Just a Note...

I'll be away for a few days...I'll be back soon!

The Cobbler, the Banker, the Candlestick Maker

Every Thursday morning I usually have to scurry over to the bank to cash a few checks and get to the dry cleaners so that I can have everything ready by the weekend. I really shouldn’t be telling the whole world my routine---because that’s a stalker’s dream. The next thing you know, I’ll see Mikey driving behind me on my way to the bank with his oversized wood paneled station wagon waiting to pounce on his prey. (That’s if his car makes it all the way to New York…) Don’t let Kathi fool you either. She’ll be the one driving in a huge Ford pick up truck with a bunch of lawn mowers in the back waiting in the parking lot for me to come out of the drive-thru, so she can make her move. (I hope I can at least convince her to mow my lawn for the love of God…) It’ll be well worth being the stalked victim.

As I pull up to the bank’s drive-thru, I notice a young boy greets me at the window. He was probably around twenty-two years old, tall, lanky with dark hair. He looked like one of those, ‘I’ve been playing video games all my life-wanna be a banker so I can hack into their system’ type of kid. He looked painfully smart, and painfully desperate for a date.

“Good morning!” He pipes through the loud speaker—which sounds much like the one at McDonald’s. Yeah go ahead—now you know I’ve indulged in a little Micky D’s.
"Morning..." I replied, as I slipped my checks into the canister.

For some reason, I always turn down my stereo—even if it’s low. Have you ever waited online at a bank inside, and you can literally hear everything that goes on in the car being served at the drive-thru? It’s almost embarrassing, because these people don’t even realize they’re talking loudly, or blaring their thug music all over God’s creation. The entire bank is bouncing to Snoop Dog.

Needless to say, I remain quiet and still; for the fear of someone noticing my horrible selection of music. I wait for the geeky kid to come back with his oversized dress shirt that looks like he just ripped off from his daddy. New jobs are tough—you have to dress the part. I don’t think anything would fit perfectly on his pencil thin frame, but I betchya’ he’s a nice boy. I think I recall him delivering my pizza once or twice…

“There ya go! Hey, it’s beautiful out today, huh?” He says, in his nasally voice through a can-like tube microphone.
“Ah, yeah—definitely try to get out if you can!” I said, trying to end the conversation gracefully.
“I get off at four. But I usually work out at the gym after work right around the corner.”
“Oh, I’m a member there too. It’s funny, I do the same thing—it’ll be the most gorgeous day, but I prefer the gym rather than exercise outside…”
“Well maybe I can meet up with you at four then?”

*GASP!!!*

I so didn’t want this conversation to go there. I have to be at least ten years older than this kid, (maybe 15--shuddap!!!) and besides that—I was having a horrible hair day with no make up. If you really think about it though, if I were single and wanted to date a child, he’d totally know what I would look like if he woke up next to me. Then again, I didn't want to be on the list of sex offenders in my neighborhood.

*SHAKES HEAD FRANTICALLY!*

No. I didn’t think about it. Don’t even go there. I was actually flattered beyond belief that a young kid wanted to meet me at the gym.

Questions that I have to ask myself:

1. Does he think I need to get my big ass to the gym?

2. Does he need someone to spot his skinny ass while he lifts those five pound barbells?

3. Does this kid even own…ummm….a cornea?

“Thank you so much for offering! I would, but I don’t get off work till 7pm. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime!” What an outright lie! Thou shall not lie. Oh I am breaking all the rules here folks. What a bad girl I turned out to be.
“No problem---hopefully we’ll see each other again!” He says.
“I’m here every Thursday…” I said, laughing my way out of that drive-thru.

This guy’s got nothing on the cobbler. He didn’t even invite me to his…umm….his dad’s house to use the hot tub. I could have played tons of video games and ate pizza with a bunch of banker wannabes.

I need to go deflate my head now.

A Couple of 'Joes'

Let me just take you a few days back when I had that get together at my house. You all saw the embarrassing photos, but what you didn’t see was my trip to the store getting the goods. I thought it was going to be easy—a beer & soda store and a deli that makes homemade Italian goods. Bam! Done.

As soon as I headed out the door, my dear sister Carla and my three year old niece hop into my SUV to take a ride with me. Great. Now I have precious cargo. No problem, I could use some company anyway.

We head off to the store and I rush in like a lunatic looking for a few specific beers so I can cater to everyone with different tastes. This beer and soda place looks like a fricken garage—no lie. I went into the desired aisle and tried to squeeze out a case of Heineken.

“Well well well! You need help with that young lady?” A nice looking man said to me behind the cold glass door that I still had swung open.
“Why do I look that weak?” I asked, joking around with him.
“Well, I’m just offering my services here!”
“Oh, you work here?” I asked, not remembering his face, since this is my stomping ground.
“Naw, I just wanna’ help a lady out here!”
“Awe, thanks, I’m okay though.”
“I didn’t ask if you were okay, I asked if ya needed some help.”
“No. But thank you. Really.”
“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are—or how nice that hair is on you?”
“No—but thanks!” What---do I have a huge wig on? This hasn’t been the first time someone assumed I had a wig. Two black girls with gorgeous weaves were heckling me on the streets insisting that my hair was a wig. One of the girls pulled my hair hard to check. Yep…it was real alright. It hurt like hell too.

Anyway, I rushed up to the check out counter to purchase my beer. He beats me to it. He starts paying for his beer and tells the guy to put my habit on his tab.

“No no no! Please don’t.” The check out boy realizes my horror, and totally respects what I said. He doesn’t let the man pay for my beer.

“You know, I’m the cobbler around this area.”
“The what?”
"You know, the shoe maker. I repair all the shoes around this side of town and make custom shoes.”

Now this guy is telling me I either walk with a limp and I need a shoe that’ll fix that, or he’s telling me I’m way too short and I need some lifts. I can’t make this guy out for nothing.

“Ah man, I can’t walk outa’ here not giving this girl my phone number, can I have a pen please?” He asks the check out boy. The boy gives me this look like, 'Run Forest, Run!!!'

“I have a jacuzzi at home that fits seven and I’m gonna be watchin’ the Yankee's game. Why don’t you come over!”

Not only did he insult my height, he told me I needed to be seated for seven. Great.

“Oh, no, I’m okay…thank you for offering though.”
“I know yer okay, but do ya wanna come over?”
“No. Thank you. I have friends coming to my house later.”
“Bring em’ all!”
“Thank you…Have a nice evening…” I said as I left quickly to get back to my sister and my niece who were both sitting in my back seat. I went to the back of my SUV to place the cold beer down. Then I saw ‘the cobbler’ walking over to my truck.

“Hi Bob!” My sister yells out to the cobbler. I was baffled. Did she sit in that hot tub for seven? Or does she secretly have lifts?

“Hiya Carla! How are ya?”

Oh. my. Gawd! It’s like a family reunion. I needed to get out of there before he starts asking all of us to bask in his hot tub for seven.

“You’re all welcome to come on by later! I’ll be watching the Yankee's game!”

You know something, even if I was interested in this man, the thought of plopping myself in a hot tub while he watched the game pigging out on pizza would totally turn me off. Is it me—or does this guy need a new pick up line? Not only is the word "jaccuzi" the tackiest way to call a hot tub, but his whole approach was off.

He leaves, and I head back to the front of the truck to get in.

“Allo!” I hear, coming from behind me. It was a huge caravan parked there. I looked, and it was a Hasidic man staring at me with this weird pedophile-like smile.

“Allo there!”
“Hello.” I said, baffled over a greeting by a Hasidic man. They never greet a strange woman. (Well not to my knowledge.) I mean, yes I'm strange, but...that's a whole nutha' story. I look over again, and he’s still sitting there in his hotrod caravan waving to me as he smiled from ear-to-ear. It was getting creepy, but I was morbidly fascinated that someone from his culture would pursue this.

I hop into my truck and the window is still half way opened. Before I pulled out, I had to give this guy one more look. I just couldn’t help myself.

“Allo!!!” He kept saying, waving frantically trying to get my attention. This was all too strange; almost like a weird dream before waking up thinking, ‘God that was strange!’

Now, just out of curiosity, I wonder what men really think right before they approach a woman. Do they think of their pick up line? Do they have it already planned out? Do they think before speaking?

For my male readers—what is ‘your style’ when you approach a woman that is not in a bar. It’s not like you can buy her a drink or anything or ‘put it on your tab’… What if you see a woman you would like to meet on the street-- (and no—not the hookers fellas.) What’s your move like?

And for my female readers—what do you do when some guy walks up to you randomly asking you out—especially if he asked you to go in his seven seated jaccuzi?

I'm Totally Fried

It’s true—I’ve been a vedy’ vedy’ bad blogger. I’ve been absolutely exhausted of taking in anything mentally. I can’t think. I can’t read. I can’t do anything that requires me to just be human. I’ve also been a vedy’ vedy’ bad person with my eating habits. My choice of foods lately has been quite alarming. Didn’t I just post about eating healthier a few days ago? Hmm.

Since my girlfriend has been off these past couple of days, we went shopping at the mall, and then of course ventured out to meet a couple of our friends for happy hour at Cheeseburger in Paradise. Jimmy Buffett owns this franchise. Not sure if you all have that chain around your area—but it’s a great place with a menu of drinks. No—really—a menu of different types of cocktails you can order. It’s like a ten page book of drinks. (I can hear angels singing now) Madelene (my girlfriend) and I got there first and parked our rears on the stools. They gave me a huge 22 ounce of beer, and Madelene got a Mojito.

Our friends walk in, and we enjoyed another drink with them, and then got a booth so we can grab a bite to eat. This place is known for their little White Castle-like burgers. They also have a lot of other things on the list, but that’s the main attraction over there. Madelene and I ordered the little suckers along with fries. Let me tell you—Madelene’s the type of person where she tortures the wait staff… “Oh, instead of the fries, can you replace that with cold slaw? Can I have the burger without the bun, and can you place the pickle for a very large olive?" Whatever. She just replaces everything. It’s not Burger King—‘have it your way babe’---it’s a diner-like joint with a huge ass bar. Sacrifice a little – no – wait – live a little damn it!

So, to my surprise and Madelene’s 4th Mojito down, she orders ‘as is’…with everything included in the order. Nothing was changed. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it! After dinner came, I noticed Madelene drinking more…and more…and more…and having a great time. I love seeing her have fun. My friend Alyssa glances at me and says, “Isn’t this quite a switch…” (Knowing that I’m always the drunk one—but the beers didn’t get to me for some reason that night.) Also, I hardly touched any of the fries because I noticed they were crystallized in salt. I mean, these puppies looked like diamonds on a stick if you held on up.

Mission: To get you to drink your arse off!

“I don’t know why I’m drinking so much—water please! Water please!” Madelene says, in this desperate plead.

“Umm, Madelene, pick up one of those fries and hold it up to the light…whaddya’ see?” She takes the fry, wipes the salt off it, and says, “What do you mean?”

Never. Mind.

Even the burgers were crystallized with salt. I mean, what did they do--dip everything in a basket of a deep fryer full of salted oil? Exactly. Seriously, these places do just that. Even Planet Hollywood—total salt factory.

Anyway, when we were going to sleep, I felt my heart go ‘thumpity-thumpity-thumpity-thump!’ My blood pressure was through the roof. As the night continued into the late hours, I found myself downing tons of water and finding that my sweat pants were getting tighter. Yes—my fricken sweat pants had a grip on my waist like a vice! What the hell is going on? I was retaining water. I was a massive water balloon.

To make things worse, I tried to get back on the right track the next day and drown my salt out with the water. I had to deflate, and that was that. I even tried exercising—but that was even a challenge. I felt sluggish and just plain—blahhhh…

And on top of that, last night Madelene and I have the nerve to go out to dinner. We went to a nice restaurant and I figured—well they have healthy foods like fish and chicken as well as pastas. Can’t go wrong. Their salads are delicious.

And so was their deep fried calamari.

Have you seen that movie/documentary, “Super Size Me?” It’s about this guy who generally eats very healthy and decides to go binging off fast foods for thirty days to see how his body reacts. Not only did he feel nauseated, sluggish and tired, but he gained a whole ton of weight that affected his blood pressure and his cholesterol.

And here I am ‘roasting’ Mikey on his blog about his fine cuisines. Hopefully soon, I’ll return to that ‘daily blogger’ that you all are familiar with. For now, I have to cleanse out my system so I can at least be coherent.

A Starry Night Passion

Carrying out your lifelong dreams and doing what you love is quite difficult for some people to do if they don’t have the time or money put aside to tackle their desired projects. Some of us ‘do what we know’ for a good paycheck—and that’s fine. We all have to make ends meet. Natalia’s post inspired me to write something along these lines. Her post today really sparked something in me that’s been brewing for quite some time.

From struggling with school to hopping from one career to the next, my path for ‘success’ determined what job I landed. I hated most of my jobs, and tolerated others. I had to make money and have good benefits. This is what was told to me. This was reality; this was life. You need to survive. I can’t just sit here and paint, draw, sketch, play guitar and write all day…can I? I had to be jammed up in a cubical taking calls from nasty customers complaining about a .03 cent increase in their phone surcharge.

Anxiety attacks and depression plagued my mind and numerous medications were tossed at me for the doctor’s satisfaction for kickbacks. I was just a number. I had to work in order to be ‘okay’ in everybody else’s eyes. I had to be 'employed' at a reputable company in order to be someone; to be worthy. What exactly is acceptable in people’s eyes? Whenever someone hears ‘unemployment’, it’s an automatic stigma for the word, “bum”. “Ah, he/she’s just lazy and doesn’t want to work." The entire time I was unemployed and trying to get better, I saw their reactions—I heard their words.

“A job doesn’t make you…’you’ make the job…” as Madelene always told me.

“Well what do you want to do?” That was always the most popular question asked. I certainly didn’t want to be in accounting anymore, and I didn’t want to be in customer service wishing I was somewhere else. It was pure torture. I wanted to live life, and explore more options. I wanted to write—be heard---tell my story and have people feel as though they’re not the only ones going through certain things and situations.

My passion for writing was what reeled me into writing a book and starting a blog. I want simple things in life; I don’t want to be rich. I love to bartend and be around people. I don’t want to be some important executive on the verge of a heart attack waiting to happen. I wanted to live life beyond the bright florescent-lit offices that depressed me so much. I want to work to help others—not help the quotas of a busy call center so revenue can be at its highest. No, I wanted more; yet I wanted less.

Vincent van Gogh, the famous painter always reminds me of what’s most important—passion for what you do. He suffered greatly from mental distress and had a passion for painting. It’s told that Vincent van Gogh killed himself because no one recognized his talent. His last painting, “Starry Night” was worked on right before his death. He was in a very angry state of mind. He went outside with his paint brushes held to his heart, and walked out into the street and shot himself.

Sometimes I feel like doing this myself. Walking outside, holding my guitar, my book, and many other writings, my laptop to which I constantly write in as well as my paintings---and ending it all. Will I do this? …No, of course not, but I can totally relate to what he went through as an artist wishing to do something he loved so dear.

So what’s most important to me? Love. My relationship with God, being around my family and the union I have with my partner. I want to enjoy sipping wine overlooking breathtaking views. I want to write and dedicate beautiful words to my lover. I want to play guitar melodies to her—and calm her with my music. I want to spend time with my nephew and nieces. I want to share special moments with my friends—laugh and have a great time. I want to live life. I don’t want it to pass me by as I sit in a cubical entrapped with coils of wire dangling down from the telephone.

Even so, I have noticed one thing, at least, that is good. It is good for people to eat well, drink a good glass of wine, and enjoy their work—whatever they do under the sun—for however long God lets them live.
And it is a good thing to receive wealth from God and the good health to enjoy it. To enjoy your work and accept your lot in life—that is indeed a gift from God. People who do this rarely look with sorrow on the past, for God has given them reasons for joy. ~Ecclesiastes 5:18-20

I want all this. I want the good things in life—I don’t have to be rich to possess the good things in life, because the ‘good things’ in life don’t have a price tag on them. They’re gifts from God. Your talents and my talents are all gifts from God. We should use them the best we could. I don’t want to wait for retirement to get to travel around the world. I want it now.

What’s your passion in life?

Quotes from the great artist:

"...I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God's help I shall succeed." ~Vincent van Gogh

..."I tell you, the more I think, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." ~Vincent van Gogh

"...It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to, the feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures." ~Vincent van Gogh

AA Meeting Held At Deb's House

Anyone knows, when Deb is with camera, things get tossed into my blog of course. From embarrassing photos to taking shots of random things just to make a point. (And no, I am so done with that previous post guys—don’t bring it up again…)

Anyway, I usually like to embarrass my friends—not myself. Of course I’m going to embarrass them, but this time, I’m going to put up embarrassing pictures up of me. Remember, when alcohol is involved when taking pictures, things get a wee bit interesting.

This was a spontaneous little gathering I had at my house. We had a little guitar playing & singing—by Alyssa who plays for The September Dogs. She was amazing as usual, and her voice is comparable to Janice Joplin, Joss Stone, and Melissa Etheridge. Yeah yeah, I said Melissa Etheridge—we’re all lesbos. Can’t have a party without the stereotypical terms, right? …Right.

So now I present to you...Deb's embarrassing photos that will soon be regretted or deleted soon afterwards. Naw...I never delete my posts. So suffer all of you who participated in my picture taking fiasco!

This is my friend Brianna. She took a shot with me while she was sober. I've known this girl for five years, and we've been close friends ever since. I met her at a club and knew we were going to be friends for life. (Oh shut up Bri---cause this is as sappy as I get witchya' punkass!)

This is my girlfriend Madelene and Brianna (after drinks). As Brianna goes into a coma-like state, Madelene does her best to hold her up.

Since Brianna went all ‘thug attire’ on me last night, I figured I’d steal her hat and show off my thugginess with the best of them. Not a good impression, huh? This picture is hysterical, because everyone says it doesn’t look like me at all…in fact, I look much like a close friend of mine (who will remain nameless) but the resemblance is uncanny. If any of my personal friends can figure out who I look like in this photo, I WILL send you a prize--seriously!!! Alyssa—in the picture with me is fricken hilarious. She can make you laugh till you dribble! The first time I met Alyssa was while she was doing a gig at a local bar. We’ve been friends ever since—and we haven’t stopped laughing our asses off together. She’s the most cynical little comedian you’ll ever meet. She’s awesome!

Alyssa did a little diddy for us as we all sat around the campfire. (Well, a bunch of candles) We had live entertainment, lots of alcohol and a ton of food…and of course, a houseful of girls. Who can ask for more?

This is Jodie. A cutie, right? She was playing with my little niece…err…well, kinda’ scaring her so it appears. Jodie’s a vegan or a vegetarian or something or other. I bought a bunch of veggie burgers and salads for her so she wouldn’t starve to death. After I woofed down a ‘real burger’ made from a cow, I explained to her that I was a vegetarian myself. She bought into it for some reason, even after she saw me eat meat. I think her hair is naturally blonde. Jodie’s a very nice girl looking to meet Miss Right. So if you’re interested, send me an email and I will play matchmaker!

Okay, leave me alone! Yes she is single, and yes, I’m taken—but I can flirt, can’t I? Pretending to be a vegan is hard when I’m sinking my teeth into a steak.

Here are my lovely guests flipping me the bird. I’m so appreciated. Yeah, go screw yourselves too! I have evidence. Sue (the blondie girl on the right) is Alyssa's wife. They recently just took their vows in Key West, FL. Sue's a great girl who enjoys seeing me drink myself into oblivion.

Yo daddy mac---who’s the drunk now? She claims I drink way too much. Now if this picture isn’t enough to say, “Cut her off!” I don’t know what is… Yeah rock on sista’ love!

Now you all must know Tamar. She is my closest friend—she’s family to me. She never, ever misses any gatherings I hold at my house. I can’t throw an embarrassing photo of her on my blog, because she always takes good pictures—always ready for that surprise snapshot! Even when she’s not ready—she’s just photogenic, and never doing anything ‘incriminating’. I hate that. Please do not ask me who and what Madelene was smiling at—but it looked as though Shakira came flying through the doors. Hmm.

And now...for the finale...the picture you've all been waiting for...

I give to you...

My AA meeting.

Making a "Point"

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not this uptight wench who gets her shorts in a bunch every single time there’s a sexual innuendo made—however yesterday was ridiculous. It was a phallic-filled jam packed day of ‘let’s see how Deb reacts to another penis joke’!

Okay, okay, I’ll label myself as a “lesbian”, because I am with a girl. Not because I would never date a man in the future, if my girlfriend kicks my sorry ass to the curb. It’s just that everyone knows I have been dating someone for about twelve years now, and they automatically love to test my resistance to the one thing I haven’t seen…in quite some time now.

Well it first started out calmly. (Or did it?) It started with JP. He came over to comment on my blog, and well, I peeked at his blog—which may I say was quite impressed with his huge... template. Eh-hem, anyway, as I was reading his post, down below was a photo. Oh yeah—it was “him”. ...HULLO! No, I didn’t click out of it right away due to my good Christian-nature or my lesbian tendencies—hell, I looked!

That was that. Later that day, I enjoyed a nice healthy banana. I figured I was low on potassium and needed a fruit in my diet—(since I hate fruit.) I walked slowly out of the deli, eating my banana—hoping to finish it so I can chuck the peel in the trash. I then see a man glancing over at me in his pick up truck giving me that ‘one eye brow up’ look. I bit down hard on my banana to let him know—I bite. Enough of that. I threw that sucker out and headed to my car—quickly. He left quite quickly himself after that chomp.

Keep in mind this is still early in the morning, and I had to make a pit stop at the gas station. As I’m pumping my platinum gold filled with tons of diamonds type of gasoline (which is how much it’s worth right about now) I notice a man pumping gas into his car. The guy must have just rolled out of bed and thought, “Hmm, I think I’ll pay an arm and a leg for gas this lovely morning!” (When in fact, he brought much more than an arm and a leg.) This guy was wearing baggy sweatpants. Now, nothing wrong with going to the local gas station wearing sweats or anything—but, he wasn’t wearing any underwear! How do I know that? “It” was awake. That sucker was pitchin’ a tent; it was so noticeable--that I even blushed.

The day ends off nicely. My girlfriend and I decided to head over to the local bar & grill to have dinner. We sit at the bar and chit-chat with the regulars. This one guy kept buying drinks—backing them up every time we finished with one. It was almost annoying; as if he wanted to get us tanked. I refused on my third. Can you believe it? You can actually say I’m a ‘reformed alcoholic’ now. Usually they have to cut me off at my 12th... So, the check comes, and I toss out my credit card to the bartender. She comes back with the little receipt and a…and a….and a….very large pen. And no, it did not come with batteries.

Tell me this isn’t disturbing?

My hand wrapped around only one quarter of the black part. Okay! Enough innuendos!!! I have to get some water.

She Won't Sing For Me

The media will do anything to twist your words around to make it appear as if you said something outlandish; when in fact—it could have been the total opposite. So who really knows ‘what’s true’?

On American Idol, the contestant Mandisa, a 29 year old soul singer got booted off the show. In my own opinion, it was because she ‘went country’, when in fact, ‘soul’ was her thing. I voted for her constantly! I hit that redial button about a trillion times until I got through. I wanted her to win---because she had the biggest set of…pipes.

An article in “The Queery” spoke on how Mandisa said she wasn’t an advocate for the gay & lesbian community. Mandisa was quoted in The Advocate Magazine in an interview, “Based on what I believe, I'm not an advocate for (being gay), so it's nothing I would take part in.''

People speculated that this was the main reason why she didn’t receive many votes. She’s a Christian who believes that homosexuality is wrong. She wasn’t gay bashing, however she did admit to one of the reporters for The Advocate that she would never perform for a gay and lesbian support group.

If she believes it’s wrong to perform in front of a gay and lesbian audience—then that’s her thing. Who am I to judge who she should sing for? Again, as I always say, everyone has their own cross to bear, and I believe that gluttony comes on the top seven list of deadly sins, doesn’t it? But thou shall not judge; for I have my own issues. I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

Angry Lesbians Strike Again

Yet I have encountered another case of the unrealistic views and opinions which many lesbians have. It’s disappointing to me that I come across this a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I love receiving emails from different people from all walks of life; but this one had its taste of bitterness in it.

A woman we’ll call “Nicki” writes me yesterday. She explained to me she was a butch (a lesbian with manly features…just in case some were wondering what ‘label’ that was) and criticized me for being ‘too feminine’. I’m not sure if this was the previous ‘anonymous’ commenter a few weeks back who basically ridiculed me for appearing as ‘bi-sexual’; but all this labeling has me exhausted. Must I be labeled in order to be a ‘real lesbian’?

I never fitted in with the lesbian crowd---ever. They always saw me as an outsider; possibly an impersonator. Have I dated men before my relationship with my partner? Yes. My partner was even married to a man at one time in her life. My whole being is focused on ‘who I love’---not ‘what gender I love’. That’s just me though. For some, they are forever labeled until the day they die. I can’t promise that. I have fallen in love with a man before, so to me, it’s hard to say that if Madelene (my girlfriend) and I were to ever break up, who’s to say that a man can’t sweep me off my feet? (Unless I gain a ton of weight—then that’s a different story all together!) We’ll just focus on the labeling part for now…

Judge not.

These ‘hardcore militant lesbians’ prance around intimidating women who appear to look like…umm…women! If I don’t give a rat’s ass about women who choose to look like men, then why should they care about how I choose to look? Are appearances everything? Do they make us ‘who we are’? Or are these women so insecure with their own sexuality and looks, that they have to ridicule those who look different from their cult-like group? This one email upset me, sorry to say—because it just never stops.

“Are you going to the Bush and Iraq protest in NYC this month?” she asked me. Now I have to be some militant opinionated politician in order to get the badge of approval to be a certified lesbian. Great. I am not going to this protest because I find it useless in my opinion. Some of these ‘lesbians’ give other women who prefer women a bad name. They prance around with picket signs proclaiming their rights as civilians all over the city. That’s not the bad part---the worst part of it is, they sometimes feel the need to go topless—displaying their sexuality. Can you imagine if heterosexual people did this? I think it’s a disgusting way to get your message across. I want no part of it. Why would picketing topless make the people change their minds? (Don't answer that please...)

Someone from a GLBT group sent me flyers to pass out for a meeting held regarding rights for gays and lesbians to get married. They hold meetings every week at a church and talk about ways to get the government to change their views—which have been set since the beginning of time. Good luck. I am happy living with my partner and enjoying her time. I went into this knowing that we couldn’t have the exact same rights as heterosexuals. A piece of paper telling me I’m married won’t make our relationship any better. We have beneficiary papers that make me confident knowing that if I should ever pass away—my partner will receive my money and other possessions. That’s all I need.

You have no right to judge me. You have no right to tell me that I have to be bi-sexual if I have long hair and make up. You have no right to decide whether or not I fit in with the gay & lesbian community. I don’t think I want to fit in with that community---the community that's so desperate to be accepted—yet they don’t want to accept anyone else that differs from them. Ironic, huh? I call them hypocrites if you ask me. Every word out of their mouth spews anger and resentment. Please keep in mind I am speaking of the militant hardcore bull-dykes who rant and rave about who’s a lesbian and who’s ‘pretending’ to be.

I have been judged by many lesbians; not only because I look like a girl (God forbid) but even with my religion. “How can you be a Christian?” I love Christ---therefore… There are so many sectors of Christianity—so many extremists and beliefs. Who are they to condone my relationship with God? That’s mine. It’s personal. If I choose to share it on my blog, then I do. If people don’t want to read it—they certainly have a choice. Just like God gave us a choice. If you’re that offended by my lifestyle and choice of religion, then stop reading my blog. (This going out to the girl who labeled herself a ‘butch’ in the email I received.)

It’s funny; I’m accepted more in the straight community as a ‘lesbian’ more than in the gay community. I feel more accepted by them, and they don’t judge my character, or the way I dress, or who I love. It’s amazing to see so many accepting people. And yes, you have your judgmental peeps out there—but the vast majority is willing to accept those who are confident in their own skin.

Some lesbians that I have encountered will isolate themselves off to ‘just their community’ and banter back and forth discussing how bad heterosexuals treat them. Well then stop being such an alien and come back into the real world! You treat them like a plague as much as you think they treat you like it. All of this has to do with major insecurity issues. It’s sad, because if they didn’t hide themselves so much and judge everyone and their mother, they can probably get along with mostly anybody. But they refuse; they neglect the fact that there are ‘different’ people out there who are willing to accept and not judge. They stereotype straight people.

Look at some of their cars--rainbow stickers everywhere and bumper stickers that scream, “PROUD TO BE GAY!” Now what if one of these lovely women got behind a car that had a bumper sticker screaming out, “PROUD TO BE STRAIGHT?” I’m sure these ladies would get their shorts up in a bunch and call them bigots. In fact, I wish they did make bumper stickers like that. I’d love to watch that in action.

My whole point is, these ladies are begging for acceptance when they have none of their own for anybody. What’s the golden rule? I guess they forgot it.

Not Just For the Gay & Lesbian Community

Fort the longest time, I have been telling my friends, family and other people about the book I wrote. I explained that it mainly dealt with the gay community and how to cope with the issues pertaining to religion, spirituality vs. the homosexual lifestyle. Of course, I use biblical scriptures to back up my theory on why I believe God loves all of us unconditionally; why He knows every single person living on this earth struggles with living in the physical nature. Everyone falls short.

Well, I got feedback on my book from everyone who read it. (Friends & family mostly) They asked me, “Why did you list it mainly for the gay & lesbian community when this book actually helped me?” They claimed that the gay and lesbian issues were very little and that the book applies to everyone really. I was kind of taken back and really thought about it. It does have a lot to do with everyone’s issues. I was trying to focus on the gay and lesbian community, so that they wouldn’t be afraid to come to God if they felt ‘guilt’ or ‘shame’ as some Christians say they should feel.

So what’s the main theme of my book? My life really. I went through a break up that left me devastated. It made me feel emotions such as failure, guilt, depression, anger, and grief. I sunk into a depression I barely got out of. I dated someone for a few years, and I broke it off with her due to her jealous behavior. I couldn’t tip-toe around her anymore, but I loved her very much.

This is the first that I speak of ‘her’, because it’s very hard for me to talk about. I speak of her here and there—but not the full story. It’s in my book. I don’t ‘ex bash’ or make her out to be some sort of beast, because she’s not. I loved this woman because we shared a connection---a deep connection that was hard to let go of. It was painful letting go of her, but the emotions that roared within the relationship left me full of anxiety and fear. I’m sure I was no picnic to deal with either.

She basically gave me an ultimatum. She gave me a few that I couldn’t compromise with. First of all, I was still friends with Madelene. We were separated, but we always remained friends and helped one another out if needed. She wanted that to end totally. There was no threat there, and there was no reason to think that I was being unfaithful—because I wasn’t.

The ex gave me six months to make a decision whether or not I wanted to get a place with her. I wasn’t ready to live with her just yet. We were constantly on and off…off and on…so how was I supposed to know this was going to be a steady run? I was insecure about it, and was trying to work things out with her. She couldn’t live with the present moment, and constantly focused on ‘what next, what next’?... I just wanted to have a calm relationship where my best friend was my lover. She wasn’t content with that at all.

When I told her that I couldn’t live with these ultimatums, and broke off the relationship—she left and that was that. It was as if I didn’t exist anymore. She completely stopped all contact and wrote me out of her life completely without compromising just a little bit for me. I even got as desperate to say, “Listen, move in with me!” And sent her roses saying I would give it a try. ...No. That wasn’t good enough for her, and she had already made arrangements with someone else to live with. She found someone else, and that was the end of the ‘what next’ scenario.

Here’s a little excerpt from the book, "A Prayer Away From Healing" to explain what I went through...

Weep bitterly and passionately; observe
the proper period of a mourning for the person. Mourn for
a whole day or maybe two, to keep people from talking, but
then pull yourself together and reconcile yourself to the
loss. Grief can undermine your health and even lead to your
own death. ~Sirach 38:17-18

Hundreds of tissues thrown in the waste basket, a few
lingering on the floor because I missed, and letters from my
ex-girlfriend lying around; there I was sulking, and at times,
hysterically crying. My eyes were red and puffy from the tears
that kept flowing uncontrollably; like a faucet that couldn’t be
turned off. Thoughts raced through my head, “Did she love me
at all?” Rereading the letters that she once wrote to me, “I’ll
never let you go; I love you more than anything.” Was it all a lie?
And if it was true love, why did she give up so easily on me?
Why did she let me break up with her and not fight for me? That
question alone sounds crazy. Our on and off relationship has
finally been stomped out for the last time. I knew I was never
going to see her again. I had feelings of unworthiness and failure.
I have failed at this relationship because I failed to keep her here
with me. I actually pushed her away for goodthis time. The last
conversation we both had was a good one.

She had visited me and we both told each other how much we
loved and cared for one another, and left it at that. In her eyes,
we both knew it was our last ‘goodbyes’. It hit me just as hard
as if someone I loved had passed away. It would have made a
difference if she said to me, “Deb, I no longer love you anymore,
it’s not there and I want to move on.” That I could have handled,
but knowing that she still loved me as much as I loved her, it
made it all the more difficult. It made it as equal as a death.

I cried so much that night that it left me with heart palpitations
and chest pains the whole entire evening. When I woke up,
the palpitations were there to greet me as I had my morning
coffee. The coffee stirred them up even more! I convinced
myself that I was having a heart attack. My best friend called
me and heard how upset I was. I told her that I was having
palpitations and I needed to go to the hospital. She urgently
left her job and picked me up right away. Needless to say, we
stayed in the emergency room for five hours as I was hooked
up to heart monitors and E.K.G. machines. I made myself sick
over this. I had to see cardiologists and wear holter monitors
overnight to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. The break
up not only affected me emotionally, but it affected me
physically. I thought that I was dying. I had lost someone I
loved so much. I wanted to die. I didn’t care at this point. I felt
numb when I went to sleep at night. I mourned a bit too much
for her, and I knew I was in trouble.

I had to make a decision. I had to decide if I was going to live my
life, or die for this woman. I chose to live. I went to God and prayed.

“God, whydid this happen? Why are we apart when we love each
other so much? Why do things have to be so difficult?” I prayed,
meditated and spent hours reading the bible.

Habakkuk 3:17-19 Even though the fig trees have to
blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though
the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even
though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are
empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the
God of my salvation. The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He
will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely
over the mountains.

What that passage means is, no matter how depressed you
are or how dreadful things seem to be in your life, if you go
to God and rejoice in the Lord, He will give you strength and
guide you through this difficult time. I am certain that if I did
not go to God for help that I would have become either very
ill or even dead at this point. My life would have taken a turn
for the worse. I am sure that this was all meant to be. This was
a time for me to slow down and evaluate my life and where it
was going. I wanted to be happy and relied on someone else
to do that for me; not realizing that no one can make me
completely happy unless I was happy alone. I needed to be
alone for a while; to spend more time praying to God and
reading the bible. This whole situation is what led me to write
this book, so in that aspect, I am grateful. Sometimes God
puts a situation in our lives for you to produce a wonderful
accomplishment. I believe that with all my heart. I admit, I
never want to go through that heartache again, but as it turns
out, I have accomplished something I have always dreamed
of; it has turned into a positive thing. Remember, God sees
the “big picture.” Difficult times in our lives can only make us
stronger if we seek God. If we don’t seek God, we will wilt like
a flower. We will sink into that depression that the evil one
prepares for us.

If you let God help you, He will heal your heart and make
you stronger than you ever knew. God has brought people into
my life that made me forget about my broken heart. He has
given me certain situations that made me focus on different
things other than my break up and He has given me strength
and hope so that I can move on with my life.

As I said, the depression I went through almost took my life. I was at a point where I had a gun to my head and debating whether or not to live or die. I chose to live thank God, because I heard a voice that was asking me, “What about your family? Do you think this is a selfless route to take? Do you realize how many other people you’ll be hurting?”

That thought alone made me stop and put the gun down. She wasn’t worth my life. Yes—she’s an incredible woman—but not worth a bullet in my head. No. Hardly anyone knows about that part. This is what I went through; what God got me through. Still to this day, I speak to ‘her’. I will not say names nor put her in a bad light. I wasn’t the ‘best girlfriend’ to have either at that time, because I was just coming out of a relationship when I met her. I had tons of emotional baggage. I needed to be on a hiatus before dating someone else. It wasn’t fair to her, and I have apologized to her a million times over.

Two years later, we got back in contact with one another and basically felt ‘the connection’ still. We promised one another we would never act upon it, due to our commitments with our current girlfriends; but we decided to be ‘friendly’---and an email here and there wouldn’t hurt. Or would it? We even tried meeting up, and realized that there was too much anxiety to even attempt that. Was it anxiety or lingering feelings that got in the way? We both backed out of it because we knew it would be unhealthy for the both of us to continue being ‘real friends’ in ‘real life’.

At times I still get a little melancholy thinking about the good times I had with her—and remembering the great friendship we once shared. I miss her in that way. I don’t miss the awful heart palpitations and anxiety attacks worrying over what mistake I made, or how I could make her happier. I couldn’t make her happier. She needed something I couldn’t possibly give her—which was ‘me’.

It’s something that happened in the past which has been forgiven, but never forgotten. This is the reason why I wrote the book in the first place. It started off as a personal journal at first--and then turned into a book. I thank her for the experiences we shared, and the friendship she gave me.

The Resurrection

It's every day
I'm in this place
I feel this way
I feel the same
It's every day
I'm in this place
I feel this way
I feel the same

Is it all inside my head?
Is it all inside my head?
I'll view the list
And take my pick
I'll view my faith
And make a choice
'Cause it's nobody else's but mine...

But you are in my heart
I can feel your beat
And you move my mind
Fom behind the wheel
When I lose control
I can only breathe your name...
I can only breathe your name...

So many days within this race
I need the truth
I need some grace
I need the path
To find my place
I need some truth
I need some grace
The part of you
That's part of me
Will never die
Will never leave
And it's nobody else's but mine...

You are in my heart
I can feel your beat
And you move my mind
From behind the wheel
When I lose control
I can only breathe your name...
I can only breathe your name...

You'll view the list
And take your pick
You'll view my faith
And make the choice
'Cause it's nobody else's but yours...

And you're in my heart
I can feel your beat
And you move my mind
From behind the wheel
When I lose control
I can only breathe your name...
I can only breathe your name... ~Sixpence None The Richer

Jesus said, “All of those who love me will do what I say. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and live with them.

Anyone who doesn’t love me will not do what I say. And remember, my words are not my own. This message is from the Father who sent me. I am telling you these things now while I am still with you. But when the Father sends the Counselor as my representative—and by the Counselor I mean the Holy Spirit—he will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I myself have told you.

I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn’t like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, because now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that you will believe when they do happen.” ~John 14:23-29

The Resurrection

Early Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. She ran and found Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved. She said, “They have taken the Lord’s body out of the tomb , and I don’t know where they have put him!”

Peter and the other disciple ran to the tomb to see. The other disciple outran Peter and got there first. He stooped and looked in and saw the linen cloth lying there, but he didn’t go in. Then Simon Peter arrived and went inside. He also noticed the linen wrappings lying there, while the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head was folded up and lying to the side. Then the other disciple also went in, and he saw and believed—for until then they hadn’t realized that the Scriptures said he would rise from the dead. Then they went home. ~John 20:1-10

Happy Easter!

Thank "GOD" It's Friday!

And I do thank God it’s Friday. If it weren’t for God giving up His only son on this day, my sins would have never been forgiven.

This morning while I was praying, I realized that I was caught up with a few addictions. For the longest time I didn’t consider my daily routines and other little things to be called ‘addictions’; but they are. Sometimes I go into this denial phase and ignore what’s really going on, when in fact, it’s totally taking over my life. “Oh this? It’s normal…” I say to myself. It’s small enough to be intriguing or interesting--whatever it is, until it becomes a larger problem later on.

Let me put aside my own addictions. (Not that I have a problem with alcohol, sex, over indulgence with good food and spending too much money that I don’t have.) Eh hem! ...Let me get into why I think it’s important to have God come into my life and ‘take control’ instead.

Instead of obsessing over things that make the average human happy in this world, I’ve asked God to take complete control over my desires of things that conflict with the law. “Oh but she’s such a good person.” I have even heard this phrase come out of someone who ‘should’ be upset with what I did recently. (Thank you for saying that.) But in reality, I’m not that ‘good person’. I’m a person with flaws, imperfections, obsessions and addictions that make me do things that are unhealthy not only to me—but those around me. I apologize to any of you who’ve come across my path who were hurt or upset with me, due to my addictive behavior.

“Who are you and what did you do with Deb?” You’re probably asking yourself right about now. I’d like to say that my guilty conscience is a gift from God. Guilt is always a bad thing; but sometimes it’s enough to budge you back in the right direction. I’m not even sure I know what direction I’m going in—but I’m trusting in God today. I’m giving my life up so He can take control. I’m not sure what will happen or what that means for my future (except for a reward in heaven—maybe a great set of wings and a halo made out of platinum) but I hope this will help me with a lot of unresolved problems in my life.

This doesn’t imply that I’m about to become this perfect person. No. It just means that I am asking God for help; asking Him to guide my life at this time so I don’t stumble and fall into something I can’t get out of. Lately, it’s been ‘too much of everything’, and the concept of moderation has gone out the window and tossed in the woods somewhere. I seem to overdo it with everything I do. One drink, leads into twelve. (Shush yo’mouth Alyssa…) Of course I’m still going to have a glass of wine or three, or a few beers here and there—but no more binge drinking. (Close that trap Sue!)

Another downfall are my thoughts. One slightly impure thought goes into a ton of ‘what if that actually happened’ type of scenario. And don’t think that thoughts are just ‘thoughts’. If you think them up enough, they could become a reality—which has happened in my case. Everyone around me knows that I eat like a bird—but pretty much healthy foods, but lately it’s been a helluva food choice for me. I’ve been eating absolute crap lately; which has effected my entire life as far as sluggishness and moods, as well as put on a few pounds. And this coming from only a certain type of foods---fried or processed stuff. Not good—stay away from those if you can. I always stayed away from them until recently. It does take a toll on the body and fast!

Living beyond my means. I have champagne taste on a beer budget. See? There goes my obsession on alcohol again! I usually tip way too much, spend too much on something I can get for less, or just blow money out the window on alcohol and other things before necessities. I know well enough not to tap into my savings or even ‘think’ that I have a savings—but I need to be more cautious and particular with what I spend my money on. It’s been reckless lately.

So does this mean that Deb is going to change? Well, hopefully for the better. I hope that my health goes in a better direction because of this and the people around me don’t get hurt with my words or actions.

I just think today is the perfect day to do this; the day Jesus died for us on the cross.

When the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Here there is no conflict with the law. ~Galatians 5:22-23

Patience and self-control are the two things that I’m seriously lacking. I guess the first step is admitting it. The second step is having faith that God will change me as a person.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will know what God wants you to do, and you will know how good and pleasing and perfect his will really is. ~Romans 12:2

A lot of my behavior is influence by a lot that goes on around me. Sometimes I get caught up in the henhouse full of gossip, and it’s hard to stop. I don’t even realize I’m doing it, until after someone finds out about it. Little things like that can add up to a huge amount of guilt and anxiety. Even little white lies. I think it’s safe to say that we all do it from time to time.

Believe me, I’m not sure what this all means for me right now. I will let you know ‘what changes’ as I blog about stuff daily. I guess you can see the results with the happenings of my life. God says that He will change you if you accept Him into your heart. So, I’m going to see what changes occur and I will write them down. Maybe something huge will take place—I’m not sure. Only God knows.

I promise this though… My humor and comical side will never change. That’s just something I’ve had for years. (Or think I had) I may poke fun at something—but usually it’s done in good nature. I’m not going to become this dull holy rolling, bible thumpin’ Christian who slaps you on the wrist with a ruler screaming, “Bad bad bad bad!” No. I’m still Deb, I’m still ‘me’, but with a greater power working in my heart. Remember, God is the king of comedy—He’s the one who even invented it.

So today I pray…

“God, I’m sorry for my sins. Right now, I turn from my sins and ask you to forgive me. Thank you for sending Jesus Christ to die on the cross for my sins. Jesus, I ask you to come into my life and be my Lord, Savior, and Friend. Thank you for forgiving me and giving me eternal life. In Jesus’ name I pray. …Amen.”

Suggestive Behavioral Tips For Work and Play

At my old place of work, we used to have these seminars that would help you increase your sales and keep up with positive morale while working in a stressful environment. For the most part it was mostly entertaining. The two people who directed the seminars were funny, witty and had great advice for techniques they used to increase profit. They made a boring subject interesting for a lack of better words.

Not only did these seminars help me with my sales and with my job overall, but it helped me in my everyday life; how to communicate better with people. They demonstrated the human behavior and what people ‘want to hear’, as opposed to what they hear everyday. Give them a whole other aspect of what’s approaching them—whether you’re in sales or any other type of position. Well, I applied this to my everyday life…not just my job.

One of the many things that stick out of my mind was the topic of ‘open probe questioning’. Basically, it’s asking a question leaving that person to explain his response, instead of a ‘yes and no’ type of answer.

For example:

Closed probe question: "Do you have a sister?"

Typical answer: "No." (You may or may not get the answer unless probing around more…)

Open probe question: "Do you have any siblings?"

Answer: "Yes, I have three older sisters…no brothers."

So you get the gist, right? Now, when I was selling internet, DSL lines and telephone equipment, I would always ask them an open probed question within my sales technique. It always worked much better. So instead of just limiting these great techniques for sales…I learned an awful lot about people in general.

Really observe others when you’re sitting at a bar talking to people who you’ve just met. It’s amazing how some people try to communicate. For instance, here’s a conversation I had with one lady while sitting at the bar.

Barfly Lady #1: (Looks at my ‘wedding ring’) “So what does your husband do?”

Me: “I don’t have a husband.” (I could have elaborated, but I wanted to test her ability to probe further.)

Barfly Lady #1: “Oh moy Gawd! My brotha would just love you! Do you have a boyfriend?”

Me: “No.”

Barfly Lady #1: “Ya know, I have a dating service that I run. You should come into my office and we can see what and who’s available! Why dontchya’ come down? Here’s my business card.”

Me: “Oh, I’m okay—but thank you!”

Barfly Lady #1: “You mean you don’t wanna find Mr. Right? Oh moy Gawd Shelly—look at her---she’s gorgeous and single! John would just love her!”

Me: “Not really…but thank you for even offering!”

Barfly Lady #2: “Oh what a shame! Such a pretty girl like you—and you’re not even looking at all?”

Me: “Naw, I’m pretty happy where I am right now.”

Okay, so now you get the idea of how this conversation is going. I could have elaborated a bit further, but it was so much fun taking them for a ride.

As soon as I was done eating dinner with my girlfriend who was sitting right next to me and a few friends, I got up and put on my jacket. The ladies looked over at me and asked if I was leaving.

“It was a pleasure talking with you ladies—nice to meet all of you.” I said, as I shook their hands. “And by the way, I’m a lesbian; this is my lifetime partner of twelve years.”

They’re eyes instantly focused on the two of us and the look of embarrassment sunk in. How could they have not known? We both had the same rings on each finger, and we were sitting very close to one another in an intimate setting. Not only that, the bar is a gay/straight/bi type of place. Anything goes. They had to assume there would be a few lesbians lurking around. I just don’t give that information up, unless I feel it’s ‘right’.

Okay, on to another technique used to fool people. Ever notice how some people seem to sell more than others? I’m talking more of that ‘face-to-face’ type of sale. This even applies when approaching someone that you want to date or get to know. Use ‘positive body language’. Over the phone, always say ‘yes’, after asking someone a question or assume that they want it, and ask how many they would like.

“So with your phone service, you get calling cards with it---how many would you like?”

Bam! “Oh give me two. One for my husband and one for me.” (Usually the response.)

Tamar---you know what I mean because you’re still at that office!

What about in person? Let’s take you Walter, (TrappedinColorado)… You walk into a bar, and you see a beautiful woman sitting by herself. You walk up to her and say, “There’s a martini special, which one do you want me to order for you?” Nodding your head “yes” and smiling indicating you have a pulse in there somewhere. Is it corny? Yeah, but does it work? Most of the time.

“Oh! Well, I guess the appletini.” She replies, a little confused, but happy the offer was there.

So now she thinks this is some sort of martini salesman—but it’s not. She accepts the drink; therefore, you have time to shoot the breeze with her, Walter. Don’t mess this up buddy. It takes approximately two minutes to shake this martini—give your best impression!

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Shake your head yes…and your suggestive behavior will immediately sink into her head and she will automatically go with the flow and say…"Not at all...please do”. She says, nodding—but not sure why she just gave you permission to sit there--besides the overwhelming charm you're putting on. She's a little foggy on her peculiar behavior, but now you’re ‘in’… Make your move. (Please make sure she isn’t waiting for a huge body builder boyfriend named Biff…)

Now you get to the ‘conversation part’. Ask open probed questions. Ask only questions about her. People love to talk about themselves. Obviously we do, or we wouldn’t be blogging every day of our lives.

“So where are you from?” Oppose to, “Do you live around the area?” That one line will open up many avenues for other conversations. Avoid ‘work related’ questions. Some people may not want to reveal what they do for a living---or a lack of what they do. They will automatically close up sometimes. I know the usual conversation is, "What do you do?” Scratch that. Think---‘life’---not jobs. Especially in a bar, the last thing a person wants to talk about is their work.

Never, ever, ask them if they are dating anyone. Don’t ask…don’t tell. I know, I know---how do I know if they’re dating someone then? If they are not interested in you—you will immediately know there is another man involved (or a pretend one to get you out of their hair.) So leave it up to them to say, “Oh well my boyfriend and I just got back from vacation…yada yada yada…” It will happen if they are involved—believe me. Or she may tell you she’s a lesbian.

Never, ever, talk about your ex, unless she asks you specifically. If she does, do not talk negatively about the ex. It’s just the same as a job interview. When asked about your previous employer—you do not speak badly of them.

“It just didn’t work out. I enjoyed my time with her (or with at my job) but it just didn’t work."

End of story.

Sometimes that’s a ‘test question’ for women. They open up the ‘ex files’ and see where you take off with it. If you speak badly of the woman you used to love at one time, then what will you say about ‘her’ when and if you get into a relationship with this new one? See? Women think way too much. We’re analyzers and we dissect everything down to the bone. We never talk ‘just to talk’…We put you under a microscope like a fricken bug and see what’s brewing.

You think you guys have it bad; my position of living in the gay community is quite bizarre. It’s very tricky trying to approach a woman in a bar or other establishment—if you find them attractive. You never know if that other significant other is lurking around. And usually—she is; she’s like the mother bear waiting for her prey. She’ll pounce at the right time and you’ll never know what hit ya.

So for my lesbian friends… Here’s Deb’s tip on ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’…

1. Never assume just because a woman is by herself at the bar that she doesn’t have a burly girlfriend in the wings stalking her every move. Tip? Buy her a drink from afar, and just nod. Do not approach her just because you bought her a drink you dimwit. Let her approach you…

2. When dancing, if a girl decides to dance with you—this does not mean she is single. Take a good surveillance of the entire room, and see if any eyes are darted on you two. Ask, “Did you come here with anyone?” It’s okay to ask, “Should I be scared?” Dancing can get quite risqué in those clubs. Those questions are suitable. You don’t want big Bertha coming after you with her new Timberland boots to give you a good colonoscopy.

3. Bathroom pick ups. Oh just avoid this entirely! You never know who’s in the stalls behind you. The whole ‘hearsay-lying-ass rumor spreading fest’ goes on in this room. Avoid it at all costs.

4. The outside smoking crowd. Usually, at the gay bars----there’s usually a bit more ‘smoking tobacco’ going on here. Do you really want to risk the chance of meeting a pothead dyke? Just avoid it.

5. Loser!----never, ever, ever, ever try to pick up the bartender! Not only will you lose your precious tip money because you want a little sumptin’ sumptin’ on the side after her shift, but you’ll lose your dignity while you’re at it.


WARNING: Taking tips from Deb is like selling your soul to the devil. Deb hasn’t used these techniques since the night before last—I mean before she dated Madelene. Do not use these tips if you are married, in a relationship or otherwise have a head on your shoulders. All caution should be used while taking any advice from Deb. If you experience any sudden itching, swelling or burning sensations—Deb is not responsible for these side effects. Take her advice ONLY at your own risk.

Glad I'm Not in Her Shoes

You have to be kidding. You place Starbuck’s coffee shops in grocery stores and huge department stores near the entrance, and you expect people not to grab a coffee as they shop?

“No food or beverage allowed in store.” Says your sign.

What the? I mean, come on. How are these people supposed to make money? It’s like a tease---all these delicious coffees and other little treats available for the taking, without the permission to take it. It seems like a total oxymoron to me.

Yesterday was a fun-filled day of shopping. Who am I kidding? It was completely exhausting. The mall was packed with angry shoppers and whiney little kids screaming, “Mommy mommy, I want this! Mommy mommy buy this for me!” Wait…I think that was me. Yes, I brought mom with us. She had to return the toaster that I bought her for Christmas. She’s been wanting to do this since Christmas day.

My girlfriend and I make a pit stop at Target to return the toaster. They exchange it with no problem—and no receipt. I thought, “Wow, that was painless.” Until my girlfriend wanted to go shoe shopping.

Now, I’m not your typical girl where all I wanna do is shop till I drop. No—I’m like the guy waiting for his girlfriend to come out of the dressing room trying something way too small on asking me, “Honey, does this make my ass look fat?” And then of course, I shove a Twix candy bar in my mouth so I can’t talk.

Shoe shopping is easy, right? It should be. I went and picked out beautiful three inch wedged sandals with a bunch of sexy little straps on them. I tried them on…I liked them…and that was that.

My girlfriend? She basically stared at the same two pairs of shoes. First of all, these shoes look like ‘Buster Brown I work on my feet all day and sometimes have the occasional anvil dropped on my toes’ kind of shoes. Now, she’s feminine—don’t get me wrong, but just by judging her by the shoes she wears, you’d think she was a man.

I always used to say, “You can always judge someone by the shoes they wear.” Or can you? Now I’m not so sure that theory applies here.

So mom’s with us. Madelene and I are trying on shoes together—sitting on the same bench. I was wearing my three inch high heel boots, and she was wearing the old Buster Brown looking shoes. I had to take my socks off and replace them with those sheer stockings they have available to try on sandals. I went to change back into my boots, and realized that my sock was missing.

“What the hell? Where’d my sock go?”
“Oh, I had to use your sock, because the ones I was wearing were too bulky.” Madelene explains.
“Madelene! We’ve been walking all day in this mall for hours—my feet are all pruned up and sweaty—and you take my socks? Your feet have to be in the same state as mine!” I say, in horror.

She hands me back my sock and I put it back on my foot as I cringed in disbelief. I think I even walked with a limp I was so mortified. She starts laughing at my OCD that has just kicked in. This wasn’t good. I was really pissed off. Don’t take my socks. Don’t wear my underwear, and don’t ever…ever…sip from my drink.

We cool?

A little later, we see another shoe store. We walk in, and we decided that we needed new sneakers. Fine. Vacation is coming up, and we need some ‘comfy’ footwear. Madelene’s lost in God knows what section, as I’m standing in the ‘ladies footwear’ as I’m supposed to be… Mom was sitting at the end waiting for us. She was a bit tired.

I come out almost instantly, picking out my sneakers almost right away. I made a great choice—no problem---we outa’ there!... No. Madelene’s with us. Great. She walks out of an aisle (I believe the little boys' section) and comes out wearing these ‘I wanna be on a bowling league so bad’ kind of shoes. No lie—these shoes had stripes on them going in every which direction. Red, white, black purple—you name it---every color was on there. My mother starts rolling. She starts laughing so uncontrollably that her laugh made me laugh. Her contagious laugh had other people chuckling as they walked by.

“Ma-Ma-Ma-Madelene! HA HA HA HA HA!!! Y-y-y-you look like a clown in those! HA HA HA HA HA!!!” My mother says, as she laughs even harder.

Madelene quickly shuffles back into the little boys’ aisle and changes out of her bowling shoes into her Buster Brown look-alikes.

Where did my little feminine princess that wore dainty shoes go? The one who used to wear sexy high heels and beautiful chic sandals?

I guess I have to walk a mile in her shoes to find out…but my OCD won’t let me.

Confucius de Jour

Confucius Say: When you awaken tomorrow, solutions to your problems will become clear.

That’s exactly what it said in my fortune cookie. I even put the little tiny piece of paper under my pillow. I woke up at around 9 am and was fooled. Everything was still foggy. I went to open the blinds, and to my surprise, the sun was out and it was a crystal clear day. It looked so warm and inviting. I went to step outside on my deck to take in the air. As soon as I opened the sliding glass door, a cold frigid wind practically engulfed me with its bitter bite. I closed the door immediately and turned up the heat. Sometimes things aren’t what they appear to be.

I wonder if that concept sort of explains my nature. Am I who you think I am? Or am I who I want you to think I am? Some people conjure up a total different picture of what someone may be like. Have you ever come across someone talking about a celebrity as if they knew them in person? It amazes me how often all of us assume what a person is like. I do it too. I sometimes imagine if I ever walked into Sharon Stone, she’d shun me and say, “Oh darling, I don’t have time…please!”--when in fact, she may be flattered that her one billionth fan had approached her asking for her autograph. Our minds are creative whether you think so or not. We practically make up a person’s character.

There are many facets that make up someone’s personality. To me, that’s what makes people so interesting. For others, they may assume that person with many ‘facets’ has a multiple personality disorder. It’s possible, but a bit presumptuous in my opinion.

What makes someone’s personality? What compounds all these little complex moods, behaviors and outward appearances? It can be environmental. Someone may be affected by the weather; whether it’s dreary out, no sunlight, lack of vitamin D—which has also something to do with SAD (seasonal affective disorder). They become depressed and more melancholy. In my case, it can be a bad case of PMS—and then you might want to just avoid me for those couple of days. My girlfriend just ‘yeses’ me to death, until she knows the storm has passed. Not a pretty sight.

Spring is here. Well, after yesterday’s snowfall, it was hard to determine that. The weather is slowly but surely coming back to sunny and warmer days. That usually puts a little pep in our step. The thought of wearing no heavy jackets and scarves may make us feel excited. Longer days, shorter nights and more time to spend outside.

There are a few blogs I read on a daily basis. It’s not all the time I comment; sometimes I just take it in…and take it for what it’s worth. There are times I find that some writers talk about the same issue; the same problem or situation in their lives. I wonder if they ever think about anything else. Then I wonder how other people seem to have a variety of things to write about. It’s not like all of us are the same—of course we’re not, but how can one person write about one thing constantly, and another have a million things to write about? Do some have more life experiences than others? Or do some people limit their writings to a minimum? Are they scared to open up further? Or are they just more conservative and reserved about the details of their complex lives? We all have complex lives—none of us have the ‘perfect life’.

Which brings me to the reason of this serious post… I received an email from a reader inquiring about my candidness. I can only say this… If I were to limit myself to a more conservative structure, I would feel trapped and limited. It wouldn’t be ‘me’. My whole life has been an open book. When people meet me, they’re sometimes surprised what comes out of my mouth. I say what they think. Some people aren’t used to that, and others feed off of it. I’m not lewd or say things that are totally inappropriate; I’m honest and I say things that others may want to ‘keep in’. If I’m not embarrassed by it—why should they be? Why should anybody be? It’s my ‘thing’; it’s my life. Maybe a certain experience in my life that I share with someone may help them. Maybe they’ll think, “Hey, I’m not alone…I have that problem too!” That’s my goal. I want people to know that we’re all here for the experience; for the trials and unique tribulations that we’re sometimes overcome with embarrassment over.

Even when I go out with my girlfriend, there are times when I feel comfortable enough to tell someone, “Oh we’re a ‘couple’…” if asked of course, or sometimes I don’t say a word and let their minds assume what it may. It’s not that I’m ashamed about being a lesbian, it’s simply a matter of safety reasons. Sometimes I get good response---where they are very accepting, and sometimes I can get a bad response; whether it be, “That’s an abomination to God!” or, “Wow, do you need a third party?” Sometimes people think we’re bi-sexual due our feminine qualities. Fine. Think what you will. We don’t label ourselves. We’ve been together for a long time and we’re monogamous—so I guess that makes us human beings that love. I hate labels. Like I have said in other posts before, who knows if my girlfriend and I were to break off one day that some man couldn’t sweep me off my feet? No one knows the future. Some women that have been married to a man for twenty years with kids sometimes figure out---“Hey, I’m gay!” It happens. They could either fall in love with their best friend or realize ‘this life isn’t for them’. It can also happen to women who are lesbians. They can wake up one day and realize, “Oh my sweet Lord I think I’m in love with ‘him’!” I’ve seen in happen a few times.

Once you label someone, you permanently mark a tattoo on their persona. We do it for different reasons. Personalities, traits and other human characteristics are so complex and diversified that in my opinion—that it’s impossible to put ‘one’ label on one person. There are so many things about one person that you’ll never get to find out about them---when all along---we thought ‘we knew them’. Do we know them? Do we know our own family members? Do we know our husband/wife/or partner? I still have yet to know everything about my girlfriend Madelene. I don’t think I’ll ever know ‘everything’ about her—but I accept what she’s willing to put forth. No one has the right to be entitled to every aspect of someone's life—unless that one person is willing to dish out that info. …And if you’re lucky enough, they’ll give it to you.

Hell—when did I become so damn serious? See what sobriety does to me? I need a drink for the love of God! I’ve been consumed by espresso and a lot of thinking…possibly too much thinking. I need more ‘drinking’. I don’t mean to get you in a ‘sappy-serious-make ya wanna talk about philosophy and save the world’ type of mood'—I just wanted you to know what was brewing inside my mind besides the mass amount of coffee flowing through my veins.

In conclusion my friends, never go too long without a beer…never go too long without calling a friend…and never go too long without sex. That’s what life’s all about.

I’ll be stuffing my laptop under a rock for a day or two. Madelene (my girlfriend) has off tomorrow and Tuesday, so needless to say, so will I. I’ll be back on Wednesday, unless Madelene bores me to death and doesn’t take me out for a good time. (She’s gonna kill me for writing that…I love you honey!!!) Now take my ass out!

When I come back, I’ll be pumped up with more alcohol and more comical material to get rid of this sappiness that has overwhelmed my personality. Say a prayer!


DISCLAMER: Side affects include dizziness, drowsiness, depression and thoughts of suicide. Reading this post may have serious affects on the brain. Antidepressants may be suggested by your physician if you feel any of the above. Increased desire for alcohol and drugs may occur is some people. Delusional thought processes and brainwashing affects may be hazardous to your social life. This post may give you the gumption to walk out on a ledge somewhere and end it all. If you know the author and wish to cheer them up with happy words—then do so. If you feel that this post is threatening in anyway to your mental health, please stop reading this blog immediately. Deb has no responsibility for your mental wellbeing and psychotic moments—for she has enough of her own.

Taken Seriously

Here we go. A bit of resentment from Deb---and then she will resume to a normal life after posting this. (Yeah right)

People who know me personally, like my friends and family will probably be a little ticked off or concerned. Don’t read the blog, and you won’t get ticked off. Don’t show your friends or coworkers the blog unless you have read a variety of my writings, because each post is very different from another. I can be talking about Christianity one day, dog attacks and bad date stories from the past, to sex and lesbianism on the next post. So don’t get your shorts in a bunch if I happen to post something that makes you gasp and cringe.

As I’ve mentioned before, my partner and I have been together for twelve years now. We had a little break in between due to some conflict—which is normal, but we’re very happy and I love her more than anything. Now, I have three older sisters who are all straight. Two of my sisters are married and one of my sisters lives with her boyfriend of eighteen years I believe? (Am I correct on that sis?) Not sure. But it’s a long time they’ve been together.

Anyway, there was a time I could remember having a conversation with a couple of my sisters one day. (And I will not mention names so you can guess all you want sis!) I know, I’m such a bastard. So we were sitting, talking about relationships and what not. One of my sister’s says, “Well, one day I would like to have a baby, but I’m still not sure. I want to see how everything works out financially and see how it goes.”

I piped in and said, “That’s a smart way of looking at it, I would want to wait until Madelene and I were financially stable enough to take care of a child too.”

“Oh! Well that’s different!” One sister chimed in.

“What’s different?” I asked. As though she was indicating that it was impossible for lesbians to have a child. Sure--the natural way is totally out for us, but we have other options available. (Not that I am going to get prego anytime soon people! Kids are not in my cards...believe me.)

“Oh never mind…” She mumbled, as she realized she had just insulted me due to my lifestyle. Fine. It’s understandable for those who don’t understand.

That’s “one” incident. Let’s get on track with mom. My loving, endearing sweet little mother is the best. We’re buddies, we do a lot of things together and of course…have cocktail hours together. Now I live in an upstairs unit from her, so basically, she knows my whereabouts and what I do at all times. There’s security cameras parked on each fricken tree in my yard. No, I am not kidding you. She can see what I’m doing and where I’m doing it at.

“Where ya goin’?” I hear from a voice from beyond, because she hears my high heels click-clocking away on the hard wood floors. I mean, I could just be walking outside and the question fires out, “Where ya goin’? Where ya goin’? Where ya goin’?” She won’t stop until you answer her. Really.

Now if you have ever seen the show “Everybody Loves Raymond”, you’ll see how my mother fits right in with one of those characters.

I guess being in a relationship with a ‘girl’, my mother has this notion--hell, my whole entire family has this idea that my girlfriend and I do not have sex. They almost seem to think we’re ‘sisters’. It’s kind of funny in a way. My mother used to have this habit of coming up without knocking on the door or anything. The door would fly open, and she caught me and my girlfriend engaged in a sexual act.

There was another time...It was a winter storm outside, and my mother was concerned there was a strange looking car parked outside on our property. It was 7am on a Sunday morning and she walks upstairs---opens the door and comes into the bedroom. She had stepped on a ‘handy-dandy-super-strappy’ the whole time she was talking to us. My girlfriend raised the covers above her head, because she knew what we had left on the floor the night before we passed out from exhaustion. Thank God my mother wasn’t familiar with this contraption and didn’t think twice about it. In fact, she didn’t even look. For all she knows, she was standing on top of one of my platform flip-flops. Lovely.

Not too long ago my mother sort of made this assumption in not so many words that it’s good that I don’t have sex. (???) Who would give her this idea? Just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean my sex life is inactive. I was laughing, but I let her go on thinking that way---if that makes her feel better. So I write it out on this blog, because I have to get this off my chest.

My girlfriend and I are pretty much adventurous when it comes to ‘when and where’. We love the same ol’ same ol’ in the sack, but we love going out and making it more of an adventure. We were caught in the bathroom stall while my friend Alyssa and her girlfriend from September Dogs were hanging out with us. Now Alyssa’s girlfriend is an ex cop. I walk out of the bathroom to see her in this ‘police folding arm stance’. I knew I was caught.

“You done?” She says, shaking her head at me.
“Yeh.” I said, smiling and embarrassed she was the one to catch us.

For a lack of better words, morning noon and night if we can. Sex is first on the list of addictions for me. Everyone says, “Well your girlfriend’s so conservative…I can’t see that.” Conservative? You gotta see her in a leather dominatrix outfit. She’s definitely a force to be reckoned with. Out of her business clothes—she’s a wild & crazy Latina woman that has held my attention for twelve whole years. And people---remember---I have ADD, so this means she’s gotta be hot! No one can picture it, because they don’t want to. My girlfriend is everyone’s ‘friend’; she’s part of the family. Well I’m done playing, ‘she’s part of the family’. She’s my little sex maniac before anything. Sometimes we go on a dry spell…usually when she’s at work, but then it’s back to normal again when she comes home.

Here’s my problem. I’m sick of everybody not taking me seriously. My relationships, my work, and everything I do in life has been taken as a joke. I guess it started yesterday when I was working on my book. I get a phone call from mom. She wants me to come down and play with my niece for a while. Now all you writers out there know, once you have a good flow going and then stop---then it’s lost. If you do go back to it, you may get it back, but not like that first flow. I simply told her that I was busy, and I would come down later when I was done.

“Oh. Okay.” In this manipulative tone.
“Ma, I know you don’t take my work seriously, but I just can’t do it right at this moment.”
“Fine!” CLICK!!! She hung up on me.

She was upset that I couldn’t come down at that time. I did not sign up to be a babysitter. She did. I help out when I’m free and I’m able to, but she gets so upset with me God forbid I should be doing something else. Another reason I can’t go down there to help is because my asthma kicks up all the time in that smoke-filled house. I can’t do it. She doesn’t understand the concept that asthma and smoke do not go together well.

My girlfriend can’t do it either. She just got back from the allergist and they gave her a huge supply of Advair and Albuteral inhalers, nose sprays and a bunch of other medication to control her asthma.

My parents think smoking isn’t a big deal. In fact, my mother refuses to have her best friend over because her friend doesn’t smoke and is particular about ‘smoking indoors’. My own sister hardly ever brings her two kids over to see their grandparents because the house is so damn smoky. So literally, my parents are picking smoking over seeing their grandchildren and friends. If the grandchild is here without their parents---they light up right in front of them.

In conclusion, I am happy to report that my girlfriend and I are almost a few months away from getting another place—far far away. I’m almost relieved about this decision, and glad to be out of ‘the loop’. We are excited to be leaving here and going to a place where we’ll be taken more seriously.

PETA & Animal Lovers---Do Not Read!

WARNING: This material may be offensive to those who love and care about animals. Remember, all of the content and stories are real. All of the stories were out of 'self-defense'. If any of this offends you, I advise you to click out of this blog.


Growing up in a rural town in upstate New York, my parents raised nine Great Danes and had a few cats here and there. Fifty-two acres and a big house was sufficient enough to bring in Noah’s Ark. The oldest Great Dane was bluish-black. She was beautiful. Her name was Rachel. I have no idea why they chose ‘human names’ for their dogs, but they just did.

When I was born, they were worried that Rachel would get jealous and possibly hurt me. They set my crib up in their bedroom and made sure the dog was nowhere near me. God forbid something should happen to their little newborn.

Well, one morning, Rachel walked into the room. I was playing with my toys on the floor. Rachel went ahead and lifted me by my shirt and brought me to her bed—where she slept. She wouldn’t let anyone go near me. She literally thought 'I was her baby'. (So yeah, basically I was raised by wolves)

Anyone who would come up to her while she was guarding me would get a warning growl with teeth showing and all. Finally, my mother got me out of there, but Rachel always snuck back in and slept next to my crib. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight.

The doorbell rang, and it was a priest that my parents were friends with. The priest went to go say hi to me, or make funny faces to try and get me to laugh—as a lot of people do to little toddlers, and Rachel went after the poor guy and bit him! Rachel was threatened. From that point on, my mother let me roam around with Rachel outside, because she knew nothing…I mean nothing…would never happen to me while in Rachel’s presence.

Let’s fast forward about ten years later. All our dogs passed away, and we were without animals at this point. All our neighbors’ dogs would come over and play with us; and of course shit all over our lawn, but that was okay. We enjoyed them. Years went by, and our neighbors were getting dogs that were really mean; dogs that were a danger to the neighborhood. My father went to the neighbor’s house for coffee, and their beautiful white Alaskan Husky flew through screen window to attack my father. My dad was okay, but the dog wasn’t…let’s just say that much.

New neighbors moved in shortly after that, and they had a Dalmatian who was never leashed. He was a big dog too. The dog would constantly run after you—barking viciously. We were prisoners of our own home.

“Madone! I can’t even sit outside widout’ dese’ f*cking dogs tryin’ to eat me alive! Gofforbid’ one of dese’ dogs bits my dawtas---I’ll keel em’. I’ll keel em’! You watch!”

I never did see that Dalmatian again.

Ah, a beautiful day in the neighborhood—and we were enjoying a great barbeque at home with the family. The patio we have is connected to the lawn, which is pretty big. We always played volleyball or badminton on it. A great lawn for dogs really. (Or was it?)

My neighbor’s German Shepard comes strolling up because he smells all the good food. We didn’t mind, he looked pretty harmless. The dog stood at the tip of the patio staring at my father. Then the dog started to show his teeth, and the growl that came after it was fierce. He went to attack, and my father attacked back! There they were, both rolling down the lawn trying to kill one another.

“You mutha! I’ll keel you! God damn it!” I hear, from the breaks of the fight. Then I heard a loud yelp, and the dog went fleeing to his owners.

Dad won a trophy ear.

My father used to own a fish market down in South Street Seaport in Manhattan. He would deliver fish to those who ordered it—and especially at restaurants upstate. As he was unloading his van, a Doberman Pincher came up to him growling.

“Not anutha’ one! You gotta be kiddin’ me!” He says, as he grabs a huge 30 lb fishing hook from the back of the van.

“Go home!” He yelled. But the dog just stood there in a ‘pounce’ stance. “Go home!” He said again; louder, so he wouldn’t have to knock this poor dog’s head off. The dog went to attack, and my father used his mighty fishing hook to save his own life.

Dad gave his customer free fish that day---out of his condolences...

As well as being in the fish business, my dad also owns an excavating company. He was working for this lady who needed work done to her property. As my father was coming off of his bulldozer, a Pitbull was charging after him. The only thing my father could do to save his life was to grab an ax nearby. It’s ironic that all of these tools were in reach when he’s about to get mauled by a vicious animal. Straight through his chest—the dog was literally split in half. Nobody said a word. They just walked away, and dad continued to finish up the job he was there for.

Let’s take you into the year of 2002. There was one particular summer day, where all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. I was tired. I was working for a telecommunications company in their call center. I used to take calls from nasty customers who wanted to know why they had a three cent mark up in their tax section on their phone bill. I would tell them to take it up with their congress. Little biddies that would call up yelling , because everything is so damn complicated.

“It’s not like the old days when all you had to do was dial an operator and get a live person.” And then give me the “big hang up” on her old rotary phone. Our boss always offered “E time”. This meant, “excused time”. If it wasn’t busy, they would let a number of people go home—but without pay. This day, I didn’t care if it was without pay, I needed my bed. Other employees wanted to take advantage of the great weather. Not me. It was 3pm, and I was ready to take a long needed nap.

Madelene, (my girlfriend) was still working, and I had three hours to myself to just sleep. I made sure all my phones were off. As I cranked up the a/c in my room, I tossed myself under a big comforter and went into a peaceful slumber.

~*~PoW~*~PoW~*~PoW~*~

I stood up from my bed. What the? I didn’t know what that noise was. It sounded like weird fireworks or an old pick up truck backfiring.

~*~PoW~*~PoW~*~PoW~*~

What the #*%^? I fell to the floor—hoping to miss any stray bullets. It’s not as if I lived in the ghetto here. Who would be firing gunshots right outside the house?

“Charlie!!! No!!!” I hear my mother call out. This couldn’t be good. My heart rate went up like a rocket. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I made my way down the stairs slowly. My knees were shaking uncontrollably as I walked down each step. I held on to the railing as if my life depended on it. I went down to where my parents live. As I walked into the living room of my parent’s section, I saw my mother walking inside holding her hands together tightly.

“Ma! What happened?” She just nodded at me as if to say ‘nothing’. She couldn’t talk. She was too shaken up.
“Is dad okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Well what happened?”
“The neighbor’s Rottweiler chased after me while I was getting out of my car. I came inside crying, because I was so scared. He almost followed me into the house. Then your fatha’ came out and shot at the ground near the dog, but it spit up pellets and pebbles. The dog was hurt.”

The neighbor’s are Italian as well. They have four boys, and my father has four girls. We always got along with them. They’re very wealthy and have a courtyard full of large houses---all owned by them. The boys are all married and have families of their own.

The doorbell rings. I sneak over to eavesdrop. It was my neighbor—the father of the four sons.

“Did you shoot my dog?”
“Wha? He ran afta’ ma’ wife!“
"Did you shoot my dog?“
"I shot at da’ floor to scare him away, but da’ pebbles flew up at him.”
“You shot my f*cking dog you son of a b*tch?"
"Ya’ lucky he didn’t bite ma’ wife, or I woulduv’ ripped da’ dawg’s heart out! I’ll kill him if he eva’ puts foot on ma’ property again! Gofforbid’ he bites one a’ my dauwtas!!!—I’ll keel ya’---ya rat bastard!”

My jaw dropped to the ground. I then heard other men talking and screaming. The four sons were at the door too. I heard them come inside. I heard a lot of banging and rumbling. They were fighting in the other room. I didn’t want to go in. I ran upstairs and called 911. I was worried that my father would have a heart attack. He just got over a heart attack a year prior to this. He’s 300+ lbs and has serious health issues.

“911 what’s your emergency?”
“M-m-m-my father is being attacked in our home!” I said, shaking and trembling from fear.
“Where do you live?”
“2124 Nunya Street.” I said, as I heard screaming and yelling from the other room. I seriously thought they were killing my father. Five men against one big guy? Hard call.

Then there was the sound of a slamming door and silence for a few minutes, until I heard my father yell out, “Son ova’b*tch!” I sighed with relief, knowing that my father was still with us.

“Get ova’here!” My father called out to us, as we hid behind the door that separated us from the battle of the Italian war. There wasn’t a scratch on my father. He sat in his big chair as if he was relaxing after a nice walk outside. He wasn’t even out of breath. This guy is fearless and unstoppable.

“I broke dat’faggot’s arm while pushin' all five’ov’dem outa’ here.” He said all proud, as though he had just won a wrestling competition. There were traces of blood by the doorway, left by one of the sons. Keep in mind, the sons are all in their thirties and very well built. My father took on all five of these guys--the father and his four ‘strong’ sons. Makes me laugh. Of all the outrageous fighting stories that my dad told me--which I never believed--he sure convinced me that day. Sixty-five years old and still strong like bull!

The police finally got there twenty minutes later. It’s not their fault. We live on a donkey trail that’s like a maze. That never sat well with me while I had my anxiety attacks—thinking it was a heart attack. How would I be saved? They would be late, and I’d lay there dead, with a 911 operator yelling in my ear, "Are you still there? Hello? Hello?" It’s definitely not a comforting thought.

The police took statements from everyone and they ended up going to court. The dog was okay. He had little pebbles in his skin of his front leg. He had to wear a bandage for a little while until it healed. My father got charged with firing a gun within certain limits of a residential neighborhood. Ironically enough, a few feet from my yard, and you could go hunting. We have tons of Appalachian trails and woodsy areas all around us. It was understandable that firearms cannot be used that close, but in this case, it was more of self-defense on my father’s part.

We usually had to watch ourselves while we were outside by the pool, or relaxing on the patio, because of all these threatening dogs that roamed around. My neighbor’s think, “Oh well, this is the country, let the dogs run free—it’s good for them.” Good for them---but what about us? I couldn’t even go outside my house without fearing for my life. It’s not fair.

The neighbors didn’t even get charged with a ‘no leash law’. They said in order for them to be charged with something, the dog has to bite you three times. Oh lovely. So the third bite, and I’m bleeding all over God’s creation---then I can charge them! Great. You have to love the way the system works.

My father paid the vet bill, and the neighbors never got charged for anything---even if they did charge into the house to attack my father. They currently still live near us—but I have a feeling they are living in fear. My father said he wants to put a sign outside the property…

“Forget about the attack dog---beware of the owner!”

I rarely see dogs up here anymore. It’s quite peaceful these days...

A Slip and Fall That Leads Into Bad Dancing

Have you ever felt you’ve been hit with the bad luck streak? I’m not talking gambling-wise; I’m talking about the ‘can’t stay up on my own two feet’ type of bad luck? It’s almost as if you’re hitting puberty and your body is just way too big for your brain to function it properly.

Well I had a little incident. Okay, well sort of a big incident. Well, more like an accident. I was on the phone with a buddy of mine while I was throwing back a few beers. I realized Madelene had just arrived home from work. I hung up the phone and quickly ran downstairs to prepare dinner. Now it was a pretty warm day out, so I was wearing my platform flip-flops. Yeah yeah, go ahead, call me white trash if you’d like—but they’re comfortable and well…they make me look a helluva lot taller.

Joyfully skipping down the stairs, I notice one flip-flop slid off my foot and down went Deb---right on her back. To imagine what the sound effects, I will copy Mike with this one.

Thuggidy thuggidy thuggidy THUMP! (And yes, those are my stairs in that picture above...)

On the floor lying on my back, my scream wasn’t audible. It just wouldn’t come out. It’s like a baby before it cries; you first get that lip-synced version of a scream…and then, ”WAAAAAAAAAA!” They start wailing at the top of their lungs. Well so did I.

“Sweetie! What happened! Oh my God! Are you okay?” Madelene says, as she runs down the stairs almost falling on top of me. This could have been a two dyke pile up. Luckily she wasn’t drinking yet, or I would have definitely invited that.

Pressed against an ice pack for the rest of the evening, I felt my right side of my back blow up like a balloon. I thought I busted my liver. (I think I did that a long time ago with all the alcohol consumption.) There I was googling every single fricken organ that is located on the right side: Liver & kidney. Great. Just when I thought I drowned my liver years ago, I literally punched it fifteen times by thuggidy thuggidy thumpin’ down the steps. Was God trying to tell me something? Maybe.

Picture it…New York, 2006, a warm sultry night was in store for us. My girlfriend and I were off to meet our friends Alyssa and Sue from the band, "September Dogs" to have dinner with them, as well as see them play at a nearby bar in the city. This was great. I was psyched.

7:15pm
Madelene (my girlfriend) and I waited at the bar for them. We ordered two Ketel One martinis extra dry straight up—three olives. Mmm. A martini before dinner always wets your appetite. I see them walk through the door. We had a great dinner and then headed off to location #2…the watering hole.

10:00pm
Can someone say, “Cut her off now please?” I was drinking beers like they had a leak in their taps. Madelene and I shot some pool and played some air hockey. Fun fun fun! Nothing like a little kiddy game to getchya’ started.

11:00pm
“Shot?” Madelene offers.
“Sure!” (What else would I say?)

12:00pm
Shot after shot…beer after beer…I was in a drunken stupor. I felt myself getting numb and feeling fuzzy. I knew I was done. After my ‘fourth beer threshold’, there is no sexual drive whatsoever. I know, I know, lucky gal Madelene is, huh? I’m like an impotent man after the fourth. Really.

1:30am
“Like oh…my GAWD! I love this song! Oh you gotta dance with me!” I said to Madelene, as though “Sweet Home Alabama” was the number one club song in New York. I believe they even mixed it with “Werewolves of London” too. Really good mix they did.

There I was, kicking my feet in the air, dancing like Elaine from Seinfeld--making a complete ass of myself. I didn’t care. I was happy, I was drunk, and I was dancing with a bunch of twenty year old perky boobed girlies. Does it get any better than this?

2:00am
What’s that? A strobe light? Cool!.......NO you idiot! It’s a camera being shot a million times pointing in my direction! Great. Now this is going to be all over God’s creation on the net. Is the net God’s creation? I have no clue. Manmade right? I believe? What would the atheists believe?

4:30am
Ah well, anyway, it was time to take Deb’s drunk ass home and call it a night…err….a morning. We got inside the house and my sweetie pushed me up the stairs. I didn’t want to have another ‘incident’ like I did the night before and ruin my liver again. But wait…I think I ruined it anyway.

Let me just tell you about the next day. I had DTs. No lie. I had convulsions from drinking so much, that I thought I was going to die. My legs, arms and whole body was shaking. My voice trembled as though I was 90 yrs old. This was a huge red flag for me. No---seriously, not kidding around. I am drying out right now and still kind of recovering.

Although I had a fantastic time with the gang—I promise to never, ever drink again. I am officially back on the wagon.

Anyone know when happy hour is?

Doctors and Gas

Typical day in the life of Deb—doctor appointments, doctor appointments, and doctor appointments. Same ol’ hypochondriac visit as always. I had to go to the cardiologist for the fifth time to get that one more extra checkup to see why my heart was palpitating while I exercised. One cardiologist advised me it was PVC (Premature ventricular contractions.) They’re premature heartbeats originating from the ventricles of the heart. PVCs are premature because they occur before the regular heartbeat. It’s annoying when you’re trying to work out and then---THUMP! Right in the middle of your chest, it feels as though someone was punching you…from the inside. It’s a real awkward feeling.

As I walk into the office, I swear this place looked like a morgue. I can’t explain it—but the whole place looked so clinical and so eerie at the same time. I heard weird machines making the most peculiar sounds coming out of one room and people talking in foreign accents coming from another. The office was an old huge house on a hill. It almost reminded me of the Bates house. Thank God my girlfriend came along with me for the ride.

After signing in and filling out redundant medical information, I sat there debating whether or not I should read a magazine. Something’s gotta be better than “Entrepreneur”; which happens to be one of Madelene’s favorite reads. Great. I’ll just sit here with my arms crossed and stare across the room. Not one person was in there. The silence of no voices and the eerie sounds coming out of the rooms beyond were almost deafening. I could feel myself squirm in my chair as I waited for some doctor to call me in.

Doctors one by one were passing by me, as they made their way from one side of the clinic to another. All of them were tall, wearing white lab coats and had a grim look on their faces. Another thing I noticed—all of them were women. They had this ‘WNBA don’t mess with me look’---as well as ‘which coffin would you prefer’ type of stare. I stopped trying to make eye contact—trying to guess which female doc was mine. That was it. Their eyes said enough.

Then a cute petite blonde nurse in her late 40’s came out to get me.

“Debra? Come with me please?” She said, as she smiled and led me into a tiny little examination room. As soon as the door closed, she began to speak.

“I’m Jeannie, I’m the nurse here. I’ll be giving you an EKG along with other tests to get you started. Ya know, it’s been a real shitty past coupla’ days fer me. My father just passed away and ya know, this clinic ain’t givin’ me any time off to grieve.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”

She pulled up my sleeve and took my blood pressure.

“Oh golly! Whaddya’ doin’ to keep yer blood pressure so low! Weewy! You feelin’ a little faint?” She said, as she smiled and revealed a horrible dental history. I didn’t know how to react with this one. I wanted to console her, but she stole the mic and did her thing.

“Awe hell, people come in here and some doctors don’t even take ya seriously when yer under forty…then they walk out and have a massive heart attack…hee hee hee!” Her laugh was almost mule-like with a little wheeze to it.

“So why are you here?”
“I’m having palpitations when I work out—I just want to make sure that it’s okay to continue my work out regiments and ignore the PVCs.”
“Ya know, live yer life. Do yer thang. I just got a Harley and I’m fifty years old. Can’t waste yer life worrying about when yer gonna drop dead…”

I could feel my blood pressure rising each minute she spoke.

“I’m just gonna check your carotid artery right now by sticking these two things on each side of your neck to see how yer blood is flowing to yer brain. Now when I take em’ off, it’s gonna feel like yer neck’s been waxed! Heee heeee heeee!” She said, as I watched her stick all these things onto me. Then she had a billion wires for the EKG machine and totally covered me in little electro thingie majiggies. Talk about being wired.

“Okie-dokie! Well I’m done here, and the doctor will be with you momentarily.”

Momentarily took an hour and a half to get to me. I had to see my shrink in about fifteen minutes. This wasn’t working out, so I had to leave and reschedule this lovely meeting. As soon as I made my way to the receptionist, I saw ‘my doctor’…I saw her name tag and she gave me a look that sort of said, “You’ll regret this…” That can’t be good.

So I head off to see the head doc. Now granted, the guy is very soft-spoken. Hell—the guy has no pulse, but when he does talk, his words are quite powerful. Today he revealed something I was so happy about. My doctor has OCD. Yes! My shrink—the MD—the “psychiatrist” has OCD! He relates. I was so happy…and yes, proud of him. I explained to him how many times I had to use my antibacterial gel today due to my doctor’s appointments and my visit to the grocery store with my girlfriend.

“Well isn’t that a good thing?” He says, rubbing his chin.
”Umm, doesn’t that mean I have OCD?” I asked.
“It could mean ‘obsessive-compulsive’, but I don’t think it’s a disorder…do you?”
“Hmm, no…I think it keeps us healthy.”
“Right. I see nothing wrong with this routine.”
“Doc! Do you have OCD too?”
“I guess you can say I do…but I think it saves us from getting sick.”

I. love. my. doc. Now that I’m feeling a little less psychotic, I’m ready to head out in the world with all my little bottles of antibacterial gels and gloves. Can’t get better than that, can it?

Now that my anxiety was less, I went back home to notice something disturbing. New neighbors moved in. What’s wrong with that? Oh, nothing. First name is "Achmed". Last name is, "Imgonnablowuptheuniverseandgetmyseventytwovirigins". This is what he has sitting in his backyard which I can see from my home.

Take a look-see. I’m not going to be sleeping tonight. Now maybe I don’t know too much about this, but who the hell in their right mind would place a huge gas or propane tank in their backyard? I had to walk through the woodsy area to get this shot. I looked like a complete psycho if anyone saw me. I had to get this picture—because it’s disturbing. One little thing goes wrong, and there goes the neighborhood. My father said ‘there goes the neighborhood’ before he even put the tank in. Hmm. That’s another story.

But in your opinion--what the hell is this thing? Isn't this dangerous? Have you ever seen a neighbor or someone who put a huge ass gas tank in their backyard? Come on---I have heard of big barbeques before, but this is ridiculous.