---but she found it. She had bedroom radar. I went to grab us another drink, as she waited in my room for me. I walked into the room, and to my surprise, she was standing there with nothing on but her high heels. Oh. My. GAWD! I almost felt faint. Keep in mind that this was the second girl I have ever been with. My first was a bit conservative, and we usually took our time getting our clothes off. I have never experienced a woman waiting for me in the buff.

She looked like a beautiful sculpture. I didn’t want to touch her—I just wanted to look at her and admire her like a piece of……..art. What did you think I was going to say? Yeh. Whatever. I hear your thoughts.

For the love of God---I don’t even know where to start with this one. I am going to SO disappoint her! Her legs were thin, toned and muscular from dancing. Her stomach had soft ripples of muscles. Not an inch to pinch. This woman took pride in her physique. Her breasts were certainly a blessing from her surgeon. I wanted to kiss this man for the fine work he did. (Although these double D’s had no right to be placed upon a girl who was only 105 lbs with a size two waist.) It was obvious she went tanning in the nude. No tan lines whatsoever. I’ve never seen someone take such great care of their body. I just stood there like a deer in headlights enjoying the view, with the two drinks in my hand.

I think she got tired from standing there waiting for me to pounce on her, but I was scared. Do I start ripping off my clothes now like a savage beast? Do I throw her on my ~groovy~ waterbed? I had no idea how to handle this chicky. So she handled it. She jumped on me—and it was the most…………….

It was the most…


It was the most…


It was the most…
boring sex I have ever had in my life. I gave her the good ol’ tap on the head. The ‘it’s okay’ tap. No. She wouldn’t have it. I started noticing that my ceilings were getting quite dreary colored and needed a fresh coat of paint. I believe I heard my neighbors come home. I looked at the clock, it was *45* minutes later.

Time to fake it. Yes. I said it. After 45 minutes with a woman who will not take no for an answer—it had to be faked. *GASP* Yes, I said it. I admit it. The favor was returned to her; which lasted a whole…five minutes. And no—she did not fake this one. I think my neighbors heard her. Hell, I think it crushed bin Laden’s underground cave.

We had a few more dates and continued our relationship. She got way into ‘public display of affection’, and I didn’t agree with it. Was she doing this to get attention? I couldn’t figure her out. We even went out with my sister and her friends one evening, and she wouldn’t stop trying to kiss me in front of everyone. My sister had to literally walk up to her and ask her to stop. She saw that I was squirming my way out of Brittany’s vice gripping arms. The guys at the bar were…umm…pitching a tent to say the least. So in my opinion, I seriously believe she was seeking attention from other ‘men’. The more men who looked over, the more in heat she got.

Short story long, or long story short, I ended the relationship. Her best friend Vinny called me up. “Best friend” my ass. He said, “Deb, why did you break up with Brittany? She loves you so much!” I had to explain what happened. We started being friends and talking—and he admitted that Brittany and he were dating the same time we were! She was bi-sexual, but not being monogamous. She lied to me. I didn’t feel so bad after faking all those “O’s”.

After our relationship, we remained friends for a short time. She became a born again Christian and started sending me pamphlets of “return to God and get out of homosexuality” material and asked me to come to church with her. She said I could be saved too. She wanted me to become a heterosexual. She wanted to save my soul. That was nice of her, but I declined. About five months later, she got into drugs unfortunately. She went back to dancing and started associating with people who were heavily into the drug scene. I felt bad. She was a confused girl with a lot going on in her head. We stopped talking, but I always wondered how she was doing.

Did she fake being gay? Or did she fake being a Christian? Did she fake her fascination for girls to satisfy her boyfriend(s)? I guess it’s safe to say that we all fake something in our lives in order to make someone else feel better. Why are we so busy trying to please others?

The end.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Positive Reinforcement—Apply Within

My gracious favor is all you need. My power works best in your weakness. So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me. Since I know it is all for Christ’s good, I am quite content with my weaknesses and with insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. ~2 Corinthians 12:9

It’s done. It’s already decided. The funny part is…I can’t even tell you. I’ve decided to take a step that is beyond my character. I wonder what others will say. I wonder if I’ll even care. They never did. Or did they? Psychotic moment? Or just a recent observation I made?

Most of us are constantly in this moving cycle. Wake up, shower, go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch T.V., go to sleep and then start over again. Some people have it even more exciting. Wake up, shower, wake up the kids, change the kids, feed the kids, bring the kids to daycare or school, go to work, pick up the kids, come home, feed the kids, feed yourself, bathe the kids, change the kids, put the kids to sleep, then try to get some sleep---if you can.

Each person has their ‘own cycle’. I admit, mine isn’t as chaotic, however it’s still a cycle. I decided to step out of that cycle today. What I have worked so hard on for the past few years has finally paid off. I want more. I want more out of life and I have to leave my past and current situation to get from point A. to point B… I’ve crossed the finish line, and now I’m heading in a whole different direction.

Skepticism and doubt has always filled my head from the people that I loved the most. Discouraging words always left me wondering what their motives were. Did they want me to fail? Did they pray for my downfall? Anything I have ever wanted—someone in my life would try to diminish my hopes and dreams to tell me that it’s just impossible. It can’t be done; especially you. {Meaning me}

Two very special people have planted hopeful words of encouragement and support in my life. Even when I was at my lowest point, they still gave me that boost of confidence that I needed in order to reach my next level. The first person is Madelene. (My lifetime partner) She has always says, “God makes a way where there is no way.” She always sees the glass half full. I used to call her a ‘dreamer’, and now I know that when you do dream of your goals, they do come into fruition. She believes that most people just see what’s in front of them. Madelene, on the other hand, sees further than that. I love her for that.

The second person will remain nameless, due to negative people stirring up jealous rages over who’s more positive than the other. We’ll just call her “Angel”. Angel will always turn my thoughts around to---“Hey! It can be done!” She always presents a way to get things accomplished. Life seems to be a huge possibility to her, and not an impossible task. She not only gives me words of encouragement, but she shows me a way to do it. Many times, my accomplishments were due to her teachings. She put so much faith in me and believed that I could do anything. Any time I talk to her, I feel uplifted and hopeful. I love her for that.

I grew up with my mother discouraging me from a lot of things. I had to sneak off to get my driver’s license. When I came home all proud that I made it on my first try—she yelled at me as though I was out doing something bad. She discouraged me from doing things that would benefit my life, like traveling or meeting new people. She instilled ‘fear’ in me. She loved me too much. She held on too tightly—trying to protect me from the dangers of the world, when in actuality, she showed me what fear was. I love my mother with all my heart, but I was never encouraged to date, go out, travel or do things a normal adolescent should experience. I was even discouraged from going to college—which meant ‘traveling’. Even today, she discourages me from many things that would enrich my life. I know she doesn’t mean it. I just wish she was a little more encouraging. I’m not blaming her for my regrets in life—what’s done is done. I’m responsible for my own actions. I still love her regardless.

My father was a complete opposite. He believed I could be the president of the United States. God forbid! This world would be in trouble. Anytime he would hear me play the guitar or see my art work, he would say, “Dis’ kid’s gonna be a millionaire—you watch!” My father always thought that. High hopes? Maybe. But it was nice to know that his view of me was much larger than mine…or anyone else’s. Instead of calling me ‘artistic’, his Brooklyn accent botches it up and tells people I’m ‘autistic’. Big difference there poppy! He still believes in me. I love him for that.

I’ve also encountered people; be it friends or acquaintances that had a negative mindset. Every single word out of their mouth dictated such a negative outlook on life. Whining and moaning about this and that, and not seeing the positive out of anything made me absolutely batty. It began to rub off on me. The longer you spend time with negative people; the more you become molded into something similar. I’ve decided to break free from people with negative vibes. I can’t emphasize how unhealthy it is to stay in a relationship with someone (whether a friend or lover) who constantly reinforces negative thinking. Eventually, you end up having the same mindset.

The step that I am taking will be posted eventually. I will write about my “impossible journey”—as some would call it.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. ~Philippians 4:13

God will give you anything you request---if it’s in His plan. Sometimes we have to wait an awful long time to get it, and that’s okay. He sees the ‘big picture’. We only see a small scope of what’s going on. Patience is the hardest part for me. I now see what I had to go through in order to achieve what I wanted out of life. God sometimes puts us in a ‘lull’, or a ‘cycle’, that seems to go on forever—but it’s for a reason. There’s a perfect time for everything.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Is There a Doctor In The House? I Need Medical Advice!

Desperately trying to get into shape for the warmer months, I’m constantly trying to advance my workouts. I used to be a big fan of free weights and building muscle—to burn fat, but that didn’t work for me. I found myself getting ‘thick’ oppose to thin and toned. Not the goal here. Then I started running. A friend of mine at the gym suggested I first start off slowly. She told me to start off with a jog, and then work myself up to a run. I did this, and became addicted. I loved the feeling afterwards. It was such a rush. I began to shed pounds and find myself losing weight faster than ever. (Mind you---I always do a warm up as well as a cool down before and after each workout.)

Then I ran into a problem. I started getting very bad heart palpitations. During my running sessions, everything would be okay. It was when I went about my day and especially in the evening—my heart felt as though it was punching me in the chest. It was a huge flutter-like feeling. I thought I was having a heart attack. I spoke to my trainer at the gym I go to, and she suggested I see a doctor. (Probably a “CYA” type of advice—but a wise one.)

I went to my doctor. He found no abnormal beats or flutters. I wanted more information, because I was not walking out of there without a reason why my heart felt as though it was having seizures in my chest. He sent me to a cardiologist. They gave me a stress test, a echocardiogram and I had to wear a Holter monitor that was all wired up around my chest, stomach and back. I had wires floating out of my shirt—I looked like a half-assed robot. I even went to the gym with it. I had to report when I worked out, and when I felt the most stressed, and of course, when the palpitations came on.

Of course nothing happened. I ran—nothing. During the whole course of the 24 hours, nothing happened to me. No palpitations, no stress, nada. So needless to say, the report showed that my heart was normal. They took the weird robot-like contraption off me, and let me loose into the world again.

This should have made me feel better. It did…somewhat. Then I started getting them again when I ran. I stopped running. I couldn’t deal with my heart having these weird fits. My doctor explained that it was only PVC’s. (Premature Ventricle Contractions) The extra beats originate from the lower pumping chamber called the ventricle, which causes a big ‘thump’ or a feeling that your heart has stopped for a second. It’s scary. My doctor said that it usually does happen to healthy people and that I should ignore it.

Ignore it? How? It’s my fricken heart flipping out while I’m trying to get it healthy!

He said that it was nothing to be concerned about. He also advised me that when I work out, and one comes on---to just say, “Oh it’s a PVC---and keep on with my workout.” What if I just drop dead on the treadmill? "Oh it's just a heart attack, I'll be fine." Bleckkk.

Now, I am aware that getting medical advice over the internet is a huge 'no no'. But…I have no other choice here. I have been to numerous doctors and they tell me not to worry.

Can anyone give me some advice regarding this? Or does anyone else go through the same thing I do? It causes me to have a lot of anxiety and discourages me to run again. If I stop working out, I gain weight quickly. I’m trying to avoid any weight gain and I want to get back to my regular regiment.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Alumni Nightmare

Everywhere you look on the net, advertisements for ‘Classmates.com’ will pop up, or some way to get in contact with someone from years and years ago. The school I used to go to has this alumni ‘look up’, where you can find anyone from your graduating class or anyone who attended that school. They have email addresses, phone numbers and information on what they’re doing now as well as if they’re married with kids and so on. Of course, these people voluntarily give their information to the website. This isn’t information that is gathered up by website lurking devices.

I’m not putting these services down, but I really don’t understand why someone would want to contact another person if they haven’t spoken in 15+ years. Do you know how much someone can change over a period of time? And if this is a love interest, the chances of them being married with an angry & jealous wife or husband are a great possibility.

I just don’t understand it. Okay, so you want to look up your best friend from twenty years ago. Why? The relationship obviously ended for a reason. I’m not saying it’s bad to look up someone from your past, but if the contact ended mutually---let it go! But if the contact ended where you lost one another’s number and life just got in the way…okay…I can kind of see that.

Here’s my problem. (among many others) I hated school. I couldn’t stand the kids and stuck with my little circle of friends. Even so, there was always someone in that group who irked me. I was so happy to get out of there. As soon as I started my life outside of school and started working, I didn’t want to have anything to do with my classmates. Of course I have three friends from school that I haven’t lost touch with. Those are ‘lifers’. I hang out with them from time to time and we always pick up where we left off…even if we haven’t spoken in months.

One evening, Madelene and I decided to go out for a drink after dinner. We headed over to the ol’ local bar where everyone in our area flocks to. It’s the main watering hole in our town. I opened the door, and was flooded with people from my old high school hugging me.

What the? Who the? Huh?

I accidentally walked into my ten year reunion. I. wanted. to. die. It was awful! People who snubbed me in school were hugging me as if I were their long lost first born! Get off me! Now, for all of you who personally know me in ‘real life’, you all know I’m very sociable and I love meeting new people. That’s different. This was a whole other ballgame I was dealing with. These are the people who irked me. These people didn’t even say hello in the hallway when we passed by. Why should I hug them now?

I have to say that part of the evening was very interesting. This gorgeous man with a body that would turn a lesbian straight came up to me. Yeh. He was hot.

“Debbie!!! OH…MY…GAWD!” He said, in this flamboyant tone. I don’t remember anybody being gay in my school—but then again, they certainly didn’t know I was gay either.
I looked at him. I stared at him. I squinted and tried hard to figure out who he was. It then hit me like a ton of bricks when he did a dance that he used to do in school to make everyone laugh.

He was the ‘class clown’. He used to be this really heavy kid in school who made everyone laugh their butts off. I was so amazed by his transformation that I just stared at him like a deer in headlights. He was gorgeous! I was so happy for him. After a few cocktails down the shoot, I finally got the nerve to asked him if he was a player ‘on my team’.

“What are you talking about?” He says, as he struck a pose near the bar like a queen.
“Oh, I mean, do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” I asked, trying to probe a little more tactfully.
“You think I’m gay too, huh?” He said, now with his hand on his hip and a stern look.
“Well, yeah. I’m gay—and I just thought you were too.”
“No honey, I work for the other team. I just love women!”
He said, almost sounding exactly like Ru Paul at this point. I was so confused. He was way too hot to be straight. Oh you know what I mean!

Anyway, I was mortified that I ran into my ten year reunion ‘after hours party’. The people who ran up to me were literally *on a line to hug me*. Now, I was flattered, but some of these people never associated with me—ever! Some of these girls who were the classic snobs almost squeezed the breath right out of my lungs. Get off me!

It’s always the case---I always seem to run into people I haven’t seen in years when I’m ‘in between jobs’. Lovely. Maybe I’m always in between jobs. Shush.

“So whaddya’ doing now?” The inevitable question has reared its ugly head.
“Oh…yeah….well, a little of this and a little of that.” Bleckkkkk! I always have the back up answer if need me. “I’m delivering pizza, and you???” It always makes them laugh, and the question gets totally avoided. But what if I really did do that as a career at the age of thirty something? Hmm. Nice people, huh?

I do admit, I browse around on the alumni site looking for that ol’ Miss Popular trying to gain back her friends. It always seems to be the case where the popular ones in high school always turn out to be the lost souls out in the real life. The ones who weren’t so popular---the artsy or the A/V people turn out to be these fascinating people with great careers. The people who no one wanted to associate with. I was sort of neutral. Oh hell—who am I kidding? I was hardly even there. My life revolved around partying and getting in trouble. I was one of those ‘bad eggs’. In school suspension got so mundane that I requested out of school suspension. The sad part is, they granted it to me. Who wants to sit around a classroom study hall all fricken day not saying a word? It was like Chinese torture!

I’m just glad to be done with it. You will never see my name on Classmates.com, nor will you find me on some alumni site trying to seek out an old friend. I promise you that.

Let it go people!

Friday, February 17, 2006

Psychotic "Or" Psychic?

Am I spiritually warped? Or am I just psychotically spent? I’ll let you decide. All my life I have had vivid dreams. We all have. What makes this a little different are my visions when I’m awake. My mother has the same thing too. If we are relaxed enough, we can actually see faces; various faces. We have no clue who they are and what they mean, but they generate in our minds. It first starts off with a purple smoke-like beginning, and then after some time, faces begin to appear. Sometimes I can see people doing ordinary things, as though they were just living life, doing dishes or whatever. I had even guessed what Madelene's sister was wearing and what she was doing at a particular time and place. Both were shocked that I 'guessed' so correctly.

I started getting upset over it at the age of twenty. I started seeing psychics and fooling around with psychic enhancing oils and other weird paraphernalia. Not to say that it worked, but something did happen where it was almost alarming. I would get short premonitions where I could guess what would happen in the next fifteen seconds in 'full' detail. Of course I couldn’t verbalize this—for two reasons. One, I didn’t want people to think I was insane, and two, I couldn’t get the words out before it finally happened.

Madelene and I went over to our good friend Nicole’s house one evening. We were all sitting on the couch talking. In the midst of our conversation, I saw (in my mind) Nicole get up, and walk over to the kitchen and say, “I’ll put a pot of coffee on.” Within fifteen seconds, she got up and did the very thing that my mind predicted. It seemed as though every fifteen seconds, things came to fruition. Again, (in my mind) I heard Nicole tell a story that she and I experienced five years ago to Madelene. Fifteen seconds goes by—and off she goes starting off with, “Oh it was so funny Madelene. Deb and I went to this place a few years ago…etc.” As she was talking, I sat there in silence. I couldn’t say a word. I started to get an anxiety attack.

“Deb you okay?” Madelene asked.
“No. I have to go.” I said, almost panicking at this point.
“Oh Deb, come on, relax. You’re at my house—we’re practically family.” Nicole says to me, trying to calm me down.
“No, I really have to go.” I said, now hearing words she was going to say to try to get me to stay.

Madelene and I left instantly. I had to explain to Madelene what happened to me in there. I couldn’t take another premonition of what was going to happen next. The funny thing was, it stopped after I left her house. (Temporarily of course.) I didn’t know what to make of this. Was I going insane? Would these visions drive me batty? Is it all in my head and just a coincidence?

I fell asleep that night, and remembered each dream. The one dream that bothered me—also affected my mother. I had a dream where my mother and I were having an argument. I remember each word we were saying and where we were standing. The next morning I told my mother about it, and she recalled the entire event. She dreamed the same thing too. This wasn’t the first time it happened to us either. I just wanted to test if it was true…and it was.

There’s been a similar event, to which Madelene and I both woke up startled.
“Where were you?” She asked—out of nowhere.
“I was in back of the stone wall behind the building.”
I replied; testing her to see if her dream was the same as mine.
“I was still inside with all those people.” She said. “I was afraid that I lost you!"

We both discussed the dream. We were both at a large party that was held in some sort of a hall-type place. Two men approached the DJ, and started fighting. The whole place broke out into a bar room brawl. People were throwing things, hitting one another and screaming. I couldn’t find Madelene anywhere. As soon as I heard gunshots, I ran outside behind a stone wall that was located behind the building. Madelene saw the same thing in her dream.

Is it possible for people to meet in a dream? Are dreams only in our minds? Or are we in a whole other world when we go off into a deep slumber? I was always brought up to not believe psychics. Even with my Christian faith, how can I not believe that psychic powers are true? Of course the credibility of some people are awful. Back in biblical times, they had prophets and people who performed miracles and magic. (This excludes Jesus---for that’s a whole other story!)

The week I was planning to go see my grandmother in Brooklyn, I had a dream one evening that woke me up right away. My grandmother came up to me asking me not to visit her. She didn’t want me to see her that way. She was in a nursing home, and wasn’t feeling well. In my dream, she said she was leaving. She wasn’t going to be here any longer. I woke up the next morning and told Madelene that my grandmother came to visit me in my dream. She said her ‘goodbyes’ to me.

About an hour later after telling Madelene this dream of mine, my mother calls me up and informs me that my grandmother passed away. Was it all a coincidence? I don’t know. It sure felt real in my dream. My grandmother even revealed a *huge* family secret that I refuse to reveal due to its nature. What’s done is done and cannot be changed---so why rustle things up? If I were to tell this secret, it could literally destroy someone.

Mental projections—also referred to astral traveling. Is it real? I’m still trying to figure all of this out; however here is my experience with mental projections.

I went through a very turbulent relationship after Madelene and I separated back in the year 2000. The woman I dated after Madelene for approximately three years was also intuitive. We shared stories of our abilities and also experienced some unique spiritual adventures that we’ll never forget. Anyway, we were on and off constantly. We’d break up---not talk for one month---and then get back together. The only thing that makes this kind of strange is the nature of our contact.

After a month or so, I would mentally focus on her. I would send her messages, and meditate on it. I know, it sounds strange—but she got each message. Within an hour of my meditation and prayer, she would call. It always worked. It never failed. If I didn’t meditate on it and send her a message, I didn’t receive a feedback. Even today, being friends, we still send one another mental vibes. I can tell when she is thinking of me. We have a very strong connection somehow, but not meant to be together as partners. Even when we first met, there was something too familiar about her. I felt too comfortable around her and felt as though I knew her from the past. Now, I don’t believe in past lives or anything of that nature—so why do I have that strong feeling? Have you ever met someone before, and felt like you just knew them? I hear all the time, “Wow it feels like I’ve known him/her for years and we just met!” This is definitely one of those cases.

I honestly don’t know ‘what I have’, but it’s sometimes fun to tap into it. Back when I was twenty years old, I prayed that it would go away. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t like what I was seeing. It scared me so much, that I would keep praying until the visions were gone. Today? I pray that they come back.

I’m not saying that I want to be another Sylvia Browne or Miss. Cleo, but I wouldn’t mind a little help from up above---“if” that’s where it’s coming from.

What are you thoughts regarding psychic powers—and if they’re real? What about the ability to sense a spiritual presence? I would love to hear your experiences. I know everyone has at least one unexplainable story or two.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

AND THE WINNER IS...



STEFF!

Steff! You just won a care package from ~Deb. This is definitely something to ‘brighten up the room’ when you’re feeling down.

But that’s not all!

There’s more!...

Included in your gift that brightens up the room, there’s something for your honey to keep him wrapped up for a while.

Still not satisfied? Because Steff answered the ‘secret question’ so promptly, we threw in an extra ‘helper’ just to show how much we really do care. Items enclosed in this package are sure to make any night...a special night.

Steff answered a question from the comments in a previous post. I asked what takes away menstrual cramps—and she got it correct! Due to the nature of the question, she received a prize that will help her cramps--if need be.

Enjoy your care package Steff!

Remember, look out for that ‘secret question’---you just might be the next winner!


WARNING:
By answering any of ~Deb’s questions, prizes include whatever the subject matter is about. If ~Deb asks a question regarding a horse, you might get a saddle. If ~Deb talks about the dangers of smoking, you may just end up with a lifetime supply of nicotine patches. Answer at your own risk.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

The Fallout

What a night. No, I didn’t forget the exclamation mark. What a night. No ‘multiple’ exclamation marks either. Just---what a night.

It was actually a really nice day out yesterday. The sun was shining, the air was a bit warmer, and I was out gallivanting looking for little gifts for Madelene…and my mama. Yes, I’m a mama’s girl. Just ask any of my ex’s.

I even went to visit Madelene at work. We hung out outside her office and took a walk together. I was planning to cook for her that evening. She had to work late, so I figured I had some time to shop and have everything prepared by 9pm for her.

Wrong.

“Honey? Can you pick up some Chinese food on your way home?”

Why did I ask her? Well we had another guest. Aunt Flow came to town and decided she was spending a full week here. Those of you who aren’t familiar with Aunt Flow, refer to page 54 in your text book PMS 101.
I knew she was planning an early trip here. I felt it coming on two days prior. Sunday afternoon, while watching “The Notebook”---(you have to see this movie!) I was crying like a baby. A box of Kleenex, a pillow and blanket, and I was in PMS mode. How did I not know this? I cried over everything.

“Honey? You want me to bring you some tea?”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Was all that came out.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”

That’s the scary part. We really don’t know what’s wrong. Who’s we? Fellas, ask your lady friends. This can be a scary and touchy situation if not handled properly. If you say one wrong thing to disturb our crying fest, we will lash out in anger. We become that weepy little girl – to a raging psychotic tiger. Ask questions at your own risk.

Back to last night---Valentine’s Day. It was approximately 4pm, and I found out Aunt Flow settled in and unpacked her luggage. She made herself right at home. She never misses Valentine’s Day. I never have luck with that. I don’t think I ever had sex on Valentine’s Day. Even with my ex’s---nothing…nada….zilch. Aunt Flow puts a ~^cramp~^ in my style.

So, I asked Madelene to pick up some Chinese food. I already had her favorite vodka and beer, and picked up some Shiraz for myself. Madelene told me what she wanted, and I called up our local Chinese restaurant. They think we’re family now since we’re there practically everyday.

“Alloooo, gan I take yo oda’?”
“Hi. Yes, one chicken and broccoli, and one beef with mushroom.”
“Beef? Ah, you change?”
“Yeah.”
I was not about to tell him that I need iron because Aunt Flow requested it.
“Ah, any-ting fo you! Ten mina’!!! Ten mina’!!!” He says, in his little chirpy voice of his. I just love this guy. He's always happy—no matter what. You walk in, and he practically greets you with a hug. (Then again I order a lot of food…) Maybe in his mind, he hears, “Cha-chinG!”

No matter what, no matter how small or large the order is—it always takes ten minutes. What if I ordered twenty quarts of every single beef and chicken dish there? Would it still take ten mina’? I’m always fascinated by it. My very first job was at the age of thirteen years old. No working papers or anything. Total cash job. I worked for a Chinese restaurant in their kitchen. I made wonton soup, egg rolls, spareribs and the fried rice. I was a total pro at making Chinese food. Four bucks an hour, and that gave me enough money to hang out with my friends and chip in for that keg party. Still, I don’t understand how they cook so damn fast.

Back to last night. I’m pulling a sidetrack Mike here. Usually when Aunt Flow is torturing me with severe cramps, I load myself up with 800mg of Motrin. Now, if that’s not enough to make you loopy, try drinking wine along with it. Not a good combo. Not only that—but my blood was probably thinner than water.

After dinner, we continued drinking. She decides to comment on my blog. Who gives a rat’s ass about my blog right now? But—she insisted. After her comment, she asked how to enter it. She was about to enter ‘my own id name’ into it. Now that would have been embarrassing and quite confusing for all of you—seeing that I replied to myself. Errr, can someone say narcissistic?

As she was taking one full hour on that little comment of hers, I kept sipping my wine. She types slower than my great great great great great great grandmother. Imagine? But she talks a mile a minute---CP back me up on that one babe! (And yeah—I did CP…) So needless to say, as she’s typing up her alcohol induced feelings out on my blog, I’m sipping more wine by the second. Not good if we wanted the night to go on and on…

When she finally finished, she comes into the living room to find me passed out drunk from Shiraz and drugged up with Motrin. She managed to get me into the bedroom. I don’t know how I got there—but I woke up naked. I’m one of those big flannel SO not sexy types when it comes to the bed attire. Madelene sleeps in the buff all the time—even in below zero weather. Baffles me. I sit there looking like some Eskimo bunny, bundled up as if I was about to venture into the Tundra. Mush! Mush!

This morning I woke up with a kiss.
“I had such a terrific time with you last night?”
“You did?”
I asked, wanting to know the ending of the evening.
“Yes, thank you for making my Valentine special!”
“Oh? Thank you!”
I had no idea what I was saying and I was still three sheets to the wind.
“Te quiero tanto!”
“Te quiero.”

Here are the remains of last night. A few beers for my honey and a shot or two she did of the vodka. A bottle of wine, a few leftover Chinese condiments--and of course the chocolates that we practically overdosed on. I need to get my bum into the gym A.S.A.P!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Letter to Madelene

Dear Madelene,

I love you. I cherish you. I desire you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. As the years go by, you seem to possess more beauty than ever. It’s not even your beauty; it’s your compassion for others, you’re warm heart, and your giving nature. It’s your love for God, and the way you treat others. You treat me like no one has ever treated me before. I have never been loved so much by someone, as I am by you. You make me feel special and always lift me up when I’m feeling down.

Do you know how much I love you? I know we say “I love you” often, but do you know my feelings behind those words? It’s much more than words can even express. I don't believe I was ever in love, until I met you. The connection I have with you is beyond anything I have ever experienced. On top of that, you’re my best friend. I can tell you absolutely anything that’s on my mind, without feeling as though you’re going to get upset or angry at me. Almost as if you totally figured out the human race---you mastered the human mind. You know that I’m only ‘me’; and satisfied with just that. You’re forgiving and understanding. You give without expectations and love unconditionally. You’re rare.

When I think about growing old together, I daydream about us sitting on a front porch somewhere on our little rocking chairs laughing our butts off, and still drinking our martinis. I dream about all the good times we’re going to have—even more than we have now. I look at you---and I see a happy future. I see family, friends and wonderful times shared together. I see ‘us’. I see holidays full of joy and laughter, and days spent on the beach lying next to one another not saying a word, yet saying so much.

Every morning before you go to work, you wake me up with a kiss. I love that. If you ever forget to kiss me before leaving—I’ll probably be depressed all day. You encourage me to do the things I’ve always wanted to do. You give me positive feedback and tell me honestly what your thoughts are. I love that about you.

Is it possible that each year I fall in love with you a little more? Some people say that the chemistry fades after time. I feel it gets stronger with each passing day. I have never loved you so much as I do right now. Maybe I don’t tell you this in depth like I should, but today I want to let you know what’s in my heart.

Your kisses still give me the butterflies as they did on our first date. To me, you’re a God send. I totally believe that God sent me one of his angels. Not only do I find you physically incredibly gorgeous, but your inner beauty makes it that much better. You’re the ‘whole package’. Sometimes I even wonder what you see in me; why you put up with me... I get scared thinking one day you may leave me. Then you reassure me with your love that we’re in this for the long haul. I call it more of a vacation. We always say to one another that it feels like we’re on vacation when we’re together—even if we’re home.

You are my home. You’re my heart and I will always love you and be ‘in love’ with you.

Thank you for letting me wake up to fresh roses this morning. You know red & white together are my favorite. You're thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me. Happy Valentine's Day baby! I'll see you tonight!

Love,
Deb

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Blizzard Warning!

Am I suicidal? I did the very thing I told you not to do. I walked into a grocery store the day of the blizzard. Holy mother of supermarket chaos! I couldn’t believe the mobs of crowds circling the canned goods like a bunch of wild vultures. I can hear their caws from aisle fifteen. Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Cans and cans of food tossed into tons of shopping carts. Bottled water? Ah---forgetaboudit’!!! Gone. No water left.

I’m making dinner for Madelene tonight, so I wanted to pick up a few things I needed. I didn’t go because I thought the blizzard would bury me in for a year---I went in like I usually do. People were bumping into each other with their carts like bumper cars. One lady sideswiped me with her shoulder. It still hurts. I went over to the produce to buy some avocados, and this lady next to me takes an orange from the bottom of the pile. Can you guess what happened next? Yep---all fell down. She left me at the scene of the crime. People looked at me like I did it.

Get a life folks! Make sure you batten down the hatches too! Just love freaking out people when they’re desperate to get food for the winter. A bunch of squirrels desperate for a nut. Needless to say—all of them were nuts. Get out of my face you paranoid freak! I thought I was the one with anxiety disorder, but apparently, the entire city of New York is having the same issue here. I hope they have a better therapist than I do. I’m not going to pee my pants over this crazy madness everyone’s putting themselves through. Just stay out of my way.

I walk over to the check out line that must have been a mile long. People had carts filled up to the fricken ceiling! What is wrong with you people? I sat there holding my little blue basket full of goodies. After waiting approximately one hour to get to the dippy cashier who was chewing her gum so loud--I was about to scream! She must have had a mouthful of saliva, because the sounds that were coming out of her mouth were obscene. I was nauseated by this girl.

I place my goodies on the conveyer belt. This lady in front of me slams down that little divider as though she didn’t want me taking any of her food. Easy tiger! I’m not interested in your kielbasa, five packages of bacon, twenty pounds of butter, and a army supply of chopped meat. If standing on this God awful line isn’t enough to give you a heart attack-----stealing your food certainly will do the trick. Bon apetit you slob!

Don’t get me started, because it doesn’t end there. It’s now my turn to get up to the cashier.

“Price Plus card?”
“No.”

Blip…Blip…Blip… The cashier is swiping through all my items. She gets to the package of turkey I got from the deli section. She swipes it. Nothing. She swipes it again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. She stares at the turkey long enough for me to say, “Is there a problem?”

“It’s not registering.”
“You’ll probably have to type in the sku numbers manually. Just making a wild assumption here.”
“But it’s from the deli section.”
“So?”

She picks up the phone and calls for the manager on the loud speaker for the entire store to hear. The manager was two lanes down. What the? Whatever.

“It won’t go through.” The cashier whines.
“Just type in the number manually.” The manager said.

The cashier shot me a look that said a few choice words. Her typing skills had a lot to be desired. Copy the damn numbers in and let me get out of here already!!! I was getting fumed because now she was taking her sweet time just to annoy me. The line started getting longer, and people now looked at ‘me’ as if I were the bad guy here! I hear people sighing and moaning and plopping things down hard on the conveyer belt all annoyed. Get a grip here folks---it’s her---it’s not me.

“Cash or credit?”
“Credit.”
“Umm, okay…just swipe it through for me please.”

Swipe.

“Do it again.”

Swipe.

“Do it again please.”

Swipe.

“Management, please come to lane nine please! Management, please come to lane nine please!”

After twenty minutes of dealing with this ditzy cashier, she gave me a receipt that was a mile long. I only bought ten items. What gives? She made so many errors, that it reflected on the receipt. I double checked to make sure she charged me for the right thing—and made sure she didn’t ‘blip’ my turkey ten times more than she should have. After that whole fiasco, I had to laugh.

If you’re going out to the grocery store today—God bless you! Just wait until you see the parking lot.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Friday's Madness

Today was a day where there was too much hand shaking going on. Here’s the deal… I went to stop by my sister Carla’s office for a visit. She introduced me to every single person in that building. Each hand shaken, and each time I was frightened. I even got offered to take a sip of someone’s drink that had a cold. Yes, Carla’s friend Scott has taken the initiative to make me feel right at home. The conversation with him was alarming. A forceful cough came after each word.

“Will you stop coughing in my direction please?” I said, as he knows I’m allergic to people who are sick.
“Do you want a sip of this?” He asks.
“No. I don’t want a sip of that.”
“He’s sick Deb!”
Carla informs me of what I already know. Scott loves to test my nerves. He even asked me what OCD was. I didn't have the heart to tell him, but he certainly has a way of tweaking my OCD big time. There was a time we were all hanging out at his house with a few people. He brought a bottle of wine out, and poured it in our glasses. As soon as I wanted another glass--he took a swig out of the bottle and looked my way. I went for a beer after that. He doesn't look like the epitome of health--now does he?

I had to leave and run some errands. I went into town to Radio Shack. Carla wanted to come along. I had to return a phone that didn’t work. Anyway, as I was finishing up getting my refund, I noticed Carla roaming around the store.

“Ready?” I asked.
“Yeah, let’s go.”

She went first and headed for the door. The alarm sounds. She got startled and kept backing up, and then going through the security filters. Again, it sounded.

“Excuse me miss, can you come with me?” The manager yelled out, all authoritative.
“I didn’t steal anything from your store! It’s my Nextel—it always interferes with electronic equipment!” She said, in an angry tone.
“Well, we have to check your purse as a regular procedure.”
“Fine! Check it!”
She said, in a tone that said a thousand words.

Nothing was in her purse. She flew out of there faster than anything.

“Fcuking people—I can’t believe he checked my purse! I was going to tell him that I wasn’t planning to steal anything from your sh*tty store anyway.”
“I just can’t take you anywhere Carla! Will you quit your shoplifting addiction?”

I dropped her off and headed off to do the rest of my errands. I stopped by at the local drug store which is a huge chain. Now, the people who work here are like straight from hillbilly heaven.

“Karen, can you please come to the front? Karen---please come to the front.” I hear from the loud speakers.
“Alright! Alright! I can’t do anything around here without y’all screaming for me. God damn it, I was counting the stock! Now I lost where I was at!” The lady yelled from the back of the store.
“Karen, can you please come to the back? Karen---please come to the back.”
“Now y’all fcuking with me! I can’t be at two places at once! Will y’all make up your mind?”
She yells across the huge store.

There’s a snow storm heading over tomorrow evening. I had to go to the grocery store to pick a few things up. It’s like everybody and their fricken mother was doing the same exact thing. Believe me—we’re not going to get twenty feet of snow people! We live in New York---they invested in big trucks and plows. No need to grab every loaf of bread on the shelf and tons of bottled water. I felt like there was a catastrophe about to happen. People go nuts right before a storm. Never, ever, walk into a grocery store unless you watch the weather on the news. That’s how I predict if it’s going to be crowded or not.

Tonight should be interesting. Madelene and I are venturing out. We made reservations at a really nice restaurant. She can’t drink anything because she’s still on antibiotics. She is all better—thank God. Occasionally she’ll still cough like a mule in heat, but it’s no longer contagious.

If you want to get a few good laughs, please head over to Mikey’s place for a great overview of our virtual wedding.

Have a great weekend!
(This is where the term 'fraggle' came from. Jis' sayin...) I know, I know...take your meds Deb!

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Problematic Phobias

Being around my mother drives my OCD into high gear. I love my mother with all my heart, but there are some things that tweak my disorder into panic mode. Don’t get me wrong--those wonderful times spent having cocktail hours with mom and eating delicious hors d'oeuvres are great. My girlfriend and I love spending time with mom—especially on our day off, so we can indulge in some cheese and wine. Occasionally we’ll have the ol’ chips and dip out and some other over-marinated Italian delicacy laying around.

Problem? Mama’s a double dipper. Remember the episode of "Seinfeld" when they made an issue of the ‘double dipper’? It’s when someone takes a chip---dips it---then takes a bite---and dips that same chip back into the dip. Okay. Now the dip is out. Time to eat dry chips. So I head over to the marinated something or other. Now, we’re all ‘family’ really, so it doesn’t matter really. Or does it?

I see mom probing her fork into the container of marinated artichokes. My heart starts to race, because that’s the very thing I was about to grab.

“Ma? Want a spoon?”
“Oh, no—this is fine.”

NO! It’s not fine! I just sit there and take big gulps of my wine. Madelene shoots me a look of concern. No, really…I’ll be okay. I try to send these vibes over to Madelene, but she’s unaware that mom has already touched each cheese to check its texture. All food is out of the question now.

Fine wine. Ah, how I love a good bottle of wine. My mother relies on her truckloads of Carlo Rossi in huge jugs. Yes---they’re twist off caps----no corks. Fine. Now, I know she really likes that wine, but whenever I open a good bottle of wine, she always wants a sip of that little puddle you first pour into your glass. That little puddle only meant for ‘tasting’. No. She wants to be the ‘taster’.

“Oh, don’t fill it up---let me taste that.”

Now, I know my mama don’t have cooties or anything of that nature. Hell---she gave birth to me and has been faithful to my papa---so why do I cringe when she takes a sip out of my glass? For the love of God---get your own glass!!! Why sip mine? I must make it look better or something. I have no clue why everyone does this to me. It’s not just her---everyone wants to see the mental patient rock back and forth in discomfort. Fine. Whatever. Sip all you want. Let me just sit here and rock.

Don’t even get me started when I’m at a bar trying different wines. My one friend (who remains anonymous) always interferes with my OCD. She always takes a sip of my drink. Then, on top of that, her big luscious painted lips leave a huge lip imprint on my glass. I’m not talking just a ‘sip mark’---it’s as though she sucked the whole goblet down like a bottle of beer! Get your own fricken drink! Hell—I’ll even buy her a new drink.

”Here try dis’!” My father suggests, as he pours a little cordial into his glass.
“Oh, I’m fine dad, thanks.” I say, graciously.
“Yous’ kiss da’ cat butchya’ won’t drink outa’ ma’ glass! I know how you are—you’re a sicko! Sonova’bitch!” He says, with his little wheezy laugh of his.

First let me tell you—I haven’t had a cat since I was like four years old. I’m severely allergic to them, but he insists on using the ‘cat theory’ on me each and every time. That’s another issue---I will never eat dinner or eat anything while being in someone’s house who owns a cat. Don’t ask---I just feel and know through facts that cats are very dirty animals. Debate me all you want on this---but their dander and their gifts in the litter box are very dangerous—especially for pregnant women. Look it up if you don’t believe me. I’ll never own a cat. Ever.

I actually broke up with my ex-girlfriend because she was going to bring a cat into her apartment. (She doesn’t even know that fact either!) Sitting at a bar, she said, “I’m going to be owning a cat tomorrow.” And she knew I was allergic. So I said, “Ya know something? I don’t think it’s going to work out—we want different things out of life.” Bam! Break up was official. True story folks!

Back in 1993, I dated a beautiful Haitian man. I met him at my office. He had the most beautiful French accent ever. I had the biggest crush on him at work. He had the nicest butt I have ever seen on a man. Ugh—my heart raced when he used to come up to my desk. He was a bodybuilder and used to do bodybuilding competitions. His face was flawless, and his lips were scrumptious. Everything about this man was perfect. He invited me to his house so he could make me a delicious home cooked dinner. He said he was a very good cook—and he wanted to have a quiet evening with me. I agreed.

I knock on the door, and he opens it up wearing nothing but silky boxers and a sparkling gold rope chain hanging down to the middle of his chest with a crucifix on it. His body was glistening. Did he put baby oil on before answering the door? Okay---tacky---but very entertaining. I’ll chuck it up to a ‘hot day’. Fine. Whatever.

At dinner, and to my surprise, he made the most delicious boneless ribs sautéed in a spicy Haitian sauce that was handed down to him from his grandmother. He also had exotic fruits all over the table. The wine he picked out was unreal. I was literally in awe. Until this…

He took a piece of mango, put it in his mouth, and then came up to my face.
“What?” I asked.
“Eat the fruit out of my mouth.” In his beautiful French accent.
“Huh?” I said in fear.
“What I eat, you eat, we are one now.” He said, in a weird sexy kind of tone—yet disturbing.
“No!”
I said, laughing it off, hoping he would back up and leave that one alone.
“Come on. If you love me, you will take the fruit out of my mouth. We kissed many times my love.” He says, now trying to sell me on this ‘ABC’ fruit.

He wouldn’t stop. That’s it. Date ends right here. I refuse to eat chewed up mango and swallow that nastiness. Forget it!

You see, my OCD is not much of a disorder; it’s more like a safety mechanism that somehow got programmed into my brain. I’m comfortable having it, and I feel ‘safer’ knowing that I would never eat fruit from someone else’s mouth.

Nuff said! On to another issue...

Now y’all think I’m kidding about my ridiculous fears on the threat of biochemical warfare, right? (Don’t ask where I got the instant southern accent from…) This evening, my sister Carla called me up. Now let me tell you a little something about my dear sister Carla. She loves to scare me. What do I mean? She absolutely entertains herself with giving me the first news of any terror alert or if there’s a tornado about to strike our town outside the city. Lovely right? So not only will I post her beautiful picture up on my blog, but I am posting a picture of what I did right after she called me telling me that Washington was hit with nerve gas. Of course they concluded that it was a false alarm, but at the time, CNN was reporting this incident as ‘confirmed positive for nerve gas’ in the nation’s capitol.

I even went down to see my parents, wearing the gas mask, informing them of the news. I told them to put on CNN to check it out. (Of course they thought I was completely out of my mind and told me to get out.)

“We’re watching American Idol right now!” My mother says, as she was glued to the T.V. set. We could be going through a nuclear holocaust—and she’d be more concerned on who gets to go on American Idol. Priorities, priorities… I went back upstairs and finished off a bottle of wine feeling safe with my handy gasmask.