Just so there aren't that many days between posts...

Imaneed to do my New Year's Resolution list, too. I'm so original.

1. Eat more pizza.
2. Have more sex.
3. Take more naps.
4. Take more vacations.
5. Talk to Bitchcakes on the phone more.
6. Go see Bitchcakes in person, before Christel moves to TX.
7. Go see Lipstick Laura (and SEVEN!) in New Orleans.
8. Go see Matt in Seattle. Take John with me.
9. Never date "Ted".
10. Have more sex.

More as warranted.

Merry Christmas

My Christmas card to you is a simple one, and it's not even original.

I had a great discussion this week with someone I thought I had lost from my life forever. Turns out, I hadn't, and we'll be renewing a very valuable and precious friendship -- we've known each other for 21 years. In fact, he was the officiating minister at my (first) wedding, as I married one of his closest childhood friends.

John, my re-found friend, is absoluely famous for asking the important questions in a very straightforward way. The question was prompted by the fact that we were having a really emotional evening anyway, complete with tears -- almost all of them joy-induced -- and I mentioned that December 31 would have been my 10th anniversary. So, we talked some about my former husband. And he asked, "What do you want for Mark?"

My first and instinctive answer was, "Consciousness."

He cracked me up by saying, "That would be a good start."

Then I told him that I have pretty much the same desire for all the people in my life. (Even those to which I was once married, and had consequently once wished might be hit by a bus.)

Which leads me to your Christmas card.

I wish for you a deep and abiding knowledge of the amazing extent to which you are a wonderfully and perfectly created, profoundly adored, stunningly beautiful person with infinite worth. I honestly pray that every interaction I have with you is one that will help you to understand how STELLAR you really are.

Before you go and think I'm altruistic or something, I readily confess that this desire, and my participation, however minor, in your life, is also quite selfish. Here is why: Because I LONG to make a significant contribution in the world, and I truly believe that the only way I can do so is to reach inside the life of another person -- an eternal soul -- and give something, I'm participating for my benefit, too. I get to fulfill my deep desire to touch the forever.

Thank you so much for letting me know you. Merry Christmas.

Happy Birthday!

To my two newest nephews: Simon and Jude.

The boys were born yesterday at 8:00 a.m., in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. Mommy (my best friend) and Daddy (her wonderful spousal-unit) are doing great, as are big brother Jacob and big sissy Chloe. The boys are absolutely beautiful, as are all the previous babies from that family; they make pretty ones over there.

Just call me Aunt Tasty. The other kids do, already, and Jude and Simon will be joining them shortly.

An Epiphany, Something Totally Inappropriate, and One Thing That Bugs Me

So, for the most part, I've been doing really, really great. Much better post-divorce than I had imagined I might be doing. I do not regret my decision at all. In fact, everything confirms my decision all the time, so I'm quite happy with my "new normal" mode: coming home to a place I adore living, far less stress, no one at my house being the epicenter of negativity, "Single Stacey" (not to be confused with "Skinny Stacey" as she's still a myth.) It's all pretty damn OK!

Naturally, this is life we're talking about here, there are moments of absolute SUCK. These moments usually occur when I allow the word "should" to sneak into my thoughts. For example, if I let myself think, "I really should have a baby by now," I tend to be awfully damned sad. Let me 'splain (especially for the benefit of my dadness): I most definitely do not want to be pregnant or to have a baby right now. However, had my first marriage gone the way I had so so so desired, I would have one or two and be celebrating my 10th anniversary on New Year's Eve, and that can make me real freekin' sad. Thankfully, these episodes of absolute SUCK only last for a few minutes or hours at a time, and I'm able to remind myself that I'm young and healthy, and that the universe is an ordered, purposeful place. [NB: If you do not believe that the universe is an ordered, purposeful place, that is your business. Someone has to be wrong.]

In any case, I'm finally getting to the epiphany part:

I am currently experiencing some emotions that can best be described as terribly inconvenient. Concerning males of the species: I hope they die. Also, I would really like one of them to be my genuinely good friend, hug me often, and pet my hair. Can anyone say, "therapy"?

That was the epiphany part.

Now, on to the inappropriate part!

So I'm on the phone with a good friend of mine yesterday who has recently started seeing a man she really likes. Consequently, they are sharing congress of the most intimate adult kind, and she was explaining the method of pregnancy-prevention that she is using -- the hormone shot thingy which is 99.8+% effective). Anyway, the shot is making her crazy, so she has to take some drugs to counteract the shot, making the method only 95% effective. When the doc tells her that, she asks what he recommends to assist with that pesky 5% window.

The doctor commences explaining back up birth control methods, and, unfortunately for my friend, but fortunately for this story, he starts with a method called, "the sponge." Well, my poor, darlin' friend, who may well be one of the five funniest people in history, says, "Stacey, I just immediately started thinking 'Whhhoooooooooooooooooooo lives in a pineapple under the sea?!!'" [Note: In case you didn't know, it's SPONGE-BOB-SQUARE-PANTS.] After we both laugh real hard for a couple of minutes, and sing the song a couple of times, she comes back with this version, which does, in actual fact, make me SNORT. Ready? 'Cause this is the super inappropriate part: "Whhhhooooooooooooooo lives in a biscuit under my dress??!?!?" BWAHAHAHA! Ohmydamn, I cried laughing. That's so many kinds of wrong, and I love it.

Alright, here's the thing that bugs me. It's not that major, it's just something that I really dislike. You know when something good happens to you, and you tell someone else about it and they say, "It must be nice"? Yeah, I really hate that. See, as a matter of fact, it IS nice, dammit, and if you were my friend, you'd never say that. You'd be happy for me, you freakshow. I don't try to steal joy from you when something nice happens in your life, now DO I??? Um, no. I don't. So, how about you have a generous heart and quit saying that petty 'it must be nice' thing.

Wow, that was quite a little tirade. I must really hate that a lot!

OK, so let's go back to the "whooooooooooo lives in a biscuit under my dress???!!!!"

Have a great day!

If you've been paying attention, you'll love this.

Click me!

Stuff Your Best Friends Say to You

I'm unbelievably blessed with some of the best friends on this entire planet. You know how you sometimes sit around and say "Oh, I'd love to be Oprah -- all that success and all that money!" Or maybe, "I'd love to be Tyra Banks -- that BODY!" But I don't want to be ANYONE but me, and I mean that with every bit of my heart. If I were anyone else, I wouldn't have the friends I have now and I'd never, ever want to live without them. Allie, Lola, Christel, Dande, Pears, and Beth, I mean you in particular.

This week each of you has said something particularly meaningful and/or supportive in a way that only a sister can.

Allie, when we chatted the other day, interspersed with all the fun we usually have (every single day!), and I told you I was probably mad at myself? Remember? You said, "Let's pick someone else." I love that -- what better thing was there to say? No.thing. Not one thing.

Lola, you said, right here on this blog, "just don't get any ideas that it's okay to move 3000 miles away from me, or anywhere other than closer to me. it won't work. i'll follow you." That's love, people. Really.

Christel, if it weren't for the Pirin Tablets, I don't think I could go on. Your presence is absolute LIGHT and I can't wait to hang out with you again in person. Just being on the phone with you is an experience in energy and you make me snort. Let the making out commence.

Dande, how do I love thee? I can't count the ways because my math skills are simply not that advanced. You are strong and brilliant and way damn funnier than I am, which pisses me off in the best possible way. You asked me if I was bummed about something that's really pretty trivial, and you meant it so sincerely, when I know that Santa has unloaded a steaming pile of crap down your veryown personal chimney. And I appreciate your sincerity so very much.

Pears, you know what a great friend you are. And anyone who will stand still for 10 seconds in my presence knows, too. You laughed so hard when I told you about "I'm trying not to be a total loser" and my response to it ["HUH!"] that I knew you got it, 100%. I love that you totally understand.

Beth, there are literally no words for the love I have for you, sister. But this week, aside from carrying around the two entire humans you have in your tummy-area, you were also an awesome friend. When I told you about my crappy-ass day with Grimace and his multitudinous stories of the new 'ladyfriend' (yes, folks, he told me all about her,) you said, "He might want to just step back a moment and reflect upon the demise of his marriage." And you said it with the inflection that has made me laugh and feel better for the last 20 years of our lives. There is nothing better than a friend who knows how to hate who you hate and love who you love with NO prompting. I adore you.

See, and this is just ONE LITTLE WEEK in my life. I'm so glad I get to be me. And not Oprah.

Get Polled (And I think we all know just how painful that could be.)

What is the farthest you have ever traveled to be with someone you love? (Friend, family, lover, any category.)
	Less than 50 miles.
	More than 50, but less than 100 miles.
	More than 100, but less than 500 miles.
	More than 500, but less than 1000 miles.
	More 1000 miles, but less than 3000 miles.
	More than 3000 miles.
Free polls from Pollhost.com

My Very Own Personal Technology Theme

Is "ineptitude."

• I have a luxury (Gramma) automobile with no remote keyless entry. Not because it doesn't exist for the model, but because I haven't ever bothered to buy the thing.
• I have a DVD player sitting on top of my television set. It is not connected to my television, nor do I have anything with which to connect it.
• I have a working television, but no remote. Really. I swear I'm not kidding. (Yes, I know to buy a universal one at Wal-mart.)
• I have a working cellphone and absolutely no idea how to use the call waiting feature.
• I'm lucky I know how to use my alarm clock.
• Everything I know about using the computer has been trial-and-trial-and-error.
  

I'm sure either my friends (or I) will think of other things to add to this list. Let me know when you think of them!

That's all I got for today.

Cheers!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTE: It has come to my attention that this may not be a flattering portrayal of me. I hadn't thought of that! However, I can certainly see where that may have come across. I wish to make this clarification. My "ineptitude" in this case is *entirely* a matter of priorities. Allow me to explain:

• I have a luxury (Gramma) automobile with no remote keyless entry. Not because it doesn't exist for the model, but because I haven't ever bothered to buy the thing. I just don't have the keyless entry because I don't care about having it. I am perfectly capable of unlocking the door.
• I have a DVD player sitting on top of my television set. It is not connected to my television, nor do I have anything with which to connect it. I don't care about DVDs, so I don't really care if it's connected or not. If I get geeked up about watching movies, I'm pretty positive I'll be able to purchase the correct connectors, plug that sucker up, and spin some movies!
• I have a working television, but no remote. Really. I swear I'm not kidding. (Yes, I know to buy a universal one at Wal-mart.) I care less about TV (excepting the West Wing) than I do about movies. Case closed.
• I have a working cellphone and absolutely no idea how to use the call waiting feature. Which, when you think about it is no real tragedy. I mean, answering the call waiting is kinda rude, anyway. (Excepting if it's your parent calling.)
• I'm lucky I know how to use my alarm clock. And, yet, I do. I've proven that with 15 years of work experience. I've not been fired for showing up at noon, yet!
• Everything I know about using the computer has been trial-and-trial-and-error. Which just goes to show what an unbelievably fabulous intuitive learner I am. Hey, I never claimed to be humble.
  

A Question of Hygiene

So, Sunday was a lovely day of napping, phone calls, nail painting, and most importantly, lunch with the Fig (my brother.) The Fig is a fantastically hilarious chap with about 40,000 restaurant connections in Indianapolis, thus making lunch both tasty, and gratis. There's just about nothing the divorced, overly-indebted woman likes more than FREE stuff. Especially when it involves chicken nachos and beer. As Allie says, "I support any food ending in 'and beer'." (She's brilliant, no? Yes.)

So, we're sitting at the bar in Houlihan's right downtown, and enjoying some libations and a ginormous plate of chicken nachos, when I happen to glance over to my right. Behold, to my utter delight, I find an elderly man combing is afro straight up into the air. The afro and the man were pretty grizzled, and the straight-up combing produced a rather Don King-like configuration. I'm not sure what look he was going for, but whatever it was, he missed. (Unless, by my own admission, he was going for The Don King.) The man seemed pretty harmless, and really quite friendly, as he said hello to both me and to the Fig. He also offered a cigarette to the Fig, which I thought particularly neighborly. The Fig, who really was destined to be either a used car salesman or a foreign diplomat (which are actually the same job with different objectives) thanked him kindly and assured him that he had his own cigarettes. Anyway, I've digressed already, and it's only paragraph two.

The only thing that turned me off about the straight-up hair combing was the fact that it took place right at the bar. There are restrooms for that sort of activity. With mirrors and stuff. And no food or beverages anywhere in sight.

Anyway, this brings me to my hygiene thing. Men: I'm probably going to sound like an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, here, but these important points bear repeating.

• As you may have guessed, combing one's hair is not done in public. No, it isn't.
• Nose hairs: there is no excuse for nose hair. Ever.
• There is, equally, no excuse for dirty fingernails. Ever.
• Addendum to the nails thing: they should also be trimmed very short, but if they're real clean, a bit of nail is totally acceptable.
• Hand lotion, which I'm sure you're familiar with, also has other uses. Please use it on your hands and elbows. (We don't want your sandpaper mitts near us, let alone on us.)
• Hand lotion should be applied to your hands after washing them.
• Wash them frequently.
• Ear hair. What's up with ear hair? One or two ear hairs doesn't scare the average woman, but if you've got a shrub growing out of there, please break out the weedwhacker.
• Finally, your clothes should fit YOU. You're the one wearing them, they should fit your veryownass. Not the ass of your tee-tiny past, or the ass of your linebacker brother.

Oh, yes, I know there are many others. And, and, and I didn't even mention things that I assume (stupidly) go without saying, i.e., daily showering, occasional cologne application, tooth brushing. I know this is a stupid assumption, because even Ver. 1.0, (after he had done so for our entire courtship) had no idea (once we were married) that people were supposed to brush their teeth every day -- preferrably two to three times per day. Ah, good times. Good times.

I haven't personally had any of these problems occur with any males in my regional proximity except for the Don King fellow at Houlihan's. But, apparently I needed to bitch today.

So, any male-type people are now safe to be near me, 'cause the bitch-valve has been released. Thank you, and good night.

The Nine Layers

One of those things I'm posting because I *still* haven't finished any of the three drafts I've got started! So, in the interim, here's something we all stole directly from Madley's blog: Mad's Mad World.

Layer One
name: Stacey Leigh Erickson
birth date: Aug. 2
birthplace: Maryland
current location: Indiana
eye color: Brown
hair color: False Blond
height: 5'7"
righty or lefty: Righty
zodiac sign: Leo

Layer Two
your heritage: Mostly Portuguese and Swedish.
the shoes you wore today: Black slide-on clog-like things.
your weakness: I discover new weaknesses regularly!
your fears: Losing my parents or my brother.
your perfect pizza: Good crust, mushrooms, olives, extra cheese.
goal you'd like to achieve: Writing the Great American Novel.

Layer Three
your most overused phrase on aim: "brb" or "I'm not a hook-up. Go away."
your first waking thoughts: Gotta pee.
your best physical feature: Eyes, eyelashes, rack? Hell, I dunno.
your best character trait: I'm generous.

Layer Four
pepsi or coke: Either. With ice and NO straw.
mcdonald's or burger king: McDonald's
single or group dates: Both!
adidas or nike: New Balance
lipton ice tea or nestea: Neither.
chocolate or vanilla: Both, depending on what we're talking about.
cappuccino or coffee: Both, regularly!

Layer Five
smoke: Ugh, no.
cuss: Hell, yes.
sing: Every damn day!
take a shower everyday: Yup.
do you think you've been in love: Yes.
want to go to college: Done with BA. Now I need a masters.
liked high school: Not all bad.
want to get married: Did that already.
believe in yourself: Hell YES!
get motion sickness: Nope.
think you're attractive: DUR.
think you're a health freak: DUR.
get along with your parent(s): Yup.
like thunderstorms: Yes!!
play an instrument: My vocal chords.

Layer Six
in the past month...
drank alcohol: Tequila Romance, baby.
smoked: Nope.
done a drug: Praise Jesus for Prozac.
made out: Ummm...
gone on a date: MY DAD reads this!
gone to the mall: Does the Dollar General in Shirley, West Virginia count??
eaten an entire box of oreos?: They come in packages, people! Not boxes.
eaten sushi: Nope.
been on stage: Does Redneck Karaoke count???
been dumped: No.
gone skating: No.
made homemade cookies: Yep.
dyed your hair: No.
stolen anything: No.

Layer Seven
ever...
played a game that required removal of clothing: No.
if so, was it mixed company: N/A
been trashed or extremely intoxicated: See above, under "Tequila Romance."
been caught "doing something": Yes.
been called a tease: Yes.
gotten beaten up: No.
shoplifted: No.
changed who you were to fit in: I couldn't ever do it, even when I reeeeeeeeeally wanted to!

Layer Eight
age you hope to be married: 25, 29, and 52. HA!!!!
numbers and names of children: N/A, yet.
describe your dream wedding: My first one. And the one that actually turns into a marriage.
how do you want to die: at age 92 in great health in my sleep on a plane on the way back from Vegas with all my friends
where you want to go to college: Already went to Purdue.
what do you want to be when you grow up: An author.
what country would you most like to visit: Portugual, Spain, Italy, Mozambique, um, all of them?

Layer Nine
number of drugs taken illegally: None.
number of people i could trust with my life: 12
number of cds that i own: 100 or so.
number of piercings: Four in left ear, two in right.
number of tattoos: One!
number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper?: Three, I think.
number of scars on my body: Countless!
number of things in my past that i regret: Not a damn thing. I'm done wasting time!

Motown, Motown!

Aretha, Marvin, The Temptations, who else could you want? The Four Tops, maybe? How about Stevie Wonder? I got to see and hear them all on Saturday night! It was the best 5 hours I've spent in a club, EVER, and though Ms. Franklin and Mr. Gaye were obviously not really there, it sure seemed like it. There was a live Motown review at a club here in Indianapolis, and Wandaful's friend had a good friend in the show. So we got invited. Eight smacks to see the Temptations? Baby, I'm there.

I absolutely adore good amateur performers. Are you someone with the stones to get up and sing your ass off? My admiration goes to you, my friend. I will cheer you on, I swear! The performers were wonderful. I promise you if you'd closed your eyes, you'd have just barely known the difference between the amateurs and the Motown greats, themselves. I was actually worn out when I got home from cheering and dancing and clapping and laughing myself silly for five hours. One of my favorite parts of the evening is everyone who came by our table to tell us "hi." I guess I should include the part of the story where this club's clientele is pretty much all Americans of African descent. And we were a table full of Anglos. Some of us real blonde, even.

The emcee of the event was having a wonderful time and doing an excellent job telling jokes, introducing acts, and running funny contests like 70's dance, comdey, and acting. And during his second break he just pipes up with "Oh, look, we got some white people in the house. Hi, white people." I don't know when I've laughed so hard in my life. "Hi, white people" is my new favorite greeting. OF ALL TIME. We waved and smiled at the emcee.

The acts kept coming one after another, and pretty soon it's five hours later and I've heard Sexual Healing, Papa Was a Rolling Stone, RESPECT, and Ain't Too Proud to Beg. Brick House made it in there for dancing purposes, as did Play that Funky Music, White Boy. My Girl made it's way into the show, too. The guys who did the Temptations were especially talented, I thought.

I've rarely felt more welcome among folks I didn't know. We made a bunch of friends at neighboring tables and lots of people came over to say "Hi, white people." I need to laugh that hard every day!

Next Motown Review, you can come with me!

10 Questions

James Lipton asks the following ten questions at the end of the TV show Inside the Actor’s Studio. These questions originally came from a French series, “Bouillon de Culture” hosted by Bernard Pivot.

Gimme yours, too!

1. What is your favorite word? Delicious
2. What is your least favorite word? No
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Touch, music, writing
4. What turns you off? Prejudice
5. What is your favorite curse word? Motherfucker
6. What sound or noise do you love? Contented sighs, rain
7. What sound or noise do you hate? Frustrated sighs
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Newspaper editor
9. What profession would you not like to do? Roofer
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Welcome home, girl.

This Seems Apropos

Trusted Guide,
you are my Mentor,
my Inspiration,
my Home of good choices and decisions.

You help me to search with confidence
as I find my way to inner peace.
Please gather your wisdom around me.
Guide me carefully as I make choices
about how to use my energy positively.

Place your discerning touch on my mind
so that I will think clearly.
Place your loving fingers on my heart
so I will be more fully attentive
to what is really of value.
Teach me how to hear your voice,
to be aware of what is in my mind and heart,
to attend to your wisdom in those around me,
to acknowledge my intuitions and ponder my dreams,
to listen to the earth and all of life,
for in each piece of my existence you are guiding me.

Guide of my life,
thank you for all you have given me.
Reveal my spiritual path
and direct me in the living of it.
Lead me to inner peace and oneness with you.

~ prayers to sophia (joyce rupp)

SEE? This is why I resisted.

Because now this blog is calling to me in my sleep. Not only that, but my friends are calling out, "update!" too. I didn't want to get into this! But you dragged me here, SO on the bandwagon, with you.

Thanks. I'm glad you did.

You know what’s hilarious is it makes me FEEL like a writer. Which is odd, because I write for a living. As in, I write stuff, and they give me money for doing it. One might have figured I’d feel like a writer when I got a paycheck for it. But, instead, I feel like a writer because I publish my ramblings a few days a week on a free website. Huh.

In fact, this weekend I asked the guy in the t-shirt store if he had the mug that said “Write on”, and he said that he was sorry “No, we don’t. Are you a writer?”

To which I happily replied, “Yes.” That was fun!

OK, so what’s my point today? I don’t have one. Oh, oh, oh except for this. And it’s real important. Women have only been allowed to vote in this nation since August 26, 1920. That’s only 84 years, ladies and gentlemen. Even if you’re not real excited about either of our major candidates for president (I’m not) please, please vote. We owe it to our grandmothers and to Elizabeth (Cady Stanton) and Susan (B. Anthony) to do so. Hard to believe, but a woman was elected to represent her state in congress before she had the right to vote.

While I’m on this particular portion of the bandwagon, please read American Jezebel by Eve LaPlante. It’s about Anne Hutchinson, who is one of this country’s founders. She’s a founding person -- male, female, or undecided. She was part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and was summarily ousted from the colony and excommunicated from her church, for *gasp* teaching *gasp* men and for having a theologically differing opinion (that she could, incidentally, back up with Scripture) than the rest of the ministers in her community. In the 1630s there was literally NO WAY she could have a public voice of any kind. The only way we even have records of her speech is because of the trial, since women were not legal entities in the day of the colonists. The book is the story of her actions and arguments during her three years in Massachusetts.

It was also a good read and very educational. I enjoyed learning about the ability of the puritans to acknowledge spirituality, even in it’s most strict form, as a part of everyday (every MOMENT, really) life. I can’t imagine a world where one discusses the finer points of salvation through works or through faith as a matter of course, rather than as a topic we avoid except with those with whom we’re intimates.

Anyway, happy Monday, and thanks again for sticking with me. This entry wasn’t particularly zippy, but it was still fun to put thoughts on ‘paper’ and share them with YOU!

Traveled.

Have you ever had a little moment of clarity that was just so exciting you don't know how to express it? Well, far be it from me not to try. I mean, I'm the chick whose motto is pretty much:

"Oooh, I've had an emotion. Let me tell you about it!"

Really. I know how not cute that attribute can be. But, as indicated, this is my little arena for self-expression. So, to quote my Portuguese brother Emeril, "Get yourself one of those frozen things and get back here."

Once upon a time, I was a stunningly gorgeous and very young woman. One who had NO idea whatever that I was pretty or even smart. Technically, I knew I was smart – I’d seen my aptitude test results and knew my IQ – but I completely missed the joy of it, certainly. And I absolutely had no idea I was physically attractive. This is the most amazing phenomenon; I’m not alone in this situation, either. Over the last four years (in particular,) I’ve met a rack of fabulous, funny, brilliant, beautiful women who lived with the exact same self-perception that I did. [At this point, I’d like to recommend reading Reviving Ophelia, as it explains how all that odd self-perception is likely to have happened.]

But my point, and I really do have one, is that most of us have thankfully moved beyond the point where we see ourselves as “fat and/or ugly” and have stared seeing ourselves as valuable, sparkling, lovely, intelligent people. Some of us even think we’re mucho caliente! We are. But back to my clarity thing: I recently had the neatest flash of inspiration about how I knew I’d moved successfully into a different self-perception when I re-read some journals I’d written as a teenager and some poetry and an essay that I’d written in college.

The journals are from mission trips I participated in when I was 18 and 19 years old. Both the trips and the journals are some of my greatest treasures – the journals fall under the category of things I’d rescue from my burning house – and I’ve read them often over the last 16 years. Each time I’ve turned their pages, one of the strongest things that comes through to me is how insecure I was when I wrote it. And, until the most recent time, that insecurity has made me feel deeply, deeply sad for the girl who wrote them. She was lonely and so sure she would make a fool of herself that she wouldn’t even let loose in writing that was completely private.

This most recent time I read the journals, however, I just loved that girl! I felt almost like her mommy. I was proud of her for going on adventures to foreign countries and for being as brave as she could be. I remembered the love she showed to others, even while entirely unsure of herself. She was funny, even though she didn’t know it. She was smart, even though she wasn’t convinced of it. I loved her constant endeavor to communicate in a language in which she wasn’t fluent. I loved her for climbing up the side of a muddy mountain in Honduras to build things.

That girl was preparing for a life she knew nothing about, and she did it with abandon, even when she was too scared to write it down. I wanted to hug her and tell her how much she had to look forward to! And how strong she was going to be. And to put all of it down on the page so she could remember it even better when she was older.

Her words on the page were still insecure, and even lonely sometimes. But for some reason, that’s not what came through the most strongly, anymore. I know it’s because I’ve changed… the words are certainly the same ones that have been there for 16 or 17 years. I still saw myself as the same girl on some level, and while I grew up as her for a while, I’m not. She helped me become who I am now, and that’s why I love her so much. And why it’s wonderful to read her words now, and not sad at all.

Maybe this entry is just for me. I don’t know. But the clarity with which I’ve seen myself as a different person is so crystalline, I had to try to explain it. Same mom and dad. Same brother. More friends. More fat. More experience. And far, far more confidence. It was just a moment to let me know that I’d traveled. Covered some important ground: From fear to love. From insecure to at peace. From young to not-quite-as-young. From sadness to joy.

Vacillations will occur. But I’m pleased to say I’ve traveled.

Thank you for reading.

Additionally, if you’ve made it this far, you deserve a prize. I offer you the PandaCam from the San Diego Zoo. If pandas don’t make you smile just a little bit, at least, I’m sorry, but we can’t be friends. Hee-hee. http://www.sandiegozoo.org/pandas/pandacam/index.html

MMMMMMMmm, coffee.

Is there truly anything more delicious than coffee? Not right now, there isn't. I'd seriously consider swimming in good coffee, with about 3/4 shot of almond syrup and way too much half-and-half. Which is what I'm drinking right this minute. With a vanilla sandwich cookie. Since I'm not on a cruise in the Caribbean, this is definitely the second-best way to spend a Tuesday morning.

Now, really, REALLY good coffee should just be consumed naked. You know, flavor-shot- and cream-free. For example, last year during the holiday season, my sweet friend Christel (the CoffeeGoddess) sent me some coffee that she, herownself, had roasted. It arrived at my door as whole beans, in the same coffee bag as some delightful roasted sliced almonds, and, aside from pretty much salivating in a puddle, there was little other appropriate reaction for me to have. Each time I made a pot of that almondy-goodness, I toasted Christel, and drank it naked (the coffee!) Only very good coffee can be savored without the add-ins. And Christel-mas Coffee needed nothing. It smelled, and tasted, like heaven.

Which brings me to my point.

What is your favorite smell?

Obviously, the top of my list is coffee. But there's a few reasons why: it reminds me of Christel, it reminds me of Allie, it reminds me of sitting at the table with Dad and Mom on Saturday mornings while Dad did the crossword puzzle and he or Mom made pancakes, it reminds me of a sweet moment with my friend R, who picked up my after-dinner coffee and smelled it and smiled, it reminds me of my friend F, who is a great coffee-drink maker.

Next after that is probably garlic. Ohmydamn. For those of you playing at home, I have mentioned that I have an unnatural love of garlic bread. I wanna rub it on myself. Well, almost. I'd much rather eat it. A LOT of it. Which is why I don't make it at home -- I'd eat the whole thing. And even I know that's not a real healthy idea. And on pizza? Don't get me started. Mmmmm, meatball pizza!

Somewhere after that is a good smelling man. I've recently spent some time with a man who smells so delicious, I'd follow him down a hallway at work just so I could keep smelling him. He has a variety of colognes, too, so I can only assume he understands that smelling yummy is a good way to get gorgeous women to follow you down a hallway. Public or otherwise.

Since it's fall, I'm pretty much bound to mention that I love-love-love the smells of a hayride. In college I went to the best church, EVER, and we had a hayride every fall that included, well, hay. And a big campfire, and guitar playing, and singing, and hot cider, and donuts, and getting lost on county roads in West Lafayette, Indiana. It also involved the occasional smooch of someone else's fiance. Hey, it was just the once. I get homesick for college every single fall.

Now, I'm sure the second I post this I'll think of six more things I love the smell of, but for now, let's hear yours!

More plagiarizing, kinda.

How to Make Stacey Happy

by Stacey

• Send me awesome goodies at work! (Thank you, Cindy!)
• Read.
• Be able to talk about what you read.
• Know at least one important woman in American history.
• Dance with me.
• In public, even! (Thank you, Paul!)
• Know how to have a good time.
• Even if everything isn't perfect.
• Know how to kiss real well.
• Use this phrase randomly: "SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT." (Thank you, Allie!)
• Smell like clean laundry.
• Know how to argue.
• Argue with me.
• Make up with me.
• Tell me about something that reminds you of me. (Thank you, Matt!)
• Be brave.
• Be self-aware.
• Be others-aware.
• Know your family.
• Even if you don't like them.
• Be thoughtful.
• Be loyal.
• Be comfortable with the present.

The End of the End (You thought I'd never finish this story!)

So, I got happy. YAY ME! I joined a book club, I got more active in my sorority-thing (PEO), I became a queen (Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love), and I got happy. I started to really believe that Grimace was as much mess as I was when he showed up on my doorstep, and that, to quote His Dadness, "This has nothing to do with how lovable, how wifely, or how wonderful you are." All I can tell you is that when you begin to truly see what chunk of stuff is actually yours, and what chunk of stuff is NOT yours at all, life gets infinitely easier. This is not to say that I knew what to do with all of this newly-acquired information, but it was definitely easier not to continue thinking it was all me. 'Cause it wasn't.

Back to the part that was mine, though. I met and married Grimace during the time I was broken. So, he got, as his part of the happy bargain, a broken partner. I don't mean that I'm entirely fixed now, either, as broken-ness is part of humanity, but I was broken in the sense that I needed love and comfort, and I needed it not in an egalitarian way. I needed a lot of comfort. And for a while, Grimace comforted me. He was present, attentive, and generous. Then, just for a while, I needed some more comfort, but he decided (consciously or unconsciously) not to give it anymore. And that hurt a whole bunch. As I said, he got a broken girl, and I wasn't OK just yet. It was sobbing, puking, heart-stabbing pain. But I'd quit a marriage once, and I wasn't going to do it again. And then, once I got happy, I didn't need so much comforting. (Not to say I didn't WANT it, I just didn't neeeeeeed it so much.)

So, I started doing fun stuff like road trips and concerts and camping and reading new things and playing with the dogs and vacations and meeting friends for drinks after work. To which, Grimace was invited. And chose not to join.

It began to feel like I was dragging a huge man through my life, whilst simultaneously doing his laundry and cleaning the toilets! FUN FUN FUN! (There's really no way to say that without sounding bitter, so I didn't bother to try.) I was, in fact, trying to drag someone through life. And unwilling participant. Pretty much everyone who reads this knows me, and I ask you, fellow goofballs, is it easy to ignore me? Um, not so much. Yet, Grimace managed to exist as though he were the only one living. I was married alone. And gosh it was lovely.

You know what I just realized? (Yeah, just now.) There's really no way to tell the whole story, because I was IN the thing. And so was Grimace, and he didn't exactly tell me what was going on the whole time.

The bottom line is this:

When he told me he liked me better before I was happy, I knew it was over.

You can't fix that.

I'm not gonna get un-happied.

God made me so I could be fun, and bright, and loving, and so that I could be happy if I chose to. I choose to.

Why We Do It

Uhm, no, not why we do "it," my fellow perverts, but why we get divorced.

Rather, why I got divorced. Oddly, this entry wasn't brought on by some need for catharsis, which does happen on occasion, but rather an entry in another online diary thingy, by a male-type person, who is breaking up with his long-time live-together girlfriend. Judging from reading many of his entries, he's deeply and consciously emotionally involved in his own life (NB: this is both a refreshing and highly attractive quality.) Here's the quote that sparked this entry, "It just means there’s a pile of shit to sort through that used to be our life together."

It hit me hard. With a "thud" sound effect, even. By the time I told my former spouse that I wanted a divorce, I barely remembered a time when we had a life together. We did have a life together at one point; we were "married" by our hearts before we were married legally. The former spouse, hereinafter referred to as "Grimace" was attentive, kind, and fun. He was never brilliant, but that wasn't the point. He was my present, attentive, loyal friend, and that was what I longed for: that's the part of the story that's cute and precious, also sad. To tell that part, I gotta tell another part of my own story.

Once upon a time, I was married (briefly, yet tragically) to a young man we'll call Mark. Mark and I married on New Year's Eve in 1994. It was the most meaningful wedding and most fabulous reception (sorry, Dadness) in the history of weddings. We had dated for two years, and had been engaged for an additional year, and I wanted to make my life with him. People regularly said things about us like, "You two are so much yourselves when you're together," and "You're such good friends," and "You're life will be so adventurous!" I wasn't the only person who thought that Mark and I would make a great family. There were lots of us -- we had a gabillion friends, many of them common as we met in a huge church family -- who truly believed that we would make a wonderful team for many years.

Part of our marriage ceremony was reading letters to one another that we had written for the occasion. My 'letter' described a New Year's Eve 100 years in the future, when Mark and I were long dead, but our family was gathered together and were chatting about their parents/ grandparents/ great-grandparents Stacey and Mark. Our picture was in a silver frame on top of the mantle of a big fireplace, and we were real old in the photo -- and we looked like we were tired and contentt, having run ourselves ragged and happy doing wonderful things while we were alive. We drove to Alaska just for the hell of it, took teenaged kids on mission trips to little-known areas of the world, and had generally stayed positive and offbeat our whole lives. Nothing thrilled me more than to be setting off on this journey with Mark. Six days into our marriage, (yes, kids, six days) Mark mentally and emotionally checked out of the friendship we had built, and never returned. I realize that this sounds like some major drama I invented in my mind, trust me, I know. But it's not. It was a constant struggle for three solid years just to find his ass. Eventually I bought a pager, had it hardwired to his pecker, and I still couldn't find him on most days. It was if he didn't even realize he had gotten married. I was purely an afterthought, if I even appeared on his list anywhere. Later, my brother asked him, "Did you even want to be married?" His answer? "No." Thanks so much for trying to kill me physically using emotional pain. I really appreciate that.

Here's where I began to make the mistakes that would become my second marriage.

While married to Mark, and for about three years afterward, I mourned deeply for the loss of the life I had thought would be. Mark was a youth ministry student, and we had planned to have a life full of service to others and fun, fun, fun. Including some kids of our own. And maybe a house thrown in there somewhere. Anyway, for a multitude of reasons, (the mental dissapearing act, his lack of desire to hold a job, his inability to retain consciousness for more than 4 hours at a stretch, and the way I allowed myself to be sucked into the whole sad pattern,) none of that was going to happen. I divorced Mark after three years of begging, sobbing, praying, and counseling, all to no avail. That divorce just made legal what was already true. (Read that sentence again, OK? It's important. And true.)

So about a year after I threw Mark out, I met Grimace. And it was great. He was so PRESENT. I never had to fight for his attention -- I just had it, all the time. He called, he gave, he made me laugh. He bought flowers. What else did I need? Right? Well, as it turns out, I needed about another two and a half years to digest everything that happened with Mark, and to let him go from my heart, and to get happy with myself. Unfortunately, I had married Grimace during this time, and it wasn't a good decision. Know that I truly thought it was the thing to do at the time. Not once did I think, "This won't end pretty." I believed I was marrying my best friend! I was so fucking wrong I can scarcely explain it.

Having met, dated, and married Grimace while I was still nursing my near-fatal injuries from my broken previous life, I wasn't all that happy a soul. But because I was so much better than I had been during my marriage, I didn't even know how sad I still was. That would take another couple of years to really understand. When things began to go south with Grimace (starting with his randomly quitting a high-paying job without discussing it with me) I began to realize how unhappy my soul was. Thankfully, I had some people in my life who love me and who want what's best for me. The best advice I ever got was as follows: Get a life. And then I did.

Getting a life made me happy. Real freekin' happy. And that was the beginning of the end of my second marriage.

EDITOR'S NOTE: At this point, if I don't give you a break, even if you got THIS far, you'll never read the end. So, I will post the rest later, or tomorrow.

OTIS!

How do you not LOVE Otis Redding? I just purchased a collection of Otis Redding love songs. Oh.my.damn. GOOD stuff.

1. These Arms of Mine
2. That's What My Heart Needs
3. Pain in My Heart
4. That's How Strong My Love Is
5. For Your Precious Love
6. Nothing Can Change This Love
7. I've Been Loving You Too Long
8. My Girl
9. Just One More Day
10. My Lover's Prayer
11. Try a Little Tenderness
12. Lovey Dovey
13. I Love You More Than Words Can Say
14. Love Man
15. Your Love has Lifted Me Higher and Higher

I'll let you know when it's safe to come over and sop me up with a biscuit 'cause I'm all melted after having listened to the whole thing twice.

Still Learning the Balance of Work

I know for a fact that at least one of you who will read this entry has been in a job where MOST of your job is an interruption. As in, you wouldn't have a job if it weren't for the interruptions -- those pretty much ARE the job. I've had one of those, and I really did enjoy it -- I kind of like being the Answer Man.

However, I don't have a job like that right now. Currently, I have a job that requires actual concentration and relative quiet. I have to synthesize technical information and make it come back out into a highly structured document that any fool could understand AND have it be translatable into, say, Korean or Dutch. Now, concentration is a skill I have shockingly little of, even though I don't have ADD. No, really I don't. Oh, look, a chicken! Um, anyway, right now, it's truly not my responsibility to do any of the following:

• answer everyone's questions regarding things they should have learned had they listened while attending the same meeting I did. (I saw you there, bub. I did. And I managed to learn this stuff even while blood was spurting out of my ears as a direct result of sheer boredom.)
• create tools for everyone to use to do his or her job better.
• listen to people conduct 7 hours of personal business on the phone (no shit.)
• answer every walk-up query regarding grammar, punctuation, and fashion.
• answer every walk-up query TWICE.

All I'm saying here, people, is that I KNOW I'm social. And usually I'm up for some chit-chat, joke telling, and showing off of the new tattoos. But if I have my headphones on, and LOUD music playing in there, and every time you walk up, I have a hard time concealing the fact that my eyes are rolling back in my head, MAYBE YOU SHOULD LEAVE ME ALONE. Maybe you should listen in those mind-numbing meetings so we can both get our jobs done.

Or, maybe I should go out in search of the Optimum Margarita on a government grant. I bet I could get one.

--Stacey

Crack me up.

You are Rizzo the Rat.
You have few friends, but are loyal to those you do
have. Maybe if you didn't smell like sewage
you would have more.

SPECIES:
Rodentia Digesta Lotta Grub
HOMETOWN:
Brooklyn, USA

FAVORITE MOVIE:
"Rat On A Hot Tin Roof"

FAVORITE SONG:
"The Pest Is Yet To Come"

FAVORITE FOOD:
You got it, I'll eat it.

HOBBIES:
See "Favorite Food".

QUOTE:
"When do we eat?"


What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Victoria's Secret

Have you seen the latest Vicky's TV commercial? It's for a gorgeous, satiny bra that any girly-girl-type woman would love to wear. It's for something called "Body by Victoria Shaping Demi" and the tagline is "All You See Are Curves." Curves, hey cool! We like those! So in the commercial there's a very lovely woman, vogueing about in her midnight blue demi bra with matching panty. Very sleek, very sexy, very attractive. Whew, the girl is rippin' hot! Loooong legs, and obviously quite tall (lil' nod to HRT.)

If you've seen this commercial, you know what our problem with this is, right? I mean, any idiot can see that if they wanted to be the tee-tiniest bit honest they'd say "All You See Are Angles." GOOD NIGHT NURSE, but that model is skinny. (Not, as mentioned, that there's anything *wrong* with that.) I can't help but guess by "curves" they mean something other than the curve we see of her friggin' RIBS when she rolls over seductively. OW. Her clavicles, her elbows, her knees, her ankles. We're talking about a 89.8% chance of ocular injury if we stand too close to the television!

We have only a couple of problems with Vicky's, and they can both be remedied. I offer the following solutions:

• First, Victoria's Secret isn't really a secret: She's a slut. Just be honest, we don't mind that she is! We rather love the exciting underwear.
• Second, make the model eat a sandwich. With mayonnaise. And bacon. Sheesh.

Oh, how I love publishing my self-indulgence.

I know I just did the 101ish things, but now my girls have done a "odd stuff about me" list, and I'm joining in, 'cause I like talking about myself, anyway. Here they are.

NB: Some of these will seem strange if you don't know me real well, but if you're, say, Allie or Christel or Lauren, most of them will be normal.

• I wear a tiara in public pretty frequently.
• I like lilac nail polish on my toes. It's cute, contrary to my mom's opinion.
• I call my father "Dadness."
• I am only white on the outside.
• I'm gonna make out with Allie, take a picture of it, frame it, and put it in my living room.
• I'm straight, but I somehow think this will be a good thing.
• I also know all the lines to the Princess Bride.
• And the Holy Grail.
• And the Life of Brian.
• When I got my doggie (who I now *adore*) she was NOTHING I wanted. I wanted a baby sausage dog puppy, and I got a grown pit bull terrier, as a gift, from my former albatross.
• She cost me 100 smacks to adopt, 300 for pet deposit, and 120 for her first vet visit, which was an emergency. And, yes, I mean that I paid for all of it, (because he rarely earned much.)
• Since I figured I could've gotten a nice ruby ring for $520, I named my puppygirl Ruby. In lieu of a ruby, I got Ruby Lou. (Incidentally, Ruby Lou turned out to be a LOT better than a ruby ring.)
• One of my best friends is in love with my brother although she’s never met him.
• When I was younger I HATED HATED feet, and would screech if anyone put their foot near me, even if it was clean and in a clean sock.
• I got over it.
• I was married to a Mc Donald Land character.
• Grimace.
• I just tried Vegan food for the first time on purpose. (I mean, I've eaten some great pasta salads and stuff my whole life that were Vegan.)
• I have met boys in person who I originally met on the internet.
• Four out of five of them have been very nice experiences.
• I tell people (whose business it isn't) that I met them in Starbucks.
• For those who I choose to tell my business to, here's how I tell them. Go ahead, you try it, it's much more explanatory that way: say, "S t a r b u c k s" slowly and deliberately with the corny quote mark hands.
• I have in my possession a very-old-lady-gramma car, AND a mid life man car.
• I've sent girls (and boys) that I love chocolate and money just because.
• I spent the 4th of July last year on a boat in Washington State.

More as warranted.

Reasonable Appreciation for my Complete and Undeniable Fabulosity

While I did steal, outright, the title for this post from one of my favorite girls, I think it explains the goodness that was my weekend so perfectly, that I had to go with it. All weekend, I felt very appreciated!!! (Thank you, Dande, for the words.)

Anyway, I drove to Chicago Friday night and met R, my boy-type-friend. And a smashing-good kisser, I must say. We hung out, laughed a whole bunch, ate pizza at Leona's (the Vegan kind -- quite good, actually), then we watched the best episode of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 that I've ever seen. The movie that the "guys" commented on was The Starfighters, starring none other than Bob Dornan, yes, that Bob Dornan, and it was stupefyingly bad. F-minus bad. Hideous bad. Cannot-even-explain-it bad, but that made for a superb episode of MST3K. Laughing is always good. Laughing, lying on the couch, and having your feet in someone's lap is even better. Nice movie-watching times.

Saturday was a trip to the dog beach at Lake Michigan. Have you been there? Because if you haven't, lemme know and we'll plan a trip. Doggies at the beach chasing tennis balls into the surf are so freakin' happy that if you leave there pissed off, there's something wrong with you, my friend. There were a couple of Boxer puppies I wanted to cart off in my pocket and a beautiful golden named Keaton that I when I started petting his head he just parked his doggie butt down beside me. Aw, pretty boy! [Said in my dog voice.] I have a soft spot for all pit bulls, and there were a couple very pretty ones. Jezebel was a fun dog to watch, too. She kept chasing other dogs and kind of squeak-barking every time she bounced. Made me laugh aloud. Oh, and a chocolate lab stalking baby seagulls was one of the best things I've ever seen!

Saturday evening was my voyage to the north, Glenview, to retrieve my 'mate, Matt, and his friend L. I'm always shocked to realize just how much I miss Matt whenever I get to hug his neck. Of course, I burst into tears, because that's what I do. He said, "I love how emotional you are, Stacey." To which I responded, "I'm so glad, because there are no other choices available."

We met E at a bar called the Duke of Perth for Scottish beers and a lovely grilled lamb appetizer. From there we went to dinner, veggie Indian food at a very new place called Essence of India -- it was delicious! I obviously need more Indian food in my life. Nan, spinach, cheese, garlic, curry, chickpeas. How can you go wrong? Especially with nan, which, as previously revealed, is my favorite food group. We then went to another very new place called The Grafton for more beers, Irish this time. Actually, I was too full to drink beer, so I went for a girly martini. Anyway, when you're at a bar called The Grafton, and all attending parties have been to Grafton Street in Dublin, then you get to tell endless Ireland stories! Big fun. I met Matt there in 1988 for a week over Thanksgiving, and we never got over it. We like it that way.

Over an hour was spent dropping Matt and L back off in the great North, and making my way back to the north end of Lake Shore drive in the city, finding a damn parking place, and walking back to R's. More outstanding kisses followed, and then I got hugged -- with the occasional kiss on my shoulder -- while sleeping. You know that's comfy stuff, right there.

Sunday morning, I got up, poured my very tired ass back into the SS Erickson, and drove back home, where I promptly got into bed and slept... for 5 hours. A.) Don't tell my mom, and B.) That's what you get to do when you don't have any babies! Got up for a few hours, ate english muffins and eggs for dinner, watched Law & Order, and went back to sleep. Yeah, that's a good weekend.

Friday Friday Friday!

Is there any better amphetimine for the working person than the word "Friday"? (By working person, here, I mean: working person, unmarried, no children, under 40.) No, I don't think there is. I get positively giddy when it's Friday, and pretty much out of control when I'm going to drive somewhere cool that afternoon!

This week, I'm headed to Chicago to see my friend R, then my 'mate Matt and his friend L fly into O'Hare, and we all go to meet E for cocktails and dinner.

YAY ME.

Short entry. Fun times.

The Appropriate Responses

Since our guy Pete brought forth his deep wisdom and knowledge yesterday regarding the things men say and what they mean when they say them, [http://incredipete.diaryland.com/040928_57.html] I thought it only prudent that we should examine the proper responses to these phrases when they arise, as they are wont to do. And here they are.

1. "Of course I'll still respect you."

I can tell you now that if you’ve asked a question that garners a reply such as this, you don’t respect yourself, and you deserve this shallow response. You have to get comfortable with the fact that you’re having recreational sex or you have to NOT DO IT. Don’t ask idiotic questions. You don’t have to.


2. "I love you."

If you’re in love, and he rocks hard-core, there is a small (read: infinitesimal) chance this is actually true. (I have heard of this happening in nature.) However, it’s very likely not true, and the only appropriate response to this statement is, “Shut up you lying sack. You just want to have sex with me.” Now, if you want to have sex with this maroon, this is your moment – you’re not going to be shot down. And if not, this is your cue to listen to the voice in your head saying, “Next!”


3. "Baby, can you bring me a beer?"

If you don’t know the answer to this question is, “My name isn’t ‘Baby’” I simply cannot help you.


4. "I don't want to talk right now."

The correct response to this little gem is “You’re not talking, you’re listening, Bucko.”


5. "I'll be home in a while."

Wait, wait, wait! You called to see when he was going to be home? Ohmydamn, woman, why are you at home? Why are you waiting? GO OUT, HAVE FUN, GET A LIFE. He should be wondering when your sassy punkass is going to make it home. OK, OK, If you already DID make this stupid call, and you got the “I’ll be home in a while” response, now you happily say, “Okay, sexypants, have a great time! See you later!” This confuses them greatly. Or not, depending on their level of inebriation.


6. "Let's go out tonight."

The proper response here is, while tilting your head coquettishly, "I already have plans for tonight darlin’, but thank you ever so much for asking.” As you take your leave, you murmur things like “ Too bad for you buddy, I have plans tonight that include batteries the highly effective application of latex products."


7. "You look great!"

Lean in, whisper deeply, sweetly, huskily, with your soft lips aaaaaallllllllllmost touching his ear, “Thank you for noticing.”


8. "Let's stay in tonight."

Say you’re married, (try not to break out into hives as you do,) say, brightly, “Oh, good! What are you cooking?”


9. "Let's rent 'Hope Floats'."

“Two words: poop floats.”


10. "I don't think you should be friends with that guy... there's just something about him I don't like."

Here, you have two options. The first is to ask as many questions about this perceived vibe as possible, one after another, as to bring man who did the perceiving to his knees with utter anguish, wishing like hell he’d kept his yam shut. The second one is to not take the hint and dance the jig of glee when your divorce papers arrive and you realize you’re blissfully free and you’ll presently be releasing this Cro-Magnon back into nature!

Soulful Music

So there's a lot of Jason Mraz admiration going around among us right now, and I just have to say, it's SO justified. Ohmydamn, there is just about nothing better than a creative person with the ability to convey intensity of emotion using music. Makes me shiver involuntarily with lust for the odd-looking skinny guy. (Not that there's anything wrong with odd-looking or skinny. Just not my thing, the skinny.) The guitar, the voice, the vocal percussion, the instrumental percussion (yeah, we love Toca, too), and then more of the guitar. DAMN SAM. I'm listening to the live CD from Java Joe's in Cali, and it's truly amazing. (Um, you can see my ability to describe music needs some refining, but you got the message that I'm in awe right now, yeah?)

Hang with me, I think this all actually relates paragraph-to-paragraph.

Who among us can resist a passionate, creative type. Really. Music is just one avenue of conveying conciousness and connection. Admit it, we also love people who write words, draw pictures, take pictures, write music, sing, play a musical instrument, write code, make great jokes, create sculpture, roast coffee, cook delightful food: create things where they were not before. Especially create ways for humans to feel something in common or to communicate better... I'm beginning to ramble, but do you get my general swirl here?

There is nothing that lights me on fire better than a creative, conscious, alive person. Remember when you had a kiss that just blew you completely away? It didn't go any further than that, just a real soft, real slowwwww, tender, superb kiss. Maybe it had been a while since you kissed anyone, or anyone who knew how kiss, I don't know. But you know that slow-burn-skin-tingly feeling it produced over the next couple days? The electrically charged feeling you got from it? Yeah, that's how I feel about just being alive right now.

And part of that is because I have some awesome creative people around me. And those who aren't around me were kind enough to record CDs.

101 Things About Me

1. It's been 7 years since the hair on my head was its natural color.
2. My alma mater is Purdue University.
3. My degree is in professional writing.
4. They actually let me write for a living.
5. I live in downtown Indianapolis.
6. I love living downtown -- I'm just not a suburban kinda chick.
7. I like calling myself a chick.
8. I belong to PEO, which is a sorority-type thing that gives money to women for higher education.
9. I'm a Christian.
10. And I know how to think.
11. And I'm totally comfortable with the fact that faith looks NOTHING like sanity.
12. I truly believe that life is stunningly beautiful. Even when it sucks.
13. Music makes a huge difference in my life.
14. My friends make a bigger difference.
15. I can't believe that it's an accident that I met A, L, D, S, G, and H. Even though the liklihood of us meeting was so slim, it just doesn't feel accidental.
16. I am not a mom.
17. I am a mom.
18. Just not to my own children.
19. I want to adopt two little girls from China. Always have.
20. I'm smart.
21. I've made some shitty choices.
22. I'm REAL smart.
23. I can be real annoying about how smart I am.
24. I LOVE to sing! It makes me giddy.
25. I LOVE to write! It takes a lot out of me.
26. I'm kinda tall.
27. My brother is one of my favorite humans on this planet now or ever.
28. My folks rock, too.
29. There is nothing more wonderful than people.
30. There is nothing more confusing than people.
31. There is nothing more frustrating and irritating than people.
32. Yes, those all go together.
33. I want to live in a bigger city.
34. I can speak enough of 4 languages to get you into trouble.
35. I'm only really fluent in English.
36. Classical Greek is the most difficult thing I've ever studied.
37. Except for Russian, which I try to forget about. Daily.
38. I've met some of my closest friends in the world because of a book.
39. My soulmate is a man.
40. Who is also gay.
41. Which is both wonderful and heartbreaking.
42. I've been married.
43. Twice.
44. And I'm not married now.
45. I'm freakishly girly.
46. Like painted nails, makeup wearing, hair do-ing girly.
47. But I still love to go camping and fishing.
48. One of my best memories is camping with my family in the Grand Tetons.
49. I have some grand tetons, in case you were wondering.
50. Anyway, my brother and I were lying on top of a picnic table watching a meteor shower and the Milky Way was so clear I thought we might be able to reach out and touch it.
51. I was a Girl Scout for 12 years.
52. I earned lots o' badges and stuff.
53. I learned two important things in Girl Scouts: 1.) How to ride a horse, and 2.) How to make my best friend crazy. E-mail me, I'll tell you the story.
54. People who don't read really get on my last nerve.
55. A man who is hilarious and brilliant is far, far, FAR sexier than one who only has physical attractiveness.
56. Not that we don't enjoy both, in their places.
57. My verybestfriend and her hubby are expecting TWINS!!!
58. They are already named: Jude and Silas.
59. I get to be their auntie. I am already the auntie to their other children: Jacob (11), Chloe (8), and Seth (deceased), the cutest people who ever lived!
60. The kids call me Aunt Tasty. It cracks me up every time they say it.
61. My cube at work is decorated within and inch of its life.
62. Colleagues stop by to look at my new pictures and sayings and crap all the time. Social to a fault.
63. I'm genetically predisposed to optimism.
64. I have a deep, deep sadness in my heart because I have recently discovered godhatesfags.com. It seriously makes me sick.
65. Seriously. I'm not kidding.
66. I have an unnatural love for garlic bread.
67. It may, in fact, be possible to purchase me with dark chocolate.
68. My current favorite drink is the dirty martini.
69. Or Kir Royale, if I'm feeling festive.
70. Cheesecake is so good it should probably be illegal.
71. Coffee is the same way.
72. If I could swim in coffee and cream, I would do it.
73. Love is not enough.
74. Kissing is REAL good stuff.
75. I'd really like a real good friend who also is male.
76. One who understands how hard I rock.
77. And one who might rub my head.
78. I'm learning to let go faster.
79. I'm learning to adjust quicker.
80. I'm learning to balance my checkbook.
81. I have a LOT of energy.
82. One of my trademarks is that I always smell awesome.
83. That could also be stated, "I'm a perfume whore." I love the stuff.
84. I have expensive taste.
85. But I don't buy a lot of expensive items.
86. I'd rather travel.
87. I ADORE travel and like it more than jewelry.
88. And I love me some damn jewelry.
89. I am Portuguese.
90. I'm also like a gabillion other nationalities, but I look Portuguese.
91. I'm brave.
92. And sometimes scared.
93. I adore politics.
94. I detest politicians.
95. Swimming is so fun I should move somewhere that it's warm all year.
96. I love being tan, too, so that figures in nicely.
97. I was a Navy brat.
98. I was born in Maryland.
99. I work very hard almost all the time.
100. The rest of the time I'm a lazy ass.
101. I'm done with this list!
102. For now.

My New Food Column

So, lately I've been thinking that just because I have an actual Purdue degree in writing, that shouldn't keep me from actually enjoying it. Writing, I mean. Work will sometimes sap the fun right out of your passions, but only if you're not careful. In all honesty, I can't complain: they let me write for a living, and they pay me enough to live indoors, go on the occasional vacation, and buy cute shoes. Also, I am able to procure enough delicious food to ensure that I'm never a size 8. That being said, I'd rather take approximately three times as many vacations as I take now, go on a mini-road-trip every other weekend, and a girly-girl can never have enough pairs of shoes. Thus, I've decided to combine my two loves into one thing that will make my third love.

Food + Writing = Lots of Cash

Okay, okay, I don't really LOVE money. I just love what it can do for me, i.e., fly me to Zihuatanejo, Mexico with Allison, Lauren, Matt, and Dande, et. al. Anyway, I've decided to call my column:

Bread, Butter, Cheese: The Things That Made My Ass What it is Today.

Please start thinking of ways I can sell this column to the newspapers. Eventually, of course, it will need to be syndicated so that I can afford the luxurious life the abovementioned girls and I so richly deserve. When you have a brilliant idea for marketing this genius work, email me at erickson_stacey@yahoo.com. First column appearing here soon.

Thank you.

Horoscopes and Related Mystical Information

I read my in-depth horoscope today, sent to me by a woman I respect who puts some stock in these things, and it was FRIGHTENINGLY accurate. I don't mean, "You're going to fall in love" accurate, bullshit, whatever. I mean, "You're going to have a romantic interlude on or within two days of Sept 21." And I happen to know that is going to happen. Starting on the 19th. Just one example, and the one I'm excited about -- loving a good make-out session as I am wont do.

If you don't know, I've just released my former spouse back into the wild, you know, where he belongs, and am experiencing all the associated self-doubt, etc. that comes with divorce and major life change. Wait, this paragraph is actually related to the first one.

So, I keep expecting to read the following about Leo girls... me, in particular:

"Run away from Leo, she is thoroughly unable to maintain a long-term relationship. She'll get bored with your stupid ass, or you'll piss her off and she'll never, ever forgive you. She expects a LOT of you, and you're too damn lazy to give it to her. Go now, save yourselves the anguish."

Even when I'm a little forlorn, I'm hilarious! (And really modest.)

This is the honest-to-God truth: I'm just not hilarious all by myself. Oh, yes, I'm brilliant, scintillating, and gorgeous all on my own, but not hilarious. I'm passably funny alone, but hilarious requires a reparte that can only be accomplished with others who are actually funny.

Thank GOD that he delivered to me, via the Internet, no less, the most hysterical people I have ever known. (They're also brillant, and gorgeous, and that's just a little added-bonus luxury that I'm secretly pissed about, no matter how grateful I am.) If you want funny, you'll just have to read this: http://allie3rdperson.blogspot.com/. If you want more funny, go here: http://talesof3.blogspot.com/. And get off my back.

Damn you verbose, literate people.

Let's face it, the only reason I'm posting today is because I didn't have to remember my password, which I don't.

Can you say PhlegmFest 2004? Enough said on that topic.

List of things that make life good today:

• Cute cleaveage
• A Rockin' Hair Day
• Beautiful new red wine glasses
• A pretty bathroom
• Yummy-smelling candles

Hot Moroccan Boy doesn't hurt anything, either.

Too tired to post more.

I tried. I really did.

I tried to avoid joining in with the blogging revolution, but I just couldn't. All my favorite people are doing it, and I just had to copy.

A short list of what makes life good (today):

• Red wine
• Romanian food
• Candor
• Stamina, and
• Laughing so hard it is actually painful.

I make no guarantees or predictions on how long I keep this up, or how long it is before I forget my password, even.

Cheers!