For a brief time yesterday I had a long, rambling post about a young Mister Flirty McFlirty Pants that tried to pick up on me at the Senior Services Seminar. (Seriously, he did. He even asked me what I was doing after lunch, and mentioned that he "didn't want to go back to his office." wink wink.) I smoothly rebuffed him, and was feeling particularly smug later. You know, the old "awwyeah, I'm such a Hottie Miss McHottie Pants...." sort of thing.

I cracked myself up late last night when I started to think about it.

Umm. Yeah. It was me, a bunch of politicians, several buff highway patrolmen, and six hundred ladies and gents in their seventies and eighties.

Anyway...

I love the ponies. My Grandaddy and Great Uncle also loved the ponies. They attended the Kentucky Derby together every year for nearly thirty years straight.

Here's my picks:

1. Read The Footnotes to win
2. Tapit to place.
3. Smarty Jones to show.

If they put Eddington in the spot that Wimbledon has been scratched from, I'd pick him as a "longshot" winner.

I'm tired, and I've got to catch up on life now.

I still love you. Really.

Later

There are times I try to be "one of the boys". I don't think I'm intentionally trying to do it, but sometimes I find myself fitting in with males a little more easily than females. Example: I love sports, and I think I can hold up my end of any chat about sports. I've also been known to drink, curse like a (nice) sailor, and sweat. (Sidenote: I may sweat, but I never stink. Never. Seriously.)

The thing is, I am most definitely a girlie-girl.

Today I've had my hair done (cute new bangs! color! stripes! it's getting long!), chatted with my hairstylist about men, purchased Love Actually, tampons, cute sandals, and body cream. I've been paranoid because I hadn't heard from Nic about how well I did on the Newsletter. (My silly need for reassurance/affirmation/blah blah blah...) I e-mailed her, she phoned me up, and told me I did a fabulous job, and that it's been sent to the printers for publication. (Yet another bout of self-induced low-self-esteem-paranoia thwarted. Hurrah!) I've chastised myself for eating potato salad for lunch, I've fretted over all the things I've still got to do, and I haven't been able to say no to anyone that's asked me for help.

For the next couple of days I'll be working with the senior citizens at a health conference. I'm doing a favor for a friend who is tight with the Sheriff. She's bringing over all the stuff I'll need (television/tape/brochures/banners/etcetera) so that I can go set up early in the a.m. (No wine for me tonight.) I'm really looking forward to this. Old people love me.

I'll be out of the " internet loop" for the next few days.

I still love you.

*movie haiku

House of Sand and Fog ~
The cherry on top of my
depression sundae

Yeah - well...

Still v. busy, but I like it that way. I am managing to find the time to get my hair done. I'll maintain the dark color, but I think I'm going to get a bold-ish stripe on one side. Conservative retro-punk. Honestly, my hair is the only thing I'm willing to play around with any more.

Look-wise, that is.

*I don't have much blogging material to share. I'm in a blog-rut. I'm just not feeling it, you know??

exhale

I've spent the last couple of days editing and publishing my first newsletter completely on my own. It's nothing spectacular in the grand scheme of things, but it's something that got me out of my "non-techy" comfort zone, and it's something that's made me feel incredibly proud.

I had to read a lot of inspirational stories, and narrow them down to the one's that would be published. I had to take that one step further by editing what these lovely people had to say. How does a person choose whose story of "why they relay" is more important than someone else's? I'm not a writer (although I've always dreamed I could be), but I know fundamentals like ~ if it's got a conversational tone, then it will translate well to folks reading it. (See - if I write to you like we're chatting, then it's easier to keep up with. btw - I'm starved. Could you bring me some pancakes, or bacon?)

Anyway - I've spent a lot of hours working on this baby. I never did get any local volunteers. Maybe it's just not glamorous or sexy enough. Who knows? Perhaps after everyone meets me at the big event they'll want to sign up on the spot. I can be pretty charming in person.

Long story short - I feel wonderful. This is a deeply personal thing for me. It doesn't make my ass look cute. It doesn't line my pockets. It doesn't make me thinner, or younger, or more popular. It makes my heart feel like it could burst (in a good way, not in an "I've got borderline high blood pressure way".)

It makes me feel like the source of global warming, all over again.

I"m going to buy myself a cocktail tomorrow night.

Have a great weekend.

Much Later ~

If the nightingales could sing like you
They'd sing much sweeter than they do
For you brought a new kind of love to me

And if the sandman brought me dreams of you
I'd want to sleep my whole life through
You brought a new kind of love to me

I know that I'm the slave, you're the queen
Still you can understand that underneath it all
You're a maid and I am only a man

I would work and slave the whole day through
If I could hurry home to you
You brought a new kind of love to me


Later~

Back early from charity work. Will continue in the morning. Still busy, though.

Little things make me smile, like my buddy Dev saying I'm a person that rocks (you meant me, right?? See, I AM needy....), having the v. talented Rob list me as a Gleek friend, and these cute knickers.

still busy

I'm going to be in Norfolk today working. Busy, busy, busy.

1. I predicted earlier who I thought would be in the Cup finals. My choice of the team to take possession of the Cup advanced last night. I was tickled to see Belfour and Nieuwendyk have a great game. (I still think it will be the Leafs and the Wings in the Finals. I could easily be wrong.)

2. I'm a little late on the latest meme to spread through the blogosphere, but I'll play:

Nearest book - page 23 - 5th sentence:

"Middlesex" (yes, I'm still reading it. I'm currently only on page 215, but hope to finish one of these days.)

"It spoke to Lefty of jazz-age frivolity, gin cocktails, cigarette girls; it made him slick his hair back with panache... while, out in the yard, Desdemona heard the singing and reacted differently."

3. This one's for the ladies - I got the cutest bathing suit at Target - an Issac Mizrahi hot-pink halter/belted bikini. It was less than $40, and it's v. good quality, and stylish. You don't feel "naked" wearing it, either. Finding a decent bathing suit is the holy grail of summer "outfits".

4. I've said this before, but there are times I still don't know why anyone in their right mind would love me. (No offense.) I'm a "Sally" - a high-maintenance gal who thinks she's low-maintenance. I'm too sentimental - emotional - I cry easily - I'm stubborn - I'm needy ("How do I look? Did that thing I wrote sound stupid? Did I come across as intelligent?" blah blah blah....). I'm not a Maxim girl. (Meaning: I'm not 21, and I haven't had anything surgically enhanced on my body.)

Yet....

I am sentimental, and I can be the most thoughtful person you'd ever know. I have a great sense of humor, I'm supportive, I love to cook, and I adore sports. I am v. comfortable at Home Depot, I love yard work, and I can "fix" things. I don't think I look all that bad naked, either. (Sidenote: Honestly, I feel more comfortable in my skin than I did when I was 21, and I will probably never get anything "done" on my body - not that there's anything wrong with that.) I also love other things that I won't mention here. I suppose the most important thing is that I'm a decent, intelligent, loving human being. I am not perfect. I have many faults - things I won't share - which will prompt me to go through this stupid mental exercise. I am a real piece of work 'eh?

5. Speaking of love, when he's not in jail, he's a great writer who happens to have a passion for baseball. Dev's got his Dallas Baseball website up-and-running. Go visit him - he's swell.

Later~

I now have every single one of these songs stuck in my head. Yikes.

welcome, fans of disney

I'm v. busy, but I wanted to take a moment to say a couple of things.

It's always nice when someone says something positive about something you've shared. This blog is just a tiny piece of who I am. Really. I don't share a lot of personal info. A bad word of two may find their way into a post from time-to-time, but this blog really hasn't ever been intended for a young audience. (Sidenote: I'll also talk about the cute knickers I buy, and other possibly PG-13 type stuff.) It can be v. boring around here sometimes, but I am what I am.

I think the best writing anyone ever does is when they talk about something they are passionate about. At the moment I'm passionate about working with the Cancer Society. Talking about it on this blog, along with the other more personal stuff, may find some visitors becoming offended by "crossover" material. I know, I know - this is just my stupid little blog, but it's kind of unnerving when you think a child may click onto this link, and then read posts like the one I made yesterday. I'm probably overanylzing again.

No one forces me to keep a blog. Sometimes I'm not really sure why I still do it. I'll use it to share stories about the things that inspire me, such as music, the charity work I do, cooking, a movie I've seen that I enjoy, or my absolute new favorite lipgloss. Sometimes I'll use the blog to vent, and the comments that come from lovely readers have helped me on bad days. I'm fairly cynical about the "internet void", but I also know that I've made some great friends out there in cyberspace. I'll always prefer being with people live-and-in-person, but I also enjoy getting a glimpse into others lives around the world. (I'm a touchy-feely type. I like to look a person in the eye. I can't help it.)

So - if you're here because you are a fan of Disney, I just wanted to say that I'm a fan, too. I've got a real soft spot in my heart for Woody, and Tigger, and Tinkerbell. If you are a child, you should probably go visit Disney.Com. If you are an adult - like I said earlier - this is just a tiny piece of me.

Hi. How're you doing?

roll with it, baby

 

The last morning I was there - in my old bed - I woke up around 3:00 a.m. to the pitiful wail of a cat in heat. The cat was directly under my childhood bedroom window.

"Mrworrroooownnnn...."

I put my head under the pillow. I hadn't had a decent nights sleep in nearly a week, and I knew I wouldn't be getting one until I was back in my own bed.

A tomcat chattily answered. I imagined it's reply - in human language - to be something along the lines of "... sorry, kitty. I can't make you purr right now. I've had a rough day."

I was tired, and sad, and ready to leave. The Mother had been in rare form ~ "Don't worry - I'm going to bed. You don't have to speak to me. I did my best raising you. I know you hate me...." blah blah blah. My Brother Tim was also home, visiting. He'd driven me nuts as well. He's just like The Mother in one big way. He's impressed by superficial shit. The first thing he said to me when he saw me was, "Wow, Kelly. You look great. You look fit, your hair looks nice, you're so tan. What are you driving now? Then he started in on the rapid-fire "Fletch" quotes.

Grreat.

For the remainder of the time I was there I'd given him my best Southpark "Timmayy..." every time I'd see him. He'd laugh way too hard.

(Sidestory: One of the great things about being away was the vacation time from the 'net. Look, I know it's a necessary evil. It's how most people communicate, but I loved not checking my e-mail. By-the-way - if you sent me an e-mail over the past week+ and you read this blog, you now know that I was not ignoring you. I'm hoping to have some time available to get caught up soon.)

Lots of miles. Lots of smiles, laughs, and tears.

         
Yours truly with dear old friends, cry-laughing, and drinking way too much.

My friend Lori (the one next to me in the pic on the left) will be moving to Atlanta in the next month or so. She wants everyone to rent a house on the beach in Destin sometime later this summer. I started to cry, and told her - everyone - how much I'd missed them. I explained how different things were, and that we were so lucky to have had such a tight-knit group of friends. The kind of friends you can call up at 10:00 p.m. on a week night when you've run out of wine. You could walk over to their house in your pajamas, get another bottle, and tell them how fucking awful the day had been. You could say "fucking", and they wouldn't think twice. You could talk about vibrators without getting embarrassed. You could talk about anything. I apologized for taking their friendship for granted. They let me know everything was o.k. They let me know how much better I looked. The last time they saw me I was too thin. I was too everything, really.

Backtracking ~ I cried from the moment I crossed the state line. I knew I missed home, but I didn't know how much. I hate to come across as some flaming homer, but I love Texas. I love the people there. It was so sweet to see the faces of people I love light up with smiles when they saw me. My Father's laughter was music to my ears. I inhaled the scent of burning mesquite wood somewhere along I-20, and I cried. I saw bluebonnets in bloom, and I cried. I listened to KEOM, Mesquite Public Schools Radio, and I cried. I heard an ad for Jim Adler, and I cried.

I ate Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream, and I was in heaven.

I ate good Tex-Mex, and I was in heaven.

Then I drove home*.

Somewhere near Meridian, Mississippi, the exhaustion really kicked in. I was loopy-tired. I'd been listening to c.d.'s for the most part, but I needed to listen to someone talk, so I searched for a station.

The next thing I know I'm sobbing over a Hoobastank song. WTF? I'm far too old for this. I pop in my Marvin Gaye c.d., and I'm crying again. I was tired-loopy, and emotional. What a combo.

I stopped, got my first (and only) Red Bull of the trip, and continued the journey back to the Beach - after spending the night in Atlanta. (Sidestory: I've got a bit of a lead-foot, and I knew the free happy hour at the Embassy Suites would be over at 7:30 p.m. I managed to get there at 6:30 p.m. I sat in the lobby with my glass of wine, and watched an older-ish couple standing in line to get a drink at the bar. He was wearing a white polo shirt, and khaki shorts. They didn't speak, but I watched her lovingly smooth the back of his shirt with her hand. It was such a sweet unspoken gesture. Of course I got tears in my eyes.)

I've had lots of time to think, and now that I'm back I've got a million things to do. Being busy is good. I'm thankful for the time to reflect on what's important. What's real and not real. I'm a simple person, really. Maybe a little high-maintenance. Maybe a little difficult, but my needs are simple.

I've still got some rest to catch up on, and I'll be getting back to my healthy habits. (Diet. Exercise. Alcohol curtailment.)

I hope you are all doing well.

*Driving isn't that bad, really. I'd forgotten how much I love travel - no matter what form it may take.

praising pilates

Linda pointed out this great article about Pilates, and it's benefits.

It really nails the reasons I'm so smitten with it. *My comment ~

"Great article.

This is definitely the best thing for me. I've got a wonky back, and not so great knees. Since I started doing the advanced class I'll be the first to admit there's nothing wimpy about it.

I add some weight training to it (important for all us women over thirty), but that's all I do. I love the way my body looks now. I was nearly 5'8" by the time I was in 8th grade, and I only weighed 90-something pounds. I slouched so that I could be closer to my peers. My posture took a beating, and doing Pilates has definitely made me longer and leaner. My clothes fit better, too. I can see myself doing some form of Pilates for the rest of my life.

Geez - I'm starting to sound like a Pilates salesperson..." :-)

This is something that I believe anyone can do. You can start off slow, and work your way up to whatever level you feel comfortable with. The important thing is to do something. Take care of yourself. You'll be glad you did.

*Yes, I think it's a bit odd I'm quoting myself on my own blog. Whatever. Happy Easter, everyone. I'm wicked-busy, and tired. I'm taking a break. It's time for a brief intermission here.

I'm wigging out.

I'm bitching about it.

Make me smile. Someone - anyone - please.

I feel needy, small, and helpless. I feel overwhelmed. I'm being slammed in every direction, which makes me feel like I'm losing my mind. I try to take a deep breath, list out the things I need to do, but five bazillion things seem to come along to derail me. I'm dropping all the balls. Too many to juggle.

Balls? Nope. I can't seem to hang on. I think all the balls I've been trying to juggle are mixed up with all the marbles I've lost.

Yep. I'm wigging.

Becca took the stage while I was in the back of the auditorium passing out raffle tickets for people to sell. (One of the auto dealers donated a P.T. Cruiser convertible, and all the Relay teams were selling raffle tickets for $5.) Diane, the head P.R. person for the Cancer Society, was whispering in my ear.

"Kelly, could you do this Senior Wellness Day event in Chesapeake at the end of April. It's from 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. The Sheriff is a good friend of mine, and I'm not going to be able to do it. I can set up for you the night before - you just need to be there to pass out information, answer questions - maybe speak..."

I told her to get the me the date and location, and I'd be happy to show up. I've always loved working with elderly folks. I'd like to grow up and be one someday.

I went on to tell her about the day of frustration I'd been having - the hassles with DMV, Social Security - my frustration that I'd have to put off Road to Recovery training - how hungry I was because I only had the chance to grab a cookie and Diet Coke for dinner, etcetera...

The sound of feedback and the microphone crackling broke my concentration. A woman walked up and asked me if she could get 50 raffle tickets.

I heard Becca's small voice fight for attention amidst the feedback. She was wearing a white t-shirt and black leggings, and the site chairwoman began to ask her questions.

"Becca, have you ever participated in the Relay?"

She explained, "No, this is my first year."

The site chair turned to Becca's Mother, and asked her why they were participating.

Her Mother carefully took the bad microphone, and explained, "When Becca was five years old she started having headaches, and she complained about her eyesight. I thought she needed glasses, so I took her to the eye doctor. She was sent to the doctor, they took x-rays, and they found a brain tumor. The day of her surgery was the first day of last years Relay, and Becca's school friends, along with many of my friends bought over a hundred luminarias, wrote Becca's name on them, and decorated them. They took a video of them lit up, lining the track. Becca has recovered, and will be leading off the survivors walk this year."

She handed the microphone back to Becca, who was smiling. Becca's short, curly black hair had grown in to about three inches long. She still had a patch of hair missing in the back, along with her two front teeth.

"Becca, is there anything good that came out of fighting cancer?"

Becca grinned and said, "Yes, I got to go to Disneyland!"

And it all came home to me.

I got the reminder, and the tug back to reality that I needed. The days frustrations were gone. I was silently embarrassed about the silly things I worry about. I fought back tears as she lit the luminaria, and the site chair instructed all the people that had filled the auditorium to reflect on why we were there.

I'm uncomfortable crying in front of strangers. I couldn't help it then.

Becca left the stage, the meeting continued, and I went back to work.

The lady in charge of the Komen Foundation approached me after the meeting. She asked me if I had a P.R. background. I told her, no - but I was getting a crash course in it. She asked me if I'd consider being the local P.R. person for the Race for the Cure. I took her information, and told her I'd get back with her.

I was one of the last one's to leave. It was dark, and cold, and the moon was hanging low in the sky. I hit the c.d. button on the stereo, listened to Sinatra, and was thankful that my heart was softened one more time.

p.s. Fact. Since the 1970's the mortality rate of children diagnosed with cancer has decreased nearly 50%. Not too shabby, 'eh?

So ~

I'm back to being busy, and today is another day. I hope yours is a good one.

I'm* going to be on t.v. very early in the morning on April 24th. I'm not sure what I'll be doing and/or saying, but I know that I have to be at a place that's yet to be determined around 5:30 a.m. I can't say how goofy I'll be, but it's safe to say my nerves of jell-o are bound to kick in at some point. I just need to wear something tasteful, yet hot. Any suggestions? (It's a charity recruitment thing.)

I also had a breakfast meeting this morning with a Country and Western Hall of Fame Inductee. This was one of the classiest men I've met in a while, and he likes his coffee the same way I like mine - just a splash of cream.

I'm out of here for now. The sun's out again.

*It's not just me.

For fans of bossa nova music (a few of you might know that I'm a big fan), the latest edition of NPR's All Songs Considered gives us a preview of Bebel Gilberto's c.d. coming out in June. (link via the [very] largehearted boy.)

Does anyone know when the new U2 c.d. is supposed to come out?