Living Proof

Another editing blunder? Editing has the same letters as dieting. They both suck. Just when I thought my book was on the press, my editor calls me up to explain that there were formatting errors. Okay, so it wasn’t an editorial blunder, it was a formatting issue. Fine. Eight whole hours fixing corrections, and another eight long hours of Madelene proof reading was another fiasco. Don’t editors do these things? They want approval from the author. Go with it! Take it—leave me alone now! I was getting so frustrated that I almost said, “Listen, I’ll just blog the fricken book.” I decided not to get upset or angry, and let these agitated feelings subside. I sent the book on its way to my editor for the final revisions that needed to be fixed. I said a prayer and let the book fly. Yesterday, at 1pm, I decided that my day is officially over. “Ma? Let’s go out to lunch, my treat.” “Really? Great. Come down in an hour or so.” We headed off to the place I used to bartend at. We sat down at the b

Even as a child, I always created music. I picked up my sister’s big acoustic guitar, and started strumming a bunch of nothingness at the age of four. When I started going to school, I dabbled into other instruments, playing saxophone, keyboards and then eventually the drums. I was in the school band, playing my saxophone by ear. I couldn’t read music. It was all Greek to me. My love was the guitar. My mother always bought me those little toy guitars, but I always broke them in half somehow, and begged for another one. I was more interested in an electric guitar back then. I was ten years old at the time. One Christmas morning, my mother brought out this huge box wrapped up in a red bow. It was my very first guitar. Then she came out with another big box, which was the amplifier. That was it! I didn’t want to open another present. I rushed to the outlet to plug this thing in, and started playing horrible music. I remember my sisters all looking over and hearing their thoughts ---“Ugh,

This time of year, my girlfriend and I enjoy spending a weekend in Manhattan. We love to go shopping, dine out and of course, see the Christmas tree. I know, it’s so ‘touristy’ of us to do that as ‘New Yorkers’, but there’s nothing like being among people who are in the holiday spirit. There’s something magical about it. This year, we won’t be going. It’s mostly on my part. My fear has increased with each news broadcast I see. A few weeks ago, al-Qaida had blown up two Baghdad hotels. They were all suicide bombers in vehicles. Their mission is to kill all westerners—mostly American journalists. They ended up killing Iraqi civilians. They’re taking the risk of killing themselves, as well as their own people. What about New York? All it takes is a truckload of explosives to take down one hotel. They proved that in Iraq already. They have such hatred towards Americans. They claim that their God wants them to do this; to fight against anyone who is not Muslim. Their God wants them to commi

Well, I think I gained back the seven pounds that I lost from dieting. If any day will due that, Thanksgiving Day will. It’s one of my favorite holidays. Whether I’m surrounded by my entire family, or just spending it alone with Madelene, it has to be the best holiday ever. It’s about being thankful, and of course—giving. This year, Madelene and I stayed home. We sometimes share it with my family, or we go to her family’s house. We stayed home last year, and realized how relaxing it was to just stay home by ourselves, cook and enjoy each other’s company without leaving to go anywhere. Yesterday morning, I woke up at 8am to put the turkey in the oven. As I walked over to the window, I noticed it had snowed. It looked so beautiful. It felt like an official holiday—it set the scenery. The mountains were capped off with snow, my lawn was covered with a thin layer, and my deck was covered in a soft white blanket. I took in the beautiful view for a while, because I knew it would melt off as

I don’t know why this is pissing me off now, but I’m sitting here this morning stewing over it. My hair has always been long. (I’ll get to the point—just bear with me) My hair has now reached down to my waist. It’s too long. I usually get it trimmed, so that it reaches the middle of my back. I’m comfortable with that. The ‘getting ready’ process is just God awful. It sometimes takes me literally two hours to get ready. One hour to get dressed, put on make up, and one hour to dry my hair. I’m due for a haircut, as you can imagine. I usually go to my friend’s salon. Now, usually I prefer people to do my hair- who have ‘nice hair’. It’s the same anywhere, you wouldn’t get a personal trainer who never worked out, who’s overweight and only ate donuts, would you? Same concept. My hair is usually cut by this woman named Tammy. Now Tammy isn’t quite the typical person you would find at this ‘foo foo’ salon. She looks like a fricken mountain woman. Her hair is almost down to her thigh midway

“She totally reminds me of Benny Hill running around like a chicken with its head cut off---look at her!” I said, laughing at Katie, the bartender at our favorite restaurant. She was filling up a million drinks and shaking martinis by the second. She was incredible to watch. This woman had talent. Madelene and I were the only ones sitting at this huge bar. There were a few parties going on at this restaurant, so our bartender was extremely busy making drinks for tons of people other than her own bar. “Whatsa’ matta witchoo? You gonna work here, you needa’to be a fasta! You dink’it’s busy now? Wait until a’Christmas, wait until a’New Year’s—you see---you need to be fasta’!!!” Tony, the owner yelled out from the kitchen doors with his thick Italian accent. Katie started fumbling. The pressure was on. She needed to be much faster than a Benny Hill episode on crack. Katie started dropping glasses. She cut herself in the process. “Katie? Are you okay?” I asked. “Uhhh…He’s relentless, Deb.

In my own backyard, dozens of white supremacists gathered in the streets of Kingston, NY to display their hatred. They greatly outnumbered the people who were against the rally. White men dressed in Nazi uniforms stood stance, as if they were hailing Hitler with their stiff Nazi salute. Tons of people holding picket signs on one side of the rally and spewing racial slurs into megaphones screaming, “Equal rights for whites!” and “90% of crime are committed by blacks!” The other side chanted out, “Racists have got to go. Hey, hey, ho, ho!” The counter demonstrators were full of white, black and mixed races, all united to stand as “one” to demonstrate against these white supremacists. Two hundred police in riot gear were sprawled out everywhere, while other uniformed police officers were riding on horses, in case violence struck out. These types of things don’t happen in upstate New York. (So I thought.) This was the same type of rally that took place in Toledo, Ohio not too long ago.

Black coffee, an inhaler, cough syrup with codeine and occasionally steroids, can be on my table usually in the winter months. This time of year gives me anxiety. I usually find myself waking up with croup cough and an asthma attack in the middle of the night. Madelene then rushes me to the ER. On the way up to the hospital, it usually clears out due to the cold air. I’m not sure why this happens, but it’s typical of asthma patients and people who suffer from chronic bronchitis. Forced air heating systems and smoke, usually cause me to have these attacks. Madelene and I both share a house with my parents. We live upstairs, in a separate apartment which is very spacious, and my parents reside downstairs… Both my mother and father smoke. My father is more like a chain smoker. Even though doors are closed and we are very separate from being near them, the smoke will flow through the air ducts and/or doors, making me cough my lungs out. On top of that, we have vents that shoot out hot air-

Yes, it does mean what it appears to be, but more so in a diagnostic way. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a form of extreme mood cycles that usually strikes most people in the winter season. The day is shorter, leaving us with little time for sunlight—which is essential for our source of vitamin D. Ultra-violet rays gives us that vitamin D to give us that ‘happy feeling’… I usually hide out in my gym this time of year, and use their tanning beds. That helps a great deal---it’s the same as being out in the sun for fifteen minutes. People actually go out and purchase one of those florescent lights especially made for that purpose. People will sit in front of it to feel its affects. I felt the affects of SAD yesterday. So not only do I have OCD, ADD, & PMS, I now have SAD… Anyway, it was such a dreary day. The rain was nonstop, and the atmosphere was gloomy. I couldn’t focus on my work, and ended the day at 3pm. I grabbed a nice cup of green tea, jumped into a pair of oversized s

Little by little, I am starting to understand why things happen. It could be from losing a job, and finding out there’s a better one to follow—to a break up, and realizing it wasn’t for the best. “Oh everything happens for a reason…” I’ve heard that so many times. I’ve said it so many times. After some time elapses from the sad event of losing a job, a lover, or a friend, it’s important to look at the ‘big picture’. Was this person or job taking away the quality of your life? Did that person have negative impacts on you? And a *personal* one of mine--- did this person take you away from “God”. I’ve been in relationships where my primary focus was on ‘her’. I woke up, thought about her; tried to make her happy in every way. I spent time, money and energy on her. I didn’t have time for “God”. The chemistry is what makes you run back for more—but, remember-- emotion eventually leads to commotion… I finally became a very miserable person, resenting everyone around me, when I was the bl

This isn’t good. The day has to get better. I’m not off to a good start. Madelene wakes up, and starts getting ready before I do. She always turns on the TV in our bedroom to see the weather forecast, even though she saw it on the ten o’clock news the night before. Fine. Anytime she touches this TV we have, something goes wrong. We recently purchased two TVs, one in the bedroom which is a liquid flat screen TV, and one TV in the living room- which is a 48 inch flat screen plasma. These TVs do not make any sound when you turn them on or off. Just ~poof~, and it’s off. They’re very silent that way—even while changing channels. For some odd reason, when Madelene touches these TVs, something goes wacky. This morning, the sound went off. I tried fiddling with the options, and nothing. I tried turning it on, then off, then back on—and nothing. I finally waited five minutes, turned it back on again, and voila ---there it was---sound and all! Madelene leaves, and then I head into the bathroom

Enjoying my morning coffee while vacationing, I read an article in the local newspaper that I found interesting... In Beijing China, a chimpanzee developed a smoking habit. No—true story… At the Qinling Safari Park in the late 1980’s, Ai Ai, (the chimp) began picking up cigarette butts left by the people who passed by. Realizing that the chimp was sucking on these cigarette butts, the zookeepers started giving cigarettes to Ai Ai—and even lighting them up for her. She then learned how to light the cigarettes up herself, and developed an addiction for nicotine. She was smoking half a pick a day... When the zookeepers realized it was beginning to be a problem, they decided to help her kick the habit. Ai Ai would cause a ruckus in her cage, begging for a cigarette, due to her withdrawals. They even used meat dumplings and music to distract the twenty-six year old chimp from her addiction. I thought that article was fascinating, because it truly tells you how similar we are to these specie

“But you’ll never have a good life if you’re gay, Deb.” “Ma, how can you say that? There are lots of women that have high profile careers, and yet—they’re gay.” “Yeah, but…no one’s going to accept you. What about when you two start living together, and then your neighbors find out? It’s going to be a hard life, just as if you were an interracial couple. They’ll stare and say things.” At first, my mother couldn’t understand my lifestyle. She was scared. She was afraid that my life would be a complete dead end, if I lived with a woman. She wanted to accept me, but her generation looked down upon it. It wasn’t natural. Her dreams for me were quite simple. She wanted me to marry a rich man, and settle down in a huge house, raising kids and being a ‘homemaker’. It’s not that uncommon for my mother’s generation to think this way. They were raised to have this assumption about the gay community. As far as her comment regarding the interracial couples, my parents were raised in a time where p

“Hey, what’s that on your car?” Jay, a coworker of Madelene’s asked. “Oh, that’s the Christian fish, to symbolize Jesus.” “Oh…You’re a Christian?” “Yes, I am!” She said, very happy and excited that someone was interested in her faith. “Eh, Christianity is a bunch of crap! How can you believe in that stuff? How can you be a Christian???” He asked, in a bitter tone. “Well, for me, I live my life for the Lord. It’s my faith that makes me believe.” She responds. Lately, Madelene has been badgered at her place of work for being a Christian. They all know to some extent that Madelene is a lesbian. Her best friend Brian works with her, whom we always have dinner parties with. He brings his wife over, and we all hang out. He accepts Madelene and my relationship, and we respect his relationship. The fact of the matter is, when a woman is known to be a ‘lesbian’ in the workplace, it spreads like wildfire. Madelene came home one night from the dealership, while I was preparing dinner. She l