Blame It On the Economy

My beautiful, pristine, 11-year-old Chevrolet Lumina’s windshield was attacked by what I think was a meteor the other day. In my panic, I had a brilliant idea. I would put lipstick (it was the handiest) on the glass at the end of the gash to measure the speed of the spread. But by the time I opened and aimed the tube while driving 70mph to keep up with traffic (not one to cause problems, after all), the crack had already grown a couple of inches and was continuing to spread. Into my 10 and 2 region. I reached my destination, but I'm sure I could’ve easily died a fiery death. With shards of windshield in my head and lipstick in my hand. 

Apparently, the replacement glass industry is a competitive one hit hard by the economy, because while still getting estimates, I received a few callbacks lowering the price. The winning bid was $150. Speaking of lipstick (on a pig), I now have a shiny, new windshield on a car whose floors are coming apart, whose Service Engine Light never goes off, and whose fuel efficient days of youth are long gone.

Waiting on it to be fixed, the shop owner explained his economical situation (people do like to do this, thus this post, I s’pose): a big chunk of his business depends on the trucking industry and when people buy less, truckers truck less and need less repairs. His biggest customer has parked a third of its fleet. 

Sad.

Closer to personal, I have a friend who is looking for a new contract. His talent is in work as a Business Analyst. He was recently sent on an interview requiring a tie. A tie!! And we laughed (instead of crying) about a recent email about a job touting a pay range of $18 - $22 an hour. He has four children! And they’re girls!! The really expensive kind of kid. 

Sad. 

And I can’t remember the last time I was called or emailed about a technical writing job. The number of corp-to-corp.com emails in my inbox has even dwindled. I’ve never expressed interest in any of their projects, but it was oddly comforting to know that India was still doing AOK in the IT industry. 

So, all this to say that I am determined to get my project off the ground this fall. I have a November 1st launch date in mind, because that date screams the beginnings of the number 1. It keeps me occupied and hopeful, if nothing else. I especially enjoy the creative work and the conversations with freelance artists. This project is my company. Hopefully, in the professional sense, too. Wouldn’t that be nice!

I don’t want to talk about it too much, because I have a hard time keeping the faith about my own endeavors. I am being professionally coached through this process, and that’s been priceless. I want to write about that here, but I’m also having a hard time writing this month. Growing up is hard. And, boy howdy and stomping feet, how I’ve been forced to grow this month. The initial relief from all the moving and settling chores has been replaced by some discombobulation and sadness. I haven’t lived in a tiny place of my own for….well….ever. It’s just awkward. Everywhere I turn, there I am. And the silence. Sheesh. They're right, it's deafening.

Oh well, Interwebs. Thanks for listening. I think October will be better. It’s my favorite month of the year. I make lists and plan for the upcoming year. I love the falling temps and falling leaves and football and cocoa and tiny town festivals and sweaters and long pants and socks in bed and Halloween candy and the scary smell of a groggy heater. I even love remembering long drives with a boy. Thank God all that sort of nostalgia is usually gone by November, but it is nice to feel a little girl-y for a month every year. Plus, my mother always comes around in some way on the 17th of every October to teach me something grand. 

I hope October begins a new season for this country (and world), too. We all could use some more hope for 2010.

It's Not Unusual

I do love a road trip. Tom flies in from Vegas, sometimes another place depending on his schedule but usually Vegas, and we get to spend a few uninterrupted hours together. After saying our hellos and flipping through inserts together, I slide his shiny, still too cool for school self into the little slot in the dashboard and off we go.

He sings and I listen. I sing and he just keeps singing. I talk and he professes his love in so many different ways – each about three minutes long and separated by tiny moments of silence for reflection. I like to reflect on his hairy chest and unbuttoned white satin shirt with the ruffles, and he likes to reflect on my crackerjack driving skills and uncanny knack for navigation.

We laugh (oh, how we laugh when we pass the sign for Stinking Creek Road somewhere in Tennessee) and we reminisce about our other road trips together.

Most of our time is spent talking and singing about life and love. I say I’ll never let him go (meaning, I won’t leave him when I return the car to Hertz), and he says that he’ll turn the tide for me with his hands (tide, maybe, but apparently ol’ Thunderball can’t do anything about the yay-hoos going 55mph in the left lane).

At this, we laugh some more. He takes a sip of scotch (I’m driving) and starts singing “She’s A Lady”. I am reminded of how much he really does mean to me, so I pat his little jewel case, take back the unladylike namecalling and graciously accept the turning of the tide. 

Stay until tomorrow? No, I know. We say our goodbyes and he heads back to work. I take one last look as I put him back on the top shelf and can't help but smile. Till next time, young man, till next time. 

What'cha Doin'?

I guess with age comes the loss of things. Most notably friends. Lives change, people change, goals change, heck, even our personalities change. I’ve lost eight friends in the 21st century and, even though I’m sure it’s natural and the way God intended, every ending has stung a bit.

Last night, I woke up from a sound sleep at 3:18 AM thinking of one former friend in particular. Now, of course, I will worry about her for days and never know why.

There were signs that year that things were going to end. She was busy, and I think I became more of an obligation. We had less in common and were growing apart. I think we both knew it was time. We didn’t exactly lose touch, as they say, we just stopped all forms of communication. There was no talk about it, no warning about it, it just happened. Our last conversation was Thanksgiving Day 2006.

At the time, I thought it was especially bad timing, because she had recently won somewhat of a genetic lotto. Her father sold his business, and each of his three kids received millions of dollars. To this day, I’m afraid she may think the friendship ended because of money. Ironically, we had a lengthy conversation not too long before about how she’d soon find out who her real friends were.

Looking back on it, though, God knew what he was doing and ended this relationship at the perfect time. There’s no way we could have lasted. I’m a single mom, working multiple jobs, saving, paying for college. In a nutshell, she’s not. I would not have reacted well in any conversation about grand vacations and surgeries and jewelry and days, weeks, months, years with little to no responsibilities. I was happy for her, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I would have been able to appreciate the details. I’m probably wrong and small for that, but maybe I get points for honesty. Plus, I'm awfully glad I didn't have the opportunity to embarrass myself.  

She was so important to me during the divorce from my father. She made jokes at all the right times. We came up with elaborate and hilarious schemes for his (and his wife’s) demise (yes, two middle-aged women sitting in a parking lot planning all sorts of Fargo-type things) . She just sat there in silent and supportive agreement when I busted out in uncontrollable crying in the middle of one conversation I’ll never forget. She made the hurt of it all more bearable, and she made me feel validated and like I mattered when I knew I didn’t. Heck, even her mother got on board, and she was sure to let me know that at least one parent on the planet wuv’d me! I like to think I was a good friend during her nasty separation and divorce from her ex-husband and oodles of recurring family drama.

She was funny, sharp as a tack, and the most effortlessly kind-hearted person I know. I hope she’s well and happy and enjoying her life, her son, her new house and her family. I miss her. And I know it’s the way it’s meant to be.

But I do wonder what she might have been up to at 3:18 AM.

Don't Forget that April 25th is World Penguin Day

Come to find out, there’s a celebration (or two) every day of the year (April 30th is National Honesty Day, and I'm already planning to have an honest discussion with myself). This Saturday, April 25th, is World Penguin Day, a celebration of the beginning of the annual northward migration of the Antarctic’s Adelie penguins. I’m a big fan of the penguin. Not just for their obvious cuteness, but for their tenacity, their loyalty and their attention to detail.

Six things you can do to increase awareness of this marvelous penguin journey:

  1. Take a friend to the zoo -- or if you can’t muster the penguin perseverance to make it there, watch this video from the lazy comfort of your home: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHJWtLhHoE0
  2. Attend a penguin parade -- or if that’s too much trouble, too, watch this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hocght2zfhA
  3. Read a book about a penguin to your child. Or better yet, play a penguin game: http://www.nationalgeographic.com/marchofthepenguins/game/
  4. Wear black and white (tuxedos are optional).
  5. Walk around your block a bazillion times in solidarity.
  6. Honk.

So, take a little time Saturday to wish them well. Happy trails, Penguins!!! Take a sweater.

Yellow

I’m brushing up on my procrastination skills (brought on by lots of work to do this weekend) and I thought sharing would postpone acting responsibly even more.

At True Value Paint’s website, you can match your personality to a color.

I am a Yellow, which means:

You are quite the powerful thinker. It’s this talent that allows you to overcome a plethora of great obstacles. Luckily, this doesn’t affect your ego and you give off a pretty easy-going appearance. You enjoy the finer things in life and also have an attraction to art. If you can help it, you try not to rock the boat. But you also can’t stop yourself from searching for new ideas, methods or styles.

Click here to find out what color you are. (Loitering time = ~ 4 minutes)

Poor Derek

I had my annual flat tire on Friday. Luckily, I was near a gas station, so I pulled over and assessed the damage. Flat doesn’t quite do it justice, because the tire was really just wrinkled up around the rim that was touching the ground. It was a lovely Spring Indiana day – freezing cold and gusts of 30 mph – so I got back into my car pretty quickly and called to say I’d be late for an early meeting.

Then I called Free411 for the number to Big O Tires.

“Hello, Big O Tires. This is Derek.”

I explained the situation and asked about a mobile service. Derek said they didn’t really do that, but, if I could wait, he could come down after the morning rush and put on my spare tire.

“Well, Derek, here’s the thing. I don’t really have one of those.” (Lost it in last year’s blow-out and haven’t gotten it replaced because anything in my trunk isn’t really a part of my life anymore.) I went on, “I guess I’ll have to call Allstate Motor Club for a tow to you. It’s a shame, too, because I’m only about ¼ mile away. But I really appreciate your offer.”

“Have you tried airing it up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Putting air in it. You said you were at a gas station.” It was at this point that I knew Derek would talk about me for the rest of the day.

So, I aired it up, slowly drove the ¼ mile to the tire store, made the walk of shame to the counter and then waited on the diagnosis. “Your tire’s had it. The rest are in fair condition, but I noticed that none are the same. Do you plan to put a set on soon?”

“They come in sets?”

He laughed a little. I explained that I have annual tire catastrophes and haven’t really had the chance to buy a complete set. Plus, now that the car is 11 years old and could die at any time, new tires would just look silly, sort of like a really old woman with brown hair.

“For you, I recommend a used tire in comparable condition that comes with a 30-day guarantee.”

Thanks to Derek and his quick thinking, the whole thing cost me $35. And 75 cents for the air.

Life Magazine Online Again, But Better

Life.com

LIFE and Getty Images, the two most recognized names in photography, have created Life.com so we can wander through the legendary LIFE archives - for free! More than 3,000 new photos added every day.

How this came about (again) is pretty interesting: Wall Street Journal, Life Magazine is Reincarnated Online

This issue is the first one after the day I was born. The feature story was "Point of No Return for Everybody" about automation eliminating jobs. And a story that made the cover was about an injustice in our justice system. Crazy. 46 years later and not much has changed after all.

February in Do More Review

While we continue to work out kinks in Karen 2.0, February’s release did have some solid improvements. The backup system was tested on the worst day of 2009 so far with a heated ultimatum to the Heavens. Results were favorable and though there was a meltdown, there wasn’t complete system failure. Small but steady progress was made on the experiment application and is currently at a 5.2% success rate. The procrastination issues have been fixed, for now. They will need close monitoring. The Leap philosophy has been embedded in the code and we are very pleased with its performance. We haven’t flipped the switch on the Leap feature yet, as we are preparing for a few upcoming changes.

Did I do more? I’m never sure until I recap through my gratitude journal.

I wrote, interviewed, searched, talked, looked forward to something, got fed up, wrote a tagline in a mere eight hours, didn’t watch television, went to Bloomington, worked, heard from Austin on Valentine’s Day, paid for a trip and a $400 gas bill, got taxes done, said no thank you to something not on the path, listened to a teleseminar, signed up for a class, put my best hex on a desperate boy, had a nice cry , tried a new restaurant, found the Storytelling Arts of Indiana, joined an online group, laughed at something that wasn’t especially funny, and was happy for a friend’s new house.

So, I think February was a success. Heading in the right direction and that’s what counts.

Amazing Grass

In the midst of an email exchange with a friend today, we got to talking about digestive issues. 

“I’ve tried the probiotic stuff, but it didn’t help much.”

“It does seem to work for a time and then just quit. Sort of like an immunity build-up, so to speak.”

“I found this stuff called Amazing Grass at Whole Foods. But it worked well for a while and then stopped working, too.”

“Remember when amazing grass was something entirely different?”

We closed with hearty old-lady chuckles and trips to the bathroom.

Ship Coming In

According to my horoscope, my ship’s coming in tomorrow. Since I’ll be at the docks all day, I thought I should post something enlightening today. So here it is: my informal review of my new obsession, FX’s Damages.

I had no idea about Damages until I recently became a Ricky Gervais fan (I’m a late adopter, a.k.a. old person) and started reading his blog. He wrote that it was some of the most brilliant writing he’d ever experienced. So, I innocently clicked the Hulu button for Season 1, Episode 1. 

Hooked. Completely. Can’t stop. Peanut MnMs level of hooked-dom.

Yesterday, Ricky G. wrote that he was having the second season fed-ex’d. How ridiculous is that?!? :) Like Chris Rock says about OJ, “I’m not saying I could do what he did, but I understand.”

One of the writers is married to Grace, from Will and Grace. And another writer is the seemingly ("trust no one") oblivious doorman! Now, that’s funny.

And, of course, there is the burning question: What the hell happened to Glenn Close? Did someone beat her as a child? Relentlessly bully her on the playground? Lock her in a room? Chain her to a radiator? What was it that, to this day, gives this woman the endless supply of nasty she pulls from in role after role after role? I thought Cruella De Vil was bad, but this! This Patty Hughes. She’s hard to believe bad.

When Ellen asks her, “Do you regret what we did? Because I do.” and that woman looks at her and suspiciously asks, “You do?” Oh my. The icy chills. Sign me up for every episode forever and ever and ever. 

Damn you, Glenn Close. Damn you. 

On an unrelated note, at dinner last night, I was asked repeatedly about what kind of men I prefer. Huh? What kind of who do I what? It took me a few minutes to get with the program, but I came up with Craig Ferguson, Hugh Laurie and Colin Firth. And now I can’t stop laughing at my choices. I’m so obviously out of the loop. 

Then, my friend started picking out men in the packed restaurant and insisting on my reaction. I admit I sort of felt like an awkward girl of 39 again. But this must be stopped before it goes any further, because I really do like being in the house with the dog. I’ve waited on this peace for a long time. So, if (single) Craig Ferguson interrupted all this and knocked on the door and forced me to dinner and a movie, I’m afraid I’d have to say, “Thanks, Craig, but no thanks. Take all that love and admiration you have for me and move on down the road. Nobody here is interested in that stuff.” And then the dog would kill me in my sleep, because her survival of the fittest instinct told her it was the right thing to do for the betterment of my species. 

January in Review

February 1st marks the one-month anniversary of the release of Karen 2.0. This new version has some new features and some old kinks.

Features: It is supposed to be kinder, gentler to idiots (this has gone well, thus the use of the word idiots (actually we have noticed that it stops itself quicker when on futile tirades)). It is supposed to be working on an experiment (this has gone well and is at 4.04%). It is supposed to be more directed to writing and freelancing (this has gone well and we’ll know more as this comes together).

Kinks: Apparently, procrastination can be taken too far. We need to ask more calmly for what we need and want. We need to keep reaching out because crazy Universal connections are so meaningful and wonderful. We need to remember to repeat every minute of every day: leap and the net will appear (i.e., faith).

Kinks should be worked out soon - hopefully included in February’s service pack.

Only Floss The Ones You Wanna Keep

Flossing my teeth this morning (“Only floss the ones you wanna keep,” Ricky Gervais advises in Ghost Town), I was reminded of my trip to Cary, North Carolina, last fall. 

I was stopped at a red light on my way to an appointment when I found something amiss in a back tooth. So, I innocently pulled out my floss contraption and proceeded to do what flossers do. Since I can do more than one thing at a time sometimes, I noticed the car behind me pull up on my right side – probably to not be behind me when the light turned green. I was in a rental car with out of state plates and if you’ve ever been behind a rental car with out-of-state plates, you have probably wanted to get away from them, too. No problems. I understand. Come on around.

But, then I felt eyes on me. I looked to my right and she was staring at me. Disapprovingly, too. I’m still not sure I was doing anything wrong, but being in her territory, I figured her attitude trumped mine. So, I was caught doing something bad. 

In case you don’t know anything about Cary, it has the densest population of PhDs in the country. This means money, money, money, academia, academia, academia, high-falutin’, high-falutin’, high-faultin. And there I was flossin’ in public. Not only that, but I was on the road that passes in front of the upscale mall in town in a rented red Chevy Cobalt (bottom of the rental scale) with plates from Tippecanoe, Indiana (wherever this is, they must use canoes a lot to name the town after tipping over in one) .

So, since my hands were practically in my mouth anyway, I quickly covered it in shame and conjured up my “I’m so sorry, please don’t think bad of me” look. But, when she didn’t turn away and didn’t change expressions, I realized that there was nothing I could do to make her think good thoughts about me. So, I shrugged my shoulders and made my when-all-else-fails move: I started to laugh. 

And do you know what she did? She laughed, too. And not in a bad, laughing at me way, but in a permissive, carry on, let’s be friends kind of way. The light turned green, and we waved goodbye. 

Just goes to show you: yes, we can. 

¡Ay, caramba!

I failed. And now I have to pay - with movement.

Back in November, I made a writing deal with a friend. She would be the coach, and I would be the player. I needed someone tough, someone I respect too much to let down. Yes, the obvious question is why can’t I just push myself. Well, my friend, if I had that key, I’d be places right now. Anyway, I failed to complete a task the first week of January, so the punishment we had agreed on…well…

“Will you do this for me?”

“Yes! But, let’s think. We need to figure out what motivates you. Name something that you just hate to do. Quick.”

"Exercise.”

“Perfect. Every time you don’t turn in an assignment, we’ll exercise.”

I’m not sure that was an agreement, but I mentioned respect. So, I must exercise. The last time I exercised in public was at the YMCA, late at night after they turned out most of the lights because nobody was there, in the corner, walking quietly on a treadmill.

Tonight is something called Zumba. From what I’ve seen on YouTube, it involves dancing and rhythm and groups and boys. Oh, my. Another hive. (The last time I danced in public, it was sometime in the 1980s and involved more than just a few cocktails.)

I’ve emailed four excuses already, and she’s not buying a one of ‘em. I haven’t missed an assignment this week, though, and I may never again. That’s coaching!! And just what I need.

3.53%

After two weeks with “the experiment”, I’m a mere 96.47% shell of my former self. I know, right? I’m a little worried about premature invisibility at this breakneck pace. So to slow things down a bit, I’m excusing myself for scallops and soup and the best company EVER at PF Changs. What could be better? Nothing, that’s what.

My bouncing baby boy signed a lease on a house this week. I was asked to review the paperwork, but still. Life as we knew it. Still ppffffftt.

Why are there no pictures of the 1960s candy counter and front walkway in Memphis’ Poplar Ave Sears on the Interwebs? The Interwebs don’t care about my happiest of memories, obviously.

Despite all the messy weather this week, there was a bright spot in the car scraping madness. Yesterday, after work, I warmed up my car and was just beginning to scrape the back window when a man in a company truck pulled up and said, “Young lady..” (I’ve come to find out that this is the step after ma’am – men think it’s cute and a nice thing to say, but it’s really sort of maddening if you think about it for too long, ‘cause we all know they’re not addressing the real young ladies this way.) Anyway, “young lady, you’re too fast. Let me do this for you.” Maybe it’s his job to make sure driver are safely sent off in clear cars, but I’m pretending it was just for me until I hear otherwise. 96.47%, after all. Oh, and the new bifocals. H-O-T. January's Indiana hot. Which is not, just in case you’re thinking the missing 3.53% has gone to my head. 

Socks and Sounds

Stand in line in the cool air
Only perfect people get in the way
Trees and flowers grow thick
On an empty patio lit by park lamps.

Fingers wrap around a bottle of beer
Talk is stunted but want to do better
Shadows on late evening skin, pen held awkwardly by a left hand
Wonder what it feels like, what it takes.

Thumb through the shelves, anything else to do
Don't drink coffee and just as expected, it’s too late anyway
A passenger with the best view
Music is soft enough to talk a little more.

The end is quick and in black and white
Ancient and unwelcomed memories and a tear or two
A clean face, warm socks, and familiar sounds
Should’ve been more like her or anyone else.

Week One

I’m not calling them resolutions, but I have decided that there will be some changes in 2009. My theme is “do more”. This means do more stuff in general, do more out there, do more to enjoy life again, do more for myself, do more good things, and do more with and to glorify God.

I think I’ll do a week-in-review to keep me in check and just see if I actually do “do more” each week. So far, this first week of 2009 has only consisted of three days, but I’ve:

  • Been successful with (and prayed about) my 25% “experiment” (we’re not referring to it any other way for now)
  • Bought new eyeglasses (even though they were freekin’ bifocals – a first for me)
  • Smiled at strangers
  • Initiated conversation with a stranger
  • Held a door for someone carrying a bunch of books at the library
  • Found a better conditioner
  • Made my V2.0 vision board (I don't care what you think, so there)
  • Ordered a new Tom Jones CD (read directly above)
  • Blogged on my own sites
  • Journaled
  • Commented on another’s site
  • Walked the dog
  • Parked far away and backtracked three times in the store – planning my trips between dairy and produce
  • Looked into a class
  • Reached out
  • Laughed
  • Paid my dog doctor Visa bill off
  • Apologized
  • Researched two possible trips – one in February and one in April
  • Watched Casablanca for the first time
  • Tried to watch The Tudors (but they try too hard)
  • Learned something that just has to be new (James’s??? I was not taught this. Is this like the new math?)

    Forming possessives of nouns:
    • Add ’s to the singular form of the word (even if it ends in -s):
      The owner’s car; James’s hat
    • Add ’s to the plural forms that do not end in -s:
      The children’s game; the geese’s honking
    • Add ’ to the end of plural nouns that end in -s:
      Houses’ roofs; friends’ letters
    • Add ’s to the end of compound words:
      My brother-in-law’s money
    • Add ’s to the last noun to show joint possession of an object:
      Todd and Anne’s apartment

Annual Gratitude Exercise 2008

So another year come and gone and, at the risk of sounding even older than last year, I don’t think it could have happened any faster.

Things are pretty different now, but I got such a nice, gentle transition into it, I’m okay. There was an initial soggy separation period, but then and luckily I got busy enough to occupy my time and my mind. That helped me pass through the emotional stage pretty quickly, and now I think I'm actually okay with happy about being alone in the house.

Well, there is the dog. So, I’m not actually alone. I still have familial responsibility. And she’ll probably outlive me.

I am currently reaping the joy of what can happen when you open up to and ask for help from a supportive and most kind friend. I am learning that this is acceptable and, in fact, what life is all about. I am un-learning a lifetime of bulldog-ed-ness about forcing my independence on myself.

I’ve been in Indianapolis six years now. And since May of this year, I’ve worked in Plainfield, a few miles west of Indianapolis. If someone had told me this ten years ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’m grateful, mind you, but I’m expecting greater things.

I feel like 2007 and 2008 have been years of analysis and preparation and that 2009 will be more of an active year. I hope so, anyway.

And here’s my annual tribute to my tiny corner of the Universe in 2008:

  • Work
  • Not being an employee, not having performance reviews and not spending every day of my life talking about the time I have until retirement from the one job I’ve had my entire life
  • Dave Ramsey, the financial father I never had
  • No more conversations with ex-husband EVER EVER EVER about ANY ANY ANY thing
  • Sticking to my principles
  • People who give so freely and unconditionally to others
  • Amy Jointer, Amy Jointer, Amy Jointer
  • Writer’s Success Group, Cynthia Morris, and the armchair view to her journey
  • More faithfulness and peace
  • Road trips and rental cars
  • I-40 between Knoxville and Asheville
  • The nice men at Carney Sandoe and Cary Academy
  • Email, Netflix, Libraries
  • Five fantastic years of Boston Legal
  • Eye contact
  • High school graduation and the trip to college
  • Being thought of, a surprise card and email
  • A Texas lawyer and parents who do the right thing
  • The characters of my son and his friends
  • Friends, teachers, writers, mentors, coaches
  • Hearing "It's all bullshit" and knowing it was time to just do it
  • Good books
  • Politics, democracy, this country and learning from different points of view
  • Freedom, a great house-sitter and a worn out welcome
  • Perspicacity
  • And of course, health, safety, comfort, hope, faith, and love

 I am looking forward to 2009. I have it on good authority that good things are coming.

That's Entertainment?

My neighbors are nap nazis. A memo is sent to them if I head anywhere near my bedroom at any time of the day, and they prepare for annihilation. We live in ranch-style houses. Fine and all, but somebody’s (their) driveway ends up right next to someone else’s (my) bedroom. And the Nazis have added width to their driveway to include an extra-close parking lot for the nazi boat, the nazi RV, the nazi truck, the nazi van, and the nazi car. So, while normal distance between houses is probably 50 feet, I get about 10 or 15. But, it never fails. I lie down, and they muster up a trip (each trip requires loud conversation and at least ten door slams). They’re retired, so they piddle. A LOT. And they go to and fro. A LOT. It’s like they leave for grocery items one. at. a. time. Freekin nazis.

I was perusing Tom Jones CDs on Amazon. I like to do a Sample All sometimes. I stumbled on this review for his Greatest Love Songs compilation, and it cracked me up. She’s got the poor man on a schedule. I would never do that.

“Tom Jones is the man, he was back in the old days and he still is today. He has a beautiful voice and I like to listen to him at least 3 times a week.”

Sabrina the dog insists on making a fool of me. I’ve taken her to a vet for emergencies twice in her life. She’s twelve. The first time was due to a nasty case of the inside-outs after a week-long stay at doggie day care. The other dogs proved to be too much for her. But, no sooner had we left the vet’s office, Miss Thang was back to her old perky self. No runs, no problems. Last week, I took her for an eye issue, and they investigated her spine when I told them she was having recent issues about jumping on things and playing froggie (I thought she may have hurt herself falling off a couch pillow). It’s her back, they said. Pain pills. X-rays. Blood tests. Meds. Diet food (apparently, a dog can't be too thin either). $303. We got home and you can guess what happened. Running. Jumping. Playing. Like a stinkin’ puppy. I let her have a few pain pills anyway. Always the cool mom.

Austin's going to a concert tomorrow night in Athens, Georgia. Come to find out it's at the 40 Watt Club. I used to go to the 40 Watt in the early eighties during my stint at UGA. Wacky world. (Although, I think the location has changed since my day.)

ANT. Does anyone know who that is? He’s a comedian who won Last Comic Standing, I think. He’s pretty funny, but that’s not why I mention him. He has a blog that I ran across after hearing that his partner died. (At this point, you may want to feel sorry for me – as though I have nothing better to do and such – but it really was by accident that I headed down this path. So don’t judge me. Walk a mile. Etc.) Anyhoo, like I said, he has a blog. His New Year’s v-log-thing-y is called You V2.0 Reinvention Tour. I like that. A lot. 

So, I got my board, my glue stick, and my magazines, and I’m ready to do it for 2009's release of Karen V2.0. Version 1.0’s a little too fussy. And takes forever to boot.