I’m trying unsuccessfully not to get cranky as I watch the work pile up on my desk. Desperately wanting to get out of here at a decent hour to join Sarah for martini’s and manicures at La Strada. Ooh la la. Work has doubled, stress tripled, red bull is my energy. I’ve learned I need small breaks during the day to maintain mental focus and sanity. My smoke breaks with out the cigarette. Performing my check ups on each of you by reading your blogs. I have to know you are all okay. Blogs are the new reality TV, ya know. This practice prevents me from stapling my hands or gorging on the bowl of M&M’s (more than once a day).

I seem to be addicted to having a crazy love life as much as I’m addicted to writing about it. I could chalk some of it up to bad luck and bad choices, but I think there’s some secret part of me that is deathly afraid of settling. It’s now I hear my mother’s voice inside my head, “A woman seeks a man on her level” Suck it. I allowed the potential to walk out of my life and I out of his. He was everything I wanted in life… at the time. Hung over on the accidental love I felt like a baby sucking rum, unrightfully happy. We pushed equally and walked knowing the end would be tragic. I realize now it would not have ended as I … as we believed it would have. Just as fate interferes, time gives you hindsight. I began to understand where the relationship was wrong and unequal. He was the wrong kind of right with the charisma to boot.

One glance or twitch of the eyebrow was enough to move me from reserved to porn star. Dropping the bags in hand running across the room with a leap into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist as his back hit the wall. Kisses smothering one another with momentarily “I love you’s”.

Wrong.

After a while your realize that having a quarter inch of something you have a better chance of holding on to the real thing when you find it. That relationship wasn’t the happy ending I long for. The happy ending both my sisters and both my brothers have found. Speaking of which, I am going to a family reunion in Ohio next weekend. The question is bound to be asked by some drunk relative I barely know or care to, “So how does it feel to be the only one not married.” I realize “BITE ME!” will not be an appropriate response, but tempting.

I was tethered in lust balancing the tight rope. I gave to much and lost more than I will admit. The swan on a leash wishing for a sunset. Allowing myself to become the weak and needy inferior in the relationship. Justice was not blind, the scales were tipped, balance was off. The real and true love was absent. Lust and potential was present.

The real – ideal is and should be a tortoise and hair where neither the tortoise nor the hair wins. It’s equal. Backs may turn with pistols drawn we’ll walk the ten steps drawing equality. Alternately vacillating between the tortoise and the hair. Pushing and gaining on life for one another to be our best. We will Veni Vidi Vici the world together.

Is that to much to ask for while I swing on my star?

I began writing this several hours ago and missed martini’s and a badly needed manicure.

“So how did it go?”
“I got it.”
“Again?”
“Again.’

She’s listened to my drunken calls when this one was no different from the last. Or my walls refused to fall.

“You have yourself to blame for this one. You know that. Don’t take that the wrong way; I only want the best for you.”

We have had this conversation week after week and month after month. She WAS always listening

The three year old tore into hers’ with a vengeance ripping off the paper and tossing it aside like Jennifer Lopez does to husbands. She was looking for the golden goose egg buried beneath the layers of wrapping. The egg would entertain her only until the next one came along. We sat watching the kids as they unwrapped an early Christmas present. Their eyes twinkeled a stars brightness then quickly turned the grey of a storm cloud as they became aware of the others gifts. Screams of delight and stomping of feet ensued the madness. In the midst of it all my sister turned to me and said,

“I have something very special for you. It’s the best thing you’ll receive all year. But you have to promise to use it.”

She ran downstairs on her mission returning with a wrapped bottle. Hesitantly I pulled back the paper and burst out in laughter and tears. Sitting in the palm of my hand was the solution to my problems….. for fish tanks. The line stolen directly from a Sex in the City episode.

3 drops twice a week will “CURE ICK”

I’ve just finished downing two liters of water and emptying a box of tissues from watching a sappy movie. Having already hit the gym this morning, I was left doing something I despise. Those who know me well understand I don’t like to do it. And yet, I knew it had to be done.

I had to talk on the phone after work hours.

She’s one of my bestest (yes that’s a word so shut it) friends. An hour later my ear was buzzing from the ear piece. We had shared our adventures and dilemmas of the previous weeks. I told her about the guy who came over at 10:12 and by 10:58 he sneezed his way back to his apartment claiming cat allergies.

**The real question is what was I doing inviting him over in the first place? **

As I prepare for my day tomorrow I found I missed a very important email from someone who also suffers from the same Distaste of the Phone. My older sister. The below was the spoon full of sugar I needed after learning my precious office mate will be leaving the company.

“Haven’t heard from you for a while, I know there are a lot of shoe sales right now, so maybe that explains it. Nothing new with me, but K. has taken to climbing the stove. She climbs onto the bottom drawer handle and then hangs on to the handle of the door and then somehow propels her body onto the stove (she also managed to haul her 27″ body over the airplane seat this past weekend, much to the flight attendants delight). I know I probably should put a stop to it but it works quite well for me in my quest to find any excuse to not have to cook, ever. She also loves F. more than me, which although I know seems like the logical choice, is still a little messed up. I do find joy in the fact that she calls us both mommy, which irks F. to no end.

R. has two new obsessions. The first is adding. He runs around saying “Ask me to add, ask me to add” and then proceeds to line things up or use his fingers and toes to secure the answer. He can’t really go past 30 though. At times when I’m tired of singing row row your boat for the 319th time I’m tempted to ask him to add like 23 + 19 just too piss him off. I generally refrain. For the past week he has been asking everyone (teachers, grocery store clerks, other kids) “can you push your little car with your big car?.” When you act confused and try to clarify either that you don’t have a little/big car or you have no idea what he’s talking about, he says ” I don’t mean actually, but CAN YOU push your little car with your big car?” The kid is way deeper than me. We’ve decided he is either really smart, or schizophrenic”

Am very exhausted and having a hard time finding the words to write so I let my sister do it even though she’ll only half way mean it when she says don’t do that again.

Good night and yes Sis to answer your question, I’ll be home for Xmas.

http://www.saintwaitress.blogspot.com/

I sat there feeling the weight of her words as she said it. The echo sent chills throughout my body. This feeling caused by a backhanded remark was trying to push me over.

“You’re kidding right? Why would you want to do that? That’s just down right selfish.
You’ll change your mind won’t you?”
“No.”

While I was driving to a pool party she called and asked my plans for the evening. She was having a hard time understanding and couldn’t get her mind around me wanting to not do anything that night. Having committed my weekend to that of solitude and cleansing the liver. I had diverted those plans Friday and now Saturday afternoon. After turning down one invite for a girls night out, I opted for a quieter less intrusive girls evening with Kristina and Solei. Sushi and a movie was about all I could handle. And yes, I had to be “selfish” as she said. My liver has begun to send out warning notices. I had to go down and allow myself to be knocked out for the weekend.
“Go ahead and live like a hobbit if you must. But even hobbits come out to play.”
Not I

Sunday’s are meant for family, reading, writing, movies, long runs, and slacking off. Which is exactly what I have been doing all day. And spending 4 hours at Borders. Can anyone help me prove a crack gas emits from the ventilation system at Borders?

I am pausing and asking the world to, “Hold please” I need to take a break. Not from work, come on now I need shoes. Life wasn’t supposed to turn out as it has. It wasn’t supposed to be this sane, this easy. When I think back to who I was and what I idealized in school, I come up with a loss. For me it never was about a who, a what, a where. It was happiness and moving forward. Finding a penny and picking it up while going to throw the trash out and seeing the beauty of a bum’s carefree existence. The goals and dreams I did make, of traveling have yet to come but still very present… very now. The dreams have always been simple and attainable. Make your own luck and react to the situation at hand with out strife or drama as drama tends to breed.

As the sun rose on my morning run I swatted at mosquitoes. After the previous weekend my appendages are resembling that of a refugee, scratched and battered. Years have passed since the times my mother would place her hands on her hips in frustration while 5 kids screamed at her with the “I wants”. She quickly learned the separation of wants and needs. She had DREAMS of kids and had 2 degrees before the eldest was a double digit number. She did not plan for whiny needy “I want it now” children. Boarding school was always the carrot dangling over our heads.

At 28, older with the slightest signs of age, I begin to understand what my mother meant so many years ago when I would throw violent temper tantrums. Kicking, screaming, and stomping my foot at the world. I broke a lot of glass stomping that foot. She would pause, holding the hand back wanting to strike then smooth her hair. She saw the halo despite the horns. She would pull me close and hold me tight until the tantrum turned into tears. Killing frustration with love. She kissed my forehead and would tell me to go play in the back yard. Outside the wind would blow as the swings swayed in a beckoning call. Unable to ignore the calling of her own childhood youth she would call me to come join her on the swings. Up she’d lift me carefully maneuvering my legs to straddle her in spider position. Standing back her legs stretched, hands holding tight to the chains, and mine clinging for dear life wrapped around her waist,
“Don’t drop me mommy”
“Hush, here we go”
Pumping her legs with each extension we would soar higher and higher to the clouds almost touching the sun. With each labored breath and leg extension the larger we appeared and the smaller our “gigantic” house was. She would then sing Bing Crosby,

Would you like to swing on a star?
Carry moonbeams home in a jar?
And be better off than you are?

Or would you rather be a pig?

A pig is an animal with dirt on his face
His shoes are a terrible disgrace
He has no manners when he eats his food
He’s fat and lazy and extremely rude
But if you don’t care a feather or a fig
You may grow up to be a pig

Would you like to swing on a star?
Carry moonbeams home in a jar

Now, I realize and have come to an understanding, that song is how I have lived and aim to live. It can get worse; Lord knows it can always get worse. It’s in those moments of adversity, those times of doubt, when I feel the world is closing in on me, work is stressing me out beyond belief, and when the single life stopped being fun (momentarily) that I realize life truly is that good. Please excuse me now while I go “swing on a star”

That’s all I got today – now go kick the crap out of the day and own it

The below was written by Shelley. She’s an amazing writer - help me nag her to start a new blog

I wish I could remember Saturday morning - Bloody Mary’s and coffee, Cheerios and Chase, the misery of my Friday-night epiphanies a hazy blur in the face of the bright morning and the constant peaceful presence of the rushing river…

But the morning is gone for the most part, overpowered and blotted out by the long, exhausting and nightmarish afternoon. J. and I fought for strength, for sanity and humor, for our very survival, though it’s hard to make anyone understand how real it was; how close to the grave we felt; what a struggle it was to keep climbing over trees and to keep believing that we weren’t doomed.

A young couple threw us each a beer as we waved and cajoled from the safety of our inner-tubes, laughing through the misty rain and simply enjoying each other’s company. We splashed and laughed and dutifully did not discuss the years we did not talk.Instead, we discussed the scenery and told stupid jokes, our relief at being alone and having a careless good time almost tangible in the air.

“TUBERS DO NOT EXIT HERE. PRIVATE PROPERTY,” we read gratefully, all too glad to “not exit,” to not return to the emotional turmoil of the trailer.

The river rushed us along, too fast, too deep, too wide and long, but we didn’t notice. We leaned back in our brightly-colored tubes and stared at the sky and took silly pictures of each other, only gradually realizing that the scenery was far too beautiful to be safe. In this day and age, when the water stretches out to forever and the trees grow too thick to have ever seen a human hand, girls like us are in deep trouble. Our cushioned-sole-accustomed feet, air-conditioned bodies, sun-protected skin, and lotion-laden hands are not prepared to meet raw nature.

But we were to meet her, and become putty in her rough Carolina hands.

Real, backwoods, thorny, vertical, middle-of-godforsaken-nowhere nature was about to be right at our fingertips, pricking us and poking us and defying our every command until we outwardly sang our own version of Negro spiritual and inwardly cried for our mothers.

If we abandoned our inner-tubes and followed the river upstream, we rationalized; the campground was back there somewhere. The sun was shining brightly overhead - surely we could cover a couple of miles before dark. It would be easy, really. Possibly no one would even realize we had been lost.

Within an hour, the vegetation had become simply too thick to cross. Beyond the naturally thick Carolina flora, which we might have (with diligence) struggled over and through, Tropical Storm Cindy had rained down tons of broken trees, fooling us into thinking we could grip them and climb our way back to the campground. But dead trees give way, and more than once we almost toppled dangerously over the embankment.

More than once we also almost lost our flip-flops. To me, losing our shoes spelled out “the end.” We were stepping over spiders, thorns, snakes, and other untold dangers. Our flip-flops were the thin padding between really making it out of there and settling down for the night, injured in the backwoods of the North Carolina mountains - and anything (or anyone) who might inhabit it.

More than once we realized we could go no further on land, our current tree-obstacle being too large to see around, over, under or through. So we climbed back into the river and attempted to swim upstream, past the gigantic fallen tree and all of its debris, toward a place where we hoped we could walk again.

But the waters ran too fast and both times we tried it, we soon gave up and committed ourselves to land again. We might have been able to beat the current, but we would have had to sacrifice our shoes. No fucking way was I going to let us lose our shoes.

It was during one of these episodes, when we had climbed the hill as far as we dared, only to give up and return to the bank, only to give up and hop in the river, only to give up and return to the bank again, that J. spotted the kayak.

She said calmly, “Oh, there’s a kayak,” and it took a minute for it to sink in. When I saw him, a fat-ish older man in a skinny red boat, my heart leapt into my throat.

“HELP!” I yelled, and he pulled onto the bank, Jesus Christ himself in cutoffs and a white t-shirt. Brandishing Gatorade and chocolate bars, he instructed us (one at a time) in the fine art of balancing in a kayak.

While he radioed back to the campground that we had been found, J. and I held each other on the riverbank, pretending we weren’t shaking, loudly defiant when we heard him say that he found us crying.

“WE WERE NOT CRYING,” we called to him, and our laughing eyes met. It was very, very important that we were not crying. We had spent the past two hours not crying, and felt that that alone had saved us. Had we melted into dramatic tears and girlish fears, who knows whether we would have been found at all. Whether one of us might have panicked and grabbed the wrong branch, thrown our flip-flops down in frustration, or allowed the river to just take us on Home.

Whatever it was that kept us laughing, singing, and believing we would make it back before the sun set, I am eternally grateful for it. And I will never, ever, forget J’s strength on that riverbank.

For better or worse, we have grown up. I love you, J., and I thank you for being my sister last weekend. Never, ever give up. I promise you I won’t either.

A small lump formed in my throat when Shelley said,
“Jessie I didn’t know it at the time but there is no one I would have rather have gone through today with.”
“Me too, we’re still the same.”
“I know. Guess I just assumed you had turned into some pretentious Texas Bitch”
“Quite possibly. But I am still a tom boy from Jersey at heart and your still just as stubborn and care free but with more responsibility.”

The day began like any other day in North Carolina, Bloody Marys and horseback riding.

We rose early, for a vacation day, and wandered down by the river to clean up the champagne glasses from the previous night. We quickly calculated activities in the area and decided upon the days events. Horse back riding in the morning, grilling in the afternoon, and a champagne tour in the evening. Reservations were made as coffee and Bloody Marys were consumed.

Becca and I departed for the horse back riding adventure and wound up lost in the country driving around. Forgetting we were on country time, we called to let the stables know we were running 5 minutes late. Had we known we were entering Deliverance territory we may have turned around and not turned right, “at the confederate flag.”
We walked into the barn office pushed open the door and were greeted by Billy Bob Thorton in Slingblade. I whispered in Becky’s ear,

“You’ve got a pretty mouth little girl.”

Becky replied, “Oh FUCK!”

Our tour guide was a quaint southern girl freshly out of high school who was quite content with, “Gettin paid to ryde horses fuh a livin’” She had a confederate flag belt and wore her name as a necklace … in case she forgot. Charming. The horse ride was uneventful except for the dangerous rocks “Shadow” kept tripping over. The horse I was on actually stumbled a time or two. Hardly correlates to the dangerous taxi cab rides I am accustomed to taking.

Note to self: screw the knight in shining armor especially if he is riding a horse.

Back at the trailer down by the river we decided against grilling and made sandwiches. Soon after, we learned we could rent tubes and take a 20 minute tube ride around the camp ground. This would leave plenty of time to get ready for the champagne tour. The thought of leaving the 12 month old alone did occur but was quickly voted against so we opted to go tubing in pairs. Shelley and I would go first then Tiffy and Becky would go. Tiff drove us to the area where we were to exit and said, “Whatever you do. Don’t go beyond this point.” She then unloaded Shelley and I waiving goodbye as we floated down the river.

Shelley and I laughed uncontrollably taking in every ounce of nature all the while remembering why we were friends. Every thought, every conversation, and sideways glance was natural around one another. The smiles weren’t forced and neither was the giddy feeling of reconnecting. We continued down the river merrily feeling the vast thick forest close in on us as though we were riding the moat between heaven and hell. Predator vs. Prey.

The vast thick woods surrounded us, in denial we assumed our exit was just around the bend. There were 3 clues telling us we had reached the end of inhabited land. As we passed clue number one the couple appeared startled by our emergence from the usual desolate river. They waived and threw us a beer. Shell did a swan dive for her beer and settled back into her tube. We relaxed and continued reconnecting. After another 20 minutes two teenagers appeared high on a cliff above us. We waived as they stood motionless. We continued to sit in our tubes admiring nature as rain drops began to fall for a mere 5 minutes. The sober person in me now realizes this was God trying to tell us,

“ABORT ABORT YOU MISSED YOUR EXIT!”

Shell said, “ It has to be just around the corner.”
J “Let’s go around one more bend it goes in a U right? Where does the Grand River End?”
S “I don’t know it goes on forever maybe into the ocean”
J “Great we both got C’s in geography.”

Just then a creature took flight down the river and was headed straight towards us. We heard the flap of the wings and were mesmerized as it flew 6 feet directly over us. I let out a scream like Jamie Lee Curtis in a D rated horror film while Shelley was to terrified to move.

S “Did we go through a time warp when we crossed the rapids”
J “I think that was a tarradactyl. What lives out here in the woods?”
S “Snakes, Cougars, and Bears”
J “We couldn’t have missed it, it HAS to be just around the bend.”
S “Okay one more”

Another 15 minutes passed with no sign of civilization when we began to see black sheets of plastic hanging from the trees.

S “This is directly out of Blaire Witch”
J “D-rated movie material for sure”
S “We’ve got two options stay in the water or get out and hike
back to the campground.”

We looked towards the woods then down the river and agreed we had to be proactive. We paddled our tubes to the edge of the woods and let our tubes float down the river discussing how horrible it would be if Tiff and Becky found our tubes and not us. Were pretty sure they were flipping out by now in our absence.

We began trekking through the woods in bathing suites and flip flops. Climbing and jumping over the natural brush that had never been touched or seen by man. Fallen trees and branches, leaves, damp mud,and cob webs surrounded us. As we scaled the trees and grasped at branches they broke lose in our hands sending us soaring down the hill. Every time this happened one of us would say,
“Don’t do that again. I am not carrying anyone.”
We reached a part of the woods where a huge tree had fallen. Under the tree was a vast nothingness where a deep stream once ran. Realizing we had to cross the gap and acknowledging this would be impossible with out breaking our necks, we decided to attempt to swim past the tree upstream. This was Impossible. Even grabbing the branches to swing like monkey’s did not work. Back in the woods we climbed the hill rationalizing we could go around the tree. Impossible yet again as we kept slipping and falling down the hill.

J “Let’s go back down and stay as close to the bank as possible”
Shelley looked at me from high above on the hill. Her eyes began to swell as she put her hands on her hips covered from head to toe with scratches and dirt. I could tell she was contemplating having a break down on the spot. She was thinking about her 12 month old and it showed on her face.
S “Jessie what are we going to do?”
J “Not stand still. “
S “Okay” she continued on down the mountain
J “Oh fuck!”
S “You alright?”
J “I just grabbed a thorn bush for grip”

Once we conquered the tree we forged on. About this time I wish I had read one of those silly self help articles in my mindless magazines instead of always discounting them for the weak minded. Just one, why didn’t I read just one? The woods continued to scrape against our bare skin and draw blood lashing out as we trespassed. For distraction we began singing,
“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings”

Another hour or two passed of Shelley and I not being able to talk as conversation would only FORCE a break down. However, we knew our friends were going crazy and quite possibly lost it by now. They’d blame themselves for bringing us to Deliverance Territory. Distracting myself from the sitution i deemed it necessary to tell Shell – that when we get out of this we ARE still going on the champagne tour. Several times we tricked ourselves into believing we heard a motor boat and people laughing.

A good bit later we looked down and saw a chubby man in a kayak. Still unsure if it was a mirage a few moments passed as we were dumbfounded.

“HELP HELP”

It was part of our search party. We crawled down the mountain and were greeted with Gatorade. We were only a ¼ mile from the campground at this point. Our hero said he would need to take us one at a time across the river to the mining place.

After insisting Shelley go first I sat on the edge of the river and sanity and have never felt more alone. I began to question everything in my life. Suddenly, none of it mattered. Not my shoes or expensive jeans. The jolly man appeared again, I climbed into the kayak as he took me across the river to Shelley. The three of us docked the kayak and walked up the hill to the tourist mining trap. There we saw the boys that waived goodbye to us and a toothless godsend of a man who was talking to two customers. Being the shaken mother and all around shy individual Shelley is. She walked up to the toothless wonder and asked him for a cigarette. He oblidged and ran to get us some beers while our hero phoned to the campground to let everyone know he had found us.

We rode in the back of a pick up truck to the campground and sat on the back porch still shaken and stirred from the deadly thoughts that had traveled through our minds. Tiff and Becky had followed a sunken treasure map of sorts to a bridge 45 minutes by car where they could catch us. As Shelley went to take a shower I phoned my mother,

“Hey Mom, the good thing is we are all alive”
“What?”
“We were lost in the woods of North Carolina”
“Honey, did they find you? I am going through Customs right now and they want me to get off the phone.”

Thank-you to Ronda (Risk) and John (cleaning out closet) for guest blogging

The good thing is we are all alive and the search party found Shelley and I after we got lost in the woods of North Carolina, treking through the woods in bathing suits and flip flops we’ve never been so happy to see a jolly man on a kayak. An absolutely terrifying experience. Nightmares.

I am still processing the events of the entire weekend, as we truly lived 10 years in 3 days. I came to realize that I will never have better friends than the three of them. We knew one another before marriages, jobs, children, success, law school, grad school, and making more money than you feel you should. We knew each other before we were ANYTHING and were raw, real, uncensored by societal norms and expectations. Back then long term planning meant making sure you made it home by curfew. This past weekend we was about US being US and ignoring the rest of the world. We took one another back to our roots,

“You keep that up those $80 heels of your are going in the mud”
“Actually they are $150″
“I don’t care you keep that up they are going in the mud”

At the close of the weekend we realized we really don’t like one another. We love one another and have not changed a bit. We still have the same problems, issues, and personal dilemmas we did ten years ago. Even though we have moved forward, changed location, and have degrees. We’ve moved forward but are stuck like a $150 heel in the mud.

What truly matters is, I can count on one hand the friends of mine that have become family. We point out out one anothers flaws but don’t rub them in. We’ve parted ways once again and will meet up after we have our grand adventures, conquer our hopes and fears and do remarkable things. When we are old and grey we’ll sit on rocking chairs sharing the raw unfiltered stories of our lives.

These are the one’s I love, my Sisters of the South.

See you in Vegas Ladies after we all turn 30.

“Our old high school is a WalMart”
“I downloaded Hole just for you”
“Fireflies”
“I was so afraid of losing you I was terrified when you were lost. I’d never get over losing you.”
“Think how much you love your son. That’s how much I love you.”
“This is one of those places, “You’ve got pretty lips little girl. Oh Fuck!”
“Turn right at the confederate flag”
“Turn left at the church with the graveyard”

“I can’t wait to get back to the trailer down by the river. Okay the fact that I just said that.”
“Your not going to cry over Tarot cards”
“I’ve mulled it over. Was it something I did? Could I have prevented his autism? WHY?”
“You and your daddy’s magic potions”
“Cookie Monster is on a diet. Yeah - the world is f_ked up”
“I’ve got a bloody mary and a coffee in my hand. Double fisted again.”
To the 12 month old, “the sooner you can walk the sooner you can get a job.”

“I didn’t say the woman is not a whore, I just said you shouldn’t talk to her.”
“That sounded kind of white trash”
“None of us take care of ourselves except for maybe J” “I’ve got a chocoate problem” “I’ve got a chick-file problem” “I don’t have a problem. I am just fine with everything.”

“My momma gave us numb chucks and a bee bee gun for protection”
“Yo they got some real crazies in these parts”
“What is my son going to do to offend me? I mean I listen to Korn and
Marilyn Manson. What is he going to do to shock me? He’ll probably be some type of country line dancing bible thumping boy who will ask me to come to bible school with him.”

“I can find them smart and cute but not funny. Smart and funny but not cute. Funny and cute but not smart. I can’t find one that’s smart, cute, and funny.”

This past weekend I was going through a few boxes in storage, and came across old photographs and other items I had no idea were still in my possession. Anyone who really knows me will understand this is amazing in itself, as I am not a sentimental person, and will generally purge anything once I realize it will not hurt someone’s feelings. I am not sure why I am this way, because I do have a sense of loyalty to the present, and the future for that matter. It probably has to do with me wanting to travel light in life, as I was surrounded by so much clutter growing up.

The box was a treasure trove of stories, good and bad. None were more recent than six years old, while many were over ten years in age. So apparently I was sentimental at one point in my life! Some of the contents found did bring back memories, such as a napkin with a familiar name and long since defunct phone number, a January 1991 ticket for Nine Inch Nails at Numbers, and an April 1994 ticket to the Astros versus Montreal on opening day in the Astrodome. Each of these items did have a special meaning years ago, although they have since lost much of their impact.

A couple items must have mistakenly made it into the box. A Honda car key, although I have never owned a Honda. I found a bank statement from 1994, which left me asking myself how I ever survived. The most shameful item was a Clayton Williams for governor bumper sticker. For those who remember, sorry!

As entertaining as the stroll down memory lane was for me, I still decided to discard everything. The important memories are engrained in my head forever, or at least until the excessive amount of aluminum ingested from beer cans trigger my own bout of Alzheimer’s.