I love coffee.

I love me some angryblackbitch!

Okay, so I totally totally totally stole this from angryblackbitch, but I thought it was fabulous and needed to be seen by my peeps. And angryblackbitch -- will you be my new best friend???

ABB's Bitchfirmations...

When faced with crisis…
You are the shit and you know you are the shit. Pull yourself together! For every crisis there is a solution. Work the problem, bitch…work it! And then, once the dust has settled, you will take the time to examine this shit so that the fuckeduptitude does not happen again.

When faced with confrontation…
Bitch, you know damned well that (insert offending asshole) is the one who should be worried. Are you in the right? Okay. Do you have your facts straight? All right then! Shut the fuck up, put some lipstick on and get down to bitness!

Everyday when this bitch is about to walk out the door…
Oh shit!Look at you!Mmmmhmmm…you know you are a too bad for words (wink).
***Fluff afro***

Behold the woman you have become.
***apply fantabulous signature MAC lipstick shade (Underworld Satin)***

Go forth and discover the woman you have yet to be…you sexy assed smart talkin’ Hershey chocolate diva bitch!
***blow kiss at reflection***

And proceed to keep it real.

Bear Pride

Wow -- I freakin' love Chicago. I really do.
Bear Pride was a fun time, indeed. Apart from a couple hiccups with a potential bedmate, I had a pretty fantastic time. How could I not? Chicago is amazing.

Friday night was fun ... meeting up with Jason G. and hanging out before the dance party was a lot of fun. We ate at Noodles in the Pot when we first arrived, and that set the stage for the rest of the night ... great food usually brings about great times. At least for me. Tony had a fab time Friday night as well, with two conquests and a host of extracurricular activities. Woo hoo!

Saturday --- more hanging out, walking around the fantastic city, eating great food, and preparing for the night's events. The one "conquest" I was looking the most forward to never did pan out ... and the story is way too convoluted to get into ... but, suffice to say, I skulked back to the hotel around Midnight and ended up meeting a lovely young man from San Francisco. Of Spanish descent, his skin was beautiful, he was nicely sculpted, and we enjoyed each other's company for quite some time that evening. Just what I needed.

Driving back Sunday was on the verge of becoming a nightmare, as a mythical wailing banshee inhabited Matt and a totally surreal screamfest nearly wrecked the entire day. I think all parties involved realized the necessity of "letting it go" for the time being ... but I must admit, it will be interesting to see how it sours the remaining time we have as roommates. T and I were still a bit shell-shocked, so we went to the 501 for some chat and some winding down. Our pal David was there, and it was nice to catch up with him and watch the men. I just wish that hottie Randy would either put up or shut up. His shy routine is wearing thin. And after the weekend, I am no longer tolerant of that "is-you-is or is-you-ain't" kinda stuff. But the rum helped. It always does.

Spent the holiday doing absolutely nothing ... and it was just what the doctor ordered. We slept late, watched movies and TV, and just relaxed after the weekend. It was very nice. And I really really do just enjoy hanging out with the hubby. So comfortable. So real. So us.

Now I'm back in Hell and doing the best I can to scour the Internet and all relevant publications for employment in the Windy City. Yeah. It just makes sense. If T can work through the stage managing thing, and we squirrel away the right amount, I totally see us in Chicago next Spring. And I bet we'll open one of the best chapters in our lives there...

"Soul Patrol," indeed...

So ... Taylor Hicks. Who'da thunk?
But that's not really important. I think I witnessed the absolute gayest moment ever on network television last night. The producers of Idol were cruel enough to bring out that horrific Clay Aiken wannabe boy (gurl) and give him a microphone ... and there, lurking in the shadows (like I'm sure he's done most of his life) was Clay himself. Ah, Clay. A bit puffier than usual, Clay emerged from the dark looking frighteningly like the love child of kd lang and Chris Gaines. I'm not sure what Ms. Aiken was thinking with that hair, but the new "pseudo-goth" Clay gets a huge thumbs down from me. Of course, I've never really liked Clay that much, but my GOD! I can't fathom what she's thinking. Is she trying to "butch it up" as a result of that gay web site scandal? Did she think it was lesbian hairstyle night on Fox? Who can say? All I know is, with one bad 'do, the Gayken supplied Kathy Griffin with at least a year's worth of new material.

So I had a crazy plane crash dream last night.
I'm not sure where I was flying from, but it was obvious that I was flying to California. The pilot mentioned LAX a few times ... I just emptied another small bottle of Bacardi into my tepid Coke and waited for something to happen. I was talking to the person seated next to me ... very animated, very in the moment ... but I have no idea who that person was. That bothers me, but try as I might, I can't picture his or her face. When the first wave of turbulence hit, there were lots of screams as passengers were tossed around the plane like rag dolls. I remained seated, drinking my cocktail, and I closed my eyes. I heard a tearing sound, but I still didn't move. I felt air rush past my face and the drink fly from my hand ... but I still didn't move. I bowed my head and started humming "Amazing Grace." The plane slammed into a body of water, and I felt the liquid swirl around me. It was only then that I opened my eyes ...
Of course, that was also when the alarm went off, and I was dragged into reality.
So strange. One online dream dictionary I consulted says that a plane crash symbolizes unrealistic goals. I don't buy that. I don't think I'm unrealistic at all ... overwhelmed by unavoidable decisions, maybe ... but unrealistic? Not so much. I know I'm talented, I know I'm good at what I do, and I know I can and will succeed when I finally put my mind and efforts toward that desired success. Maybe I'm just thinking too much about Lost... :-)

My hubby is getting a cold. Ugh. Poor guy. He's had a rough week. I hope the stuff he bought at CVS helps him conquer this before it really gets started.

I had a really weird dream last night about a long-ago ex, and I'm still pretty disturbed by the whole thing. He just showed up at my door, had a long conversation with Tony, and stared at me. I kept asking "What?" and he continued to stare at me. He never spoke ... and his gaze never faltered. And for some reason, it was totally creepy.

Will & Grace signed off last night, after eight seasons. I think the show ran maybe three seasons too long ... but in its heydey, it was really smart and funny. Some truly classic television moments abounded, and I'm especially fond of season two. I hope all the cast members go on to continued success ... especially Debra Messing. I think she's really the unsung heroine of the show. She's hysterically funny ... always a joy to watch. A modern day Lucy, in her own way.

I have a couple friends who, to borrow from Celeste Holm in All About Eve, tend to think of themselves as "one of the world's neediest cases." How does one gently inform said friends that the constant "woe-is-me" attitude is probably a big part of why they always feel so freakin' woe-is-me? I know depression sucks ... depression and I know each other intimately ... but my GOD! I truly care for these people and would love to help them feel better, but I'm not sure how to approach the subject without coming off as a huge bitch. Of course, I pretty much am a huge bitch, so nothing I say or do is probably out of character...

I'm very excited about our upcoming Chicago sojourn, but I wish my freakin' health stuff would iron itself out ASAP. It's exhausting. When I get frustrated like this, I tend to go back to my "it's better than the alternative" mantra, considering everything my poor body has been through. But it doesn't just affect me ... it affects Tony, which makes me feel even worse. I hate that it seems to be a lingering issue. There's great hope on the horizon, though ... some stuff will happen after Chicago that should bring about the cessation of this crap. Fingers and toes firmly crossed!

I need some book recommendations. Anyone?

Just be...

A friend sent this to me this morning ... and while I usually delete crap like this without reading it, this one struck me. It could be the Xanax. hehe

I'm not sure where this originated ... so all props to the original author(s).

JUST BE
Be strong enough to face the world each day.
Be weak enough to know you cannot do everything alone.
Be generous to those who need you help.
Be frugal with what you need yourself.
Be wise enough to know that you do not know everything.
Be foolish enough to believe in miracles.
Be willing to share your joys.
Be willing to share you sorrows of others.
Be a leader when you see a path others have missed.
Be a follower when you are shrouded in the midst of uncertainty.
Be the first to congratulate an opponent who succeeds.
Be the last to criticize a colleague who fails.
Be sure where your next step will fall, so that youwill not stumble.
Be sure of your final destination, in case you are going the wrong way.
Be loving to those who love you.
Be loving to those who do not love you, and they might change.
Above all, be yourself!

Ever have one of those days when it probably would have behooved you to pull the covers over your head, ignore the alarm, and sleep until the next morning? Yeah, me too.

Do you ever wonder, sometimes, why you say things you say? Why you bother? Or why you can't keep your big mouth shut? I've been feeling that way a lot, lately. And it's never intentional. I'm not vindictive -- I wouldn't intentionally bring grief upon myself or loved ones. It's not how I am, contrary to what many believe about me. I wonder sometimes if someone, somwhere, is playing a big cosmic joke on me ... manipulating me like a marionette, chuckling with glee everytime I throw a huge monkey wrench into an otherwise smooth-running operation. "Let's have Jason say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. EVERYDAY!!!" I'm fucking sick of it. Thank God for Xanax. Although I think I need a stronger prescription.

After the president's speech last night, I'm even more convinced that he's a huge moron. Gigantic. Gargantuan. Mythical.

I have unfortunately developed a "tolerance" for over-the-counter sleep aids. They didn't do squat for me last night.

I can't wait to get the hell out of town next weekend.

Now that the rumors of the Toad the Wet Sprocket reunion tour have proven to be true, I need to get my ass in gear and get tickets.

I'd really like to see more live music, in general.

Turning 35 this year has kind of fucked with my head a little bit. Weird.

The Xanax is kicking in. I couldn't care less now...

Oy Vey!

Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I love me some rum.
However -- I might have gone a bit overboard tonight. It's a bit scary, because, truth be told, I can really see why alcoholics find the "release" of drunkenness appealing ... but I'm going to reel it in and get on top of this latest "trend." I can't do this much longer. It's not fun, really. Sure, it masks the BS for a bit ... but it's all going to be there tomorrow, as I face it with a headache and a mood even more sour than usual. Ugh.

Happy Birthday David (so I'm late -- typical)

Last Wednesday was my nephew David's birthday. He turned 15. I can't even believe it. Wow. So ... 15 years ago (give or take a week - hehe), I had just walked into my apartment after acing my Classical Culture final exam. My roommate, Adam, had just gotten up and was groggy and bitchy. That was nothing new -- we were quite the groggy bitches in those days.

"Your Mom called," he said, pointing toward the flashing light on the answering machine. "I didn't get up in time to get it, but she says your sister is in labor."

"WHAT?" I shrieked. "She's not due for another month!!"

"Well, your Mom says she's in labor. She's at St. John's."

I bolted for the door without even taking a sip of the coffee I had just prepared. I had the rest of the day free and I knew I had to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. As the birthing coach, I should have been there already, but we didn't expect the kid for another month. In fact, Kathy wasn't due until June 6, and I was really hoping she'd drop on my birthday. What a nice little present that would have been...

Amy Grant sang "Baby Baby" over the airwaves as I lit a cigarette and pulled onto old SR 32. I couldn't believe she was ready ... and I was worried that it was too early. Kathy had been plagued by a very difficult pregnancy. She had lost a baby only a few months before finding out she was expecting *this* one, and her doctor advised her it would be highly unusual for her to carry the baby to term. She was receiving shots weekly and had gained a large amount of weight ... but because her marriage had fallen apart, I really think she was determined to have a healthy baby because she needed something to give her a reason to smile. I was honored when she asked me to be her coach, and it was a truly eye-opening and special experience. I sang along with Amy Grant (now I shudder at the thought) and made my way to Anderson.

Mom was in the lobby, talking to my sister Carolyn, who was visiting from Missouri. We made the requisite greetings, and I headed upstairs. After my scrub down, I wrapped the mask around my face and entered the room where Kathy was preparing herself. She was doing well, but really ready to have it over with ... but the doctor told us that the baby would be born butt first. Argh. Kathy was given some more pain medication, and as we worked on the breathing, I heard the nurse say "She's going to rip!" SLAM! I passed out cold.

I woke up in the chair next to Kathy's bed, and she was laughing at me. I missed the whole damn thing! The baby was so small he was dressed in a Cabbage Patch doll's onesie (is that how that's spelled?) and he was the reddest little thing I'd ever seen. The nurse looked at me and said "Do you want to hold him, Daddy?" We all laughed at her mistake, but I have to admit, it was the one and only time in my life I was a bit sad that I won't ever be anyone's father. That somber thought only lasted a second, though, because as soon as I held that little baby, all I could do was stare at him. Wow. I'll never forget that as long as I live. I *can* be sappy at times, everyone...