daddys day was made for my daddy

i remember sitting on the couch near my daddy when he was asleep, holding the orange jack-o-lantern bucket that held all of my hair trimmings, taking each pink barrette and colored scrunchie and making my dads head look like a Barbie on crack.

i remember Christmas eve, my daddy setting up the video camera to record us opening up our gifts and seeing that we got "what we always wanted." we'd give a "thanks, Mom," and my dad would never fail to say "what about Dad?"

i remember going hunting one time early in the cold morning with my daddy, decked out in camouflage and freezing my butt off. the leaves were dry beneath our feet, and although there was no possible way to take a step without making the fallen foliage creak, my dad kept turning around to tell me to be quiet. we didn't get a deer, and i never went hunting again.

my dad has been one of the two most influential people in my life, my mother, of course, being the other. as a teenager, i clearly was the smarter and more wise between my father and i, and as a result, we frequently didn't get along. regardless, i still looked at him as the hardest working, greatest man i've ever known.

23 years with my father, we still bump heads often. we are clones of one another, although we try to infrequently admit it.

i am so thankful to still have my father in my life to influence me, keep me on the right road, to love me. i know he'll always be there for me, no matter what - and that's why i'm the luckiest daughter .. ever.

i love my daddy.

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Feats and Feelings, Summer: hello.

For the very first time in my 23 years of life, I have grown long fingernails! I know, it seems like a small feat, but it has taken me over two decades to break my terrible habit of biting my nails. And I have a wonderful product to show for it. (I even had to file them today. Crazy, it's true) Now ... if I could only stop picking at my face. One step at a time....

Today my 8-year-old teenager started to say "Mommy" when she was talking to me. She corrected herself quickly with no thought of it, but for that millisecond, my heart skipped a tiny beat. It's not that I ever want to be her Mommy, merely because I want her to have the bond with her mother that I have with mine. But just to be that, to be called that - it must be amazing. I love being a pseudo-mom, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. She and the Little One mean more to me than anything. But someday - I'll be a real momma! :)

I digress.

I smelled summer for the first time this year today: tanning oil. Mmm. So good I could eat it - but then I'd be sick and I'd puke everywhere, and then I couldn't go out in the sun and put the tanning oil on and smell summer. So I won't drink it. But it smelled so, so good - it's what I wait for all year. Unfortunately, it made me a little redder (and more sore) than I had intended - but it was so worth it.

And I'll end with this thought: I may not be bikini-season ready, but at least I am aware of the fact enough to cover up what no one wants to see. Please, women (and men) at public pools - take a hint.

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Pity Party on Monday

Could life be a little easier, a little less stressful? Absolutely. But then, I guess, we wouldn't be challenged enough to grow.

At this point, I'm not sure how many more "challenges" I can take, though.

I've always wondered how "nice" people do it. How they react to stressful, trying times. Do they stay quiet, submissive, rational? Are they constantly walked all over and never taken seriously? Or is there a different person underneath the niceness. I wish I knew how to be a nice person - but for some reason, I just can't seem to get that down.

I've ruined a lot of relationships, friendships, all kinds of ships because I'm a mean person. After 23 years of loving myself and losing everyone else, I realize maybe it's time to put someone else in front of me. Loving someone more than myself. I truly thought that might be impossible.

To my surprise, it was easier than I thought. All it takes is the right person (or in my case, people). What I wasn't expecting was the joy you get from loving so deeply and unconditionally.

What I also was unexpectant of, however, was that those persons may not return the same love. Love, sure. But not to the same extent. But all that taught me was to feel what others have been feeling for years - the way I treated them. I guess what goes around truly does come around.

But no one is perfect. No friendship, no relationship, no family is perfect. Disappointment is a given and to be expected. I have been many a disappointment myself. According to my parents, I still am. But there comes a point where you have to make decisions for yourself that directly affect you. Those decisions, I have made and have barely any regrets.

Unfortuantely, others have that same luxury. And when you become that decision, it can be fantastic or fatal. I just want to be the fantastic one. Once.

I want to be the nice person.

I want people to want to be like me, like I want to be like others. But I don't blame anyone for looking at me and running at full speed.

I guess I just don't know how to be what someone wants.

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Mother's Day specialty

today, i was told happy mother's day three times - two of those, the comments were serious.

i am not a mother, and although i jokingly call myself a pseudo-mom to the Little One and the Seven-Year-Old teenager, i am sure being a real mother is much, much different.

i love the munchkins more than i have ever thought i could love anyone, but i wonder what it feels like to have people that literally are mine. i wonder how amazing it is to look at that tiny nose and hear that little giggle and know that minature heart has a place just for me.

i know being a mother must be amazing. my own mother did a perfect job of being a role model and best friend to me. and today, she remains both. i can see how much she loves me through the way she looks at me, talks to me, cries for me. it is touching, to say the least. but most of all, i want to love someone like that.

Little One and the Seven-Year-Old teenager are my life, and although i love them like they are my very own, they are not. i can't imagine being able to love someone more, and i think the love for my biological child would be just about the same. but how can i know?

i guess being a good parent starts before conception: being responsible enough to choose the right time to bring a child into the world - when constratints are withdrawn enough (be it financial, emotional, physical) to allow that child a decent and superior life. so i believe i am being responsible when i know i am not ready for a child of my own in my life. i have two to care for already, and i am afraid i cannot give enough of myself to three dependents. but i surely know i would try.

i am not a mother. and mother's days for the past 23 years have been celebrated occasions of my own mother. but today - after over a year pretending to be the very thing i am not - it hits hard that i am merely a dreamer. i am an actor in an ongoing play. and when the curtains close and i go back to who i really am, i feel like something is missing.

its tough realizing you're not who you thought you were, but i suppose that is life. i may not be a mother, and i may never be. but i will always love like one.

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Little Johnny Wants to Play, Rain, Rain, Go Away!

Rainy days are awesome. But only if I am sitting in my clean house snuggled under a blanket on my big oversized chair reading a book I just cant put down and sipping on a cup of hot Starbucks.

That is not today.

Today, it is raining. I woke up exhausted from the many times E crawled out of bed during the night for various reasons (one was to clean up the stinky poo Daysie left on the floor). After flat-ironing Medusa's hair and lathering up the baby with smelly goods, I made some oatmeal and cinnamon toast (just like my mommy did when I was little) and sat down to watch some Handy Manny. The little one chowed down, even took some for the road. But Medusa - she's so picky and so moody, and the two of those do not mix - she barely ate at all. I'm sure Piper (the great dane) will yum it up out of the garbage can.

No Diet Dew, no NutriGrain bars, no PopTarts to bring to work today. Nothing but a bottle of water (which I gave to E) and a cup of yogurt. Forgot the spoon.

And its raining, remember. The Rover's windshield wipers scrape across the glass making a terrible sound that unfortunately was too similar to nails scratching a chalkboard. (I now need to dig my nails into something soft. It's a strange, strange habit).

Bad assignment at work. I take that back: good assignment, terrible, TERRIBLE copy to revise. I can't believe this freelancer sold their story as bad as it was, and I can't get a single gig. I mean, they really attributed a Web site by using the full www. address. I'm thoroughly flabbergasted.

BUT. Fiesta Bravo and a good lookin' man are in my near future, and that makes all the previous events seem like that one sunflower seed in the bag with no nut in the middle. (Which actually isn't that bad, because the seed covering is still salty).

So I'm actually looking forward to today, regardless of the way it has begun. I'm hoping it ends on a fantastic note, which I am going to make sure of.

Last night, as I was drying Medusa's hair after her shower, she said something made me want to cry a little - although I didn't. (I really shouldn't call her Medusa. Just her hair is crazy, that's all.) As she glanced out the tiny bathroom window that overlooks the neighbor's badly-painted house and a host of other not-so-pretty homes on the adjoining street, she nonchalantly said, "look how beautiful the sunset is."

And it was. My goodness, it was gorgeous. A pink-and-orange-striped blue-gray sky pushed down on the horizon as the sun was trying to make day on another part of the world. It was breathtaking, and I couldn't help but wonder why she saw it and I didn't. But simply, I was too busy.

Tonight, I'm going to look at the sunset, and no matter what it looks like, I know it will be beautiful.

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It's a new day.

When it rains, it pours. So cliche, but so, so true.

As for my dungeon of a vehicle, when it rains, it pours in my backseat. Leaks. Who would think a car would leak? Isn't it supposed to keep you OUT of the rain?

But life goes on despite having a pond in my Rover. (And, ironically, I haven't had water in my house for almost a week because of busted lines. I do not love irony.)

I interviewed a fifth-grade girl today. A spelling-bee champ. Well, almost. She spelled nominative wrong, which made me feel good because I knew how to spell it. But then she threw out tchotchke, which I don't even know how to pronounce, let alone spell. She continued to add insult to injury (or whatever the saying is) by giving me the origin and definition. Smart little girl, and I must say - I am jealous.

But today is a new day, and I am going to be smarter. If not about words, then about life, in general. I'm going to get organized. Get fit. Get happy. Get healthy. Get good. It's about time. And it will be good for me. I need some energy, and I want to have the desire to do things- you know, other than sit at home and play Wii. And even that tells me I'm old! I have a WiiFit age of 33! And before that it was 51! I'm entirely embarrassed to even admit that. I digress.

For now, I must focus on my responsibilities here at work, which unfortunately do not include blogging. No - I have to write a story about a janitor who won a Friends of Youth award. Exciting, I know. But in the guy's defense, he was a total sweetheart, and I look forward to making his day by writing a good thing or two about the guy.

Off to a new day.

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I'm clearly an instigator

Two days ago, I wrote my weekly column for the Parthenon. Typically a bit controversial and always opinionated (factual, nonetheless), this week's article certainly received more attention than usual. In fact, I made Parthenon history by having the most-commented story EVER. I kind of like that.

My story, which you can read here, says it is not equality gays are searching for - it is special rights.

Good Lord, did the liberal community get their panties in a wad over my opinion. Clearly, what I think is pretty important. Apart from the comments on the Parthenon's Web site that bashed, battered, beat and bullied me, I also received e-mails from people calling me nasty names with underlying threats. The last couple days has been utterly sick, but intensely amusing. It's humorous because these people who are so against me and my opinions are proving my point with every word they say. They are allowed to persecute me because of my beliefs, but if I return the favor, it's a hate crime.

It was also very clear that many of the responders had not even read my article. They were mad about things I hadn't even discussed. They called me a hate-monger for hating gays - something I never said or eluded to. I just think it is usually a good idea to read the article before trying to argue it. But what do I know?

Fortunately, the fire has died a little, although there are still some crazies going at it. I was hoping my opinion would provoke an intelligent debate that would encourage open-mindedness and thinking, however it did not. It spawned hate and discrimination ... on myself.

Thanks to all those gay-rights supporters who proved my point that it is okay to be discriminatory and hateful only when you want to be.

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