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This week the ladies of the Red Dress Club challenged us to try something new:  Is there someone who drives you crazy?    Someone who really gets under your skin?  Now, write a first-person piece - as if YOU are this individual. Write from his or her perspective and include the things that really bother you. For instance, maybe there's a good reason why they eat with their mouths open, or why they use sarcasm as a weapon.
Please remember, I am not myself in this piece.  I am writing as if I’m someone else.


I didn’t feel like going to work most days, but I knew I had to go in because I didn’t want to give that bitch the satisfaction of taking me into the boardroom and counseling me, again.   She’s had me in that damned boardroom more times than I can remember, and for what?  What did I do that was so bad?  Everyone else gets by with murder in that place.   I was the best phone tech she had and I knew my stuff.  Still, she would find a way to counsel me on something.

I got my revenge, though, in my own way.  Two new people started work last week, and I met them on break and told them all about her.    I told them she would stab them in the back in a heartbeat.  I told them not to be alone with her because she’s a lesbian and will probably try to come on to them.   She never came on to me, but I’m sure with a little encouragement from me, she would have.

A couple weeks ago, I was called into the boardroom.   She started out nice enough, but then she got serious.  She said my technical skills were good, but then complained about my call volume.  Apparently, I didn’t take enough calls to satisfy her.  Then she asked me if I’d been taking food and soda that were not mine from the break room refrigerators.  How’d that bitch know I took the food?   I was always careful that no one was around.   It wasn’t hurting anyone.  But the bitch caught me, I denied it, then she said someone actually saw me.   I stayed noncommittal and again denied ever taking anything.   She finally told me to go back to my desk.  I decided right then and there to get back at her if it was the last thing I ever did.

Yesterday I arrived at work and there was a note asking me to meet her in the boardroom at 4:30 pm.   Right on time, I walked in and she was sitting there looking through several printouts that had been strewn about.  I wondered what was going on, and I sat down while she continued to look at the printouts, in silence.  I also stayed silent, not giving her the satisfaction of saying anything.  After a few minutes, she looked me right in the eyes and said, “I ran call reports for the last month and you had 47 dropped calls.  Everyone else averaged only 2 or 3.  How do you explain that?”

I was dumbstruck.  How could she tell from those reports that I’d been hanging up on people just as they called in?  I had no idea anyone could see that.  I gaped at her as if in disbelief, and commented, “I don’t know what you mean.  I was doing my job.”

Her face got pretty red, but she didn’t raise her voice.  She just looked at me and said “I’ve also had two technicians report to me that you’ve been hanging up on people consistently, during the time I go to lunch.   I would like an explanation.”

That really pissed me off, so I glared at her and snapped, “I didn’t hang up on anybody”.

She came back with, “I’m going to give you one more chance to explain, as we both know that’s not the case.”

“I didn’t hang up on anybody,”  I said.  I really just wanted to shove my fist down her throat.   I didn’t get paid enough to take as many phone calls as they wanted.   And so what if I stole a few things?

She calmly collected the printouts, stood up and stated, “Your integrity and work ethic come into question here, and there’s proof.   I’m done.”    And she walked out.

Today I was fired.    She had one of the techs drive me home because I would have had to take the bus.  Her boss said she wouldn’t have been that nice.

I wonder if I’ll be able to get unemployment.

Perspective, Where For ART Thou?

Inspired by today’s airing of “The View” (yes I’ve hit a new low), my thoughts involuntarily wandered to the subject of Art.  What is Art?  What constitutes something as a piece of Art?  Is it safe to say that Art is Art depending on one’s perspective?  Or is it as personal as that?   Are you getting annoyed that I am asking so many questions? I just want to get my brain around this whole confusing and beguiling world of expressionism.  And that sparks still another question.  Are all forms of expressionism considered Art?  Is expressionism the same thing as Art?  Ok, now that I’ve listed more than enough ponderous questions, I will attempt to force my opinion on the masses (well the 5 or 10 of you that actually read this stuff). defines the noun Art as “the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance”.    I would like to take issue with part of this as I don’t believe that Art has to be beautiful or adhere to aesthetic principles.  Beautiful is relative to one’s own particular view.  That which is beautiful to Jethro from the sticks would most certainly differ from that of Barrack from the White House, right?  And what about Stevie Wonder?  His ‘beautiful’ must be different from everyone, as he is blind.  And yet, Stevie finds beauty in the music and his craft.  Does’s definition fit that kind of beauty?    Actually, it does, with the catch-all phrase at the end of the definition, “or of more than ordinary significance”.   I’m a little confused here, because, given that phrase, wouldn’t most anything out of the ordinary be considered Art?  How can that be?

Does your brain hurt?  Mine is beginning to cramp.

Going back to my original inspiration to blog about the subject of Art, “The View” showed a performance art piece where a guy was sitting inside a grand piano, and playing a classical song backwards, while the piano was moving.  When asked how this could be considered art, the guest said that normally, we view a piano player from the back, and the piano is not moving.  Since the piano was moving and the piano player was, indeed, facing the audience, this was considered Art.

Oh yea, I’m convinced.   Uh huh.

I like to think I am a liberal, open-minded, educated and somewhat worldly woman.  That being said, I will accept’s definition of Art.   As long as no one gets hurt.   While abhorring violence in any form, I must agree that horrible things, by our definition, could be considered Art.   What if someone paints a picture of a car accident, with people’s brains spattered all over the pavement?

Is this where my open-mindedness is supposed to kick in?

Yes, that would be Art.  Not beautiful or esthetically pleasing.  But certainly “of more than ordinary significance”.      Does that make you rethink your next trip to the art gallery?    You never know what you might see there these days.  Apparently, it’s called Art when the artist takes a seat in a chair in the middle of the gallery, and stares at people, one by one, for hours at a time.   I wish I could get a gig like that.  I’m really talented in the ‘sitting’ area.  I can sit for days.   Why am I wasting my time writing and sketching my brains out, when my money-maker could very well be my sitting-down place?

Or maybe my open-mind closes up a bit upon the entering, stage left, of the fucking ridiculous.

I’m going with a more delicate, simple and poetic view of Art.   I believe that Art, like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder.   And the beholder can be the artist or the interpreter of the Art.  So baby, if you don’t think a pile of dung in the middle of a dirt road, or a pile of naked bodies in the middle of a still-life orgy, or a giant ball of toxic waste material featured on the news is Art, then it’s not.  Keep in mind, though, that if enough people disagree with you, somebody’s making a lot of money somewhere.  Loosen your mind up any?   I’m still working on that.

Disclaimer:  No marijuana plants were injured during the making of this post.


The Little Cabin

Rose awoke at 5 am, as she did every day, got dressed and headed down the stairs to the kitchen.  The coffee had been pre-set and was brewing, making chugging and popping sounds and emitting an inviting aroma.  The sounds and smells of a promising new day not going unnoticed, Rose managed a smile as she began packing lunches for the grandkids.  Methodically, she put together their choices:  yogurt and fruit for Kellie, ham and cheese on wheat, no mayo, for Sara, and peanut butter and jelly on white bread for Chad.  After putting everything back in the fridge to keep it fresh, she poured herself a cup of coffee and had a seat at the table.   She had about 30 minutes to herself before the Pearson family morning chaos began.  Rose cherished this early quiet time where she could sip her coffee and think her morning thoughts without interruption.

Rose had never been much for crowds or even a lot of kids.  Her grandkids, in fact, sometimes got on her last nerve.  They never knew it though, as she also wasn’t one to outwardly display emotion.  Oh, she provided the grandmotherly hugs and kisses, smiles and encouragement, and it was all genuine.  There was just so much more underneath, however, that she never dared let escape.  Those were, and had always been, her private feelings and thoughts.  No one had ever had the privilege or permission to enter except her husband.  A tear slowly trickled from the corner of her eye as she poured a second cup of coffee and stepped out onto the patio for a quick gulp of fresh air and a little perspective.

She was doing ok, living with her daughter and son-in-law and their three teenagers.   After Jack died the previous year, everyone had insisted that selling her house and living with her oldest daughter was the best possible move she could make.   How she missed her home, with the peeling wallpaper, creaking floors and even the leaky faucet.  Had she been too quick to listen to everyone else?  She and Jack had lived on that property since she was pregnant with Kate, her oldest.  Jack’s father had given them the land as a wedding gift and they’d built the house with the help of family and friends, and moved in just before Kate was born.  Both her daughters were raised there, and played among the beautiful trees and landscape which graced the homestead.  The house had sold quickly and for much more than she needed to live out her days comfortably.  Still, she would gladly give up every penny to be sitting in that house, having coffee with Jack at their kitchen table.  She smiled thinking about how he buried his face behind the newspaper and slurped his coffee just to annoy her.  Jack always did like to tease her.

Rose stepped into the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of coffee and began preparing breakfast for the family.  Not ready to let her precious memories go for the day, her thoughts shifted back to one afternoon in early summer many years ago.  She and Jack had taken a picnic lunch and set out for a lovely walk through their property.  They owned 20 acres and hadn’t seen most of it, so enjoyed an occasional walking adventure to discover what their land offered.  After about an hour’s walk along the northern most edge of the property, they made a most delightful discovery of an old cabin, sitting picturesquely in a meadow, adorned with beautiful trees.  Rose remembered thinking it was likened to a scene out of a storybook.   Their afternoon was spent exploring the cabin and surrounding grounds, and having their picnic lunch right on the little porch, while making up stories of who must have lived in that cabin so long ago.  She remembered looking at her husband over a lunch of chicken sandwiches and little bottles of wine coolers and feeling her heart swell with love.   She couldn’t imagine anyone being happier than she was at that moment.

Rose wiped her eyes and blew her nose.  She missed Jack so much.  How did she get here?  She felt so alone.  She wanted to hold him.  She wanted to feel his strength, his love.  She wanted to smell his scent.  She wanted Rose and Jack again.  It wasn’t supposed to be Rose.  It was supposed to be Rose and Jack.  Jack and Rose.  She had to stop crying because her family could not see her like this.  These were her private, precious feelings and she was not ready to share them.  Maybe someday, but not today.

Rose finished cooking the oatmeal and took the rolls out of the oven.  She set the table and made sure the jelly and butter were out.  She poured the juice and refilled the creamer cup.   All set.  The Pearson family began stumbling down the stairs, one by one.   Everyone was talking at once.  Rose served up some coffee to Kate and her husband, who were discussing finances.   Just for a quick second, Rose saw a glimpse of Jack in Kate’s eyes.  Jack was there in Kate’s dimples, in her smile and in her kind eyes.   Kate looked up and noticed Rose’s gaze and smiled questioningly, but Rose quickly turned away and tended to the kids’ needs.  Sara and Kellie both looked so much like their mother, and consequently, like their grandfather.   Both girls, although restless with that teenage angst, had Jack’s kindness and patience.  Chad looked just like his father, but she could see Jack in some of his movements.   Chad would be a strong man like her Jack was.  So strong.

Lunches doled out, coats, purses, brief cases and book bags located and dispersed, the Pearson family was out the door and headed on toward their perspective destinations for the day.   Rose closed the door, grabbed her coffee cup, and headed for her bedroom.   She took out her old sketching pad and sharpened up her pencils, then let her mind take her back to that beautiful little cabin while she sketched.  She would draw a picture of a perfect afternoon, then she would gather her grandchildren and tell them the story.  After all, Jack was a part of all of them and it was her responsibility to share his memory.   The memory of a lifetime.  The memory of the love of a lifetime.

This beautiful cabin is an original sketch by my dear friend Mary Barker.  I was so enchanted by the sketch (and Mary's talent)  that it inspired me to write a story around The Little Cabin.    The story I wrote is completely  fiction and everyone in the story are fictional characters.   I wanted to honor my friend with a story fitting such lovely art.  I hope I succeeded.


Follow Friday

I love Twitter.  I used to hate Twitter, but I came around.  It’s like Texas in that it’s a whole other way to be socially connected.  It’s so different from every other kind of communication.  I think it slightly resembles Chat, only there’s no specific chat rooms (or tweet rooms) and there’s usually no tweet sex or tweet hate going on.   And Heaven Forbid you call it Chat!  No maam.  It’s called Tweeting.    Tweets come across like, “Twitter party tonight at 5pm PST”, and “Wine twitter party NOW”.  If you want to Chat, go to Google.  Oh, you can get all kinds of privacy on Twitter, if you send a Direct Message (DM).  I strongly recommend you proceed with caution with those DMs though, because on more than one occasion, I’ve screwed a DM up and it ended up on the regular Twitter scrolls.  That can get downright awkward, and has!   And then there’s the HASHTAGS.  I still don’t understand those mystical, magical Hashtags.  I always feel like I’m the red-headed stepchild or the lonely wallflower left out of the fun, because I just don’t get it.   It’s ok though, because I have my wine.

I do particularly LOVE one hashtag.   It’s  #FF  and it means ‘Follow Friday’ or ‘Follow Friend’ or ‘Friday Friend’ or ‘Friday Follow’.  I’m just not sure.   But I faithfully do my #FF’s every single Friday.  My personal take on #FF is that you get on Twitter and you type in #FF and then a space, and then start listing people you recommend others to follow.   It’s pretty simple in theory, and that’s the beauty of it. In fact, that’s the beauty of Twitter.   Pretty simple.  Don’t make too much of it or put too much thought into it or you’ll go out of your Twittering mind.  Then you really will be a Twit, won’t you?

So, now to the real reason for this post. It was originally supposed to be Short and Sweet, but I can’t do Short and Sweet, so you get the Long and Luscious.   And why luscious? I’ll tell you why.  Because today I am going to recommend to you some of my fave Friday Follows who write some luscious blogs.  (#FF’s….don’t want you to forget the freaking Hashtag).

In no particular order:

#FF @erinmargolin -  She has an amazing following.  She is a badass Twitter chick.  She is with child (awwwww) and she has a Blog that’ll blow your socks off.

#FF @GrandmasBriefs – She has the best Grandmas Blog around.  She is a dear friend of mine.  She is expecting her second grandchild soon.   She is one lovely lady.

#FF  @PamelotH -  She has one of the funniest Blogs around.  She has a very handsome hubby.  She is an athlete.  She is pretty damned amazing.  (She will also be my next guest on my column!)

#FF @KarlaTelega -  This woman is a humor-writer-force to be reckoned with.  Just visit her Blog once and you’ll be hooked.   I recently had the privilege of being a Beta Reader for her new book, and I can’t wait for my very own signed copy!

#FF  @NormalMomAlly – Ally and Lela write a kickass Blog together, and I’m hooked.  You never know whether you’ll get serious, funny or informative OR all three.  My kind of Blog!

#FF  @jamieonelife -  Young teacher in the Netherlands who takes me all over the world with his Blog. How can you Not read a Blog from a guy who visits Prague??   I mean, really.  Awesome.

Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll stop for now.  I’ll mention some more of my favorites in subsequent posts in the near future.   If you aren’t following these folks, you shouldn’t even be using Twitter.  Shame on you.  And what if you don’t give a shit about Twitter?   Then visit their Blogs.  You won’t be sorry.  Just click on their Twitter IDs above, and you will be magically transported to their individual Blogs.  Cool huh?   I love technology.

I’m out…..Have a wonderful weekend!

Getting me some Awesome Education

Yippee,  I am officially on Spring Break after finishing my first semester as a Grad student.  Grades posted today and……drumroll……..I got A’s in both classes!   I honestly do not feel like I deserved A’s, but since I got them, I’m thinking I will keep them.   A stands for Awesome, and you don’t want to give Awesome back.  That would be stupid, and I got A’s so I am not stupid.   See how I connected that?   Brilliant!

I have six semesters left before I graduate, but I like to take little ‘daydream’ breaks and think of my Awesome (got A’s remember?)  self in my Cap and Gown, strutting my Grad school stuff down the aisle to shake hands with the really smart Doctor guys who really aren’t doctors, they’re just guys (or girls) with a Doctor in front of their name.   They have a lot more schooling than I, obviously…..even in my daydream.  I mean, you can’t fake book smarts that put a Doctor in front of your name, right?

So back to my ‘daydream’.  I’m strutting down the aisle, being careful not to trip, but at the same time, looking around and taking in every delicious second of this magical moment in Academia.   In my ‘daydream’, of course, all eyes are on me.  I am the Super Grad student, the one who did so very well.   I deserve extra applause and a standing ovation.    Wow, I really am Awesome.    About that time, someone steps on the back of my gown, I go down, and the last thing I see is the handrail to the platform that I can’t quite reach.   Time to wake up.  Why do all my ‘daydreams’ end up like nightmares?

So while I’m on Spring Break I plan on doing some reading on the new textbooks, and get a head-start on next semester.   My son called me a nerd when I said I was going to do that.  I said, “Oh yea!  You’re a nerd!”   So there.  Great comeback huh? Dang kids.   OK so he’s 28, but still….

I’m also going over to to look up a list of Big Words that I kept last semester…..while I’m writing this post.  Fun, huh?!!    I should have looked these up a long time ago, but just kept adding words to the list.   Some of them, I crossed off the list, though, because I either figured out the meaning through text examples or I just didn’t give a shit anymore.

Here’s my list, following by what I Think it means, then followed by  what it actually does mean.


What do I think it means? Something to do with accounting or math.  Or gambling?

What it actually means: Teach repeatedly and persistently


What do I think it means? A Republican!

What it actually means: A characteristic that is peculiar to an individual.

I was kind of close, huh?  Peculiar.  Ahem.


What do I think it means? It sounds patriotic or military.  Or maybe something to do with shooting and stuffing eagles?

What it actually means: Belief in the equality of all people.

I should make sure my relatives (the ones who hunt) know that.


What do I think it means? A medical assistant, right?   I’m serious.   Like a paralegal, except for a doctor.   Makes sense to me!

What it actually means: self-contradictory or false

Really?    Gosh, I was sure I was right this time.

Well that was exhausting!    Learning is such a Chore.

I’m headed to the wine bottle for the rest of my definitions.


Bucket List Revision 2 thru 5

Talented and  handsome, albeit geezers, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman from the 2007 movie “The Bucket List” sent most of us over 50 crowd straight to our desks to complete our own ‘things we want to accomplish before we die’ lists.   I was no different, except for the fact that I had already been keeping such lists since I was in high school.   My treasured lists were of lofty dreams of fame and fortune, travel and adventure, love and lust, enlightenment and global awareness.  Yes, I have always been afflicted with delusions of grandeur.

For example and comparative measure and relative reasoning, I will list my recollection of the ‘bucket lists’ over my lifetime, and how they have changed and evolved and, for the most part, gone by the wayside in lieu of that ugly word ‘Reality’.  So sad.  That woman composing my ‘bucket list’ was awesome, not to mention a hell of a good time.

Quite frankly, I can’t remember my wish list from my teen years, but cloudy memories have allowed me to construct something that may have resembled my desires way back in the stone ages:

Bucket List – Teen Years

1.       College

2.       Boyfriend

3.       Hollywood

4.       The Rolling Stones

5.       Getting the hell away from my Mom

Normal list for a teen, wouldn’t you say?  Truthfully, it was probably about 20 items longer but for brevity and hopes to keep my readers awake, I figure 5 is about all you can swallow and not cut out on me.

We continue on to my twenties, which were a tumultuous frenzy of career/military/sex/marriage/children/travel abroad and education years……..oh yea and a little alcohol and pot thrown in just for spice (or confusion).  Who needed a bucket list, when I had it all, right?   Still….

Bucket List – My Twenties

1.       College

2.       Hollywood

3.       Hawaii

4.       The Rolling Stones

5.       Getting the hell out of the military

Obviously, I still held on to the dream of moving to sunny California and meeting lots of movie stars and learning to surf and getting all glammed-up and possibly even partying with Mick Jagger.  Oh I had me some big dreams.    Fail.

The thirties come along, and I had two children, was on my second marriage, had indeed gotten the hell out of the military, and managed to also go to college and even honeymooned in Hawaii.  So, time for a new bucket list.

Bucket List – My Thirties

1.        Lose weight.  Get in shape.

2.       Make money.  Make lots of money

3.       Travel.  Anywhere. Everywhere.

4.       The Rolling Stones

5.       Get the Hell out of the Closet

The last part of my thirties came, I came out of the closet, traveled, made some money, lost more money, and got fat..  Still, no Mick Jagger in sight.   Unless you count a few older drag queens I ran into over the years that strangely resembled my hero.  Life was certainly not cruising by as planned.

Along came my Forties, my personal discovery of cyber-sex and falling in love on the internet, along with a big move to Bum-fucked Egypt, and the loss of my good sense.  The kids grew up and my first grandson came into the world.   Yes, my bucket list changed quite considerably.

Bucket List – My Forties

1.       Lose weight.  Get in shape.

2.       Get a promotion.  Get a promotion.

3.       Find the woman of my dreams

4.       The Rolling Stones

5.       Get the fuck out of Ohio

Ok, it didn’t change that much, but rather shifted a bit.  By now, Mick Jagger’s looking pretty bad, but so was I.   My Forties were all about trying really hard not to look or get OLD.  Failure was not an option.  OLD  was closing in on me fast.  I had to make my move.

My Fifties came in quite nicely, actually, except for the kidney problems and that big operation.  I had plans to move to Vegas, get healthy, make my fortune, and maybe Finally see The Rolling Stones.  Not sure what happened there, but I’m 57 now and unemployed and I’m quite sure Mick Jagger has me on his “No Fly List”.   I’m not rich either.  But I do have a wonderful partner, two fine sons and three gorgeous grandsons, many many good friends, and a loving family who support my weird and still lofty dreams and aspirations.   My new and revised bucket list stands at the ready, waiting to be conquered.

My Bucket List Now

1.       See my family as often as possible

2.       Be kind

3.       Make a difference

4.       Write something that moves someone

5.       London, Mount Rushmore, Statue of Liberty and Hawaii trips

6.       Earn my Masters Degree

7.       Make new friends and cherish old friends

8.       The Rolling Stones.   I swear, Mick Jagger, I’m gonna be there front row center.   Soon.

9. Get the Hell off the couch and live life to the fullest.   I’m ready to Rock!

What’s on your bucket list?????


(Images from Google Images)


The Young and the Restless Leg Syndrome

Since I was a very young and green 17 years of age, I have been watching ABC’s “All My Children”.   It’s funny how Erica was 17 the same year I was 17 and now she’s in her 40s?  And children on the show have gone from toddlers to teenagers in a few weeks time?  WTF?  There is no concept of time.  The men keep getting older, and stay on the show.  The older women, however (with the exception of Erica who has super-human-woman powers) either get fired off the show or run around as widows or spinsters.  The old guys marry the young women, one after another, until the younger women leave the show to go on to better things  (or just get sick and tired of kissing geezers), then they hire more young, beautiful women and the old guys marry them.   It’s craziness, I tell you, and I can’t stop watching.    I’ve been watching Erica’s escapades for 40 freaking years.   She’s had more husbands than I have gray hairs.  Her names were Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery……had to look that up.  The sad part is that I remember every single one of her husbands and the times she married some of them twice.

“So”, I thought to myself, “Why am I letting all my vast experience and knowledge of All My Children go to waste?"  (not to mention my amazing writing skills when I’m wined-up….pun intended)  Doesn’t it fully equip me with the necessary tools to write my own soap opera?   I think it just might!   In MY soap opera, however, there would be no old men, only young virile handsome men for the ladies who prefer that side of the fence.   As for the ladies, the older ones would get their pick of on-screen partners  (again, depending on the fence, which side, you get the point).   There would be lesbians galore, to “pick up the pieces” for those lovely ladies who had broken hearts from those pesky young virile men.  Lots of pesky young virile men and lots of lesbians.  Something for everyone.

And there would be dogs….not those cute little yapper dogs, but the big pretty golden labs and collies.  Yes, there would be a dog family, complete with their own home and  storyline…….love, betrayal, sickness, train wrecks, alcoholism, terminal diseases, and  lots and lots of amnesia….and dog treats.  The little dogs could come visit and cause jealousy and wife-swapping and public drunkenness…but they’d have to leave after awhile, because quite frankly, I can’t stand yapper dogs.   Yap yap yap.  Drives me nuts.   And since it would be MY soap opera, they’d have to go.

While I was thinking along those lines, I decided to let my weird brain wonder even further down the soap opera possibilities, and I conjured up some new ideas.   How about a soap opera at a Retirement Home?   No? I guess that’s been done…and forgotten.   Well then, how about a soap opera with rich bitches that cheat on their husbands and spend their days at the pool, drinking martinis and getting leather-skin tans?    There’s been a lot of those  (Real Housewives of….every  city in the US except Vegas).

OK, so my brain isn’t on overdrive tonight.  It happens.  Sue me.   I’m drinking wine.  I could be drinking green beer like everyone else, but I hate green.   Anyhow, stay tuned in the very near future for my new soap opera, which may or may not be titled, “The Young Women and No Old Men”  or maybe  “All My Chihuahuas”,  or possibly, “The Young and the Restless Leg Syndrome”.    It’s a tossup.  Cast your vote below.   I need more wine.    Happy St. Patty’s Day, ya’ll.

(Images from Google Images)

National. That's how I Roll

I’m so excited to announce that I am now writing for as a National Customer Service Examiner.  Sounds boring?  Don’t care to learn about customer service? Sorry to hear that, but I know you LIKE ME so you’ll want to support me in this new venture.   Why am I writing about Customer Service?   Because that’s what I know.   I was writing about lesbian and gay stuff in the Las Vegas area (and yea I know that stuff too), but ceased those efforts due to lack of new material.  There’s just so much you can say about gayness and still remain Rated G.   I got bored.  And then there was the busy, back to college thingy.

When I was INVITED (yes….invited!  Cause I’m cool that way) to write Nationally for, I was beside myself with glee and merriment.    And then to be invited to write about something in which I have years of experience just took me over the edge of delightedness and tilted my happy meter in a goodly direction.   Yea I’m stoked.  I’ll need to drink a bottle of wine just to come down off the ceiling.

So, if you would PLEASE, visit my site every day as often as you can, make some comments (good or bad, just make some) and “Like” me, I would be ever so grateful and humbled.  I need the support and recognition to impress those National Examiner people, so they’ll keep me on and I’ll get famous.

Yea I have some big dreams……….Here’s the link.  Come see me and my National Self at  I can’t promise you excitement and edge-of-your-seat drama, but I will be your best friend forever.

I’ve only written one article so far, but I’m on my way.  You can also click on my articles from my Blogroll, or on Twitter when I tweet it, OR on Face book when I post it.  However you choose to get there, just get there.   Vital customer service information (and my picture and bio!) are waiting for your perusal and admiration.  Just sayin….