Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves

My trusty and beloved 2001 Nissan Xterra crossed over last week into that big junk lot in the sky, done in by a cracked cylinder head.

The SUV known as "My Broom", was never the same after she was rear ended in April of 2009. Snowmaggedeon of 2010 didn't do her any favors either. Yes, the old gal didn't owe me a thing, as I put over 175K miles on her, and drove her in any and all kinds of weather. Rest easy, old friend.

But her passing did put a cramp in my plans. I was counting on her to run for another 18 months, as this would have given me the room in my budget to by The Teenager a used car sometime between January and May of 2011. And in 2012, when I'm done paying for Catholic school, I was going to trade her in for my dream car:








Look at her.... isn't she gorgeous??!! I used to have one, you know. Bought a 1985 used in 1987. Here she is:










This was "My Toy 2". I drove her for a perfect 7 yrs, then The Teenager came along. Well, technically she was The Baby then, and I quickly found that getting The Baby and her car seat in and out of the cavernous pit that is the backseat of the two door Camaro pretty damn difficult and annoying. So, away she went. Traded her in for the worst car I've ever owned - a 1994 Dodge Intrepid, that I unaffectionately dubbed "The Bitch." But that's another story.

And yes, I give my cars titles. So what? Shut up.

Anywho, so now the type/price of car I was looking to get The Teenager, I'm now looking to get for myself. This? Is SO not cool.

My search began in two places - The Pennysaver online and craigslist.com. Right away I found three cars that looked great, had really low mileage, and unreal prices - a 1997 Toyota 4Runner, a 2002 Nissan Murano, and a 2005 Honda Accord. So I contacted all three sellers, and asked them each, in a short email, 2 direct questions - has the vehicle been MD inspected, and where were they located so that I can see the car in person.

What I got in return were very long emails that never answered my questions. Here's what I did learn about the sellers:

"David Burke", seller of the Toyota 4Runner - he owns a Wendy's franchise in Canada, this economic crisis is killing him so he's selling all of his stuff, the 4Runner is actually located in Dallas TX, and he's going to need me to send him the money for the car via Western Union.

"Sgt. Martin Lobek", seller of the Honda Accord - ironically he's also in Canada stationed there with his unit, that's where the car is, and he wants me to pay him for the car through eBay, sight unseen.

"Jessica Reid", seller of the Nissan Murano - she was a tad more creative in that she said she was a cruise line worker and just never used the car, but she still wanted my money before I ever saw the car. She never told me where she was located, but I bet her cruise line goes to Canada.

ALL of these sellers went into great detail about their situations and personal lives, which struck me as not only unnecessary, but strange. As life and Gavin DeBecker have taught me - when some one blurts out all their business after just meeting you, it's a huge red flag. So it seemed to me that these jerks were just trying to sucker some one into handing them a few thousand dollars. I? Am not that sucker.

It did, however, really piss me off. I'm currently in crisis, having to buy a car that I NEED (versus wanting to buy a car that I LOVE), and having to do so in a short amount of time for a really low price. And so it angers me that I have to take time to sift through scams and lies to get to some one who really does have a car to sell. It's wrong and it's bullshit.

So as I try to keep my bitterness to a dull roar, I strive ahead looking for that perfectly priced 4 door Japanese car with an automatic transmission and CD player that's not the color of baby poop or dry wall screws. It's quite trying. Anything not a Camaro feels like a consolation prize. But wish me luck in my search, regardless. I'll be sure to post pics of the "new to me" generic piece of blah I end up purchasing. :-|

I Hope I Die Before I Get Old.... or, A Rock Chick Turns Cranky Pants

Music is my life.

Seriously.

I love it.

Specifically, rock music. Pop, glam, heavy, modern, whatever. As a result, music and I have been having a 4 decades long affair. My house growing up was always filled with the popular music of the 1970's (Fleetwood Mac, Hall and Oats, The Eagles, etc), the older sisters of my neighborhood friends kept me current on the hard rock fronts (Aerosmith, Led Zepplin, Rush, etc., along with the various local bands of the day), so it was no small wonder that the first record (that's vinyl, people) my mother bought me, at age 5, was "Magic Man" by Heart.

At 16 I saw my first live concert (Duran Duran at DAR Constitution Hall), and that was all she wrote - live music was like a drug to my veins. I've gone to live shows, large and small, every since.

At 42, however, I've noticed something. It's something about the younger live music fans. The "Under 30's" as I not so affectionately call them. They're, well, rude. And seem to be utterly oblivious to their rudeness.

If you get a group of MY generation at, say, a Tesla show you'll notice that everyone respects everyone else's personal space and basic manners are used (excuse me, sorry, thanks, etc). Yeah, not so much at a live show with Under 30's.

If you get a group of THAT generation at, say, a Papa Roach show, these little mother fuckers can't even define personal space, have no problem smashing their bodies against yours, will not be mindful of their flailing limbs, and never EVER say excuse me when trying to get by you.

And no, I'm not talking about the pit area of most live music venues, where these dim witted group of jerks like to mosh and crowd surf. I'm talking about areas where ridiculousness like that would be near impossible.

Earlier this month me and my bestie Elaine went to see Papa Roach at Rams Head Live. We knew going in that the demographic would be young, so we plotted our course - balcony. Well, the balcony filled up before we got in, so we found another great spot - the side of the sound board. It has a great view, a railing on which to lean, and is covered by the balcony itself, therefore not moshing or crowd surfing friendly. (Now, I don't want to see all ya'll hogging my primo spot next time I there to see Hinder)

At one point during a break between opening bands, after being rammed into too many times by big dumb boys in dark hoodies or weirdo girls in ponytails and Chucks, much to my own dismay I kicked into Old Bitch Mode. And I got loud. With every bump, I said "EX-CUSE ME!" With every shove to the side, I hollered "OH NO, MY FAULT! I WAS ENTIRELY IN YOUR WAY JUST STANDING HERE!"

Then there was the chubby spazoid girl who made her way in front of Elaine. She seemed to lose entire control over her arms. Seriously, with a digital camera clutched in one claw, she kept wildly swinging her meat hooks dangerously close to Elaine's head. I thought "If this retard clocks Elaine, it's SO on." Any by "on" I mean I'll snag a red shirted security guy and have her tossed out on her ass.

I'm 42, not stupid. Younger gals shout "Bring it!" and tear out hair. Older gals enlist management to have assholes ejected.

Fortunately, Elaine didn't get clonked. The woman who was with Miss Meathooks - her mother, her parole officer, her meds nurse, whatever - seemed aware of her charges lack of sense and would periodically reel her in.

Anywho, despite dealing with all the rude, all the bands that night were great. Awesome in fact ('cept for Trapt, who, after my third time, is still soooo boring live). And if you ever get a chance, go see Papa Roach.

What isn't awesome is all the rude ass little fuckers I have to deal with to see some modern rock played live. So I say - woe to you Under 30's, because I plan on seeing live music for a long, long time. And the more you shove into me sans acknowledgment, the angrier I'll get. Prepare yourselves. Don't be shocked when a big dude with "SECURITY" written on his tshirt grabs you by the scruff and hauls you out to the street.

Just look for the hot middle aged chick, smirking in your direction.

Look Ma! I'm Sub-Par!

PNC Bank has a new commercial out about their rewards programs. Reward programs are a nice feature from a bank, and I think any sane and legal incentive used to gain customers is good. I know I, for one, can indeed be bought.

However, I take issue with something said in their radio ad. The customer says something like "Hey, I pay my bills on time - I get rewards!" This touches on a nerve of mine... a long standing nerve that screams:

Thou shalt not be rewarded for doing what's expected!

You're supposed to pay your bills on time. Some rewards program where you get a damn Applebee's gift card or a Bose Wave music system shouldn't motivate you to do so. What should motivate you are things like collection agencies calling, low credit scores, jacked up interest rates, loss of service, etc..

I've never been one to applaud what's expected, except in babies and small children who are just learning all kinds of new things. Adults know how to walk, read, and not poop in their pants; we should all have those basics down. Other adult basics are under the umbrella of - being responsible for ourselves.

Therefore, I will not pat your head because you do your laundry. I will not give you a gold star for getting to work on time. So I most certainly will not clap and say "My what a big boy/girl you are!" when you pay your bills on time.

This all reminds me of the time my ex-husbands grandmother, who has 5 children, said in an apparent moment of motherly pride, "I only have ONE kid in jail!"

Unfortunately this is also where my head voice came out of my face voice and I said "NONE of your kids are supposed to be in jail."

She didn't talk to me much after that. No matter, she never much liked me anyway. But I digress.

I'm clearly not the only one who feels this way.....

Sam Halpern, the Dad of "Shit My Dad Says", dropped this gem: "A parent's only as good as their dumbest kid. If one wins a Nobel Prize but the other gets robbed by a hooker, you failed." I heart Sam.

Chris Rock said that there are people who want credit for shit they're supposed to do, like take care of their kids - "You're supposed to, you dumb motherfucker!" - and, as mentioned above, not being in jail - "'I ain't never been to jail!' What do you want, a cookie?! You're not supposed to go to jail, you low-expectation-having motherfucker!" - and I love him for it.

Alas all of this was said many years after the incident with the ex's grandmother, but I'm sure she wouldn't have gotten it anyway.

Oh, and that kid of hers that was in jail then? Is pushing 50 and lives in a pop-up camper in her backyard.

Swim Time in This Pool is Over

So.... I'm single. Yep, 42 and single for almost 13 years. I've had a few relationships during that time, which were fun... until they weren't anymore and I moved on. And I also spent a good 4 to 5 of those years deliberately single - didn't date at all. Now? I'd like to date. I'd like a boyfriend again. I think I've gathered enough experience about relationships, and myself, to give it a go again. And possibly totally succeed.

Not that I'm looking to get hitched again (the idea still makes me itch a little). Maybe having some one wanting to marry me would be enough (and I wouldn't turn down some diamond jewelry, know what I'm sayin'?). So, in my quest this year to find a lad to romance me, a couple of my besties suggested I re-enter the online dating pool.

This would be my second dip into this pool, having had zero success the last time. I'm saddened to say that not much has changed in the way of the sites, the scenarios, and the pickins. So without further ado, I bring you some of my personal adventures in online dating (and some "what not to do"'s for you boys considering posting a profile):

1. I've only actually met one guy I met through online dating. He lived in PA. With his mother. Because he didn't have a job. Likely because he was stoned on the mary jane all the time. Like he was when I got there. Like he took a break to go do again while I was there. When he figured out that this wasn't going well (me packing up my purse and coat was probably his first sign), he announced he was leaving for the strip club (it was daylight out) to hook up with his friend (insert tacky stripper name here) because he wanted to get laid.

2. I met, via email, a Satanist. I don't mean he was evil or creepy, I mean he worshiped The Devil. I didn't learn this until after he quizzed me about music lyrics, which I guessed all wrong because they were songs by various underground satanic death metal bands. Then he revealed his religion. And the big back piece tattoo he had honoring his belief in The Dark Lord Lucifer. He clearly missed the part of my profile where I indicated that I was Catholic. Buh bye, Devil's Minion.

3. You know how shows like Dateline: To Catch A Predator teach you that a lot of people pose as other people online? Well after many great emails and phone calls, the night I was supposed to have a date with one guy, he canceled. But what I didn't know was the real reason. He had other plans. Plans to kidnap a college student off the street, rape and torture her all night before setting her free. No shit. It was in the news. Ernie Carletti from Elkton, MD. Look it up.

4. Mr. Email You For A Week Then Stop All Communication The Second I Suggest We Meet For Coffee Guy, I obviously never met. Guess he didn't like coffee. Or girls.

Then there are dummies who don't have some one, say another girl, go over their profile before they post it. These dummies have the following characteristics in their online personal ads:

- Pics of them naked from the waist up, flexing. And almost always with sunglasses on or a baseball hat. Or both. Uh, I don't know your name yet, so I'm really not ready to see your nipples. Put on a shirt. And stop trying so hard.

- Pics of them with other women. Really? Really.

- Pics of places they've been. That's nice that you travel, but at this stage of the game I don't care about Mt. Kilimanjaro , the slopes in Colorado, or the beaches of the Caribbean. I want to see you.

- Pics of them with other guys. I've actually looked at profiles where EVERY picture is a bunch of guys. What the hell is that about? Which one are you? Am I about to wink at a gang bang? Have I accidentally logged into a gay dating site? I can't tell!

- Pics of them with aaaalllll of their toys. Their cars. Their motorcycles. Their guns. Their jet skies. You name it, if they spent a lot of money on it, these guys will post a pic of it. I don't care what you own, I care about who you are. You and Mr. Naked Flexer need to stop trying so hard. And maybe get comfortable with your small penis.

- Awkward pics of guys with their pets. Gentlemen, some advice: Dogs? Great guy pets. Show them off. It means you can nurture something and make a long term commitment. However, a bunny laying across your chest whilst you recline in bed? Is. Fucking. CREEPY. It means.... yep, you're just fucking creepy.

- Mustaches are dated and fucked up. Either shave off that nasty 1970's shit or connect it to a goatee.

- Same for mullets. I can't believe I would have to remind ANYone of that fact. Go see a stylist (read: not a barber) and modern that mess up.


So yeah, I've once again I've given up on the online dating option. I know that sometimes it does work - one of the besties that suggested I return met her fiance online (he's a doll!) - and I worked with a guy who met his lovely wife via an online dating site. I just don't think it's for me.

Especially if I see a pic of you, sans shirt, flexing, next to your Corvette, holding a bunny, and stroking your mustache.

Stupid Fucking Vanity Bit Me In The Ass! Or, Why Exercise Blows

What started off as a good idea has now possibly scarred me for life. That idea was to add some outdoor exercise to my regular exercise routine.

Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? And I'm not talking about something involving equipment like rollerblading or bicycling, or something that I should up my life insurance for like sky diving or jousting (What? People joust. Shut up.).

I'm talking about walking.

Yep, just walking.

My regular exercise routine has consisted of 3 visits to Curves a week since about April/May of 2006, barring any illness or out of town trips. It's been a good routine. I leave there sweating, my heart rate typically goes up to that which a gal much younger than me should be, and I've been able to maintain the same size pants and tops all these years while also adding muscle mass, strength, flattening my upper abs (although the lower abs continue to fight me, the bastards), and creating some decent upper arm muscles.

But because, like most women, I am vain and detest all that aging (and pregnancy) brings us physically, I wanted to take things a step further. Up the ante, if you will. See if I can shake off some of that bastardly lower ab flab and maybe, just maybe try to go down one little pants size. I thought, what can I do to take things up a notch, but yet not cost me any money?

I know! WALKING!

Why, I live right by the BWI trail! It's free, and I can enjoy my iPod and have some "me" time w/out the chatter of the gals at the Curves.

Here's the thing though, about taking your iPod outside alone while exercising - you can't hear when you drop things. Like car keys.

Last Sunday as I completed what I guess was a mile or so walk (Lindale Middle School to Allwood Dr. for you locals), I had a good sweaty wheeze going for the last few hundred feet to my car. As I approached I reached for my car keys, which had been tucked into the waistband of my gym shorts, only to find nothing. Nothing. They were gone. GONE! GONE!!!!

MOTHER FUCKING GONE!

GAAAAAAAAAAAH!

So, after cursing out loud I turned around to go back to look for them. I got about 20 yards and decided that if I had to walk this entire trail again I would surely die. Die, I tell you! Knowing that I had a spare set of car keys in my house, I wheezed back to my truck and called for help.

Karen lives the closest so I called her. In a matter of seconds, she agreed to help and would fetch me momentarily. After hanging up with her, I realized that she didn't have a key to my house. I did. But it was in my truck. Which is locked.

I canceled Karen and called Kathy. She said she still had a key to my side door and she and James were on their way. They picked me up, drove me to my house, and..... her key didn't fit either my side door or my front door.

WTF?!?!

Sidebar: When re-telling this story, my friend Elaine (who has a key to my house but was en route from Ocean City) suspects that I changed my locks after a falling out with another friend, because I didn't trust that that this former friend wouldn't invade my home (she has a long history of doing nasty things to people she dislikes), and neglected to update all the keys.

Anyway, after trying a few other options (all windows are locked because I'm security crazy, Stevie didn't have a car door jimmy, Dorothy didn't have a key to my house despite us having discussed it, and my AAA card was in my wallet which was in my purse which was in my truck which was locked), James said "We have to go back and find your keys."

Oh no. Did I mention to him that I might die?

I accepted this as my only option left. He dropped me off at the end of my path and he and Kathy started at the beginning, figuring one of us would stumble upon them somewhere in the middle. Long story short, James found my keys. His reward for his helpfulness and tenacity is drinks on me all night the next time we go out.

However, during the search I also ended up re-walking 2/3's of the trail. I was a hot, wheezing, sweaty mess by the time Kathy picked me up.

So yeah - fuck outdoor exercise. It's too hot and there are too many pitfalls. I'm going to stick to my nice air conditioned Curves. If I want some additional cardio, then I'll stick to walking a mall (i.e. go shopping) or having sex in my or some one else's climate controlled home.

Adventures in Metalville

Oh a blistering June 19th I went to the M3 Rock Festival with a bunch of my like-minded rock 'n roll comrades. For those who don't know, the M3 Rock Festival is held in Columbia MD at the Merriweather Post Pavilion. This was my second year (last year being the festivals inaugural year) and it was better than the last (and last year rocked).

Early in the day I'd heard that attendance was at least double from the year before (confirmed later by radio reports). That was no secret to those of us trudging around the grounds, in search of water, bands on either the pavilion or festival stage, or just out and about socializing. What you see above is just a mere sampling of the sweaty, happy metal masses - it was packed! And good vibes abounded. Despite the heat and desperate lack of air movement, I saw smiles everywhere and didn't encounter one second of rudeness from anyone. In fact, everyone I did encounter was cheerful, flirty and friendly. Ah, these are my people: the joyful 80's metal/rock fans.

As with many concerts I go to (as mentioned in my last blog), the age of attendees was not limited to my generation. In fact, there were quite a few kids and teenagers there, which was great to see. Gotta keep that 80's sound alive, ya know? No child should be deprived of the dark seediness of L.A. Guns unique sound (the original vampires, kiddies), the bluesy kick ass groove in just about every Cinderella song, or the mean ass riffs laid down for the last 40+ years by Matthias Jabs and Rudolf Schenker of the Scorpions. Click here for pics of the bands from this year and last year.

Some of the best things I saw, in no particular order, were:

- A kid, about 12, sporting a mullet wig
- Quite a few skullets
- A chick in pleather pants (hello, it was over 100 degrees!)
- The crowd just lovin' our home town boys, KIX. And KIX just lovin' us back
- A black transvestite with bigger boobs than mine
- The Bret Michaels wanna be
- A kid wearing the same Cinderella tour tshirt I got (and still have) from circa 1986 when they toured with Bon Jovi
- A handful of guys from my generation, lookin' goooooood
- Pete Loran, signer for Trixter, is STILL a hottie and a half

It was a good, good day and a good, good time.

In closing, I'd like to mention that this past weekend, there were 17 arrests at the Phish concert at Merriweather Post Pavilion.

Hmm, seventeen arrests at the tree hugger concert, and no mention of such an issue at the metalhead all day festival the weekend before. Well so much for the peace and love neo-hippies. Pfft take a bath, eat some meat, and put your metal horns in the air!!

Music Can Never Make Me Feel Old

Earlier this month my friend Kate and I went to see Hall & Oats for the second time in a little more than a year. As usual, you forget how big their catalog is. As usual, they didn't disappoint.

And as usual, Kate and I people watched before the show. Among the many mismatched couples, odd clothing choices, and bad make up applications, one thing I noticed was that there was a good range of ages at the show. I saw teenagers, 20 and 30 somethings, people my own age, and people older and much older than me. Being the lifelong avid music lover, seeing this warmed my heart, because like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said, "Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without." And here were many people of many ages who could not do without.

There had been an empty seat next to me, causing a separation between myself and what appeared to be about an 11 yr old girl and her mom, who looked around my age. Close to show time the husband/father showed up. He too appeared to be about my age, and immediately began wise cracking with me. Well anyone who knows me, knows I love this so we bantered back and forth a bit. It was all good.

And then it happened.

At one point he turned to me and the exchange went something like this:

Guy: "Wow, this really brings it all home, doesn't it?"
Me: "What does?"
Guy: "The age of the people here. Man, we're old!"
Me: "There are plenty of people older than me here."
Guy: (laughing) "Not by much!"
Me: *GLARE*
Guy: "Maybe not."

Ok, really?! Yeah, we didn't speak again.

Seems he failed to notice the white haired woman in her 60's sitting next to his wife. Seems he failed to notice the varying ages of the people in attendance, including his own daughter. Seems he failed to notice my obvious hotness. But more importantly, he failed to notice that music, and I think especially a live music event, should make you feel young spirited and enlivened, not "bring home" how aged you are. And sure enough, he didn't dance or clap or sing once. He totally missed the point of being there.

Daryl and John should give that guy his money back.

Uncovering the Prince and Finding a Douche

I was perusing CNN.com today and came across this article about the comparison between real men and the men in romance novels. The part that stood out to me was:

"I've always said a romance hero can be deeply flawed ... as long as he's willing to rush into a burning building to rescue a basket of kittens.

He might be a haughty Brit looking down his nose from the lofty edifice of his pride, like Mr. Darcy. He might be a brawny Scot so blinded by hatred for his enemy that he nearly misses the chance for love standing right in front of him. These days, he might even be a werewolf or a vampire, sparkly or not.

But the one thing he will never be is a serial cheater who repeatedly betrays the woman he claims to love."

Now I know I've already included the likes of Jesse James and Tiger Woods in a past blog post, and I am quite sick of them. But I think men like them - serial cheaters - should be mentioned again here, if for no other purpose than to educate us.

A long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away) I was married. In fact, I was married to one of my childhood best friends; a guy I'd known well and been close to since I was about 10 yrs old. Long story short, in adulthood he turned out to be a serial cheater. And unfortunately not too long ago I ended up being briefly involved with yet another serial cheater who I'd also know for several yrs prior and considered a close friend. Hm, I sense a pattern here.... but I digress.

Anyway, as a result of these experiences I think I'm fairly qualified to pass along a quick-n-dirty check list that might help YOU spot a serial cheater, or some other such jerk-o-path. Some are just good common sense, but if you've never been lied to in a romantic relationship, or find yourself crowned the The Queen of Denial, you might miss them or brush them off. Let's begin:

1. A response of a vacant "What?" to your questions that might be hitting to close to uncovering a lie (might sometimes accompanied with a blank stare) is one of my personal favorites. This is a stall tactic both my serial cheaters used. It gives them time to think of an answer while you're repeating the question.

2. When actions and words don't match, this is a dead give away that some one is lying, even when they appear good at lying. Once again, both my cheaters are guilty of this. Is there a handbook for them out there that I'm not aware of?

3. Turning red, sweating, not making direct eye contact, etc. when asked certain things or being confronted, even in the smallest way. That's probably Caught In A Lie 101, but it's worth mentioning because us girls know what we want to hear. News flash - so do they.

4. Excessive amounts of time spent texting or online, or doing so at unusual times. As a subtext to that, I'd throw in withholding cell phone unlock codes and email/account login credentials.

5. Picking up new habits, catch phrases, adopting new beliefs or viewpoints, sudden interest in a new tv show/band/hobby, changing their style of clothing, etc.. These are things we tend to do when we're trying to get some one to like us. If any of these things have nothing to do with you, you can bet that some one else has entered the picture.

6. The emergence of a new "friend" that he works with/plays softball with/met through so-and-so. Now, there's nothing wrong with making new friends, even those of the opposite sex, but if your man's new "friend" doesn't appear interested in meeting you and/or knowing you, there's likely more than friendship going on there.

7. Unaccounted for/unexplained time. This means unexplained lunch breaks (regardless of the shift he works), changes in their schedule (earlier or later than usual to and from work/the gym/sports practice, etc.). If unanswered, or late answered, calls and text messages are combined with this, and become a habit, start asking questions.

8. I know this seems obvious, but we women tend to hold the stupid belief that we will be the ones they'll be different for. Bullshit. Yes, I said bullshit. If a guy has a history of cheating on you, with you (yes I said with, as you could be the other woman being told a lot of lies), or in past relationships, that's a sure sign - a guy who lied in the past (or the present) to a wife or girlfriend will lie to you. About everything. About anything. Cheaters are liars. Cheaters have agendas.

9. And last but not least, trust your instincts. If something doesn't sound or feel right or make sense, follow where your instincts lead you. They will tell you when something is suspect. They have never once failed me.

Ok, maybe twice. ;-)

Ravens Roost #94 Point Pleasant Bar Crawl 2010 (or Adventures in Drunk Texting)

Saturday May 1st was the annual spring Point Pleasant bar crawl sponsored by Ravens Roost #94, and a bunch of us went (we did the fall one as well). For those who don't know, Point Pleasant is an area of Glen Burnie that's on the water and has about 5 bars all walking distance from each other. My guess is the rate of alcoholism in this area is pretty high, but it's a fun little town regardless.

I'll cut right to the chase - the crawl started at noon, and at some point our group split up, leaving one of my BFF's Dorothy and I in two different areas. Drinking continued. At 3:56pm the text messages from Dorothy started rolling into my phone:

3:56pm - Drunk

4:05pm - Now at shap

4:10pm - We are a ricp drunk as all get our come here and eat me

4:11pm - Come here

4:19pm - We as

4:23pm - Come here bitch

4:25pm - Fame herd

4:27pm - We have getg them aka. Ho

4:47pm - Yes i co and gre herd

4:51pm - Come herd bitch as i on 4givepe rippe

4:51pm - Come to pics

5:16pm - I getta go NOW she will come accu and get you are ready call her

Hahaha! Well, sometime right after this last text, George called me to tell me Dorothy was puking and their daughter was on her way to pick us up (we were at Point Pleasant Beach Bar), and we were the first stop. Kathy, James and I piled in then headed to Reckless Ric's to get Dorothy. Here is what we found:

HAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After a few heaves into some hospital barf bags (which Dorothy generously distributed through the car window to the residents of Point Pleasant as we winded our way back out to Furnace Branch Rd) all was eventually well. It's a good thing Dorothy is a happy drunk.

Here's the text I got from her the next morning:

8:30am - Had a great time yesterday with everyone.... I think! LOL. Need to go back to Ric's and sit on the beach and chill.

All's well that ends well!

Oh Poor Pitiful You... Go Fuck Yourself!

Wah!! I'm Kate Gosselin and the only way I can support my 8 children is by being on tv, and spending loads of time away from them, and rubbing elbows with celebrities, and having high paid stylists do my hair/makeup/wadrobe, and whining about my supposed hard life on tv and in print (and getting paid to do so).

Kate - Go fuck yourself. I'm so entirely sick of you. You're polluting the single working mother pool in which I swim. You are a nurse; millions of women support their families in this way. Go sell your gazillion dollar home, cut coupons, and employ John to cover the kids when you're pulling a double shift. TV is not your only option for income; you simply wave that "I have 8 kids to feed!" flag in order to justify your narcissistic personality. Oh, and stay the hell off the cover of my People magazine, bitch.

Wah! I'm Tiger Woods and I felt that I was entitled to do whatever I want and hurt whomever I want because I'm the worlds best golfer, and my father robbed me of my childhood by making me golf in all my free time so I don't know how to act and then he died, and I make more money than God.

Tiger - Go fuck yourself. You didn't just cheat on your wife. You man-whored around on your wife with a really shameful amount of women. No, skanks; couldn't just choose some executive at a golf country club or a high ranking Nike employee, no. You chose every breast implanted, overly tanned, hair ententioned, gold digging, 15 minutes of fame seeking, questionably incomed skank you came in contact with. Ick. Then you used your affairs to make a Nike commercial. You're not a sex addict, you're a douche bag. I hope Elin takes you for every dime you have and wears a red dress to your funeral.

Wah! I'm Jesse James and I'm a hot tattooed bad ass, and I built a life and career out of building custom motorcycles most people can't afford, and it got me a tv show, and one of my ex-wives is a porn star, and I'm fighting for custody of my daughter.

Jesse - Go fuck yourself. You hit the motherload of women when you married Sandra Bullock and you blew it by cheating on her with the same heavily tattooed, web porn skanks you've been drawn to your whole life. Maybe you and Tiger should go have a beer and compare notes; my guess is there's some cross pollination there. You're not a sex addict either. You're a dumb little boy with an overblown sense of entitlement that overshadowed the fact that you finally landed a good woman who supported you and loved you. You should be a broken man, you dumb ass.

Bucket Lists

Today I read this article about MTV's show "The Buried Life" and got inspired.

For as long as I can remember, I've been a social being. I'm the kind of person who likes to go and do and see, and so I thought - why not write down some of the things I still want to experience and start making a concerted effort to do some of the things I still have left rattling around in my head!?! Now I'm personally not talking about things like sky diving or mountain climbing (both are scary, require some level of training, and the gear isn't cute), but hey, if you want to do those things, go for it! Bucket lists are to be just that - personal and gone for.

So, here are some things that I've always wanted to do, and did:

1. Get married (shouldda added "Don't pick an asshole" caveat to that)

2. Have a baby (the actual "having" wasn't nearly as bad as it was hyped up to be. thanks to modern drugs, and I still like the kid so that all worked out)

3. See Ozzy, Aerosmith, and KISS live (all excellent shows; who says old peeps can't rock?!)

4. Own my own home (have since 1991)

5. Make a 6 figure income (crossed that line in 2006, thank you very much)

6. Visit a Caribbean island and swim in tropical blue water (Tortolla in the BVI is stunning)

7. Meet a bonafide international rock star (Nikki Sixx in 2006 - WOO HOO!)


And here are some things I've always wanted to do, and haven't yet:


1. Marry/find a better man (or maybe just live in sin; currently working on both)

2. See Metallica and AC/DC live (gotta get my guy friends in on this one)

3. Visit Ireland ('tis me ancestral motherland, ye lads and lasses)

4. Buy a NEW Camaro (are they sexy as hell or what?!?! Loved 'em since I was a kid; I actually owned a "Glen Burnie Cadillac" from 1987-1994, but getting an infant in and out of its cavernous back seat was torture... good thing I still love the kid, cuz I loved that car)

5. Kiss whomever fills #1's bill, in the rain (I'm a girl, and I've never done that, so what can I say?)

6. Meet another bonafide international rock star (Jon Bon Jovi, I'm comin' for ya!)

7. Be in a situation that requires an outrageously expensive designer gown to be worn at a famous event (The Grammys, The Oscars, thank kind of thing)

8. Go out of town for a Ravens game (preferably Pittsburgh; if I'm gonna do it, I may as well head straight into enemy territory)

Maybe some things on my list seem tame to some, but who cares? It's MY list, meant to fulfill MY soul. And ok really, I think the path that will lead me to meeting JBJ just might be a tad exciting. :-)

So tell me...... what's on YOUR bucket list????

The Art of The Apology

In my 42 years of life, I've done some dumb things. Some hurtful things. Some thoughtless and careless things. Some things that were, admittedly, downright intentionally mean. What I hope I've learned in all these years, is how to apologize.

What I have absolutely learned in all these years, is that most people don't know how to apologize, and/or know what an apology is for.

There is a great website, The Perfect Apology, that teaches you how and why to apologize. It really breaks it down. So if you find that an unusual amount of people get pissed at you, or stop speaking to you, etc., you might want to check that site out. Cuz, um, it just might be YOU that's the issue.

Having had some of the most important people in my life refuse to apologize for anything, or do so but do it all wrong, I'm going to hit on several of my pet peeves and lessons learned about apologies:

- Apologize even if you think you haven't done anything wrong. Ignorance of your own behavior is not a Get Out Of I'm Sorry free card.

- Apologize even if you are right. You hurt/upset some one in conveying you're "rightness", which ultimately makes you wrong. Suck it up an apologize. It's more important to make it right, than it is to be right.

- Do not, under any circumstances, follow "I'm sorry" with "but". "But" voids the apology. And it makes people want to punch you.

- Do not, under any circumstances, say "I'm sorry if...". The "if" tells the injured party that you don't think you did anything wrong and are not holding yourself accountable. And it makes people want to punch you.

- Apologize in person whenever you can. It can be scary, but "man up." Seeing some ones face and hearing their voice is important when conveying emotions, especially regretful ones.

- Please, please DO NOT use an apology as a band aid, or just as a means to end/defuse conflict. MEAN IT. And work on not repeating the behavior in the furture.

There are a small handful of people who are no longer in my life because they don't understand any of this, and it made being around them a series of hurts. If only they could have done some introspection and learned some of these things, we'd still be in each others lives today.

So, go forth and learn before some fabulous person kicks you out of their life because you can't, or won't, apologize.

Snowmageddon

We're now on our SECOND round of snow in 6 days. First pummeling gave us up to 30" in some areas, and this one promises to be around 20". Fabulous. After the first day of being snowed in, I was done. I think it'd be different if I lived with at least one other adult, but I don't. Just me and the teenager. Good times, people. Good times.

However, all of this down time has given me time to observe and learn. And so... here's what I know now:

- No one is contracted to plow the last two streets leading to my work. Some one will owe me some new tires when this is over.

- The teenager can shovel snow pretty damn well!

- However, the teenager did have a cabin fever moment: she decided to add some paint to her walls sans parental permission or knowledge. She'll be re-painting later. Gggrrr.....

- If this weather crisis brought out the worst in you, you officially suck. Especially if you lofted your worst into some one else's best. God help you, and those around you, in a REAL crisis.

- A snowed out Super Bowl party leaves A LOT of food at Dorothy and George's. She makes damn good chili. Might be worth venturing out for.

- My cell phone will only hold about 180 txt messages before it starts to bitch at me to clean house.

- Getting/installing free sync software for your overloaded cell phone ain't as easy as you'd think.

- Elaine STILL loves the snow. My friend may be insane.

- If you don't use a gas fireplace for, say, I dunno, 10 yrs, spiders will make it their home.

- Robby will shovel me out if I let him put whipped cream on my naked boobs. Uh, yeah, no.

- Going to the liquor store in my pajamas didn't phase a single customer or employee of the liquor store.

- My deck hasn't cracked yet under about waist-high levels of snow. Yet.

- Going maybe a day and a half without make-up and hair product is nice. Freeing in a way. But after that, I need to feel pretty. The kind of pretty that only high end (read: overpriced) cosmetics can bring.

- I will never, ever, EVER buy cork topped wine!

So to all my friends who follow this blog, I say - hang in there, nothing last forever. Not even 3 thousand feet of White Death. Oh, and txt me! ;-)

ATTENTION MARYLAND DRIVERS!!!

All you so-called "drivers" out there on my Maryland roads, listen the hell up!!! Pay attention!! This is important!! Ready??

Ok, see this? THIS:









Is not, not, NOT the same as THIS:








LEARN THE DIFFERENCE!!!! Please, I beg you. Lest my truck plow into the back of your vehicle. Or I just park, get out, and punch you. Pick one.

You Say You Want A Resolution.....

Wow, we just closed out the first decade of the 21st century! That's pretty cool, I think. SO much has changed and happened in those ten years, personally and socially, but I'll not take up space, or your time, with a laundry list of those changes and events.

One thing some people do this time of year, or right on New Year's Eve, is make resolutions. Which is nice. I suppose. Me? I don't "do" resolutions. Why, you ask? Well, I was gonna prattle on about how I think it's typically people who can't stick to much of anything who tend make resolutions (and blab to everyone about them), how resolutions seem to just set folks up for being disappointed in themselves, and that we should try every day to grow and learn and be the best person we can be regardless of the date, so instead I think this sums up how I feel:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3N5CsXYlCk

Take away something positive from this, act on it, and have a fabulous year!!