Friday, March 31, 2006

My Confession: I Cheated On My Girlfriend...

It all happened so fast. I didn’t expect it at all really. She caught me by surprise. She grabbed my attention right when she walked through the door. Her hair was long and lustrous, and eyes that saw right through my soul. Her body was like a fine piece of art—that only could be admired from afar…so I thought.

She started dancing and all I could do was stare in awe. Little beads of sweat were perspiring on her well-sculpted abs. Her skirt was low and her blouse was high. My rationalization of any situation I had at home disappeared, as both our eyes locked onto one another. We connected; we were tantalizing one another with eye contact. Her eyes told me that this dance wasn’t over. Her body language spoke to me, telling me she desired something other than ‘just a dance’. My eyes consented, telling her I would sign on the dotted line. I was available for the taking.

As I ate my dinner and watched her dance seductively, I dropped my fork and was mesmerized by this gorgeous Latina woman. I never drop my moo goo gai pan for no one! It was her I was hungry for. It was her I desired. I had to have her. I finally said hello to her---and she just glanced at me with her big brown eyes.

Then she spoke...

“Oh Debbie when you talk like that
You make a woman go mad
So be wise and keep on
Reading the signs of my body…”
I went numb. I felt euphoric. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Was this beautiful girl interested in me? I couldn’t believe it. She danced away from my table and started wiggling her hips like a belly dancer. I lost all control of any thoughts of fidelity; lost all control of any willpower to stay faithful. I was bringing this woman home with me tonight. No ifs ands or buts about it--she was mine.

Then she spoke again…

“And I'm yours tonight
You know my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel it's right
All the attraction, the tension
Don't you see baby, this is perfection…”
I was so ready. Every nerve in my body was standing on end. I was hypnotized with her seductive power; I was sucked into her exotic web of lust. I failed to keep my promise…my promise to Madelene. I failed to be that one person who would never cheat on my girlfriend. Tonight was different.

Then I spoke…

"Oh girl, I can see your body moving
Half animal, half woman
I don't, don't really know what I'm doing
But you seem to have a plan
My will and self restraint
Have come to fail now, fail now
See, I am doing what I can, but I can't so you know
That's a bit too hard to explain…”
She knew I was struggling; trying to fight the ways of temptation. Oh God, help me now! I was about to fall into a pit of sin. I was doomed…I was loving it.
She spoke to me once again…

“I'm yours tonight, my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel you Deb
Come on let's go, real slow
Baby, like this is perfecto
Oh, you know I am on tonight and my hips don't lie
And I am starting to feel it's right
The attraction, the tension
Baby, like this is perfection
No fighting
No fighting…”
She took my hand after her dance, and I got up from the table. She guided me out of the cafĂ© to take me home. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to be unfaithful. It wasn’t my fault though. It was the basic instinct of my fantasy—she was my fantasy. I wanted someone to pinch me because I thought I was dreaming. Could this be true? This woman wants me? Then she went to kiss me while we stood next to my car.

“Deb! Deb! Wake up. Do you want your coffee now? Or do you wanna make it later? Deb! Hey sweetie—wake up!” Madelene said to me, as I woke up from a deep slumber.
“Huh? What coffee? Oh! Oh!.....Oh…yeah, I’ll make the coffee sweetie.”
“You okay?”
Madelene asks, with a look of concern on her face.
“Yeah.” I said, in an almost disappointed tone.

It’s not every night that Shakira comes into my dreams to tempt me. I wanted to savor every single moment. I was watching her the night before on American Idol, and when she came out on stage, I was sitting there with Madelene eating moo goo gai pan from a take out restaurant---and dropped my moo goo for this woman. I don’t drop my moo goo for anybody!

Twas all but a dream…
The text in the red are lyrics from Shakira's new song, "Hips Don't Lie"...

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Squishy Situations

It’s just getting worse. The dilemma of avoiding germs at all costs has me in a funk. From keeping little bottles of Purell’s instant hand sanitizers in each of my coats and one in my purse--to keeping a full bottle of rubbing alochol on my desk. This has truly become either an obsession or I’ve mastered the art of battling germs. Or have I? Even with the warmer weather coming in, I still find myself wearing gloves when I go to the grocery store so I don’t have to touch those shopping carts. Maybe I should just get those long fancy gloves looking like a princess on crack. Lovely.

My girlfriend kissed my hand last night. What a gentleman, huh? ...No. She kissed my hand and all I could think of was, “I need my Purell!” What’s my deal? She holds my hand, looks at me and feels me pulling away a bit. She continues to stare at me and tries to draw my hand back in. Oh no sister! You are not kissing my hand again! I have this weird thing with anyone kissing my hand. (And no Madelene, no one else kisses my hand but you…) I always get myself into heaps of trouble with my big fat mouth. As I said in a previous post, my girlfriend and I went out last Saturday night to meet her friends at this nearby restaurant. After drinking a few martinis, the dam broke and a bathroom trip was in order. Usually, the bathroom situation in that restaurant is just amazing. No droplets on the sink and no leftover remains of someone’s dinner lying in the bottom of the toilet. The clientele is either a classy bunch, or their cleaning crew has OCD as well. You really never know who walked in there before you.

So I open the door to stall #1… Unt-uh. There is no way I am parking my rear on that seat. It looked as though some girl pissed standing up. I am not kidding. Fine, I have two more doors to check.

Stall #2… You’ve got to be kidding. I know sometimes they throw in garbanzo beans into the antipasto appetizer, but I didn’t think it would show up “whole” in someone’s stool. Just lovely. I have one more door to swing open, and it’s the good ol’ handicap stall. (The one I should be using since I was three sheets to the wind here…)

Stall #3… Ah. Perfect. Nothing seems to be stirring in this stall. The handicap gals that dined here were some classy chickies. Great. So I continue to pull down my pants and proceed with draining these potent martinis down the loo. What the? All I felt was ~squish~… You ever hear of black ice? It’s there, but you just can’t see it? I ran into ‘black piss’. What’s wrong with women? I know, I know---levitate, levitate! But I’m tired, I’m drunk, and I need to sit and take a pee in peace. No. It never happens that way. Maybe if I didn’t close out restaurants and bars, I wouldn’t have this problem. Everything in moderation, right?

I get up, and my ass is soaking wet. The worst part about it was, there was only enough toilet paper for the ‘essential duties’ which I intended for. This? It was more like someone threw a bucket of piss on my backside. How the heck am I going to clean up? I had to think fast, because I'd been in the bathroom long enough for someone to check up on me.

I prayed. Yes…God helped me with this one. I prayed, and ran out with my slacks around my ankles and grabbed the paper towel that was dangling off the machine.

Shit! They only gave me enough to blow my nose with! I try to grab another one—but the machine had to wait a few seconds, because it only dispensed one sheet at a time when it detected your hand in front of it. Fricken technology sucks when you’re ass is hanging out for all to see--if someone were to walk in. How embarrassing! Still praying—I waved my hand in front of the high-tech dispenser a few times and got what I needed.

I cleaned up the best I could and walked back out to join my friends again. What happens when I sat back down in my chair?

~^Squish^~

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Greener Grass

Spring is in the air! Isn’t this the time when lovers get together? Birds are singing louder and the grass looks a whole lot greener? They say that love usually develops in the spring. What study is that? Apparently, from what I’m seeing, the most break ups happen between two people during this time. I have a slew of people I know and good friends who are either having a rocky relationship or parting. People are under the assumption that my girlfriend and I are ‘perfectly happy’. No. She gets fed up with me from time to time and we argue like any other dysfunctional couple. The occasional mango gets tossed at my head and periodically wine gets poured over hers.

What are the ingredients for a ‘happy couple’? Who really knows? For me? It’s understanding and rationalizing the fact that each person in the relationship (party of two usually) are their own individual person. You do not own your partner or spouse. (Unless you paid good money for them…) It’s about respect. Sometimes I cross the lines of respect and say things that are appalling, but that’s just me. Then that brings me to ‘acceptance’. Thank God for that one---or my girlfriend would have left me years ago. Respect and acceptance in my opinion is the biggest factor to maintain any healthy relationship.

Friendship. No, I’m not just talking about the old saying, “Oh you’re not only my lover, but you’re my best friend…” Come on—and how many people truly believe that? I’m talking “true friendship”, where you can sit down with your partner and tell him/her absolutely anything you have done or feel guilty about. Yeah---that kind of friend. The friend that is genuinely interested in what you did or what you think. (God forbid!) The majority of couples are ‘lovers’. They say they’re friends, but they’re lovers. Lovers quarrel about jealousy issues. Insecurity has a major part in this. “Where were you? Where you going? Who’s that on the phone? Who you chatting with?” That kind of ‘jealousy’. The one where you can’t do anything ever around this person without them blowing a gasket.

We do not own the person we’re with. We do not have the authority to say, “Do this now!” or, “Don’t you dare go out with your buddies tonight!” (The “Do this now” sometimes comes in handy though…just say “please” before attempting this maneuver.) Control freaks usually expect their partner to do absolutely everything---and absolutely nothing. (Everything for them and nothing for anyone else.) Then you have the type of partner who only focuses on you and makes you their life. That’s a lot of responsibility for the other person to take on. Think about it—you are their life now. With that being said, that’s why so many people who get into relationships lose their friends. Think about it.

I’m not sure if I’m a control freak or my girlfriend is just indecisive. Anytime we plan to go out on Saturday night, it’s the same story. “Whaddya’ wanna do?” “I don’t know, whaddya’ wanna do?” “I don’t know…it’s up to you. Whaddya’ wanna do?” It gets to the point where I scream out, “For the love of God--let’s just do this!” And then the decision is final. Yeah, it’s great to go where I want, but sometimes I wish she would take the reigns and say, “Listen, I wanna do this and do that…and that’s final!” I’d have quite the little twinkle in my eye.

Then you have that other issue. Yeah---that issue. In my world, it’s called “LBD”. (Lesbian Bed Death) It’s self-explanatory really. I resent the fact that they even had to initialize and separate this disorder for the lesbians, because I know a lot of heterosexual couples who have ‘hetero bed death’. Is it normal? I guess. Is it supposed to be like that? Who knows. I do believe that each couple is so different from another. Lack of communication and conflict of schedules can be a couple of factors, but most of all (in my opinion) relationships are work. After somewhat years, you’re going to have to make that conscious effort to not roll over and go to bed so fast. Yeah—that means you!

The one thing I had to stop doing was comparing my relationship to everyone else’s. You begin to realize your situation isn’t all that bad. As the old saying goes, the grass always looks greener, doesn’t it? Although my neighbor’s landscapers just put down the greenest sod ever----oh never mind.

Just remember one thing…If you don’t mind ‘the store’…someone else will. Not in the physical aspect per se, but their attention can drift to other areas where they’re typically forbidden. We’re all human, and we need to realize our partner’s needs---physically and emotionally. Don’t ignore it. Bring whatever issue you have on the table and see where it goes from there. Love is not only a feeling, but it’s a choice.

DISCLAIMER:
This dimwit is not a sexual therapist or has any psychiatric licenses. Do not take any of this advice seriously for medical, mental and emotional issues. Please see a real psychiatrist or sex therapist if you are experiencing any of the above problems that Deb has stated. Deb’s a wannabe doctor who does not have the authority to diagnose any relationship—for she has her own issues to tend to. Be on alert for anymore relationship blabber she may post. Thank you.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Isn't It Time You Called Jenny Craig?...

Did you ever have one of those ‘kill yourself with junk food’ weekends? Ugh. I’m sick to my stomach. Oh why oh why do I do this to myself? It’s almost the same as ‘I’ll never drink ever again’ when you’re hung over on a Sunday morning. Then what happens the weekend after that? Yep—you’re back on the saddle slugging them down like the rest of them.

It all started with my father’s birthday. The family was over, and there were chips and dip laying all over every table available in the house. Great. My thighs are widening as I glance around the room. Sandwiches, potato and macaroni salad saturated in mayo with tons of other food like cheese & crackers. From fried little treats to other heart attacks on a plate were served up. The last thing I needed was to eat a slice of birthday cake. I just drank my espresso to possibly heighten my metabolism level. The healthiest thing there was all the delicious alcohol. (That’s in the category of health foods to me…just in case you’re wondering.)

The next evening was an artery clogging event. My girlfriend and I ventured out to our favorite Italian restaurant to meet her old high school friends. We started at the bar. (Where else would we start?) We even got there a half hour early so we could have a martini to wet our appetite. Fuggedaboudit! My appetite was there already. Whatever. I’m a loser…but not in the means of ~weight~...

Jenny Craig to the rescue!!!

Her friends arrive and we got a table in the back. Appetizers that ranged from mozzarella & tomato to prosciutto with tons of provolone tossed into the antipasto. Mussels and clams to eggplant rollatini. Great. And this was just the beginning. I figured, well with all this high calorie/high cholesterol sitting on the table, I’ll order the Chilean sea bass. Maybe it’ll counteract all the globs of fat flowing through my veins. A good martini or two will push it out even more. And if I die? What a way to go! Italians…gotta love em’, right?

Now that I’m done gorging myself like a fat belly pig on crack, I noticed that it was getting late, which meant---espresso time! Time to kick up the metabolism a notch. (I have no idea if that’s true---but it helps me jump around like a lunatic at home….I know, I know...my girlfriend’s a lucky gal.)

What? Everyone has a birthday this month?

See Deb walk. See Deb run. See Deb waddle over to the waitress and tell her we need four pieces of chocolate cake with candles on it. Now I know how those guys who win the hot dog eating contests felt. What was I doing to myself? Self control girl! I wasn’t even hungry. For the love of God---STOP! But no. The festive ~eat yourself till you drop party~ still continued.

Everybody was happier than a pig in shit eating every ounce of food they could possibly fit. I wanted to vomit at this point. I felt bulimic, but not thinner—that’s for sure. Our guests came back to the house with us and drank another cup of coffee. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I knew I was going to be up all night…

Sunday, I wasn’t feel too hot. I was feeling much like Mack truck at this point with no fuel. I was sluggish and irritable. My hangover was fierce and I was working on no sleep. My hormones were raging for some reason—possibly PMS---and I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around.

Today, my girlfriend had the day off, so we decided to take a walk in the park for exercise. We walked for about an hour and spent the day outside. It was beautiful. We both felt great afterwards and drank a lot of water. What did we do to top it off afterwards? We got huge sandwiches from the deli and again—I went straight for the potato salad. It’s a cry for help people. Nothing like potatoes that have been drowned out by mayo. Nothing like a healthy heart being suffocated by cholesterol.

Gee…I wonder why I’m having chest pains tonight?


A special thanks goes out to Princess Pottymouth from the site, “I Talk Too Much” for giving me their critic’s review. I got smacked five times. (No you pervs---not like that…) They gave me three smacks, and then decided to go with the five because I have pop up advertisements on my blog. I can’t help it! That’s blogger producing those evil little spirits! Another question is, how do I get a drop down blogroll? I think that would definitely be in my best interest. So if you want to see your site get ‘smacked’----visit these lovely PMSing gals. The one guy “Charred” that critiques these sites keeps the sanity level in there at a reasonable level. Beware of these ladies! I guess I’m just a sucker for bitchy women…LOVE THEM! My advice? Don’t get pissed off if they’re a little crass. It’s fun and I wish they would have been a little more harsh with my site. I’m a glutton for punishment. Awe hell—I’m just a glutton.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

What a 'Trip'...

Making plans with my buddy is always nice. Making plans and going through with them is even nicer. I haven’t seen my friend Bri is a long time, so we decided to meet at a local restaurant nearby to catch up. Now, when I say ‘local’, it’s more local for me. She knows I have this weird thing about driving up north.

I figured I’d stop into the restaurant and sit at the bar to have a drink before Bri got there. She was running late. No problem. I used to bartend at this place, so I knew a few people here and there. I wasn’t worried about sitting there by myself enjoying a cocktail or three.

I’m not sure if it was the type of people sitting around me, or if it was just an awkward mood I was in—but everyone and anyone who knows me wouldn’t doubt for a second that I could conjure up a conversation with all the barflies. That evening, it was different.

The guy at the corner of the bar who was sitting four seats down just stared at me. No smile, no expression and no ‘hellos’. Okay, whatever. Don’t need to talk to him. Then a little old lady (maybe in her 70’s) walks up to the bar, and sits down in the seat right next to me. Oh good, I love talking to older people. Nope. She opened up her huge novel and started reading. Normally, if it was a beautiful lively chicky, I would start giving the one liners like, “Wow, I’m impressed—my attention span is next to zero if I attempted to open a book in here…” I couldn’t say it with this one. It just didn’t flow. She’d probably look at me over her reading glasses and say, “Aye???” She ordered a scotch on the rocks. I figured she’d talk to me eventually. No... No conversation to be stirred. I sat there not knowing what to do. This is so out of my character.

Finally, the bartender who was serving switched shifts with my friend who saved me. Now I had my buddy to chit-chat with until Bri came in. Just then, a slew of people that just got out of work piled into the bar, and my friend who was tending was flooded with drink orders. Once again, left at the bar speechless. I’m dying here. The more time passed, the more I kept sipping on my beer. The more beers that were replaced, the more fuzzy my vision started to get. Great. Bri’s going to walk in here and see me sloshed on the bar like a dishrag. Lovely.

I get a tap on my shoulder. It was Bri. Thank the heavens. She sat next to me and we started talking. I was planning to eat at the bar, but this one guy kept staring at us until we finally felt his vibes.

“Deb? Do you know that guy or something? He keeps staring at us. He’s freaking me out.”
“Yeah, he comes into this bar a lot, and he’s not exactly ‘Mr. Personality’. I think he has some issues. Just ignore it.”
I said, as I felt even more uncomfortable.

The stares kept getting more intense. We felt it. We decided to grab a table and be rid of this stalker. I then though, the funny thing about ‘thinking people are staring’ is that they’re probably not even staring at you. I realized that we were sitting in a location where you can see people pass by on the streets. It’s actually the only place to look. I must have sat in his seat many times staring out into that window. I wonder how many times people thought I was stalking them.

Now that our paranoia was out of the way, we were all cozy in our little corner table talking away like two high school girls who hadn’t seen each other in years. Drinks kept flowing and so did the shots. After dinner, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room.

The chairs we were sitting in were very light and had tall backs. I had placed my leather coat along with my extremely heavy purse on the back of the chair. My purse has everything in it from bottled water, a five pound wallet to a ton of change lying in the bottom of the pit of my pocketbook. No kitchen sink—just other crap.

Well, I get up to excuse myself, and the chair goes down. The chair literally drops from behind me because of the weight of my luggage hanging on to the back of it. Whenever I see someone’s chair fall back, or a bar stool drop—that’s it---last call! Cut her off! Bring her home! You know that the person who dropped the chair is ossified at this point. Yeah, I was three sheets to the wind, but I had my wits about me, and my stability; so I thought…

I look up to see Bri’s face bight red. No—it was fire engine bright red. Her smile was from ear-to-ear and I heard her thoughts from a mile away. “What a punkass!” She always calls me that when I do something stupid.

I’m not the most graceful person on earth—this I’ll admit. I trip over my own two feet, stumble and hope that no one saw me, or just simply fall out of my chair. I’ve even fell flat on my face on a treadmill once before; and yes it was at my gym! Can you imagine me on skates? I knew I was going to get made fun of and mocked all night because of this stunt. But to my surprise, I didn’t. In fact, she was like, “No, everyone was doing their own thing and in their own world…no one saw.” Yeah, no one saw but her! That’s the difference.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, I get this email from her thanking me for a lovely evening out and that she had fun. I was all happy she didn’t bring up my clumsy episode. Then she guided me to a link and said, “Oh click on this. You’ll love it. It reminds me of you so much Deb!”

So I clicked on it. This is the image that came up...
Thanks Bri! ...I'll get you back for this!

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Cheap New Yorkers

It never seems to fail. I try to get a routine going and it comes crashing down to a halt. I’ve been trying to jog on the treadmill for about an hour each day. I found out my gym membership had just expired, so I figured---eh why not, jog for an hour in between work and see how that goes. I was going to do some home exercises as well.

Now I’m kicking it in high gear. My heart’s pumping, I’m starting to sweat, and I’m at the 40 minute mark and figured, another twenty minutes and I’ll be done with this. I always do a cool down (walk slowly) so that my heart doesn't flip out in some seizure-like palpitation attack.

~^Poof^~

The treadmill stops. The computer and lighting on the panel goes off too. What the? I try to ignite this puppy back up again. Nothing. My heart’s still racing. I didn’t even cool down, which means the inevitable---palpitations. I nearly flip out with anxiety because this is the one thing I was trying to avoid.

Here’s the issue this year. We’re saving up for our trip to the Hamptons and trying to just cut back on a few things. I thought by using the treadmill at home, I would eliminate the $500 bucks that I have to give to the gym for another year’s membership. Believe me, I have champagne taste on a beer budget, so saving money is in order.

“Why don’t you pay month to month Deb?”

No. I can’t do it like that. In my mind---I’m constantly paying them. It bugs me. I have to pay everything in full, or it hasn’t been paid for. With anything---it has to be ‘in full’. My girlfriend is the ‘pay as you go’ type. I can’t live like that knowing that someone out there is charging my card every month without talking to me. (Even though it’s been consented.) I know it’s a mental issue; I’m fully aware of this. Does this fall into any mental disorder category? I have no clue. The doctors that read my posts—please analyze me now!

We got hit with an $1,100 dollar electric bill. WHAT? What gives? I don’t get it. For a while though, I have been hearing this low electrical humming within my house somewhere. Can electricity leak out from another source? We even think that the next door neighbor is being fed with our juice. How can we use $1,100 dollars worth of electricity? And no, it’s not the treadmill; I don’t use it that much. Believe me.

So later today, I am going to turn off all the breakers in the house and run out to the meter to see if that thing is still pumpin’ away. My father used to have these lights all around the property which lit up like the Yankee stadium. It was not only annoying, but very intrusive to say the least. I had to close the blinds if I wanted to go to sleep. If I wanted to hang outside, I would hear that annoying street lamp buzz sound. That doesn’t sit well with me while I’m swimming in my pool late at night with friends hearing electricity pumping throughout the ground. I even felt the electric surge on the edge of my pool. I could have been fried!

I know main problem here. Dad. I love dad. But dad loves to get ‘one of his guys’ to do the job for him.

“Aye---Rocco! Come to da’ house and put sum’ lights up for us.”

You’ll see some guy with slicked back hair pull up in his old fart Lincoln with just a wrench and a box full of nuts. I never saw an electrician have so much jewelry before and he smelled like Old Spice. The guy tinkers around with all these London looking street lamps to try and put them together like a puzzle. Once he got them all assembled, they did it the good ol’ Italian way.

“Rocco! I got da’bacco so I can dig the ground up! Just place the electrical lines in da’hole where I dig.”
“Whatever you say Charlie!”

Neither of these two dimwits ever specialized in electrical careers, yet they still managed to light that sucker up like the sun. People pulling into my driveway would be blinded by all the lights. It was awful. I mean, security is one thing, but for the love of God---he confused the damn birds! No---I am not kidding. I would walk outside on my deck at midnight and hear birds chirping as if it were day. I couldn’t understand it. Why would a slew of birds be chirping this late at night? I never heard of birds having insomnia, but then I realized---my father ruined their perfect little nesting bedrooms. They were ‘wired’. And so were we.

One evening, one of the big lamps fizzled out. God knows what happened—maybe a gopher bit into it or the electricity just gave up. All of the sudden, no more birds. Silence. I heard crickets again and the sound of night. My father was no longer in control of the nocturnal world.

“Whadja’ do? Climb up dare’ because sum light got intya’ room? Ahh--ya stupidjas! Wudif’ a burgla' comes and tries to break in, huh?”

Easy. My father is up all night drinking espresso. Why would I worry about that? He lives on the lower portion of the house and believe me—one little noise and he’s out there with his shotgun. Sounds more like what a Idaho farmer would do oppose to a ‘do it yourself’ New Yawka.

With or without lights, I feel safe.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

The Indians Are Gone

“Oh no. Oh this is just horrible.”
“What ma?”
“Oh no. This can’t be.”
My mother says, as she redials whatever number she was trying to get through.

Now, I live above my parents. I love them with all my heart. But, their smoking somehow wafts up through the vents and into our lungs.

“Oh no. The smoke shop isn’t answering their phone.”
“Oh, they probably got raided again ma.”
I said, almost jumping for joy.
“But they have their answering machine on.” Mom says, doubting that their jig was up.
“Ma—whaddya’ think they’re gonna do-- say, ‘Oh wait a minute fellas! I have to call the phone company first before I go to jail.’” I said, as I laughed at her.

They get their cigarettes insanely cheap by the Indians who live on the reservations. They don’t have to pay taxes, so this works out well for all those in need of a cheap smoke.

I headed into the other room to grab my laundry and I hear from the distance, “We’re gonna have to try to quit smoking.” I think I just heard angels singing. I couldn’t believe it. Sadly enough, I won’t believe it. These people will sit in this one room of their section of the house and smoke themselves into oblivion. Not only are they nesting in some fog-like cloud, but my mother cranks up the heat until their literally cooking themselves. The older they get, the more the heat rises. Going to visit them is nearly impossible. Hazmat suits are required.

This is the bad part about ‘close quarters’. My mother controls the heating system in the house. She has the controls in her bedroom no less. It’ll be 10 below zero, and there’s no heat. We then put on our electric floor panels that heat up. They're almost like radiators—but electric. That’s no problem. Now, the problem remains when it becomes 70 degrees or so, my mother decides to crank up the ol’ furnace and blast us out with hot forced air. I’m like, “What the hell is she doing???” Great. Leave the heat off when it’s below zero out, and crank that sucker up come spring! I don’t get it. It baffles us to no end.

I love my mother. I love my mother. I love my mother.

Yes, the same holds true for summer. We have a/c that controls basically the entire house. I also have a/c that is controlled by me on the upper floor where we live. Now, when it’s extremely hot and muggy out---no a/c. But when it’s 80 degrees, no humidity and just absolutely perfect outside---she cranks up the a/c until we have ice sickles hanging off our chin hairs. Well, okay…I’m the only one with chin hair. Shush. I’m Italian, remember?

“Whaddya’ all crazies or sumptin”? My father says, as he smokes his disgusting cigarette. “Youz’ sit in dose’ bars full of smoke and whateva’ else dare’ smokin’, butchoo don’t even wanna sit here wit’ me and talk just because I smoke one cigarette!”

First of all, let me clear something up. (Besides the smoke) When my father smokes, it’s worse than sitting in a bar full of old men smoking cigars. His lungs have more capacity to hold smoke—and blow it out like a chimney. I don’t get it.

Second of all, there is no more smoking in bars. I am very happy about this. I literally cannot sit and talk to my father like a normal human being, unless my nephew or nieces are over. He’ll refrain then. Sometimes he still lights up and I’m like, “Dad!”

“Youz’ grew up wit’ dis all your lives!” He reminds me.
“No wonder I have asthma and make numerous trips to the ER.”
“Ah geez, youz all are unbelievable---you know dat’???” He says, as he sucks on the end of his cigarette.

My poor poor parents. Their crack dealers are out of business. Their cheap cigarettes are vanished---poof----like a cloud of smoke. My mother’s pacing around frantically trying to figure out another route to get her cheap fix. I have a feeling it's not going to be cheap anymore.

The Indians are gone.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Interesting Commenter

It’s always a treat when I get an interesting and fun comment from an alias that’s unknown. You know, that angry little reader who’s steaming over some small detail about your life. It really does make you wonder how people can think this stuff up. I’ll explain my whole outlook on this after I show you what I mean.

So as you know, I have been away from my computer for some time. I come back to read my comments this morning and found a little nugget stuffed in one of my archive posts. The name of this person was, “I know your type!”

I know your type! said...
You sound like a bi-girl,hon. You know,constantly whining, and sucking up to males. I notice you have alot of male posters here; have you ever wondered how they managed to find your blog? They typed in the word lesbian looking for some place to jack-off. Most lesbians don't have a problem with lesbians who want to look like you do. I pass for straight most times myself, but most of us DO have a problem with bi-sexuals{been with men, and will probably be with them again} who tell everyone and their uncle, that they're a big ole dyke when they're not.

So then I reply with this comment:

~Deb said...
I may sound bi, and that’s okay I guess. I’ve been in a relationship with the same woman for 12 yrs, so I have no clue what you would ‘label’ me as. I don’t label myself, nor am I one of those lesbians who are ‘manhaters’. They hate when other lesbians associate with other men. Men are wonderful. I love men----I mean, if it weren’t for men----WE wouldn’t be here! Think about it. Also, if I wasn’t with Madelene, it’s hard to say if some man wouldn’t sweep me off his feet. I go by the inside of someone, not by the outside or gender. For some, yes they would call that bi-sexual….but for me? I don’t like labeling myself. I call myself ‘a lesbian’, because I haven’t been with a man since I was like 18 yrs old, …I’ve been with my partner (a female) for that entire time. I hope that clears any questions you have. Another thing---this blog is hardly for men 'jackiing off'. If they do that on this blog, that would be sad, because there is hardly anything erotic on here! ha! Imagine??? Naw, I think there are better sites suited for that 'self love' you're talking about. Yes, I know…I whine an awful lot, huh? I created this blog so that my friends don’t have to hear me whine. I’m a cranky ol’ bitch – but a dyke? Naw, I guess I’m more of a person who loves my girlfriend more than life. So then, what am I? I’ve been trying to figure that one out for the longest time! My shrink doesn’t even know! (hehe) So anyway---thank you for stopping by and letting me know how you feel regarding my blog and what I should be labeled.
Warmest regards…

Here’s my conclusion. In the gay community where I live, there are a lot of ‘true blue dykes’ that are militant with ‘manhating’. If you’re a real lesbian, you do not associate with men unless they’re gay. This is the mindset of a lot of gay women. Whatever. I do not associate with women who think like this. If it weren’t for men, NONE of us would be here right now.

So, can you call me bi-sexual? Can you call me a lesbian? Can you call me a straight girl? Call me whatever you want. I don’t mind. Call me “Madelene’s lifetime partner”. That would be better suited.

When Madelene and I go out, we talk to everyone. The other night I took her out to dinner and then afterwards, we went to a bar for a few beers. We had the best time. There were a pack of wild wolves (men from the Bronx) that were hootin’ and howlin’ at us on the other end of the bar. It was more comical than annoying actually.

Eventually a few of them came up to us, and they were the funniest guys ever. I didn’t tell them that Madelene and I were together though. I didn’t want to provoke any thoughts---whether it be, “Hey lemme’ get in on this!” or “You’re a homo!!!” kind of thinking. I wanted to just be ‘me’. We usually like to feel the situation out before we come out to anyone. It depends. The girls that were on the other end of the bar were talking amongst themselves, and our group had the best time. I was surrounded by men who were lively, entertaining and funny. It’s not that I don’t like hanging out with women, but sometimes I find myself in a henhouse talking about Jane, Sue and Betsy. Get my drift?

My question is, why are these militant lesbians so worried about me associating with men? Why must I keep my blog ‘lesbian packed’ with happenings in my community? There is so much more to me other than my sexual preference. And I am sure you’ve found that out by now. Even lesbians and their politics---most are democrats and anti-Bush. Let me back that up… Most Americans are anti-Bush, but I’m talking the overall politics of these women focus on ‘equal rights’ and they are so eager to marry one another upon second date. If they allowed a law that said, “Hey! Gays and lesbians can get married now!” I’m sure that the Town Hall’s parking lots would be overloaded with u-hauls left and right.

I would love to marry my partner legally, but it’s not realistic. A civil union and beneficiary papers are enough for me to say—this is legal. Our love is enough to say we’re happy even if we’re not able to get married legally. Enjoy life instead of protesting against every single thing that irks you. There are much larger things in this world to protest about other than getting hitched. In about a year or two, you’ll be begging for divorce papers and who gets custody of the twenty cats you accumulated in your household.

Why is labeling such an issue with lesbians? Love one another; accept one another.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Happy Birthday Madelene!

We’ve been through a lot together. The past twelve years that I have been getting to know you—I still have so much to learn about you. You surprise me everyday with new ideas and a new outlook on life. You encourage me, you lift my spirits up and you always let me know you love me. You show me unconditional love by not only your words, but with your actions. You speak to me from your heart; you do everything from your heart and it shows. You’re a beautiful person inside and out. You show love to people around you whether you know them or not. Your inner spirit proves to be an old soul, but it also shows how young at heart you really are. You don’t let another birthday intimidate you—you welcome it with opened arms. You embrace each age so gracefully; like a fine wine. You keep getting more beautiful with each day—with each year. I find you more beautiful than I did when I first met you.
You’re my best friend. You understand me and you don’t judge me. You know that I have made mistakes and sometimes slip up every once in a while---but you except that I’m human and always forgive me. You treat me like no one has ever treated me before. No one can fill your shoes. Many people can claim to be your best friend, but when the tough times roll around---they’re gone. After twelve years, we still go out together, laugh together and spend time with friends & family. That’s important to me. You have family values, you love the Lord, and you treasure each moment of life to the fullest.

My three year old niece calls you “Magic”---because she can’t pronounce the name, “Madelene”. People think she’s saying it wrong. I don’t think she is. You are magic; you are everything that’s mystical and unbelievable. You make people happy. You make me happy. We have shared so many good times together. I truly can’t see my life without you. Even when we separated for those few years, we were still together hanging out like best friends. We can’t part. It’s not natural. Our foundation of our relationship is pure friendship. We laugh together all the time and to me---that’s what’s most important. My mother said that if you can laugh with whoever you’re with, then they’re definitely a keeper.

So Magic, happy birthday to you. Thank you for giving me so many years of happiness and joy. Thank you Mima for giving birth to my favorite girl in the world. And thank you God for giving me one of His angels to spend my life with. I’m truly blessed.

Finally found someone, who knocks me off my feet,
I finally found the one, who makes me feel complete.
It started over coffee,
We started off as friends,
Its funny how from simple things,
The best things begin.
This time it's different,
It's all because of you,
It's better than it's ever been,
Cause we can talk it through...
My favorite line,
Was can I call you sometime?
Its all you had to say,
To take my breath away.
This is it,
Oh I finally found someone,
Someone to share my life,
I finally found the one,
To be with everynight
Cause whatever I do, it's just got to be you
My life has just begun,
I finally found someone
Did I keep you waiting?
I didn't mind.
I apologize.
Baby thats fine. I will wait forever just to know you were mine.
You know I love your hair, are you sure it looks right?
I love what you wear, isn't it too tight?
Your exceptional, I cant wait for the rest of my life...
Cause whatever I do, it's just got to be you
Oh my life has just begun...I finally found...someone. ~Bryan Adams & Barbara Streisand I love you... Thank you for coming into my life and making it so much better!

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Last Impressions

You’ve got to be kidding. I mean seriously, why is it whenever you try to go to the grocery store in sweat pants and your hair up in a funky twisty thingie—you bump into that one person you’ve been dreading to see? The one person you don't want to see when your guard is down? I looked like death warmed over sifting through the produce section. Not a pretty sight—I assure you that. And talk about insecurity issues with my previous post. This was bad.

It was her. It was my ex from a long time ago. The last time I had seen her, I made it a point to really put on my best ‘last impression’. I know, I know, first impression is like gold—but just think—the last impression is platinum. Know what I mean?

Anyway, as I was squeezing all the melons in aisle one of the supermarket, I feel someone looking at me. I feel eyes darting my every move; I just felt it. I look over and it’s her. This girl broke my heart years ago, and here she was seeing if it was really me. Oh yeah, it was me alright. I must have had the worst hair day. Hell, I didn’t even do my hair. I just put it up and off I went. The make up situation? None. The outfit? An Adias sweat suit. Hmm…maybe she thought I just got out of the gym? Who knows. I just wanted to drop the melons and run out of there like a bat outa’ hell.

The inevitable happens and our eyes meet. I wish I pretended to not know who she was, but my heart went ~pitter-patter~ and I guess my eyes gave it away. Why would someone from so long ago still have such an affect on me—even though I have no feelings for this woman whatsoever?

“Deb?”
“Hey! How are you?”
I asked, in such a fake ~happy-go-lucky~ voice.
“I’m great! Oh my God, how have you been?” She said. She said she was ‘great’. How can I compete with that?
“Doing good! Doing good! Hanging in there, ya know…” Hanging in there? Did I just tell her that I was hanging on to life by a thread? Did I just reveal that I was absolutely unhappy and miserable without her? Did I just tell her I’m suicidal? No.. I just hate telling people ‘hey I’m doing so wonderful’ and having them feel like their life sucks. But, regardless, I’m still just ‘hanging in there’…We won’t tell her that though. Or wait—I already did.

So this uncomfortable conversation goes on for a few minutes and I am inching my way to the organic section. I guess just to show I was ‘health conscious’ or something. Who knows. My mind does whacky things when I’m in an awkward situation. I didn’t know what to do with my hands other than rub the melon as if it was a crystal ball. What a freak I am.

Now you would think at the first ‘hello’, we would hug each other like long lost friends. No. My body language was like, “Oh no way sister—do. not. touch. me.” Plus, I didn’t want her getting a close up with the awful dry ass skin complexion I had going on. I didn’t even moisturize before leaving the house. I was a wreck. You can tell she noticed the ‘no hug deal'. It was obvious. Her demeanor went down a bit—almost suspiciously down. I didn’t care. She wasn’t touching me and that was that.

“Well, I have to go—but it was so nice to see you!” I said, still holding tightly to my melon so no hug would come flying through.
“Same here…same here, Deb.” She said, in this low tone as she stared at me with a prolonged smile. No—it was disturbing. Can I look away now? Is she done staring? Great, my last impression looks like I just rolled out of bed. I could have been friendlier, but I couldn’t stop thinking how awful I appeared to her. See what I mean? I know I can speak for a lot of people when I say we are so fricken concerned about what others think of us. Imagine approaching that kind of situation not even having a thought of, ‘Eek, she’s gonna see me like this?’

The funny part about this scenario is, this woman has seen me wake up in the morning looking the same as I did today. So why would I care so much? Did I want her to think I look ten times better now that she’s gone? Now that she is completely out of my life? I knew it would happen one day where I bump into her, but in my mind I thought, ‘I’ll be looking my best’. Ha! What a joke. I have to say, God has a great sense of humor.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

What is it about us that make us feel insecure? I’ve had my share of bad hair days and tossing those old jeans aside to sliding into a pair of my ‘fat jeans’ to feel more at ease. Besides, I don’t want to pop a button into someone’s eye. Better safe than sorry. But what happens to our brain when we have this negative dialog with ourselves discussing our need to be beautiful? And when we’re less than what our brain ‘thinks’ should be beautiful—we end up in a depressive state of mind.

Now each morning when I get out of the shower, I have this awful full length mirror. Oh yeah—that thing needs to go ASAP! This thing has been up on that wall for years. I don’t know why I don’t get rid of it; maybe it prevents me from grabbing just one more bite of that delicious pasta. Who knows. Anyway, this mirror must have been stolen from a circus because it literally shrinks and widens your body. Then again, maybe I’m the one with the distorted body image and I really look like that. (I’m starting to depress myself now.) I know when I walk into the bedroom mirror, it’s back to normal. Or is it?

What do you see when you look in the mirror? Are you completely happy gazing into that reflective wall? Or do you say to yourself, “Hmm, probably need to dye the hair tomorrow and use some more anti-aging cream?” Think about this, what makes us have ‘fat days’ and ‘skinny days’? Leave out the retaining water issue ladies—believe me, no stranger to that concept!

I have friends who are no more than 115 lbs complaining about their weight. They complain that they’re too fat. God forbid if they jump into an extra size which would knock them up into a size four! Seriously, this is how people get anorexic; a distorted image that they create themselves.

And yes, you can say that the media has something to do with it and that they only focus on women who are size five and below. Fine. Do that. But even if the media decided to focus on heavier women---our brains still go into a conflicting dialog mode. “Well her face is so pretty.” Then it’ll be the face and hair. It never ever ends. I think some of us love the self-torture we put ourselves through. I do it all the time. I see my beautiful friends struggle with this issue as well, and I’m like, “Why???” I have three beautiful sisters that are all considered ‘model beautiful’---and no---I’m not being bias because they’re my sisters---they are that beautiful. They all complain about weight and what color to dye their hair next.

The other day I was in serious PMS mode. My lower stomach looked as though I had a bun in the oven. Oh my sweet Lord—I’m going to be buying moo moos on my next shopping spree! I felt depressed and anxious about it and went into a diet frenzy which consisted of beer and pizza. Lovely. After my huge PMS depression and raging outbursts, the next day I discovered that all that water retention had gone down. (Well somewhat.) And then the worst thing for me to watch is those diet commercials. How awful are they? They first show a girl in a bikini in her ‘before picture’ where cellulite is hanging off every inch of her---to her ‘after picture’ where she has a toned body with six pack abs. I immediately look at my keg—and think, “Oh my God, I need to call Jenny Craig!”

The best is that one commercial advertising their weight loss pill-- “Are you trying to get rid of stubborn belly fat? Studies show that it’s not your fault for gaining weight. It’s the excess cortisol that keeps you overweight, tired and thick around the middle.”

No---it can’t be the extra slice of pizza and Ben & Jerry’s every evening—can it?

But seriously, I think the sexiest quality of a woman is how she carries herself. Just look at Mandisa from American Idol. Even though she’s plus size woman, she carries herself so beautifully. Her face is amazing and her attitude and demeanor is absolutely stunning. Paula Abdul told her she had the perfect face. Of course Simon made that awful remark that she needed a bigger stage—but in my opinion, that alone stems from insecurity.

When someone puts you down, or tries to make you feel bad about yourself—whether it’s looks or anything regarding your life; that all stems from a self-esteem problem on their part. It can get really ugly if someone is really insecure, because they’ll take it out on someone else; whether it be putting someone else down or insulting them to no end. It’s sad to see that, because not only does the person who’s getting hurt feel bad, but usually the one who dishes out the insulting words feels the impact and regret later on.

Do we need to put others down in order to make ourselves feel good? No. Can we uplift someone else’s spirits with positive words and reinforcement? It can’t hurt.

Do this little test and be honest with yourself. Picture yourself walking into a crowded room full of people you know and love. But---picture yourself being one of your friends & loved ones watching you walk in. What thoughts go through your mind as you see yourself walking through the door? Do you think, “Oh wow, she looks great in that dress”, or “Oh wow he looks great in that suit?” Do you find yourself admiring your own appearance? Or do you pick out every little unseen flaw? Out of curiosity, I would love to know what your dialog in your head is like. Be honest though!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Doc! Give Me a Sex Change!

You men have it so easy.

What a rough couple of days. It’s been just horrific. Guys, if you don’t wish to read this due to feminine problems and what notplease look away!

PMS. Well…actually, why do some of us call it “PMS” when in actuality, we’re speaking of the aftermath of PMS? Get me? Good.

This is the problem. My aftermath of PMS is debilitating. Symptoms range from severe cramping to where I nearly pass out, vomiting, hot and cold flashes and muscle spasms. (I can't forget the awful mood swings!) When I was working at a telecommunications company with Tamar, we both had to be on the phones at all time. It was a call center. Our whole being was monitored by the phone. If we had to get up and go to the bathroom, we would have to log off on “24” to indicate it was a bathroom run. If we had to let them know anything---we had it coded in our phones and they would ‘time’ it. They could see, “Oh Deb has been in the lady’s room for two minutes…” After two minutes, a manager would nonchalantly walk in making believe she had to go—but really checking in to see if you’re smoking a doobie or having sex in a stall. What else would we be doing in there? Come on! (Tamar can back me up on this--they are that strict over there and she still works for them!)

Well, I knew it would be an issue if I had to go to the bathroom, because they would check up on me and see that I was ‘fixing’ things or relaxing on the loo because of my severe cramps. I had to think quick. I had to get out of there and do what my grandma always suggested. The old Italian remedy----a fix of brandy. I needed it. It had to be blackberry brandy; no other would do.

So, I punched out “16” on the phone, which meant ‘offline project’. It basically says that a manager has taken you offline from answering the phones from cranky customers to do a project somewhere.

I grabbed my keys and headed outside to my truck. I drove home, put one of those thermacare pads on my stomach and took a couple of shots of blackberry brandy to feel better. Almost instantaneously, I began to feel calmer and my cramps began to slow down to a dull ache. This I can handle. I decided to wait a few more minutes to relax a little before I went back to work. Technically, I was ‘still there’…still within their building. The funny thing was, when I swipe my id card to get back in, they can totally see what I was up to. I had it all planned out though. I was outside getting air because of my pain. Not home drinking my butt off.

I come back to work and sit back at my desk. My friend Celia that was sitting next to me looked over at me as she was still wrapping things up with a customer. She kept giving me that ‘side look’. I knew she was going to say something after she was done with her call. She was this hotheaded Latina woman who was very nosey. Almost like one of those annoying neighbors that watch your every move and monitors who comes in and out of your house…but this time…it was my cubical.

Oooh, ju know Carol was lookin' for you?” She says to me, anxiously awaiting my response. Carol was the manager back then.
“Oh really? Yeah I was just outside getting some air because I didn’t feel so well.”
“Ju know, your keys weren’t up dare’ where you usually put dem’.”
She says, suggesting that I took a joyride somewhere.
“I know, I had to go to my car to grab my Motrin..” I said, thinking quickly, “I have bad cramps...” I whispered over to her.
“Ohhhhhh….You okay mama?” She said, in her concerned Latina mama voice.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay, I just needed to grab the ibuprofens so I can function.”
“Ju let’ me know if you need anything mamita.”

No one said anything after that because I am sure that Celia had a little meeting with Carol to discuss where I’ve been. At a job that was so structured and monitored every move you made, you really had to think fast and make excuses left and right. They didn’t accept that you ‘had cramps’. Every woman in that call center (which is 98%) has cramps, right?

Fast forward a few years later to yesterday morning. Madelene had the day off to spend with me. I was happy that we were going to have a Tuesday off together. It’s rare, but I was planning to do things with her. We love having a day in the middle of the week off together because everyone is at work, all the shops are all empty, restaurants are less crowded and we can do everything leisurely. It’s a different type of ‘feel’ to it rather than having a typical Saturday or Sunday off.

I woke up and started hallucinating. No—not the LCD type of hallucinations; the type of hallucinations you get when you have an incredible high fever. I was awake, but still dreaming---as well as talking to whoever was in my dream. Scary, huh? I was having a conversation with someone as though there was a ghost in my room. I was fully awake though—yet not.

I finally snapped out of it and crawled to the bathroom as Madelene tried to help me up. My lips were pure white. My eyes were puffy and I had absolutely no strength. What’s going on with me? I was so scared. I seriously thought I was dying. The weird thing was—I wasn’t scared. The sedated feeling made me calm—yet I knew something was so wrong.

I drank some juice to get my glucose up, and I took an iron pill. I thought I was hemorrhaging. I have always have had bad menstrual cycles, but this one takes the cake. I thought I was in trouble until I got my sugar levels back up. I can’t go through this anymore. I have seen doctors to check for cystic ovaries and other things that may cause this to happen. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. Just like what every other doctor of mine says, “Nothing’s wrong…You’re fine.” When I think I’m having a heart attack, the cardiologist says, “You’re okay—healthy as can be!” When I think I’m having an aneurism, the ER doctor says, “Nothing wrong—you’re fine!” I had two masses on my left breast once, and went to the doctor to check it out. He saw it, his nurse saw it, so I had to get a mammogram and an ultrasound. They all said, “You’re fine! Just cystic breasts!” Great. Lumpy breasts---what’s better than that? Either my body is great at hiding things, or these doctors are lazy. Something’s wrong. I swear to God, I told my family that I want a huge plaque on my tombstone that says, “I told you I was sick!!!” They all think I’m a hypochondriac.

You men have it so easy.

Monday, March 13, 2006

What's Your Walk With God Like?

This weekend was great. I got to spend time with my family which is always a fun event. I’m always stuck being the ‘bartender’, because I do that on the side---so it’s always, “Deb! Make us a martini! Deb! Make us a bloody mary! Deb! Deb! Deb!” Thank God I’m not a mechanic, they’d be asking me to fix their cars.

Anyway, after getting my father completely ossified with gin martinis, we started talking about the new restaurant that opened up nearby. My girlfriend Madelene took me there the other night to celebrate the release of my book. The owner knows my father. He stated that ‘they went to school together’. No. Not ‘school’ per se, but the federal pen. Fine. Too much info for me? Maybe. It was nice that Madelene was going to treat me, but after the owner knowing who I was, everything seemed to be ‘whacked’ off the bill.

“Tony asked me sumptin’ de’utha day.” My father says.
“What?”
“He asked if you were one of dose’ Jesus freaks.”
He said, as his eyes were glistening from his second martini.
“A Jesus freak?” I asked, trying to remember if a huge crucifix was dangling around my neck.
“Yeah, he saw da’ fish on your truck.” He says, laughing.
“A fish?” And then I knew what he was talking about. It was the Ichthus which is shaped as a fish to symbolize Jesus.

Before Tony bought the restaurant, it was an Irish/German restaurant and pub. We used to have wild karaoke nights there and spent a lot of late nights there. We used to close the place out. The wait staff all knew us—and one in particular waitress knew that I was gay. She still works there. From what I gathered, Tony is confused with the concept that I’m a Christian, yet I’m a lesbian; which is understandable, because I get questioned a lot about this.

It amazes me that so many people have this assumption that you should be this perfect person if you’re going to worship God. They have this image of perfection in the mind when they hear someone’s of Christian faith. Some people of course, have other views. If we were all perfect, then we wouldn’t need God; we would simply go by our own understanding.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths. ~Proverbs 3:5-6

We’re all God’s children. God doesn’t want us coming to Him like wise men; He wants us to come to Him as ‘children’. He wants us to need Him---not go by our own understanding. The word ‘independent’ is also a negative word. If we are too independent on ourselves—we won’t need the help of God. Those who say they don’t need the help of God may not have enough faith. There lies a whole other situation or maybe a different faith in another religion. There are so many aspects of faith in God; I’m just describing what I feel is faith in Christianity.

It doesn’t bother me when people question my lifestyle and my faith in Jesus. In fact, I welcome all questions. I think it’s great when people are inquisitive. I’m happy to talk about it with them. The thing is, I’m not perfect and I don’t live a perfect life. I stumble a lot of the times. I sometimes lose my temper—and that in itself is sinning. Sometimes I’ll tell a white lie in order to make someone else feel better, or keep something in…which is all about ‘lying’. Again that’s a sin. What about impure thoughts? (raising hand) Yes. I have them all the time. We’re all human. The struggle remains in the concept of the carnal nature vs. the spiritual nature. They’re constantly fighting with one another. Can we try to be perfect? Sure. Are we going to succeed ‘being perfect’? Sadly not. We can’t. We’re human. God knew this, and that’s why He gave us His only son to die on the cross for us; to save us from the worldly sins.

I believe that all of our imperfections are means of spiritual training. The more we go through, the more we know and the more we can help others in their walk with God. Some people feel this tremendous amount of guilt in their lives because of something they did. Let it go, because God did. The reason for this feeling of guilt is to steer you away from God; to make you feel ‘too guilty’ to come to God. Who would want to do that? Satan. He will do anything to try and take you away from God. You will be tested over and over again if you have strong faith.

When your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything. ~James 1:3-4

I know for sure that my faith is going to be tested, especially after my book was just released. There are people in this world who want to take you down a notch or make you believe otherwise. My faith is way too strong—but never say never. The devil is very clever in ways to get you apart from God. I just have to be ready to fight for Him.

Everyone has a calling---and what better way to spread the word? A person who has an imperfect life---me! I believe I was called to speak about God. When people listen to those who claim they are perfect and live a righteous life, you begin to hear people snore. Once there’s a conflict of interest, or a life that is led ‘imperfect’ and with flaws, then people turn around. “Well how can she be a Christian? Isn’t she living in sin?” My question to them is…Aren’t we all living in sin? Whenever we can relate to someone, I think that's when we start listening more.

I assure you of this: If anyone acknowledges me publicly here on earth, I, the Son of Man, will openly acknowledge that person in the presence of God’s angels. ~Luke 12:8

If you have faith---speak up. Tell everyone about your faith. Never be ashamed of God and what He has done for you. I'm not talking all 'in your face attitude'---just don't shy away from it if it comes up. Some people who have faith in God are sometimes ashamed to speak about Jesus or feel weird about telling others of how they pray everyday, and how they have a personal relationship with God. Why is this so shameful? Does it make us appear weaker? Does it make us look like less of a person? If anything, I see it as a strong characteristic of a person.

Growing up in an Italian/Catholic household, I was always taught about God, but not in the ways of having a personal relationship with Jesus. I went to Catholic school, received communion, made my confirmation etc. I did the steps of every Catholic. When I turned 23 years old, something different happened to me. I began praying more often and developing a richer relationship with God. I started attending a born again church and every Sunday, Madelene and I would attend service. The messages I got from these services were incredible. The people I met in fellowship were amazing. There was such positive energy in that congregation that I never wanted to leave. We would get there around 9:30 am and leave at 1pm and have lunch.

I also believe that you don’t need to go to church every Sunday like clockwork in order to have a personal relationship with God. That’s something you want to do from your heart. I found it to be helpful being around people who were also believers. I did encounter a few people who had a few words to say to me regarding my lifestyle. “God loves the sinner, but hates the sin.” Meanwhile, back at their cozy ranch, adultery was taking place or some other sin was lurking in their own lives. Judge not. Let God be the only judge. People are so quick to point out every flaw in you. You can’t believe how many people will gossip about one another within the same church. It’s incredible. If you just stay out of that loop—you’ll be fine. Just go there to greet God and receive His message. That’s what I do. I don’t associate myself with the hens of the ministry who are quick to judge; I just rely on treating everyone the way I would want to be treated.

Believe me, I don’t walk around the streets passing out flyers about being a Christian. I’m not ‘in your face’ about my walk with God; I just state my beliefs. People can be so quick to judge you; so quick to say, ”Hey---that’s not what Christians do!” The most important thing God wants us to do is to love one another and treat others with respect. He wants us to forgive—just as He forgave us. He wants us to have an open heart and an open mind. Being too confident, too independent means that you’re relying on your own understanding and not trusting God.

If you’re confused about your faith, just ask Him. Pray to God, and tell Him why you’re confused.

If you need wisdom—if you want to know what God wants you to do—ask him, and he will gladly tell you. He will not resent your asking. ~James 1:5



Get a copy of my book, "A Prayer Away From Healing". It’s a Christian-based inspirational book about my life and how God helped me through certain trials. It deals with break ups, forgiveness, relationships, anxiety, depression, self-esteem issues and how to love others unconditionally. It shows that even though we will never be perfect; God’s love for us will always be. It focuses on not judging others; to let God be the only judge. To get an e-book or a hard cover, please visit this site, go to the online bookstore and type in, “A Prayer Away From Healing” to get your copy!

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Wired On Espresso


“Would you like any dessert?” The waitress said as she displayed an array of delicious evils in front of our faces.
“Just an espresso and Sambuca on the side for me.” I replied.
“Me too, I’ll have the same.” My girlfriend said, as she glanced at me with approval. She usually never attempts to drink espresso at night or after dinner—or at all. She’s more of a ~cream and sugar in my diluted java~ type of gal.

The waitress came back over with our espressos and Sambuca. The espressos had a twist of lemon on the side. I always throw that in, and pour the Sambuca in for the sweetness.

“Why would they put lemon in coffee?” Madelene says, as she threw in her lemon twist. She’s not used to drinking this, so I knew I was in for it. She’s going to be bouncing off the walls and up all night after drinking this little shot-like size of coffee.

Once we came home, we were talking nonstop. We went from religion, politics to what’s going to happen on the next episode of “The L Word”. We discussed the new Soprano’s premier for Sunday night and bantered about other things that lingered in the air. The discussions were quite interesting and we were up all night back and forth with ideas. She’s also helping me with ideas for my second book that I’m currently writing. Her input is very valuable to me--I love to pick her brain. Her intelligence goes way beyond book smarts; she has this ability to understand ‘life’ in a way that amazes me. I believe she gets her wisdom from having faith in God. It’s a whole different type of ‘smarts’---it’s wisdom that comes from God. To me, worldly knowledge only gets you so far. I think that’s why I love her so much.

To my surprise, Madelene got very tired. She headed into the bedroom to retire, while I stayed up watching a little television. Before I knew it, it was approaching 5am. I was still wired from all the caffeine that was running through my veins. I couldn’t believe that the espresso had taken on a different approach---it got me instead of her. I couldn’t even shut my eyes; it was as if they were stuck open.

I looked outside to watch the sunrise, and saw something unusual. I know we have been having this weird weather, where it’ll be 10 degrees one day, and then 70 degrees the next; which creates a lot of high gusty winds. I had to step out on my deck to see what was happening. I heard a strange wind-like noise and saw the clouds moving in. This one cloud was doing something very peculiar. It was forming into a small twister. Or was it small? There were no storms, nor were there any other clouds other than what were forming around the sunrise.

Check this picture out.

At first it was just a big puffy cloud in the sky. Then the winds kicked up a little, and the cloud made this finger point-like transformation that simulated a twister---without the dangerous effects. I’m kind of glad I got to stay up to watch this beautiful view. I'm also glad it didn't turn out to be a full-fledged tornado.

Get a copy of my book, "A Prayer Away From Healing". It’s a Christian-based inspirational book about my life and how God helped me through certain trials. It deals with break ups, forgiveness, relationships, anxiety, depression, self-esteem issues and how to love others unconditionally. It shows that even though we will never be perfect; God’s love for us will always be. It focuses on not judging others; to let God be the only judge. To get an e-book or a hard cover, please visit this site, go to the online bookstore and type in, “A Prayer Away From Healing” to get your copy!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Apiphobia and Alcoholics Anonymous

The smell of spring is in the air. What does that mean to me? The fear of summer soon lurks around the corner. What does that mean in general? Bees. Now, I went over to Bossy Britches, who inspired me to write this post. If you all haven’t visited this unique blog, you should take a gander. It revolves around bees. What does this mean for me? I will still read it, but with EpiPen in hand.

Here’s the deal… I have manias. I have so many phobias and disorders to make your head spin. I’m okay with it, I just need a little help now and then. Meds come in handy, and alcohol comes in daily.

I know, you’re thinking to yourself that I am allergic to bee stings. No. Not to my knowledge. See, the mere thought of one of these ugly creatures inserting their stinger in me makes me cringe and fear for my life. You hear about these people who have never been allergic to bees all their life—until one day, one particular bee gives them that ‘deadly sting’. They blow up like a fricken tick and die. Yes, die in some cases. If you have EpiPen handy, at least you get a fifteen minute head start to the emergency room. Ah summertime. It feels so good to even write it. The warm breezes, the sultry air, the hot sun making your skin feel nice and warm and laying out by the poolside drinking a pina colada. What’s better than that? For me? Summer nights. Summer nights mean no bees are out. That’s when I come out. I hardly sit outside by my pool, because they all swarm near me. And no—I do not have a bee problem at my house. It’s just ‘me’…I swear. When my friends or my sisters come over the house, they all gather around the pool and relax. Not ONE bee crosses their path. As soon as I make my way outside to join them, I am covered with them.

Conclusion? My name is “Debra”. What does that mean? “Debra” means “queen bee”. I am not lying to you. I seriously think there’s something to this theory. Here’s the funny part about it, these bees that swarm around me never, ever sting me. They just want to sit on me and relax. Yes, at night I do wear perfumes and hairspray, but during the day if I am going to be sunbathing, I take a shower & wash my hair. They still flock to me. It never fails. Then I end up running away from them like a fricken mental patient. People laugh at me.

Quick story… I was working for the phone company a few years back in their call center. The company wanted me to ride with one of their technicians, so I can see the technicalities that go into installing phone line. Fine. Whatever. It gets me out of that awful cubical and into the fresh air. I was happy about this. The day was perfect. It was 80 degrees, sunny and not a cloud in the sky. Problem? A bee flew into the window of the utility van that we were driving in. I started screaming and swatting my hands in the air. I told to the technician to stop the van. He did. I ran outside so fast, and that bee was still following me—I kid you not. The technician looked at me as though I had severe mental problems. Well…yeah, but we won’t say anything.

Second quick story…I went to a winery with my mother and sister one Sunday afternoon. It was close to 85 degrees—again it was bright and sunny with no clouds to be seen. They had this pavilion outside full of tables and chairs. In the front, they had people stomping grapes with their bare feet for fun. It was a contest to see who can make more grape juice. It was cute; mostly kids were participating. I was enjoying myself and the wine--very much. We had fun…until I saw the swarm. There were a million yellow jackets surrounding the garbage cans which surrounded each side of the pavilion. Great. I’m going to need a beekeeper’s suit to get the hell outa’ here! I started to panic. I knew they would detect me. Their radars would soon find me and then make their attack. I gulped my wine faster and asked my mother and sister if they would like to take a tour inside the winery itself to see how it’s made. Oh no. They wanted to sit outside and enjoy the show. I had to confess and let them know that I was having a severe anxiety attack, and that I would wait for them inside. I ran... I ran fast. I stayed inside for an hour by myself sipping wines---and not spitting them out. (For those that aren’t familiar with wine tasting—you “should” spit out the wine when you're tasting; or you’ll get hammered of course.)

Hammered, plastered, ossified, intoxicated, piss-ass drunk, three sheets to the wind---they had to carry me out. My mother wasn’t so stable herself. She was hysterically laughing at me; more about my fear of bees than my blood levels. I even bumped into Jeff Daniels (the actor) who advised me to try the Riesling. I told him it tastes like 7Up and walked away—not recognizing him due to my inability to comprehend anything that was going on around me. And, he’s one of my favorite actors. How could I not recognize him?

Do I blame this on my fear of bees? Or do I simply call AA ASAP? Hard call. I guess for the meantime, I’ll have to place the blame on my apiphobia.



“A Prayer Away From Healing” is a book I just published. It’s a Christian-based inspirational book about my life and how God helped me through certain trials. It deals with break ups, forgiveness, relationships, anxiety, depression, self-esteem issues and how to love others unconditionally. It shows that even though we will never be perfect; God’s love for us will always be. It focuses on not judging others; to let God be the only judge. To get an e-book or a hard cover, please visit this site, go to the online bookstore and type in, “A Prayer Away From Healing” to get your copy!

I'm Out!



Finally! It’s out there! I’m out there! My book is officially available online as an e-book, and in two weeks, it will be available hard cover. Right now, it is listed on this site. In one week, it will be on Amazon.com. The Amazon.com button will be listed on my sidebar soon. It took some time, but it was well worth it.

Short post, I know—but I’m going out to celebrate. Yes it’s not even noon yet. I’m heading out!

Interested? Just click here to get your copy. Just go to the 'bookstore' and hit "A Prayer Away From Healing", and you'll see my book for sale.


After reading all of your comments on this post, I decided to add on to this. Yes, there is an excerpt of my book on that website, but I wanted to give you an idea of what this book is about.

A reader of my blog said, “Well, I’m not gay, and my life is pretty good, so I don’t need to read it.” It has nothing to do with being gay. My life does. This book is in the ‘gay and lesbian’ section, but it’s also in the Christianity/Self Help/Inspirational sections as well. It focuses on sin; and how we all have sin in our lives. Through faith and having a personal relationship with Jesus is an important step in order to accept yourself; as well as accepting others.

There are many chapters that deal with a hard break up I went through, and how God helped me through it. It speaks about forgiveness, and that you don't have to be 'perfect' in order to be a good person. God knows I'm not perfect. But being good to one another and treating people with respect is important. Our carnal nature constantly battles with our spiritual nature. It’s an ongoing war.

It shows that a sin is a sin. Gossip, white lies, adultery, an impure thought, eating shellfish and marine animals, premarital sex as well as homosexuality are all to be sins. We all fall short. Do you think God’s plan is to put us all in hell? Of course not, that’s why He brought His only son Jesus on this earth to save us. Through believing in Christ; we’re all saved. The worse sin in the bible is to not love God with all your heart. There are other aspects of this book too. It speaks on issues of fear of abandonment, depression & anxiety, low self-esteem and how to discover your inner beauty as well as discover the beauty in others. It shows how each and every person is so unique; much like a flower in a garden. There is a section that speaks about religions and "my beliefs and/or opinions" about them. Example: People who rely on the “Universe”. Well, who made the universe? I even have a scripture that helps to understand this debate. It’s very interesting.

I have even had spiritual experiences where I have spoken to God; seen God. I couldn’t even handle it---it was that strong. This is why my belief in God is so strong. Not only did I have blind faith, but He has shown Himself to me. This is one of the biggest reasons why I wrote this book. I wasn’t supposed to keep this to myself. The main main theme? Judging. People judge. It's normal. But God should be the only judge. If we rely on people alone, we will always be disappointed. If we trust in God more, we will be happier in general, and have more confidence about ourselves. I use biblical scriptures to speak about each trial I went through. I use them because I interpreted for my own issues. I'm not throwing scriptures out on you---not bible thumping here---I just use them for 'my life struggles' and how these certain passages helped me through an awful depression. I was practically suicidal. Becca has read the book. I'm glad you liked it Becca--and I hope it helped you. Anyone who has experienced a painful break up or even the death of a loved one---this book will benefit you. I know it will. It was healing for me to even write it.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Walmart Sexual Harrassment...Or Not?

Let’s get one thing straight. Just because I am fixated on Walmart this week, does not mean I am white trash, that I live among a village of a million trailers, or that I wear tongs while in a sundress drinking Bush beer. I do not trade blooming onion recipes with Olga next door, nor do I have pink flamingos poked in various spots of my lawn.

We cool?

Okay.

Oh who am I kidding? I’m wearing big ol’ flip-flops now hanging out in my ripped Harley Davidson shirt (with no Harley in the driveway) sipping on some moonshine early in the a.m. hours. Lovely, right?

Shall we go on?

So, my sister calls me up. No no no, this is not a repeat of the previous blog. Listen. My oldest sister Dawn called me the other day explaining her experience in Walmart this past Sunday. She tried to pull it off as Nordstrom's, but I caught her bluff.

Dawn made her way into that big foyer where you have to get your shopping cart. There’s usually an older man waiting there to get it for you. He’s the same guy that checks your receipts when you walk back out too--usually with that stench of liquor on his breath. I doubt he’s going to know that it’s a receipt from Winn Dixie. Okay, I lied; I don’t have a Winn Dixie here in New York. Let’s just move on. As my sister walks into the foyer to get her shopping cart, the little old man walks over to her and hugs her. No, you read that right. He hugged her. Now, you all have to understand that my sister Dawn is this really nice, outgoing and loving person, so she hugged him back ‘to be nice’. I believe she may have chuckled while doing this, but nevertheless, she hugged him back.

In the midst of this hug, he grabbed her left breast. Was this a mistake? Did his smock get all entangled up with her shirt? Or was this indeed, a grope? I think she was a bit shocked by it all, but had a really good chuckle about it. She didn’t go to a manager, because she felt bad for the guy. He wasn’t mentally retarded or anything—he was just a little slow. You can tell he had a few problems upstairs.

Now, my sister is a good person. She would hate to have this guy fired or get him in trouble, so she decided to do nothing. My question is, what if he does this to another woman who isn’t so nice—who isn’t that understanding? Let’s say he gets a woman who is ‘sue happy’; especially in a Walmart chain? This guy would definitely get the boot. Hard call? It’s tough to say.

This just reminds me of when I used to work with Dawn in this medical firm when I just got out of school. I used to work in their ‘fulfillment department’, which basically means, a really nice ~one woman warehouse~ of the medical firm. I distributed medical books and little medical pocket computers. Shush—I've had worse jobs!

Anyway, I correlated with the mailroom a lot, because they handled most of my shipping and supplied me with boxes I needed. There was a guy named John who worked there who was a bit ‘slow’. Again, not mentally retarded, but just enough so that you knew something didn’t tick right up there. He was very nice, and tried with all his heart to make me laugh. A few inappropriate words would fly out of his mouth, and then he would stutter his apology, in hopes that you wouldn’t slap him across his face.

I have too much tolerance for people. All my life, I would let things slide, because people are just strange. Now don’t get this confused with being ‘walked over’ or someone to get over on----I just accepted people for who they are. If something stupid was said, I’d brush it off. It depends on the person too. A lot of discernment goes into whether or not I get pissed off for good reason.

So, this guy Jon kept up with his little dirty jokes. Okay, I can handle a dirty joke here and there. Fine. Whatever. It got to the point where it was just downright nasty. Saying words I wouldn’t even blurb out to my worst enemy. Yeah, all of that---the “C” word and the “F” word and so on. Finally, I just said, “John, knock it off, you’re getting me upset.” Then he would apologize. A few days later, he would forget and it was back to saying, “John, knock it off, you’re getting me upset.” This went on like a vicious psychotic cycle.

He never made me feel threatened; he just wanted to be funny in his own sick way. I dealt with his disgusting blabber for approximately one year. When I left, I just knew God would handle it somehow. Let it go. Let someone else handle this. So, I spoke to him about it---but only him. I explained that if he were to say this to any of the other co-workers or the next person who filled my position, that he would get fired and possibly sued for sexual harassment. Hopefully he listened to me. Hopefully he didn’t forget.

How do you handle a situation where the person is just acting on basic instinct? Also, what if the person is ‘slow’, or ‘mentally retarded’? They really don’t know they’re doing anything wrong. The sad thing is, one day they’re going to get fired and the company is going to get sued with a huge lawsuit.

What do you think?