Pimp this bum.....what?????

What happened to preserving human dignity? How did exploiting a human being become a way to reach out and help? If you haven't already, you will probably get an email advertising a website that is entitled Pimp This Bum. The "star" of this site lives under an overpass just a few miles from my home. My pastor posted a blog that can explain it much better than I. Check it out at: http://convergence244.blogspot.com/ I just hope the ones that benefit from this "project" are the ones that really need the help.

In love....FINALLY!

It's official. I am head over heels, top of the world, high on life, smiling all the time, in love....sigh..... And to think just a week or so ago, I thought I'd never find my Bobby Ewing. I thought I'd never gaze into a sweet face, have his head tilt to the side, a smile appear on his lips, and slowly bend forward to place a kiss on my nose. But it has happened.

About two weeks ago, I was dutifully attending a retreat with the board of directors of the organization where I have spent the last six years slaving away. It was one of those bonding days with people you'd rather not bond with but are obligated to at least fake it. We spent the day sharing our views on how life ought to be...well, how the organization ought to be. I'm not really into these things (obviously) but it is a necessary evil when you are trying to define the vision for the organization.

During a sidebar conversation (a.k.a. as two people incredibly bored who start to whisper to each other about anything that doesn't have to do with the task at hand), with a very sweet and caring board member, we realized that both being single, we had a lot in common. After swapping a couple of "i wish" stories, she decided that she had the perfect mate for me. He was blond haired, brown eyed, very intelligent, youthful, caring, affectionate. Everything a woman could dream of...sigh....

So we swapped emails for a week, finally exchanged numbers, talked for a few hours and then arranged for a time and place to meet. Though I wasn't sure if it was the wisest thing I had ever done, I decided to bring my kids with me for the great introduction. I knew my daughter would be fine but my son had to like him or it just wasn't going to work. So he might as well meet them right from the get go.

When we first got to his home, my first impression was that he was absolutely adorable. My son hid behind my leg for a little while but within 15 minutes or so, we were all best of friends. I thought, what the heck, let's just bring him home and make him part of the family. Some may think this was a hasty decision. But so far, it's been working out nicely. So meet the love of my life: Parmley, my newly adopted soft coated wheaten terrier. Ain't love grand....

Where is my Bobby Ewing???

I told my mother when I was in my early twenties that if I wasn’t married by time I was 35 then I would get myself pregnant one way or another. After she recovered from her fall (caused by passing out after hyperventilating…ok, I feel a tad guilty about that permanent scar on her chin when she nose-dived head first onto the kitchen laminated floor), she assured me that Mr. Wonderful would find me if only I would just let things happen naturally. But what my mother didn’t get because she never looked in the mirror at herself was that I inherited (from her) a nasty habit of wanting to control my own destiny. I had a plan….

I was 22 years old and it was apparent that Mr. Wonderful was nowhere to be found in New Jersey. However, my obsession with that wonderful nighttime soap opera, Dallas, convinced me that Mr. W would be found in Texas. He would be wealthy (like Bobby Ewing), adorable (like Bobby Ewing) and witty (maybe a little more like JR Ewing). He’d live on a big ol’ ranch with tons of land. I’d be able to empty out the SPCA monthly and fill my land with cats and dogs and anything else that might wander within. And, of course, he would be totally committed to ME!

Not exactly how it worked out….

So fast-forward 26 years. I didn’t marry Bobby Ewing. My husband was more like Tim the Tool-man without the paycheck. He thought he was very handy. Now that we’ve been divorced for 5 years, I’ve had to fix almost everything he thought he “fixed” back in the day. Ok, I will admit, my idea of fixing is hiring somebody to do it. But at least I hire somebody who knows how to do it RIGHT! But I’ve lost track of my point….what was my point…? Oh yes, why did I marry him. To our credit, I think we both convinced ourselves that we were in love. In hindsight, for me, it had to do with my biological clock (and the statement I made to my mom). We got married 17 days before my 35th birthday. If my mother hadn’t been suffering from Alzheimer’s by then, she would have been releasing a huge sigh of relief (but still cursing me out for the scar on her chin). But I had done it. I landed a man who would give me a child.

So I got the kids and got rid of the husband. And here I sit still wondering …where is my Bobby Ewing??? I’ve tried a ton of websites. It’s amazing how many creeps are out there. I guess that the older we get, the less good guys are available. Therefore, the ratio of creeps to singles is growing exponentially. I won’t even tell you what one guy did via his web cam after chatting with me for less than 3 minutes. Let’s just say he’s very flexible and he has no secrets….NONE! I was actually laughing so hard at his absurdity, it took me a full minute to close down the window. And don’t be fooled by “Christian dating” websites. I have had some pretty obscene approaches from men on there too. I work in the heart of the gay community so straight, available men are few and far between. Several people have recommended finding someone in church. But my church is just being planted and we are small in number. I absolutely love what we are about and am not about to leave to go to some mega church to find a man.

So what’s a middle aged, single mom to do? I guess it’s time to truly give up control to God and believe that He will put someone in my path in His own good timing. Do you think it would be too much to ask if he looked just a little bit like Bobby Ewing???

The Same Ol' Same Ol' New Year's Resolution

Watching the Chevron Houston Marathon yesterday, I was reminded that I had yet to address my New Year's Resolution...from 1999. I was going to one day run a marathon.

During the marathon, the network interjected feel-good stories when the running became too monotonous to watch. (The only thing that kept my attention was the constant scanning through the crowd of runners in search of my boss who was running the half marathon). One story was about a 300+ pound woman who started running two years ago...and ran the marathon on Monday after losing half her body weight. They didn't mention her age but she didn't look that much younger than me. (But of course, I'm stuck in a time warp and still visualize myself at 30 years old).

Speaking of age 30, back then I was single and loving it! I started playing adult soccer right after my 30th birthday. I seemed to have a talent for defensively driving the ball away from our goal. Within a month, I was recruited to play on another team. By the end of the season, I was playing on 3 teams and competing around the state of Texas. In between practices and games, I was at the gym lifting weights to strengthen my legs even further. Needless to say, I was in the best physical condition of my life.

Fast forward two years, while playing in a co-ed game, I went after a ball that was being driven down the field by a very aggressive gentleman. I slid down to kick the ball away and our ankles got tangled up....and snap...literally...went my ankle. My soccer days were finished, and , so it seems was my figure. When you play 3 games a week and have 3 practices a week and go to the gym during all your free time, YOU CAN EAT WHATEVER YOU WANT! Being laid up for several months and told I should never step foot on a field again, my eating habits were the only thing that didn't change in my life. Before I blinked, I had gained 100 lbs. Add to that two kids, a failed marriage and the typical depression that followed, and I have become that same woman I saw in the feel-good story yesterday...sans the ambition to do something about it.

So now, 19 years later, 7 months until my 50th birthday, I started to look at different philosophies to losing weight. I had the lapband done two years ago. But alas, I am not one of those people you will see on Dr. Felix's TV ad as a success story. Dr. Felix told me that I just needed to show a little self control and then the band would work for me. HELLO! If I had self control would I be fat???? Yes, I admit, I thought the band would be my "magic pill". Intellectually, I know there is no magic pill. I know smaller quantities, healthy choices and a work out plan will get me there. I've known that all my life. Knowing it doesn't equate to doing it. Why don't I do it? That's the bazillion million dollar question.

So I started looking around for a new "philosophy" that would set me straight (or flatten my belly or at least lower the number that plagues my scale). I checked out Nutrisystem and found out I'd have to pay $300 for 28 days of food...which I know I would supplement with something from the dairy/frozen food section of the grocery store...hence, that will not work. Once again, I thought about Weight Watchers but find their meetings not very inspiring. I liked going to First Place a few years ago but was mortified when the scale they used did not go up high enough to record my weight.

But what it all really comes down to is this: I've tried it ...if it is out there, I've tried it. All except one way...giving it up to God. And why is that the one thing I have never succeeded in doing? Maybe that's the bazillion million dollar question....

In need of a 12 step program....

If you have a Blackberry or even have a friend or spouse that has a Blackberry, you probably have heard it referred to as a crackberry. Well, it is true…it is a highly addictive device that causes a compulsion that can only be understood by another Blackberry addict.

Two years ago, I took my first vacation that was longer than a few days. I took my kids to NJ for my niece’s wedding. NJ is where I was born and raised so I wanted to spend time showing my kids all the memorable places of my youth. So the plan was to stay for two weeks.

The day before we left, my boss gave me a “present”. You guessed it; it was my first Blackberry. I spent the 3 hours on the plane reading through the manual. My friend, Elena, graciously hosted us in her wonderful house right on a lake in Rockaway. It was an incredible area with a beautiful backyard. But as my kids played or swam in the pool, Elena (a Blackberry veteran) gave me a tutorial on my new gadget. My boss supplied me with plenty of emails to “practice” responses. By time my vacation was over, my skill level had improved from beginner to intermediate. Within a month, I was certified Blackberry guru…and an obsessive, compulsive crackberry addict.

This thing is amazing. I have access to my four most utilized email accounts. Yes, I have even more than 4 but I limited it to my work email (an obvious requirement since my company paid for the Blackberry), my personal email (used by my friends and family), my you-ain’t-finding-out-my-last-name-until-I-know-for-sure-you-are-not-a-psycho dating email, and the ok-you-aren’t-a-psycho-but-I-don’t-know-how-long-I-want-you-in-my life email which also seconds as the you-haven’t-paid-this-bill-reminder email. I also have my two instant messenger services (one for the potential psychos and another for family/friends). Also included on this little gadget are a variety of games, internet access and, of course, my new favorite, my Facebook account.

Through out my life, I have come to realize that I have an addictive personality. Let me be clear: people don’t get addicted to my personality (though I can’t imagine why not since I’m such a wonderful person ; D ) but I get addicted to lots of things very easily. I’ve had my bout with substance abuse and could easily become an alcoholic, but my main addiction was food. Anybody who sees me can verify that I have suffered the consequences of just loving food (and hating exercise…a bad combination). However, that addiction has now been surpassed by my crackberry obsession.

Here are signs that perhaps you have a crackberry problem:

Do you go to bed with it on your nightstand?

Is the first thing you do after turning the alarm off is check for messages?

Do you read messages, send messages, send texts, surf the net, IM your friends, while driving 80 mph down I-10? (ok, there are not many times you can actually drive 80 mph on I-10…maybe it would more accurate to ask if you do this while weaving in and out of traffic on I-10).

Do you turn around and go back home even if you are 20 miles away from home (and only 2 miles from your destination) to retrieve your forgotten Blackberry?

Are you tempted to check messages while sitting in church (though it has been a struggle, I’ve overcome the temptation until the final amen)?

Do you sit in every meeting with your Blackberry on the table so you can easily keep up with your emails while you contribute to the meeting?

And finally, the event that truly did occur tonight which inspired this silly post…do you hyperventilate until you almost pass out when you see your Blackberry get nudged off the desk by your cat, fall onto the floor, and break apart into pieces??? OMG, how am I going to sleep tonight if I can’t get this darn thing to work again??

I think it is time for a 12 step program…..

And why do I work here???

This will probably end up being nothing but a rambling regurgitation of anger that I have been attempting to process all day. So I apologize if it follows no logical order. Today I worked from home in order to vote during the non-busy part of the day. But before I could head to the polls I was requested to be on a conference call with the rest of the senior management of my organization. They were all together and I was the only one calling in...just note that as I progress with the story.

As background, I work for a non-profit that provides medical care. It started in the heart of the gay community as a STD clinic but has grown and now provides primary care to anyone, regardless of their ability to pay.

Now, I love my job. I love what we do and the quality of care that is given is top notch. As an accountant, it was difficult to find that right job that challenges my intellect and yet gives me a feeling of accomplishment that we are truly helping people of need. I'm very open minded and believe in living my life striving to be an example of a Godly woman. I don't preach but I don't hide my beliefs either. My last car had a "God Listens" sticker on it...the car I have now will have one on it, once I find one again. At a retreat, we were asked to list adjectives about ourselves and Christian was top of my list. This generate a health discussion regarding how my beliefs effect my work ethic. So it is no secret that I am a Christian.

One of the main objectives of our mission is to provide care in a "judgement free environment". But apparently, it is only judgement free if you are gay. Or it just isn't extended to those of us who are Christians. I spent 30 minutes on this call this morning listening to my beliefs being slammed as idiotic and ridiculous. I "learned" that us Christians only want to save Israel in order for the Jews to be slaughtered there when our savior returns to earth riding on a cloud. I sat there stunned as this continued for much of the call. I also "learned" that us Christians are responsible for everything bad in this world especially for all the mayhem that President Bush caused because of his idiotic beliefs. Now, I won't be a hypocrite and say I agree with everything Bush has done. But Bush is subject to free will ...as we all are ...and I'd much rather have somebody who prays before he acts than the alternative. But that discussion is for another post.

SO what I just don't get is why do people who don't want to be judged spend so much time judging others?? I try so hard to not let my personal beliefs hamper my relationship with my coworkers. I stick to my ethics and don't compromise my values but also don't throw them in their faces. I don't know why God has me here. And maybe I'm at a crossroads with my career and need to re-evaluate where I should be. I ended the call by interrupting their slam-fest and asking if we were done with business so I could go vote. But all day I've been stewing over this and need to do some much soul searching and prayer to decide whether it is time to move on.

Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts…

My Mom and I had a unique relationship. She was strict, according to my friends. I would say she was protective. She was at every event in my life. At every football game when I was a cheerleader. At every concert when I played the flute. At every competition when I was the drum major of our marching band. At every musical when I performed. She encouraged me to do my best at everything …even at things I didn’t want to do. She also taught me to speak my peace but also be diplomatic. When I was leaving college, she had a dream that I would either work for IBM as a sales rep or be a diplomat for the government. Don’t ask me why she saw me in these roles, but that is what she wanted me to achieve.

When I moved back home after college, she fell right back into that protective (strict) role. But as a butterfly that had spread her wings over the past 4 years during college, I was not willing to conform to her rules any more. In order to have the freedom I yearned, I packed up and moved from New Jersey to Texas. According to my father, I broke my Mom’s heart when I left. But she never let that be known to me. We went back to the same relationship we had when I was in college. Marathon Saturday phone calls. This was back before unlimited long distance and much of my budget was spent on my phone bill.

In 1988, my folks did what 90% of NJ retired folks do, they moved to Florida. Though I missed my childhood home, I made many treks to Florida for all major holidays. Then, in the early 1990’s, my Mom started to show signs of dementia. By time I got married in 1994, my Mom had full-blown Alzheimer’s. She asked me who was getting married and accused me of stealing her jewelry…the items she had picked out the day before for me to wear with my gown. It was heart breaking. I was not only losing my Mom, but was losing my best friend. I know that sounds cliché but it was the truth. She was the one person I could tell anything to…well, anything except sex stuff. That was still taboo. In June of 2001, she slipped away and joined her brother in heaven.

So fast forward to 2008, and here I am, a single mom with two children. And no one to be my mom. No one to tell me I’m not screwing up my kids’ lives. No one to tell me how to get my son to behave in school. That’s really what started this post. My son’s teacher sent another note home today asking for suggestions on how to get my son to complete his class assignments. Consistent with last year, one of his co-teachers has no problem with him, while the other co-teacher can’t get him to behave at all. And I’m clueless as to what to do. I’ve rewarded good behavior, punished bad. Taken away toy after toy, privilege after privilege…and to no avail. For the third year in a row, it is the same problem…one teacher can handle him, the other cannot. If it weren’t a pattern, I’d think it was the teacher. However, there has got to be more to it than that.

And all I want to do is pick up the phone and talk it over with my Mom…but she’s not there…after all these years, 16 in all (8 before she died when her mind was basically gone, and the 8 years since she passed), I still want to pick up the phone and ask her advice….and it hurts that I can’t.