I like pizza, with pepperoni & mushrooms, period.
Not BBQ chicken pizza, not garbage pizza. Not gourmet smoked feta cheese & portabella mushroom pizza.
Pepperoni & mushrooms. With some medium buffalo wings (Frank's, not Texas Pete, and if you don't know the difference, don't ask).
And a pint of Guinness (draft, not bottled).
And I prefer Costanza's/D'Angelo's/Avenue/ subs to Blimpie's or Subway (damn Jerod straight to hell).

I just wanted to state that for the record.

chemistry101

S_trength + I_ntelligence + C_ompassion...

add 2 parts D_rive, tempered with I_ntegrity...

SC_{self-confidence} fueled by SA_{self-assurance} + H_umility

I could continue to string adjectives together, but they still would never combine and match that immeasurable equation of chemistry.

For those of you who don't know this, a woman decides pretty much within the first few seconds of a conversation whether she'll sleep with you. Why? Because we seem to be creatures of instinct. Our gut/heart/head/sex tells us whether or not you're the "one", or the one for right now. Or, if you're definitely NOT the "one".

It takes an act of God (or desperation/sheer financial need) to change our mind about that first impression.

Strike that...because occasionally persistence pays off. A certain high school classmate of mine who shall only be known as Butter can tell you that after a year of my saying no to his advances, and his walking me from class to lunch everyday, I finally gave in and got completely sprung. Go figure.

The exception though, not the rule. Don't ever get that twisted. SECONDS. Remember you only get one chance to make a first impression(what an apt TV slogan).

Why do I bring this up? Lemme see: JC (not the one who's birthday is coming up either) got me (not in the physical sense) on the first date. Boing. And even though we're more off than on, I'm still kinda sprung. What was it: the gear? Helpful, but no. The looks? I've been with cuter. The integrity: that remains to be seen. The conversation? Maybe. His intellect? Maybe. A combo of various adjectives? Yes & No.

I don't know what it was, he just seemed so damn kissable. Damn, that's pretty 8^th grade of me. But that's the thing. You can't pinpoint what it is, just like you couldn't when you were 13 and played spin the bottle & got to kiss the boy that you (not-so)secretly liked. When you still got butterflies before you kissed him, and every time you thought about it afterward, until you kissed again.

Anyway, that's how I want it to be again. Stomach full of butterflies, anticipating the next touch, kiss. That's how it's supposed to be,and if we could only hold on to that feeling with someone who felt the same way about us, then wouldn't life be perfect?

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm a romantic person at heart. I still think that I'd like to receive one perfect dragon lily, just because someone knows I like wildflowers better than roses. And that one good slowly-savored candlelit meal is worth a thousand franchise restaurant meals. And that sand between your toes, or up the crack of you ass, for the right reason, is a good thing. And that I love inspiring my man's unbridled smile, or making him blush. That I'd like to pack his lunch, and send sappy little notes in it to let him know how much I care. Give him a Hallmark Kiss-Kiss Bear. Or tickets for him & his friends to go to a Hawks game, because he likes basketball. Just go out of my way to please him, because his pleasure gives me pleasure.

Again, I digress. The point? I feel a spark(JS maybe?). A fragile little thing, but appreciated, definitely. I want to give it oxygen and make it grow into a flame, but don't want to blow it out...

...sometimes I think I like the uncertainty of the chase, as much as the conquest.

...motherhood rant

you'd think I only write when I'm pissed off, hunh. Yeah...it seems that's true. I vow to improve this.

Anyway, I think I'm entitled. I've been a mother longer than I've had a chance to be my own adult person. I've worked hard, made a lot of sacrifices and put the needs of my kids before mine, to make sure they had what they needed. It's been rough, but I think I've done a good job.

Well, I'm tired. After 18 years, wouldn't you be a little tuckered? Not that I'm ready to quit that job, but I need a serious vacation. And some regularly scheduled "ME" time. Is that too much to friggin ask? How I spend my "ME" time, should be "MY" bizness. If I spend it at a happyhour, sucking down $2.00 martinis, or in the library, working on my personal webpage, or on a date with some cutie/not-so-cutie, or shopping (hell, I could USE a $500 shopping spree)... Or if I spend it online, chatting all dayum night...isn't that my choice? Do I ALWAYS have to get up at dawn & create an agenda for the folks that live with me?! Motivate them by being up cooking/cleaning/being the epitome of the American Mom?!

Ok, I love my kids. Do NOT get that twisted. But if I can't get that "ME" time with their cooperation, then my "psyche" WILL rebel, and SOMEHOW, I'll take it. By force if necessary, feel me? And that's never pleasant. Which means folks WILL get put on permanent ignore, tasks WILL get neglected, the word NO WILL become an integral part of my vocabulary.

I don't want to be ugly, but I need to forewarn my fam (by fam I also mean my extended family–friends, etc.) before my stack blows & I lose what little compassion/empathy I have left. It's easy to dwell in a space with folks that you're not supposed to care about & REALLY not give a damn how they feel. It's hard as hell to do that around the people you love.

<sigh> I've vented. I feel almost able to articulate this to my fam without intentionally hurting their feelings.

gotta go...this conversation may take a while...

Alligators
(this "marble" keeps rattling around in my head...)

I was a child with WAY too much free time & an overactive imagination. So I invented plenty of games to keep myself busy. (only child & only african-american family in a caucasian neighborhood was pretty inspiring...but that's another blog). So when my best friend Dee-Dee came over to play, I had the game ready. Mind you, my mother's swamp-green carpet & earthy brown/sienna printed sectional lent heavily to the game's creation. Anway, the object was to jump from island to island (couch to loveseat to chair) WITHOUT touching the swamp water & getting bit by an alligator. Ok, you could occasionally touch the water briefly, but had to scurry to the next furniture piece before the alligator got near you (only I could see it).

Dee-Dee thought I had snapped & lost my 7 year old mind. Since we were nowhere near a swamp & I'd never actually seen a live alligator (save for Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom), I can't say that I blamed her. It's been at least 20 years since I've talked to Delia & I'm SURE she still thinks that my grasp on reality is, well, shaky to say the least.

We played it until we were too big to play without damaging the furniture, and either my mom turned her cheek or we snuck when she was out of the room. Dad was just happy to see my head NOT buried in a book, so he encouraged it.

When my mom decided (years later) that the living room needed a much needed facelift, I happily agreed. So the alligators became a nice high mauve shag rug & the islands a navy blue floral print pillowback sofa set. I hadn't thought of alligators since & even as I write this I have no idea why it came to mind.

Strange how such a memory will suddenly & vividly rear its funny little head.

...smuggies addendum 1.1
(cause I'm sure there will be more to follow)

- have you noticed how smuggies rarely resemble their actual age? they always look drastically younger, and not just from intense workouts either. I've seen heavy smuggies look drastically youthful.

with arrogance comes a fountain of youth?

...smuggies

I'd like to create my own comic strip, called "The Smuggies". It'd feature little platinum-colored creatures, similar to the Smurfs, but dressed in more appropriate attire (designer shabby-chic corporate casual attire). They don't walk: they'd either power-run, or just drive around in miniature two-seater sportscars or miniature luxury SUV's. They'd all have cell-phones, PDA's and two way pagers, as well as laptops (which they normally use at power lunches where they spend more time meeting than eating). The show would mostly feature them venting their overachiever aggression at each other, via road rage, or an incessant need to outdo one another in various activities, such as: buying more designer shabby-chic corporate casual attire;acquiring more overpriced technological toys whose value will depreciate accordingly; discussing their houses and financial investments; climbing the corporate ladder (which I envision as a huge Jack-N-the-Beanstalk monstrosity in the center of their subdivision, uh... I mean village). The motto, uh..I mean moral of the cartoon: Work Hard, Play Hard, Live Hard!

ok, so I'm a little tired of the morning commute mambo. Sue me.

I don't mind the 85 mile-an-hour drive to work. Hell, let's be honest...I kinda dig driving fast. However, the tailgating, bright-flashing, weaving thru traffic, white-knuckle-the-steering-wheel shuffle is NOT a cute dance. And my peers (not my colleagues at work, they're a pretty cool, diverse, eclectic bunch) that have "arrived" on the other side of the hump...well, they're not real tolerant. You'd think that having "arrived" or "achieving the success" that we've worked so hard for would inspire some old-fashioned virtues. Patience. Humility. Compassion. Yeah, right. We DO have to maintain our newly found stature (or inherited arrogance?), now don't we? lmao I have to maintain a sense of humor about it, to avoid to succumbing to the "smuggy" within.

<Note to Ian: I love you dearly, but agree to disagree with you on this one. I have subdued my inner smuggy!> (mental note: try to convince yourself that 2-way pagers/PDA's/wireless web enabled cell phones are NOT necessities)

...ok, maybe I'm just hating cause I know the digital camera I want for Christmas isn't on anyone's list.