I’m in a bit of a quandary.

Having spent the last few evenings intertwined amongst pillows, blankets, and the company of most favorite gal pal and I’m hesitant to depart her comfort.  Abandonment is always untimely and bothersome even when the welcome mat was preset  In my life, there have been relationships where I’ve rolled out the red carpet in a, “Leave me alone. I can do this on my own.”.  Alas, now is not one of them.

The last several evenings Ronda’s sat feet curled under her and body hidden under mounds of blankets on the sofa.  I snuggled up close on the adjacent sofa in a similar fashion.  There’s a comfort between her and I that undeniably translates to trust and loyalty.  It’s easy to be friends of this sort.  Last night after a trip to Target (pronounced Target not Tar-jay) the routine of marathon movie and TV night began when Saddam Hussein appeared on screen.  After being ambushed by the nightly news I had the overwhelming urge to change into camouflage and paint black stripes on my face in defiance of the news bit.

Anchor: “Saddam Hussein was thrown out of the courtroom again today.”

Ronda: “Ha! For what now?”

J:          “Did he tell someone to go to hell again?  You can’t make this stuff up.”

Ronda:  “Right. Religious leaders telling people to go to hell.”

J:          “Not even SNL would do that”

R:         “Especially not SNL”

The humor in our discussion was, not caused by, but eluded to the demise of SNL over the last several years and after watching the new sitcom Studio 60.  Surely they could have thought of a better name for the show than Studio 60.  I’m trying not to be overly critical.  Trying.  I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to names of “Operation Whateveritis” I’m constantly amazed by how the authorities in charge manage to inappropriately name military expeditions.  One of my favorites during the 90’s was “Operation Just Cause.”  Whenever I hear the project spoken of I act out scene one in my head.

“Why are we invading the country?”

“Just ‘cause”

Clearly they could have done a better naming job, I mean, “Shut Up Tyrant You Need a Muzzle” seems to work for Saddam Hussein.

Right?

I’m in a bit of a quandary.  Having spent the last few evenings intertwined amongst pillows, blankets, and the company of most favorite gal pal and I’m hesitant to depart her comfort.  Abandonment is always untimely and bothersome even when the welcome mat was preset  In my life, there have been relationships where I’ve rolled out the red carpet in a, “Leave me alone. I can do this on my own.”.  Alas, now is not one of them.

The last several evenings Ronda’s sat feet curled under her and body hidden under mounds of blankets on the sofa.  I snuggled up close on the adjacent sofa in a similar fashion.  There’s a comfort between her and I that undeniably translates to trust and loyalty.  It’s easy to be friends of this sort.  Last night after a trip to Target (pronounced Target not Tar-jay) the routine of marathon movie and TV night began when Saddam Hussein appeared on screen.  After being ambushed by the nightly news I had the overwhelming urge to change into camouflage and paint black stripes on my face in defiance of the news bit.

Anchor: “Saddam Hussein was thrown out of the courtroom again today.”

Ronda: “Ha! For what now?”

J:          “Did he tell someone to go to hell again?  You can’t make this stuff up.”

Ronda:  “Right. Religious leaders telling people to go to hell.”

J:          “Not even SNL would do that”

R:         “Especially not SNL”

The humor in our discussion was, not caused by, but eluded to the demise of SNL over the last several years and after watching the new sitcom Studio 60.  Surely they could have thought of a better name for the show than Studio 60.  I’m trying not to be overly critical.  Trying.  I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to names of “Operation Whateveritis” I’m constantly amazed by how the authorities in charge manage to inappropriately name military expeditions.  One of my favorites during the 90’s was “Operation Just Cause.”  Whenever I hear the project spoken of I act out scene one in my head.

“Why are we invading the country?”

“Just ‘cause”

Clearly they could have done a better naming job, I mean, “Shut Up Tyrant You Need a Muzzle” seems to work for Saddam Hussein.

Right?

When my sister was eight years old and I a mere five years of age, our parents bought us our first bikes. Her’s was a beautiful beast of a ride. It had a shiny silver frame with a pink saddle padded with more cushion than a case of depends. Hanging from the handle bars were multicolored tassels that eventually ended up wearing down from years of doing what kids do best, being a kid. Hanging between the monkey handle bars was a factory Huffy sign stating the name of the bike. That bike paired with my sister’s riding ability lived up to the name Pink Thunder. They were a force to be reckoned with for sure. After school she would run home, change her clothes and defeat the world masquerading her Wonder Woman underwear. Yes, indeed – she owned about five pairs. I’d trail after her while the training wheels on my Strawberry Shortcake bike rattled against the pavement. Ratta tat tat. I hated the sound of the wheels banging against the concrete sidewalk. Ratta tat tat. When the training wheels finally came off my Father held on to the back of the bike until he realized he needed to let me go. I rode down the hill in our suburban neighborhood and into an embankment landing upside down and on my behind. Looking down at my scrapped knee I felt the blood drain down my leg. Over the hill I could hear the sound of my mother’s shrill yelling in her Sunday best, “Ken! Can you see her? Gosh damn it! I can’t believe you’d send her down a hill,” a millisecond later Pink Thunder crested the top of the hill as my Father ran two steps behind my sister. Standing a hundred yards from me my Father glanced down without pity. I stared at the giant in front of me returning the stare dumbfounded by this feeling of falling. My sister glided around on Pink Thunder telling me to do it again. I couldn’t cry despite my ill fated attempts. In true Little Mermaid fashion I continued to stare at my Dad wondering – where do I go from here? When he finally spoke I heard the command.

“Now you know what it’s like to fall,” he sighed at my stance, “get back up.”

Following my sister up the hill she’d sneak peeks in the pocket of space between her shoulder and handle bars to make sure I was following. In her own special way, she needed to know I could keep up. Around the Henry clan we expect a lot from ourselves and more from our loved ones. I climbed the hill knowing my Father was walking behind me….in case I fell again.

Years later after a stint in California and realizing there are East Coast People, West Coast People, and then there are Texans, I’d learn strength comes from with in and those small little lessons you learn when you are but a spec of a person. I raced road bikes for Sun & Ski Sports and fell many many times. I learned what it’s like to hit the pavement at 32 miles an hour and clean asphalt out of your skin…with tweezers. Two years into my cycling days I talked my Father into riding the Houston to Austin MS150 with me and three years later he continues to ride. Last weekend he completed the MS150 in Cherryhill, NJ to the shore and two weeks ago he called me and told me I need to go to Vegas.

Yes Vegas.

Dad? Is that you?

Thursday morning I leave for Las Vegas. I will be there four nights and five days. Two of those days will be spent at the largest cycling convention in the nation. I’m a little nervous considering the last convention I attended found me face down & ass up falling down an escalator. If I wind up that way again– well – let’s just hope it’s for different reasons like I’m lying on the float in a pool at The Palms.

A proper thanks go out to a certain comeidan and boss for giving us the hook up at the hotel. Thanks Buddy.

It was one of those rare gifts that someone gives you just because. Early Monday morning I swallowed hard after stubbing my toe and sent a friend an email. Over the last several months I’ve had a real problem on this site. My problems real world form is even revolting. You see, my problem was something that festers. It’s irritating. It does not matter how many times I hit delete ‘cause it always comes back. Lil bugger. I had a SPAM issue and sent Network Geek an email to inquire about ways to fix it. After months of irritating email notifications of spam on this site and broken comment threads the email was sent.

 “Hey there Jim - hope you have been doing well. Sounds as though

you have been keeping busy. Once you said if I ever wanted to switch 

word press you would help me. Does the offer still stand?”

Upon opening his delightful response I knew today was going to be a good day. Cause not only did the offer still stand but he sent over this wicked new design as well. Even yours truly was yelling at the previous caricature to eat the damn rose already…or something.

It was a tempting idea before rational thinking took over, if I made the purchase, I would be admitting I had a problem. Indeed.

Saturday afternoon I was passing time in the bookstore prior to meeting up with friends for an afternoon of watching college football (go LSU- that’s for you Kim and Celeste). Scanning the aisles I picked up books with capturing titles and glistening photos then briefly picked over the summary. One caught my eye as I felt the familiar tug of addiction leading. Pausing, I looked to my right then to my left. Hesitating a moment longer than Paris Hilton committing to a Porn video, I picked up the book, read one sentence then stepped back as though it was a command during the game of Mother May I.

No Mam, I may not. I do not have a problem.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have purchased the book with the title: “How to Break the Bad Boy Habit.”

Where have I been? Let’s take a few looks back since my last post.
I’ve decided to quit corporate America and begin my own little project.

I’ve danced with friends until dawn.

I attended the Eagles game at Texans Stadium

Planned second trip to Vegas with girls cause, I am going there for another �interview of sorts� in an industry where I will always give Ann Taylor props but, I won’t need to wear her attire during working hours.

Ran 18 miles last Saturday and later bathed in Tiger Balm

Planned and plotted evil revenge on cleaning up my bedroom idea and failed every time when I can’t find something

However, the most pivotal moment came when I left the hospital Monday evening. Ronda looked at me with pain killer induced hazy eyes and blood dripping from her mouth, �Thanks for coming.�

�Of course. I’ll be back first thing in the morning,� turning my head slightly to the right and looking at her Mom I said, �at 8:00.�

Ronda rebutted, �You don’t have to, you have a life.�

Kissing her on the top of her head I stated, �And you’re a big part of it.�

A year ago she began discussing hormonal issues, like a good friend, I ignored it assuming she was being slightly over dramatic. This past Monday morning an Ear Nose and Throat (ENT) paired with a neurosurgeon to remove a cyst that was pressing on her pituitary gland. The pituitary gland is located in the center of the brain and manages hormonal levels. Incisions were made through her mouth and nose to reach the brain. Archaic as it sounds, this angle provides better access to the brain than going through the back of the head.

She went home today, but with a friend like me, she’s a pretty amazing and tolerant gal.

Her bandages need to be changed every hour or so and, as predicted, she doesn’t like the way her sutures look. During the changing of the bandages she tells me in a tone that means business to look away.

�Jessica � look away�

Peeking my head around she caught me sneaking a glance.

�I look horrible.�

�No, you don’t look that bad.�

We laugh. The truth of the matter is, before and after brain surgery � she’s still gorgeous.

Speedy Recovery Ronda.