Feisty Repartee

You Did WHAT?!

Disclosure is this week's Diva and Men's Club topic.

When and what should a person of interest reveal regarding his or her sexual past?

While making a concerted effort to check my idealism at the door, I do recognize and understand in the everyday interactions with others most of us make do and muddle our way through the circumstances with which we are presented.

Not surprisingly, I am of two minds of this issue. I guess I should be grateful it is only two.

My first thought is that two people who are seeing one another and interested in pursusing a relationship together should be inclined to discuss and share their respective pasts. Further, it might even be a good idea to delve into those histories prior to engaging in more intimate relations.

However, with a second thought I want to throw that crap straight out of the window. There's a time for thinking and discussing and a time to realize that some things can be over-examined and talked to death. Unless there is a significant health concern (i.e., STDs, AIDS, hepatitis) at issue or one of the parties is a well accomplished cross-dresser completely unbeknownst to the other, not everyone need know every sordid detail of our past histories with other people.

I am who I am because of my cumulative experiences. We all are and that is expected, particularly once most of us reach a certain age, in this instance I am arbitrarily choosing twenty-eight. There should be a presumption that by twenty-eight we each have been involved with at least one other human.

My worth and value as a person, a potential girlfriend, lover, wife or mother should be weighed by who I am now, not by the pieces of my past and what I did or did not choose to do.

If the interested party becomes a significant person, such as a spouse or life partner, then the couple has years to discover more about one another over the passage of time.

Not that I am trying to hide anything, those past revelations should not change how someone should feel about me now. Those disclosures should only be "pieces" of the puzzle to help someone understand how I became the person I am today.

This is not to say that particularly relevant pieces of information should not be shared. What constitutes "relevant" is a gray area and depends solely on the parties involved.

For me personally, if someone has been convicted of crimes against a child or women, that is something I would definitely want to know before I became involved with the man. My reasons should be obvious.

In fact, I am one of those humans who like the acquisition of facts and information; however, I recognize there are few willing to be interrogated within the guise of polite conversation.

Yes, I think it is important to get to know someone, but knowledge can be attained through listening and observation, as well as direct questioning. As much as I hate to admit because it is not my preferred method of operation, the information obtained without asking is often the most reliable.

Bottom line, there's at least one instance where I wish I had been less concerned with full disclosure and observing what was honorable and polite. I wish I had thrown caution to the far winds, looked into the eyes of the object of my desire and simply said: "Let's get it on."

{sigh}

I will be updating here as the Diva Ladies and Men's Club Gentlemen post on the topic of du jour.

Lady Silk asks: Disclosure before declothing?

The Wizard says: considers utterances of what was a secret

The Minister of Propaganda has hard and fast rules! (My favorite was never share the fact you blog about your sex life...)

Phin splashes by with some interesting and humorous insight.

Lovely Sadie's slippery slope appears to be a sliding scale...

The wise Kathy has speaks volumes with "not everything in your past is relevant to the future"

He THINKS he will be male when he dies.

Ummmm, Moogie shares quite a bit of visual imagery.

The Cotillion

In Celebration of Women and Women Bloggers, a new movement is afoot and spear-headed by these these three tantilizingly intelligent and confident women.

As stated by Janette of Common Sense Runs Wild: "Our purpose is to raise the visibility of some great female bloggers in hopes that we never have to deal with a certain annoying question again (Where are all the female bloggers?)."

Presenting the first edition of The Cotillion are Janette, Beth, and Jody.

Well done, ladies!

Ever the Hostess

Over the long weekend, neighbors and friends dropped by here and there.

Our house is an open floor plan with the kitchen in the heart. When guests arrive, they are quickly ushered into the living room with full view of the kitchen.

One of the first three questions posed whenever anyone arrives is some variation of "May I offer you something to drink?"

A neighbor came by this morning bearing fresh produce in a bag. As he came through the door, he asked: "Do you like corn?"

Obviously distracted, I could have sworn he said: "Do you like porn?"

Shocked and more than a bit uncertain, I asked him to repeat the question. He did and proffered the bag full of sweet corn. Immediately relieved, I told him what I thought he had said.

We laughed and then he said jokingly: "Well, do you?"

Before I could answer, Sweet One appeared and being her mother's daughter asked: "Would you like something to drink, iced tea or a coke?"

From behind her and on the tail-end of the question, we all heard Wee One chime in: "Beer?"

Never a dull moment.

Hill Country Fest

Texas Hill Country Tunes Toobs & Targets Blogfest

June 24 - 26, 2005

What's not to love?

Gruene Hall

Toobin'

BBQ

Firing Range

Just Dayum.

Dog Days

Dash has a post up about The Hound-Dog Man a.k.a. Fred Gipson who wrote Old Yeller that made me think.

I've had six dogs of my own, not including the dogs which have belonged to others in the various households in which I have lived. There has probably been a six month period in all of my thirty-seven years in which a dog of some sort was not present.

For my 11th birthday, I received a black fur ball my father named Mimi. I had wanted a puppy, a German Shepherd puppy, but my parents decided to gift me with a miniature poodle. While Mimi lived with me through junior high, high school, college and law school, she had bonded early on with my sister and was never really my dog.

However, Mimi was there when I met and married the husband. In fact, it was with her approval he was allowed to share the bed with us. Mimi was around when we welcomed Sweet One home; but, by that time, her dark eyes were clouded with glaucoma and arthritis had rendered her once quick and agile body stiff and slow.

It took me a while after Mimi to decide to get another dog, but I realized I missed the companionship faithful and loving pets provide. After much thought and research, I decided I wanted another poodle, but a large Standard Poodle.

For those unfamiliar with Standard Poodles, they are big dogs. They stand between twenty-two and twenty-seven inches at the shoulder and can weigh up to 75 pounds.

Research was my middle name. I bought or borrowed all manner of books and periodicals regarding Standard Poodles and followed the husband around the house and yard reading various passages to him about how wonderful these creatures were. He was an avid fowl hunter at the time and I explained standard poodles were the original hunting/retriever dogs and I just knew we could find one that would make the perfect pet for me, as well as a hunting companion for him.

To say the man was absolutely secure in his own masculinity was an understatement. It had not occurred to me at the time how well received he and a retrieving Poodle would be in the field and at various hunt tests. To his credit, he listened patiently and basically told me if that was what I wanted, then find a reputable breeder and we would buy the dog. He even added, if I wanted it to sleep with us, he was not going to argue.

With that last statement, I realized he had not really been listening to me when I described just how big this dog was going to get, but I had obtained the response I wanted and merely kept quiet and began my search for a breeder in earnest.

After a couple of months, I located one in Spring, Texas who had just what I wanted. It was a 300-mile drive one-way to inspect, then select the puppy.

The breeder was expecting us when we arrived and immediately brought us to her kitchen where nine solid black eight-week old puppies were housed. The mother was a bit protective of her litter and was escorted out as we walked in. I sat down on the floor and eight of the nine instantly converged upon me.

These puppies were as big or larger than most miniature poodles were full grown. They probably weighed between ten and fourteen pounds. One of the puppies watchfully hung back and after most of the others moved onto to something else to play with or investigate, he came over to me, gently licked my hand and crawled into my lap. In that moment I knew he was the ONE. I named him Tango.

After announcing my choice, the husband and I took Tango into the back yard. I put the puppy down and told him his name. He was frisky and bright and all those wonderful things puppies typically are. The husband watched, then squatted down and produced a dove wing from a ziploc bag he had been carrying.

Apparently, he had wanted to test the dog's birdiness. The husband whistled to get Tango's attention and then tossed the wing into the yard. My heart stopped in the instant it took the wing to hit the ground, then Tango was all over it; however, that was only part of the "test."

The husband then called the puppy to him with "Tango!" and another encouraging whistling sound. Without releasing the wing, the puppy trotted over to the husband with tail wagging. With only a gentle tug, Tango gave up the wing. He passed the test. I was thrilled.

As I prepared to pay the lady breeder, the husband asked her if he could see other adult Standard Poodles she had. She complied and released Tango's mother, an older brother (from a previous litter) and an unrelated adult male. I guess they smelled the dove wing on him because as soon as they hit the back yard, the three friggin' huge Poodles surrounded him and were barking excitedly. These were not frou-frou yips but deep throaty raise-the-hair-on-the back-of-your-neck "Woof, Woofs" one would associate with a Rottweiler. The husband froze in shock and disbelief. Without taking his eyes of these dogs, he asked the breeder: "Is Tango going to be this big?"

"Of course," was the reply.

I chimed in: "Too late, I've already paid her."

Once she called the dogs from him, he walked over to pet Tango as I held him and told me: "I know what I said, but he's not sleeping in our bed. We'll make him a bed on the floor."

I knew Tango was definitely my dog some thirty minutes later. We were in the husband's brand new truck on our way home. Tango was in my lap when he stood up and walked across the seat to the husband. He then put his head down and promptly threw up on him. No dog of mine would dare throw up on ME!

While not Tango, the second picture on this page will show you what he looked like.

It's been two years and two months since I had to put Tango's diseased and tired body down. I loved that dog.

Life

I have been remiss.

Lately, I have been disappointed with myself, as much as I have been with other people in my life. It’s been dragging my sorry ass down and Feisty, along with a lot of other more important things, have suffered as a result.

My apologies. Seriously, my apologies.

There comes a time in each of our adult lives when we just have to face up to life’s challenges, stake our claims, and move on.

Perfection is an ideal and those kinds of ideals are luxuries. They are fine and grand if individuals have the time, opportunity, and energy to contemplate them, but life is about living, making mistakes, and moving on, as well as finding ways to live with those mistakes.

I know this is not going to make a great deal of sense to anyone, but me. I just needed to say it out loud, so to speak.

Oh, one more thing, I'm putting regret into the same category as perfection. Another one of those luxuries I no longer have the time for.

These Women!

First it was Lollygaggin' pulling that trigger early on the Blog Western, now it's Bobo Blogger.

The 25 Word Challenge is UP and RUNNING!!

Next week the challenge will be hosted at Bad Bad Juju!

Blog Western Chapter Six

Well, I'll be damned.

Pammy may call her blog Lollygaggin', but the woman does NOT let grass grow under her feet.

Chapter Six is up and it's a humdinger!

Just Dayum.

Pammy has smashed another one.

Well done, lady, well done.

For those who have been in blog Siberia:

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

We are down to ONE:

Chapter 7 - June 3 - Velociman

As with all the serial blog fiction, this post will remain at the top until the entire project is complete. New posts will appear immediately below.

Pfft!

Control.

Who needs control?!

I mean, REALLY!

People who know me well well know that when I shed inhibitions, I freakin' shed inhibitions!

Okay, I have had THE massage.

First of all, the place where I went is a retreat and day spa. It's very nice and somewhat posh. Because I am one of those kind of people, I arrived early and received the grand tour.

They have three massage therapists on staff full-time and a number of others who work on a part-time appointment-only basis. Because dear friend had not specified which of the three was to tenderize me, I was allowed to choose.

Well, the first two who introduced themselves damn near had me running for the door. Bambi was probably twenty-two, all of five feet tall and may have weighed ninety pounds if I dropped an anvil on the scales next to her. Deer in the headlights is right.

Next up was this twenty-something guy whose name I did not catch because he had the most interesting hazel-colored eyes and frame that nicely filled the door-way. As attractive as he was, there was NO WAY IN HELL I was taking my clothes off in front of HIM.

Just as I felt my blood pressure top off and my ears began to ring, a very pleasant looking battle axe of a woman about my age introduced herself to me as Helen.

Bingo! We had a winner.

I liked Helen. She explained the different styles of massage and the purpose of the heated stones, etc. She asked how I would like to proceed. I told her this was all very strange and new to me and I had no bloomin' idea.

After a cursury examination of the old neck and back muscles, Helen advised a deep tissue massage would be in order as the stones are primarily for relaxation, not getting the knots out.

My massage was scheduled for ninety minutes.

The first thirty minutes went something like this:

OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW...AHHHH.

OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW...AHHHH.

All through gritted teeth, mind you.

Of course, any time she went near the ribs, inner thighs, ankles or feet, I had a giggling fit.

(On an aside, Helen made the comment people giggle as a defense when they are hiding something. I'll have to think on that one.)

Somewhere around the hour mark, Helen asked: "Do you ever close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere, lying on the beach, maybe, the sun warming your body, totally and completely relaxed?"

My response: "Ummmmm. No."

Helen: "There are some people who have never really learned how to relax."

Me: "Let me guess, you think I'm one of them?"

Helen: "It's a possibility."

Notwithstanding my inability to relax, once I became accustomed to the feel of her hands on my body, actually stopped gritting my teeth, and began to breathe deeply, it felt great, wonderful in fact.

I have another appointment in two weeks. I'm actually going again. However, I'm not stopping there either. I take way too much migraine medication and other pain relievers. There has got to be a better way to manage this crap.

Helen suggested the same thing Kate, Mark, and Phin suggested in the comments: chiropractor.

I Simply Surrender

Everyone has that veritable Achilles heel, that physical weak spot that left unattended or ignored for too long causes untold misery. For some, pressure and stress wreak havoc on the gastrointestinal system while for others it is a vulnerable nervous system.

While outfitted with a cast-iron stomach, I tend to carry my burdens in my neck and shoulder muscles and, in turn, suffer chronic headaches and migraines. While there are, of course, other triggers to migraines, I am afraid the culprit of late has been stress and fatigue.

Today marks the fourth day of a low grade migraine that has not yet rendered me completely unable to function, just incessantly aware of a haranguing and achy pounding behind my right eye.

For years close friends and confidants have encouraged me to submit to massage as a way to release a lot of that tension. I have always resisted.

While physically a very affectionate human, I am exquisitely ticklish. A great deal of trust is involved for me to relax enough for people I hold near and dear to be able to place hands on me.

So, I'm weird that way.

I have no doubt a lot of it has to do with my need to feel in control and I do not lay that need aside for just anyone. Then there's that whole naked as a jaybird thing; however, I actually have fewer problems with the lack of clothing than I do the lack of control.

Honestly, I do like massage, both the giving and the receiving, but have yet to allow a stranger to perform such ministrations on me.

Well, apparently that is about to change.

I've allowed my very good and trusted friend Bonsai to schedule a deep tissue with hot stones massage for me in the next twenty-four hours.

Dear Lord, what was I thinking?!

Revelations

My regular readers might better sit down for this one.

I have always tended to be one of those anal and rigid "by the book" kinds of people.

Shocking, I know.

When I was a young attorney carving out a reputation for myself, I heeded some damn good advice given to me by an older, well-seasoned attorney I greatly respected. A gentleman by the name of Mr. Ciambotti told me to pick one thing on which to base my professional reputation and character and whatever else I did, never to lose sight of that one thing.

Mr. Ciambotti was also the man who convinced me to leave the huge firm where I had worked following my graduation from law school and hang out my own shingle. He believed in me. More importantly, I believed him.

At twenty-five years old and three years out of law school, I opened my own practice. My bread and butter in those early days were family law cases with steady helpings of divorce and child custody.

Ever aware of Mr. Ciambotti's words, I made credibility the cornerstone of my reputation. Before hearings or trials, the judges often held pre-trial conferences with the attorneys to get a feel for the issues and give guidance to encourage the parties to work things out without court intervention.

In my dealings with opposing counsel, as well as the court, I set forth the law as I understood it to be, as well as those facts which I could support with reliable testimony and evidence at hearing and trial.

To further drive the point home, I was also unwilling to compromise for more than my clients were willing to give up or for less than my clients were willing to take, depending on the circumstances. Thus, during those formative years as a young attorney, I litigated just about everything. After a couple of years of slugging it out almost daily, that no-nonsense approach garnered me a reputation for being a straight-talking and fearless combatant.

While the "straight-talking" glove fit, I was far less about courage or fearlessness than I was about getting the most accurate facts before the judge and having the appropriate law applied to those facts.

I believed if the judge were given enough relevant information, a fair and just outcome would come to pass. Mind you, persuasion and casting the light most favorable to my clients were also active concerns; however, I firmly believed in the system and if I played by the rules and did everything I was suppose to do, justice would prevail.

On the downslope of my twenties, I should have begun to realize I was doing both my clients and myself a disservice. I should have further realized not every case needed to be zealously litigated and the lines between right and wrong, justice and injustice, and fair and unfair were wide and blurred. However, it is only on the backside of my thirties have those things begun to become apparent.

Looking back, I note my tactics began to change about six years into the practice of law and three years after becoming a sole practitioner. Around that time one of my divorce clients sent his father-in-law to me.

The father-in-law had an eighth grade education and was a self-made millionaire many times over. He was not well-educated, but this client was clever, shrewd, and ruthless. I handled his will and other personal affairs, then began converting his limited liability companies into corporations. I was one of three or four attorneys handling his varied business interests.

One afternoon this client called me. He was mad as a wet hornet. Apparently, he had spent the day hovering over another of his attorneys who was defending one of his companies in a contract dispute. Client wanted to fire the attorney and have me take over the litigation.

I advised him against changing horses in mid-stream, but offered to sit shot-gun on the next hearing as back-up. Well, his other attorney and I had already done battle a time or two and, not surprisingly, when he heard I was going to be attached to the litigation, he outright quit and I ended up taking over the litigation anyway.

Without going into the relative merits of my client's case here and now, I told him what I thought his exposure was and how I thought we could resolve the situation without going to trial. Something, up to that point in my career, was virtually unheard of.

I basically told the client he personally was the biggest liability to settlement. A man twice my age at that time, he was flabbergasted and wanted to argue with me. I explained his constant hovering at hearings and other meetings belied the relative non-importance such litigation should have to a man of his stature and resulted in the complete undermining of his attorney.

After he calmed down and digested my thoughts, he asked what he should do. I told him quite plainly: "We have a discovery hearing on Tuesday. Be there early. I have another hearing and will advise the court I may be a few minutes late. When I arrive, shake my hand, pat me on the ass, I don't care, just do whatever you have to do to instill total and complete confidence in me, then leave me alone and let me do my job."

To say that rendered him apoplectic is an understatement.

On the day of the hearing, I ran a few minutes late. When I arrived, I was fully prepared and dressed to the nines. Client walked over, patted me on back, then turned to opposing party and counsel and said: "Gentleman, let me introduce you to my attorney. Don't let her good looks fool you, she's here to kick your ass." With that, he turned and headed out of the court room. Over his shoulder, he added: "By the way, I'm headed to Rio, if you need me, call my secretary."

After the hearing, I put the case in high gear and utilized my client's deep pockets to set days of depositions and buried my opponents in discovery requests. I was aware my client did not want to go to trial, but the only way to convince the other side to settle was to "not negotiate" and appear to move full steam ahead towards litigation.

There was no down side as far as I could see. We could not force the other side to compromise and if they did not, we still had to be prepared to try the case.

Within a week opposing counsel proffered an offer to settle for an amount less than what my fee would have been to take the case through trial.

So, what's the moral to the story?

I am still not sure; however, I do think idealism has a place in youth and what one does with it or as a result of it shapes one's character and reputation.

Three things convinced opposing counsel and party to settle: my client's absolute confidence in me, my reputation as a litigator, and the costs of preparing the case for trial.

The biggest of those factors was definitely money. The law and the facts of the case had less to do with the outcome of this particular suit than who had the deepest pockets and who was more willing to spend to win.

Why am I contemplating my exploits as a younger attorney?

Well, I may have the "opportunity" to return to that old way of life, i.e., go back to the courtroom. I have now been away from the "game" longer than I was in it. Do I have the energy and intensity necessary to re-establish that reputation I worked so very, very hard to build so long ago? Probably not.

More cogently, is there a better way to harness what's left of that idealism and make it work more efficiently for me at this stage of my life and career?

Tagged Again!

This lady tagged me with a new meme.

Don't roll your eyes, I actually like this one.

10 Things I've Never Done, But Intend to Do Before I Die:

1) Watch my children graduate from college

2) Swim naked off the beaches in Bora Bora

3) Take a month's vacation at one time

4) Sail the mediterranean

5) Win the lottery

6) Take a cooking class in Tuscany

7) Finally have wild, passionate sex in New Orleans (as many times as I've been there one would think...)

8) Write a novel and have it published

9) Go fishing in a free Cuba

10) Die knowing I lived and loved to the best of my ability

Now, who shall I tag??

Kelley, Kelley, Kelley because I never know what she's going to say.

Average Tobacco Chewing Joe because he posts some interesting things and I'd like to get to know the man behind the posts better.

RedNeck because whatever he shares usually brings a smile to my face.

Matters of the heart

It's Tuesday! This week's topic involves a rather serious look at heartfelt matters: Which is worse: a lonely heart or a broken heart?

While it has been years, I have not forgotten those many, many forlorn Friday and Saturday nights in high school and college when all my friends were out with their boyfriends or significant others.

I distinctly recall watching from afar as other girls were warmly and enthusiastically greeted by the objects of their respective desires. Even when I tried not to notice or otherwise ignore those moments when some guy walked up to a girl he liked, smiled at her, then took her hand, kissed her briefly or showed some other small sign of tenderness and affection, I still felt the abject cold and emptiness of wretched desolation.

While I have felt the deep pain of a broken heart and languished in its miserable aching torment, I would choose again and again to partake and embrace of love's grace, even if I knew, at best, it might only be a fleeting and capricous whimsy.

The lonely heart is one which beats behind tall and thick fortress walls that suffice to protect it against damage, but also distances it from joy and exultation while reducing its owner to a mere spectator to life.

The broken heart recognizes the anguish of bittersweet heartache as a testament to living a life well and seizing those opportunities the randomness of fate has allowed.

I choose to live, learn, and hopefully love. What say you?

For additional insight, be sure to visit the ladies: Sadie, Silk, Kathy, and guest Red Hat Diva Pammy of Lollygaggin, as well as these guys: The Wizard, Phin, and the AirMarshal of Naked Villainy. (Puffy has taken a trip to far off ponds and will return in a fortnight.)

What?!

Sweet One decided over the weekend she wanted a new cross-stitch project. With summer on the way and the temperature in the mid-90s in Louisiana on Saturday, I thought it a good idea, particularly since I had just finished this project for Sweet One's room and wanted to take it to be cleaned and framed.

Abandoning Wee One to my mother's care, Sweet One and I went to a little boutique-style cross-stitch shop in my hometown, bought several patterns, nice fabric, and the speciality threads for her design.

However, we did not pick up all the floss needed for her project because I have about nine thread boxes full of most every color DMC makes.

After we returned home and unloaded the truck on Sunday, Sweet One could not wait to break out the thread boxes to compile and organize the various items necessary to begin stitching. I warned her to make more than one trip and not try to carry all the thread boxes at once.

Sweet One failed to heed my advice and proceeded to stagger in behind an armload of boxes. Of course, before she made it to the dining room, she dropped two of the boxes and some two or three hundred individually wrapped bobbins fell to the floor. Mind you, these are all arranged in each box numerically.

Sweet One was crushed with the knowledge she was going to have to put them all back in their respective boxes in the correct order.

Upon hearing the commotion, Wee One came in, surveyed the mess, looked at her sister, and stated: "Oh, man, what a pisser."

It would appear Sweet One has been graced with my love of needlework while Wee One has inherited my, ummm, expressiveness.

All Aboard!!

The 25 Word Challenge is UP and Running!

This week's host is the delightfully devilish Zonker.

Head on over and jump that train.

Next week, the lovely Oddybobbo at Bobo Blogger will host.

ARRGGHHH!

May Murphy rot in hell!

In the bathroom this morning I was doing a little organzing and light packing for a quick weekend trip. The make-up bag was open and I inadvertantly knocked it over.

Among the various "beauty" items which fell to the tile floor were two bottles of nail polish, one clear and the other bright and shocking dark reddish pink.

One bottle of polish landed softly and without incident on the bath mat, the other shattered and poured all over the tile and grout.

Which bottle do you suppose broke and splattered?

Yep, the colored nail polish. The clear landed safely on the bath mat.

Did I mention I had about a teaspoon of acetone based polish remover?

What a screaming mess!

Blog Western Chapter Five

It's UP! Chapter Five is UP!

The Straight White BlogPop has proved yet again that his mind is a wonderfully strange and dangerous place.

Read it not once, but twice.

Just Dayum.

He has continued the Blog Western's fine tradition.

For those who have been in blog Siberia:

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four

Next week is Pammy with the penultimate Chapter 6

Then, we will down to ONE:

Chapter 7 - June 3 - Velociman

As with all the serial blog fiction, this post will remain at the top until the entire project is complete. New posts will appear immediately below.

Voodoo Says: "TGIF!"

Blog it Forward!

The delightfully fun loving and gorgeous Kate brought my attention to Blog it Forward.

The rules are really simple. All you have to do is pick someone (or sometwo or somethree) from your blogroll and post (on your site) just what makes them linkworthy. I mean, there's obviously a reason that you allow them to take up that valuable real estate on your site, right? But who do you pick?

My three picks for the day are:

1. Pammy of Lollygaggin because she is self-assured, out-spoken, and funny. I never know just quite what to expect when I head over there and always leave with a smile.

2. Boudicca's Voice. In addition to being a brain and a half, she is the very loving mother of three young boys. Her view points are sound and well expressed. She is always enlightening.

3. My posse of Disarming, Snarky, and Sassy Divas! I read these ladies daily for the same reasons I hang with them on Tuesdays, they are intelligent, witty, confident, and charming, as well as unique.

Good grief. There are so many of the blogroll I visit daily. I think I'll have to revisit this Blog it Forward again.

Thanks, Kate!

Salud!

Both of the girls have problems with seasonal allergies, Wee One more so than Sweet One. Tissue boxes abound all around the house.

This morning it was Sweet One walking through the house sneezing up a storm.

She may be a pistol, but Wee One is also a very polite child.

When her sister began repetitive sneezing, Wee One grabbed a box of tissues and offered them to Sweet One.

She said: "Here, these are for your 'bless-shoes' (Bless Yous, instead of sneezes)."

Reminder!

Hey!

The comments are kind of hard to read at the moment, very sorry about that.

Sadie is working on the new skins and things are being tweaked and re-set.

Your patience is appreciated.

Thank you!

Little Miss Independent

My baby is four, almost four and a half years old.

Despite her apparent youth, she is definitely going on twenty-five.

From pouring her own milk to getting her own snacks, she is all about doing it herself.

My mother introduced her to peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches a couple of months ago. After my mom left, Wee One began to make her own sandwiches for afternoon snacks, sans the peanut butter. Thus, she has been making grape jelly sandwiches.

Despite the screaming sticky mess, I recognize and understand this need for independence and have provided paper plates, squeezable grape jelly, and lots of napkins.

Last evening I spent some time enjoying the glorious weather on the back patio. The girls accompanied me outside. Wee One played on the swing set and Sweet One ran around with the dogs.

As the sun began to set, the next door neighbors came out with drinks to join me. While we visited Wee One went inside to go potty.

While I was not watching the clock, I was aware several minutes had passed and went to check on the little one. The light was on in the bathroom and I could hear the water running.

When I opened the bathroom door water was just beginning to flow over the top of the tub onto the floor and she was floating face up, eyes closed in the tub.

In one motion, I snatched her out of the tub and cut the water off, completely soaking myself in the process. For my efforts, I was rewarded with a scolding from my younger child. Before I could ask her what the heck she was doing, she was on my ass for what the heck I thought I was doing.

When she and I had calmed down, she finally told me all she wanted to do was "take a nice relaxing bath..."

Geez.

Her independence is going to be the end of me.

Warning: Dangerous Curves Ahead

Indulge me, please.

Spoil me just because I want to know.

What is the real skinny on thin women?

Which is more attactive and why: Thin Kate Moss - Gweneth Paltrow types or women with voluptuous curves?

Audrey Hepburn was, without a doubt, beautiful in Breakfast at Tiffany's; however, I am making her the exception here.

When I think of beautiful and sexy women (albeit it is certainly NOT something that takes up a great deal of my time or consciousness) images of Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner, and Angelina Jolie come to mind.

While Angelina may be a bit on the thin side and does not personify that classy golden years of Hollywood glamour, I do think she is a beautiful woman. It does not hurt that she is outspoken regarding her sensuality and love of the sport, so to speak.

What I think those three women have in common are a smoldering sensual appeal with the confidence in their curves to back them up.

Now, I am familiar with the theory that men like eye candy on their arms because it makes them appear "powerful" in the eyes of other men, but I have heard from a number of male friends and acquintances over the years that men actually do prefer more womanly curves at home and in bed.

So, tell me, what say you?

Why am I interested, you ask?

Well, let's just say the last couple of months I have fallen out of my love affair with my scales...

Nerd at Heart

Never, ever guess where I am...

Ha!

I am sitting al fresco at a cute little Italian eatery with one of my best friends. She's on her Mac and I'm on my notebook computer.

We are chatting, surfing, and eating. Furthermore, I am posting!!

There are NO children running around and no one is calling me "Mommy!"

Yes, I have to go back to the office shortly, but I am in heaven for a few more minutes!

Who knew?!

Grilled Leg of Lamb

This week's Carnival of the Recipes is being hosted by Jordana of Curmudgeonry.

Grilled Leg of Lamb

3 cups dry red wine
½ cup olive oil
2 onions, thinly sliced
1 carrot, thinly sliced
6 sprigs of parsley
2 bay leaves, crumbled
1 TBS dried thyme
2 tsp salt
½ tsp pepper
1 (7 lb.) leg of lamb, boned and butterflied

Combine wine, olive oil, onions, carrot, parsley, bay leaves, thyme, salt and pepper in a shallow dish; mix well. Add the lamb, turning to coat well. Marinate, covered, in the refrigerator for 24 to 48 hours; drain and pat dry.

Grill the lamb over a medium heat for 10 to 15 minutes on each side for rare or until done to taste.

Italian Cream Cake

Jordana of Curmudgeonry is hosting this week's Carnival of the Recipes.

1 stick butter, (1/2 cup)
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 cup buttermilk
1 small can flaked coconut
5 egg whites, stiffly beaten
1/2 cup shortening
5 egg yolks
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon Amaretto
1 cup chopped pecans

Frosting:
1-8 oz. package cream cheese, softened
1- 16 oz. box confectioners' sugar,
1/2 stick butter, softened
1 teaspoon Amaretto

Cream butter and shortening; add sugar. Add egg yolks and beat well. Combine soda and flour; add to creamed mixture alternately with buttermilk.

Stir in Amaretto. Add coconut and nuts. Fold in egg whites. Pour into 3 greased and floured cake pans; bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.

For frosting: Beat cream cheese until smooth; stir in sugar. Add Amaretto and beat until smooth. Spread on cake layers; sprinkle top with chopped nuts.

Refrigerate before and after serving.

Advice, please?

Not along ago I had no idea what the little thingys were on everyone's sites which read "Atom Feed," "XML," "RSS," and "Syndicate this Site."

Yes, I had heard of news readers and all that, but had absolutely NO idea why it would or should be important to moi.

After all, "news readers" are those who actually read paper newspapers, right?!

Well, apparently not.

Last week, I downloaded a nifty little FeedDemon trial version.

So, ummmm, now I have a new little toy/addiction thingy, the news reader.

Well, I have ten days left until my trial version expires and I was wondering, before I pay money to feed this habit, what other people are using and how well they like it.

I have tried the Mozilla Fire Fox live feed bookmark/whatchama-bobber, but I have to say it does not hold a candle to the FeedDemon.

Any thoughts?

It's ALL in the DELIVERY

How many times have we heard: "It's not what you say, but how you say it?"

While I rarely post on the subject of politics, I read it voraciously.

I have found I am less interested in engaging in political debate these days because I rarely feel I have something unique to offer.

However, I will make one personal observation. Beware of the individual who invites you to discuss and debate an issue, then boasts: "No one has yet to make an argument which has changed my mind."

The arrogance is simply astounding!

Please correct me if I am wrong, but I thought the purpose of debate was to bring all sides of an issue into the light for frank evaluation, deliberation, and discussion.

It is a search for the truth, if you will, through principle, reason, and logic.

Yes, we all have preconceived notions, ideas, and beliefs regarding each subject; however, why bother to engage in debate if the proverbial YOU has already decided pre-debate that no one can change your mind?

It is fine to feel strongly about a position and I applaud passion and conviction, but for the exercise to be worthwhile, please remember we need to leave ourselves open for change, particularly when the facts and logic dictate one is in order.

Now that I have THAT off my chest, what I really wanted to post about was the considered and well-reasoned thoughts of this gentleman regarding the "transparency that is crucial to credible blogs" and how that relates to the "profound difference between political leftists and down-home conservative blogs."

It is an interesting read. Very well done, Mark.

H/T to both Harvey and Phin

Busy, Busy

In addition to getting in Sadie's way as she is working on this place, I've been posting over at Michele's place while she is out galavanting around with her new husband, Kevin.

This guest-posting gig is my first!

Ha! {insert devilish grin and maniacal laugh!}

Elsewhere in the blogworld:

The Straight White Pop has finally gotten around to giving me a sibling, a princess no less!

Phoenix has special news of her own!

Cadillac has been going to town!

Someone (or somephing) has finally explained trackbacks to moi!

These people actually have lives and go out and enjoy themselves!

My BabyBlogGirl is doing just grand! Her father is a good influence, at least at the moment...

This guy is giving me a run for THE Planning Gene Title. He has a website set up for the Alamo City Blogfest!

As far as locked and loaded is concerned, this woman, this woman, him, him, him, and him appear to be booked! If I missed anyone, PLEASE let me know! EVERYONE is invited!

Whew...

So, tell me, as I catch my breath, how the heck are you folks?

From Glitter to Shine

This week the darling, dynamic, and demystifying divas are conversing about those little glittering, sparkling things that make men roll their eyes and most women squeal and sigh with delight. That’s right, the goods, little tokens of affection, the bling-bling, jewelry.

Most, but not all, women like diamonds and gold.

In my mother’s homeland of Vietnam, banks and paper money were not to be trusted when she was growing up. The measure of a family’s prosperity was the gold and jewels with which the women were adorned. Further, the manner in which the family saved money was the acquisition of more gold. To this day, my mother frequents the Asian jewelry stores of Houston and Belaire to acquire more gold. There the gold bracelets, rings, and necklaces are made of 18kt gold and are sold by weight.

In addition to symbols of wealth and prestige, expensive baubles often signify the love and adoration of another.

When I was in high school, I always longed to have some cute guy ask me to wear his high school ring or letter jacket. It never happened for me, but I dearly wanted to be recognized as belonging with someone. In college and law school girls all around me were getting engaged and planning their weddings and their lives. Those engagement rings were everywhere. I have to admit, I got caught up in it and wanted it for myself as well.

Women are often given a bad reputation for their seemingly collective obsession of gold and jewels.

I once knew a woman of means. She was not born that way, but after first hubby was killed in an oil rig mishap, she came into a rather large settlement. As she was still very young (in her twenties) and quite attractive when she was widowed, she made something of a career of marrying, then burying or divorcing wealthy men.

Yes, she was client of mine years ago. After burying two husbands and divorcing two others before age fifty, she decided she had accumulated quite enough to keep her comfortable for the duration of her life and was no longer interested in marriage. I handled one estate and two divorces for her, as well as a myriad of other more personal business.

After the second divorce, she called and asked me to re-do her will. I did. When she came in to review and sign it, she flashed a beautiful diamond and ruby bracelet at me. I remarked at its beauty and playfully inquired if she had a new suitor. She tossed her bleach blonde hair back, looked at me with cold blue eyes, and stated: “No honey, that’s a to me, for me, from me. I am my own Sugar, now.”

It was not for me to sit in judgment of her. I did not then and do not now. She was a character and simply used what life had thrown her to her best advantage. I recall several times over the years when she had more reflective moments she spoke quite lovingly and longingly of her first husband and high school sweetheart who had been killed days before their second anniversary. Around her neck, she wore the plain and thin gold wedding band he had given her.

No matter whether they represent wealth or love, our fascination and need to acquire jewelry will always continue.

For more insight and enlightenment regarding the topic du jour, please visit the lady divas: Sadie, Kathy, and Silk, our guest Diva-esque friend, Phoenix, and the Men’s Club: The Wizard, Phin, and Puffy. Please note, our beloved Zonker has retired from the club for the moment and we welcome the interesting and ever well-spoken Maximum Leader of Naked Villainy to the Men’s Club fold.

Update: A good friend and reader is also a very talented and creative artist with jewelry. Go here.

Killin' Time

There is a gentleman in my community who has been readily identifiable for years. He is probably in his mid-sixties and is a pleasant looking sort of fellow.

In the early mornings and late afternoons, he can been seen around town riding his recumbent bike to and from work.

A couple of years ago I ran across him at a convenience store, introduced myself, and asked him about his bike. At the time, he explained he had heart problems and his doctor told him he needed to exercise more. He said he had told his doctor he did not have time to exercise and his doctor informed him he would definitely not have time if he didn't. So, he decided to ride a bike the twelve miles to and from work daily.

This afternoon, I was pumping gas when an older man pulled up beside me at the pump and said "Good Afternoon!" It took me a moment, but after spotting the recument bike and Vespa in the back of his truck, I knew who he was. I smiled and immediately inquired how he was doing. He said he was doing just fine.

After the necessary pleasantries, I told him I almost did not recognize him without the bike. He nodded and told me it was time to trade that dog in and motioned toward the Vespa. I then said something about "doctor's orders" and he shook his head and simply stated: "It was time to get motorized, that bike was just killin' me.

Today's Darwin Award Goes to...

ME!

Sadie is a Saint.

Seriously.

The woman must have oodles of patience in dealing with me because I can be IMPOSSIBLE, in that not so good way.

She has been diligently working on this site and every so often I try to add a link or whatever to the template.

A few days ago, I messed around trying to import some archives and managed to delete or otherwise screw up the three columns template. I panicked, sent her an email begging her to please, please, please forgive me.

As you can see, she graciously fixed my blunder.

Yesterday, I asked her how to add to the blogroll because we now have me set up with BlogRolling. She was kind enough to send me the information regarding the username and password she set up my account in. Bless her.

Apparently, that anal gene was on the fritz yesterday.

I know I wrote down the username and password I changed the account to, but am unable to find it. Further, I really think I know what those two things were. What I now think happened is that I spelled the username wrong somehow... Thus, I am unable to get BlogRolling to send me the correct password.

Please say a prayer for Sadie...she's dealing with a moron. A very grateful moron, but a moron nonetheless.

UPDATE: Sadie is a saint! Due to my inability to handle any more usernames and passwords, the decision was made to revert to the Honorary Feistiness and Feisty Reads blogrolls. Many thanks, Sadie!

Da Bomb

This WOMAN is amazing. I have been reading her for a while now. She is intelligent, witty, and quick as greased lightning.

THIS is a fine example of political debate that absolutely gets me going.

Unfortunately, unlike her, I am incapable of original thought on these matters.

Well done, Kathy!

Dirty Trick

Regular readers are well aware of my penchant for evening ablutions in my cast-iron claw-foot tub under the ever-watchful eyes of Voodoo the cat.

However unintentional, this evening I played a dirty trick on Voodoo.

Usually, I finish my bath, pull the plug, then dry off as I wait for the water to drain. When it completely empties, I typically put a cup in the tub and run fresh water in it for the cat.

Voodoo always waits on the edge of the tub until I put the cup down, then jumps in to drink. When he has had his fill, he usually lays in the still wet tub.

Why? I don't know. That is just what he does.

I was in a bit of a hurry this evening and after I finished my bath, I stepped out, then immediately filled the cup and put in the tub. The weight of the water in the cup held it stationary, despite the water that was still draining.

As soon as the cup was in place, Voodoo launched himself from the side directly into the water-filled tub. A nano second later, soaked to the bone over eighty percent of his body, he launched himself right back out.

He is one seriously pissed cat.

I'm so EXCITED!

This is so cool!

Pixy Misa and the Munuvians have given me a new home!! Woohoo!

Special thanks to my favorite Snooze Button Jim for setting everything up initially and the lovely and talented Sadie for designing and dressing the place.

You guys are the BEST!

There will be more skins to come, right Sadie??

Happenings!

Well, I'm just breathless!

So much to say, so little time.

First up, I'm so very pleased to announce: IT'S A GIRL!!

After three darling boys, I finally have a baby girl and tonight is prom night!! Further, this blog child of mine ACTUALLY has a FATHER!

However, I'm still a bit fuzzy regarding the whole, ummm, conception thing. Maybe, he will enlighten us.

Secondly, the brilliant and creative wonder that is this lovely lady has redesigned her digs and it looks Fan-Farookin'-tastic!

Next in line, this Irishman pulled in a little late, but believe me, some men are well worth the wait. Call it foreplay if you will. I call it breathless! Go. Read. This. Now.

After you finish up with Puffy and have taken your cold shower, please visit with my boy Will, he just turned in the first chapter of his dissertation and discusses a bit of libation. It does a blogMom proud.

Last, but not least, my boy Dash is talking about Mezcal.

A reminder: Beginning tomorrow I will be spending time over here as a guest blogger this week.

Cross-posted here as I get this site ready to go!

Blog Western Chapter Four

Whoa!

Don't you just love it when a woman kicks some serious butt!

Miss Kelley just did.

I mean...dayum!

Chapter Four is up!

For those who have been in blog Siberia:

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Next week is Eric

Then the final two:

Chapter 6 - May 27 - Pammy
Chapter 7 - June 3 - VelociGod

As with all the serial blog fiction, this post will remain at the top until the entire project is complete. New posts will appear immediately below.

Under Construction

Please excuse the mess, we are still fine tuning things around her.

My very good and capable friend (she's pretty hot too) Sadie has been working her magic around here.

Lots more good stuff to come.

So, if you are looking for Feisty, head on over to the old place because we're not quite ready to move just yet.

See you around!

Home

For years home was identified as that place where I grew up. That place in rural Louisiana where I spent the lazy days of summer riding horses, fishing in the pond, and swimming in the river. For a long time after I left home, went to school, married and moved away, driving to my parents' house was still "going home."

At what point my ancestral home ceased being "home" to me is unclear.

I am now passed the age where I have spent more years away from my parents' place than I actually lived there. I have surpassed that time by five years. Since leaving home, I have lived in apartments, rented a house, bought a house, and then bought another. I have lived in different cities and different states. As I have matured, I have endeavored to make each house a home, not just for me, but first for my small family and then for my children.

With the years, my parents have aged, family members and friends in my hometown have died, and over the past two years, I have made frequent trips back to my parents' house due to my father's failing health. With each visit, I have felt more of a distance and disconnect with this place I once knew as home. When I am there, I recognize the landmarks, am cognizant of the memories evoked, and acknowledge a not insignificant portion of who I am was formed by the place and the events which transpired there; however, those warm feelings of familiarity, belonging, and "place" are no longer stirred. I cannot even say that these emotions have been replaced by any other. It is just a place, not unlike any other I have seen or experienced in my travels. This is just a place I happen to know better than most others.

When I think of where my home is now, that place that draws me back when I wander, both in my mind, as well as my person, with the promise of warmth, security, and wellness, I am deluged with images of my children, my friends, and the small town in which I now live. The images include time spent with good friends, in their houses and mine, enjoying good food and good conversation as we watch our children being children. The images also include standing in line at the one post office in my small town making conversation with those strangers around me, then weeks later seeing one of the strangers again at the grocery store and finding this stranger has suddenly become friend. I am now home, again.