I felt fire.

He was already sitting there. I arrived and sat two seats over.

He ordered the ribs with fries. I ordered a spinach salad with grilled chicken.

I have five fingers attached to each of my hands. He had five on his left and three on his right.

He moved one seat closer.

We drank. We talked.

He was divorced and had a girlfriend. I was divorced and had a boyfriend.

He was from Maine and had a homestead. I was from Atlanta and had a 600’ ft loft.

He was handsome and had an attractive beard. I was beautiful and had Aphrodite’s hair, but darker.

We drank. We talked.

He was intriguing with many stories and made me laugh. I was his equal and enjoyed his bellow.

I wanted to ask him about his missing fingers. He wanted to ask me why I didn’t ask about them.

We went to his room.

We drank. We talked.

He touched me with his three fingers. I felt fire.


Dancing with a Welcome Mat and Other Embarrassing Things

I thought that I would write about my most embarrassing moment in life and then decided against it. That specific moment included the realization that I have an intense fear of heights when I’m hanging from a suspended pole hundreds of feet in the air. I’ll tell that story publicly when I can be honest; more authentic.

patty1This story, however, happens on the ground. I must have been fifteen or sixteen years old. Patty was my best friend. We did everything together. We were in band, drama club, and clown ministry together. We finished homework together, went to church together, curled each other’s hair – big bangs! We shared clothes and make up and had so many sleepovers. We learned all the lyrics and dance moves to NKOTB (90’s reference) and fantasized about Mark and Joey. We knew how to have a good time together. I mean a really good time. We once spent an afternoon playing kiddie pool Frisbee. We would take a kiddie pool with about a half gallon of water in it and then sling that thing across the backyard towards each other. The goal was to catch the kiddie pool Frisbee without getting wet as the water sloshed around after the catch. What made it even funnier was her three dogs would chase the “Frisbee” as well. This silliness was our pastime and it was awesome.

Patty’s father was a Colonel in the Navy and worked at the Army base hospital. He was a drunk and verbally abusive to her. This made it even easier for us to find reasons to be silly together and escape. One of our escapes was shopping (no surprise there). Living in Hinesville, Georgia provided very little opportunity to do the appropriate teenage shopping every sixteen year old deserves, but we made the best of it. We incorporated guy watching by going to the Army base and perusing whatever might be in store for us at the Post Exchange (PX), including the young government issued guys (GI Joes). Yummy!

So, on this particular day in the middle of a hot Georgia summer, we decided to make ourselves look good (big bangs) and head on over to the PX. We parked and began to walk into the store. I knew I looked good and smelled good and felt good. There’s this theory I learned about years later in college psych class about teenage invincibility. I was proving that theory on this day. I. WAS. A. SUPERSTAR.

We walked towards the door; Patty and me, me and Patty.
The next sequencing of events was choreographed like a Janet Jackson music video minus the finesse. It went something like this:

Step 1 – Tango with big blob of gum. Without looking, as I was too busy worried about who was looking at me, I stepped on a large piece of Hubba Bubba, nasty, sticky, hot lump of gum. It stuck.

Step 2 – Tap dance with the large welcome mat at the front door. This is the choreographed sequence where I met my dance partner – the mat. Somehow the gum was the perfect consistency to attach to my shoe, which was attached to my body with perfect cohesion to the corner of the large plastic rectangular “WELCOME” mat. We were the perfect couple, “Mat” and me with a love bond of stringy, sticky gum.

Step 3 – “Mat” tried to lead me through a step ball change, but instead he brought me to my knees. I fell to the floor. This was not rehearsed. As I fell, another dance partner entered the scene. The corner of the mat was right next to the small cylinder trash can.

Step 4 – Cylinder can enters into a graceful free spin as it rolls out passed the sidewalk, passed quite a few people and into the parking lot. I watched while I was still on my knees. The base of the can rolled to the right and littered pieces of trash as it gently rolled away. The top of the can holding kitty litter and cigarette butts rolled to the left, leaving a trail of gray pebbles and used up cancer sticks.

I looked up and made eye contact with a few folks. Superstar status depleted.

Patty..? Where was Patty? Patty was watching the entire time and with uncontrollable laughter from a safe distance. She walked over to me and helped me up. She made it okay for me to laugh at myself and we proceeded to walk in to the PX to implement more silliness.

I think this moment will always stand out for me for a couple of reasons. First of all, in just mere seconds, I went from total invincibility to hanging out with some already been chewed gum on the ground. It was a humbling life lesson. It is also one of the few memories I still have of Patty. After graduation, she joined the Navy and was very disappointed to be medically discharged. Three years after high school and before any of us had really experienced adult life hers was taken away due to complications from Epilepsy. It was too soon. She left me with so many humorous memories and most importantly the reminder to not take things so seriously, including tap dancing with a cigarette butt can as well as myself.

littlegirl says meow: A story of misdirected texts, four lokos and new underwear.

Friends close to me know that I am always entertained by wrong number texting. Typically, when I receive them, I ignore them. Recently, I received this text from someone I don’t know:

“hey. can me and lucie eat all the ice cream and jump on the beds?”

That sounds like a splendid idea, so I replied, “yes”

I never heard from them again and hope everything worked out okay with the ice cream.

Much more entertaining was an exchange I had during the summer of 2011. It began in early July with a few missed phone calls from a number I never knew and a couple of random texts that I ignored. Although you can clearly hear MY voice saying MY name on MY voicemail message, she still left a couple messages for “Jim”. I don’t think I even know a Jim. The texts continued and I finally responded with “wrong number”. This continued over a couple of weeks.

wrong number. Wrong Number! WRONGNUMBER!!!!

You would think the average person would pause and check that they had the correct number. You would think. In the middle of the continued back and forth and with some encouragement from friends, I lost my sanity and lowered myself to the level of my texter.

Hilarity followed:


Is her name Lisa or Melisa??!? Punctuation is so important, folks!

A number of weeks have passed at this point since the first communication, now legally considered harassment. In August, I did everything I could to block the caller/texter. I was able to block the calls, but not the texts. On August 26, I adopted that old motto that everyone has heard: If you can’t beat them, join ‘em. It was a total game changer.


During the text exchanges on this day, I was traveling in Atlanta for work. After the work week ended, I headed to visit my best friend in Alabama for the weekend before returning to Florida where I lived at the time. I had a great time visiting her and her husband and while I won’t disclose if they encouraged me to continue the communication madness, I will say that not all of the comments/questions that came next in the exchange were originally mine. It was relieving for me to have the crazy I had been enduring become validated by my friends.


I have no idea where I was getting picked up from or where home was, but I knew something big was about to happen.


Oh boy, somebody is going to be disappointed about those plums.


This is when the shit hits the fan or the road or something is going to hit something. It’s going down.

(I really was in Huntsville.)


I like how the language changes quickly into sanskrit. What exactly does “yw 9ww ihav” mean? Part of me felt pretty darn bad at this point. Part of me figured that Melisa/Lisa should have figured this out by now. Part of me did not care anymore. (Sorry about your eye.)

And then finally….the next day, the angels sang. A miracle!


Thank you Melisa/Lisa! Thank you.

It was a very, very short lived miracle.


I was so excited that she finally understood and had removed me. And then 5 days later, like a homing pigeon with a message about karma, she was back.

Things take a turn for the worse. I am now in the hospital. There’s good news, though. I still have a girlfriend. Oh yeah, and Littlegirl says meow.


I am somewhat curious as to why I am ill. Melisa/Lisa has referred to me as a player. Urban Dictionary defines player as, “A male who is skilled at manipulating (“playing”) others, and especially at seducing women by pretending to care about them, when in reality they are only interested in sex.”  Maybe my girlfriend beat me up? Or her husband? Maybe Littlegirl scratched me and now I have an infection?

At this point, I am distratught. Melisa/Lisa clearly does not care for me. She never really pays me enough attention to understand me and when she gets angry, she curses at me in sanskrit. I just can’t take it anymore and ignore her evil texting.


I don’t know why, but for some reason, I need new underwear and that is very concerning. Bill Cosby must have been right.

It all ended after the last message I ever sent to her. I will miss Melisa/Lisa. She will forever be in my blog.


Sunrise Surprise and Life Lessons

newbornSurprises are interesting. I mostly like them. I mostly like them because they become life lessons.  Sometimes they are gifts and those are good, too. In my former life of grandeur, we owned multiple properties, homes, and pets. This is the story of how we acquired three horses by surprise.

We had made an agreement with our daughters. They had been horse riding for years and getting lessons from Uncle Rod and Aunt Debbie. More than anything, they wanted horses of their own. They were willing to muck and feed and clean and train and scoop poop and other unmentionable acts of care; practically anything to have horses.  We were willing to let them do so if they could afford it and were committed. Horses had become a great way to teach our children about trust and resilience and responsibility and life. My daughters saved penny after penny and dollar after dollar and searched. At the ages of thirteen and eleven, my daughters were in the market to buy horses.

They begged me to visit a gentleman and his family that were selling two Ponies of Americas-a brother and sister. Asking price: $500 each. I knew the girls had been saving, but they certainly didn’t have enough for $1,000 plus all other initial costs. It was unlikely to happen, so what would it hurt to go anyway? It would be good experience.

katieThe ponies were sturdy, good, young, a little green, but “unspookable” (they don’t scare easily = great for the kiddos).  It was a lot to consider as we had never owned horses before, but the girls didn’t have enough money anyway so I thanked the gentleman and let him know that we would be in touch, but unlikely to buy. On the way home, I talked to the girls, in hopes to reset expectations and regroup. Again, we weren’t opposed to having horses, but let’s make sure they understood the verbal contract they were entering, the commitment needed to horses and the costs. They took the news well and did not try to renegotiate. Then they informed me that by the end of the month, they would have a collective savings of over $700 in allowance, gifts and doing extra chores.



When we got home, I checked the mail and the voicemail messages. There was a message from the gentleman we had just left minutes ago letting us know that he was willing to drop the price to $750 for both horses. I called back and asked if we could come back later that week with Uncle Rod and Aunt Debbie along to check them out. And so we did. Later that week, the price dropped to $500 and we became horse owners.

Double surprise!


Little ManWe became the proud owners of two POAs, Little Man and Dalilah. With a lot of shared wisdom, help, and grace from many of our beautiful horse people friends, we did our best to further train and nurture these precious creatures, but as the months went by, we realized that something was not right with Dalilah. She was losing weight in her ribs and gaining in her stomach.

“Maybe she’s pregnant!!!?!!” my daughter said.



We called the vet. “She’s too young to be pregnant and she hasn’t been around a stud.” (Little Man was gelded.) “Likely needs to be dewormed,” doc said.

So we started a more aggressive de-wormer process. We increased her feed intake and the number of feedings. We provided more hay, more attention, more love and she just got worse. The vet came out again and then again. She might have hay belly. We changed her feed again. On the vet’s last visit, he told us that she either had a rare disease or she was indeed pregnant. However, she was very weak and he did not want to put her through a physical exam. He took her blood for testing and told us to call him in the morning for the results. I went home devastated, expecting her to not make it to the end of the week. Our Dalilah was dying under my watch. I knew that I would soon have to break the news via phone to the girls, as they were out of state visiting family. I cried.

(sad) surprise.


The next morning came and I was wakened by an early morning phone call that went something like this:

Him:       “Hey! We’ve got three horses out here.”

Me:        “What do you mean three horses? A horse got through the gate somehow? Who’s horse is it?”

Him:       “No. Negative. WE have three horses.”

Long pause.

Me:        “What do you mean exactly? What are you saying?”

Him:       “I’m saying Little Man is here. Dalilah is here and there is a baby horse or a colt or whatever it’s called. I’m saying we don’t need to call the vet for the pregnancy test results.”newborn2



I’m pretty certain the conversation was followed by a joyous release of astonished expletives followed by a crazy thought process including some need I felt to locate towels and hot water, confusion as to what kind of leave I would need to take from work for the day and the desire to contact the girls immediately.

I called the girls and sent pictures. “I told you so!” was mumbled by the thirteen year old and they quickly came up with the name for our new baby boy: Sunrise Surprise, Sunny for short.

Sunrise Surprise became a wonderful addition to our horse family and we continued to learn many things as he grew. As time has passed only one of my daughters rides regularly now and has successfully sold three horses and currently owns two.

I forget to be thankful for the surprises life offers me.  As time has passed for me, I find that I am less surprised at things as I used to be and generally yearn for more.