Saturday, August 18, 2012


So I promised that this one would be funny or at least light hearted.  Today on Facebook, a "recommended friend" was

Bud Cockerham

And I thought, it depends on how hungry I am.


Thursday, August 2, 2012

RANTING on the Road to Fifty

It's a FUCKING Chicken sandwich. 

I grew up with Chick-fil-a (CFA).  I also grew up mighty religious.  And these religious views were preached over and over to us.  Let me give you some examples:

BLACKS were an inferior race.  They were struck black either at the Tower of Babel or were descendants of Cain. 
Jews - Going to Hell
Catholics - Going to Hell
Most everyone outside of the Free Will Baptist religion were going to Hell.  According to the FBW church if just before dying in a head on car collision, you said "Oh Fuck Me!" you were going to Hell.  You must be forgiven by Christ or no heaven for you.  It was almost as bad as no chicken on Sunday.

We never cared whether CFA was open on Sunday, we were either at the steakhouse or at the Holiday Inn for the buffet lunch.  And trust me the H.I. was fierce and was overseen by a big woman who was such a delight: Mrs Kathleen Oringer.  (BTW, a Catholic, but it didn't matter, she was handing the food people.)

So of late, all of this bruhaha about CFA has been quite troubling to me.  So let me tell you my thoughts:

The more some of us move towards equality and peace of mind, the more some will rebel against it.  I have seen some people post some things that have shocked me.  "He is worried Gays will marry?"  "She supports US?"  They said what?  Oh heaven help us.  Some people who I never thought would be one way or the other have surprised me.  Some nice surprises and some not so nice surprises.  I have mostly stayed out of the fray for a few reasons:

1.  I don't want to spend time on negative shit that I can't fix
2.  I'd rather influence quietly rather than beat someone over the head

And here is some reasons why I think that Gay people are behind in this country.  We have allowed ourselves to become second class citizens.  The Ultra-Rich queers don't really care.  They write a check.  Why is Ellen not all over this?  Because of sponsors.  And she wants to be picked up for some more seasons.  I don't know that I am mad at her, but I do see it.  (See I have apathy!)

And then there are the "gay supporters".  I dislike Kathy Griffin.  And let me rant why.  She is all for "her gays" yet she couldn't stop talking about Clay Gaiken.  Or Gay Aiken.  Or whatever she kept calling Clay Aiken.  Funny that she could go on and on about him and no one stood up and said enough.  Maybe he just wanted to build his career like Ellen wants to build hers. 

Or what I consider the opposite:  Ricky Martin.  No queer thought he was straight, but until he semi-retired, he wasn't talking.  If you don't want to come out, don't.  But please don't ask me to love your Vida Loco once you do.  (OH RM didn't necessarily want me to like him, but almost every gay publication did.)  Until WE stop accepting one group making fun of ANY of us and demand our equal rights, we will remain in second class.

I for one will not be at CFA tomorrow for the kiss-in.  But if I wanted to I would. 

Let me be clear:

I AM NOT AFRAID OF ANYONE.  Accept me or don't, I can not be bothered to worry about your opinion.  And for me, I won't delete F/B friends (or any other social site) who don't like Fags.  I want to see my opposition.  And for me, I will convert a few to my side.  It will just be slowly and quietly.

RANT over!
(I promise to make the next post funny.)

Sixth Road to Fifty

It seems like I might have gone "Off Road" but not really. 

After returning from Hawaii I've been busy with work.  Last weekend I went to the "Land of Sister Wives" for my 18th Half marathon.  The first 7.5 miles were truly downhill.  We had a time limit to get out of the park and we made.  We meaning me and the others in the Back of the Pack warrior group.  We made it out at an average pace of nearly 16 minutes a mile.  That's slow compared to the majority of runners, but for me, I usually average 20 minutes per mile, this was a GREAT accomplishment.  The next 5.5 miles were at a considerably slower pace dragging my overall time down, but still I finished ahead of my usual time, so I was very happy.

To say that Utah is clean might be an understatement.  Salt Lake City is the cleanest metropolitan city I have ever been in.  And while I do generally poke fun at everyone, these Mormons scared me a little.  They are a little too clean and bright and sunny and fucking happy.  I don't think it's natural without drugs.  The water did taste a little funny.  I hope it's drugs and not that I'm going to turn up pregnant.  They do seem a fertile group.  VERY fertile.  To hear people casually mention "her and her five kids"  blah blah blah and not "oh shit, she's got Five, count 'em FIVE kids" seems a little unique to me.  OK, it seems fucked up, not unique.  But who am I to say, if someone is Happy, I do think that's an accomplishment.  It just seemed a little dirty or repressed to me.  But I drink....

So let's see where the next Half marathon takes me.  BTW, I have done 18 (I said so above, haha).  I have done one in 10 states with California making up all of the others and representing the 11th state.

Rant coming soon!


Saturday, June 30, 2012

Road to Fifty - Part 5

It seems that as time rolls along, the world does still RE-volve.  And we inhabitants E-volve. 

I did have such a great time in Hawaii.  It had so many highs and none involved herbs.  haha.  It seemed funny that a place so associated with pot seemed so removed from pot.  No Maui Wowi smells the entire trip.  However, when I returned to LA, there was more Maui than in all of Hawaii.  haha.  Times do e-volve.

Years ago I heard that the brighter the Light becomes the more intense the Darkness becomes.  How many times have we walked into a dark room from outside in the bright sunshine and become temporarily blinded by the change.  Thankfully, so many people in my life are embracing Light and goodness and fun and frivolity....  I am goofy and funny and fun-loving and I try to surround myself with others with the same outlook.  Oh, if you know me, you know I can bitch about that grain of sand in my shoe or the rock on the beautiful beach that I stub my toe on.  It's not that hard.  And even though it's not a part of my nature that I like so much, I do need to "vent" or "get it out of my system" somedays.  How else will I be able to ascertain if I'm all the way nuts or just skirting the issue of nutdom?  So somedays my chums get to hear about my presumed trials and tribulations.  But for the most part, I do really try to be positive.  And again, so many of friends are the same.

Lately I've noticed that the "Dark" seems to be intesifying in some.  I see people do and say things that I thought were completely off limtes.  I see some drive like maniacs with absolutely no regard to others safety.  I've had to make a conscious decision lately to just hang back and let them do it their way; and, I maintain a distance to keep myself safe and sound.

When Solomon prayed for Wisdom, God gave him trials.  I think that example in the Bible so relates to everyday life and love.  And since I'm a wee bit chicken, I pray for Half Wisdom so I will only get half the trials. 

Peace and Love! 

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Road to Fifty #4 - Hawaii Impressions

Hawaii was simply fantastic.  First impressions can (and often) are misleading.

The big Island was so not what I thought it would be in terms of topography.  I do know there is a volcano there.  And so does anyone with eyes.  There are tons of signs reading Volcano 96 miles, Volcano 87 miles.  Right for Volcano.  Volcano This Way -->.  But I didn't know there was so much black rock.  It was a visual shock to begin with, but I adapted easily since I had no choice.  Plenty of beaches had sand and more black rock. 

Once I got past the black rock look, I discovered discovered an Island of many different looks.  I could so easily see parts of Miami, plenty of Central America, some of the East Coast of the USA and the beaches of both east and west coast.  It seemed incredible that an Island that small in size could pack such a punch.  We drove through a small rain forest.  From hot and humid beach areas to a temperature 30 degrees cooler in a span of 30 minutes.   A 2500 foot climb in less than 10 miles.

But the water.  Oh the glorious water.  Blues, greens, clear.  Sheer Heaven!

However, the look of the Island was almost second to the look of the people.  Unless you are born on the Island, you really must want to live there to live there.  It's not like LA where you can drive to Vegas, San Fran or even Palm Springs.  Oh no!  After 2 hours, you are at the other end of the Island.  Yes, it takes many more hours to drive all around the Island, but it is still an Island.  Having said that, the people I met were simply devine.  And just like big cities, the Island attracts people from all walks of life, ethnic backgrounds and ages.  I met quite a few southerners who are transplanted to Hawaii.  Our server at the hotel was from Liverpool.  One new chum was from Santa Barbara, CA.

But/And the common denominator was that they "wanted" to be there.  And they were happy.  They weren't there to because they couldn't get out (or off as the case may be), but they were there because that's where they wanted to be.  In the 4 days I was there, I heard only one person blow the horn at another driver.  I never heard one explitive directed at another person.  Even I let people ahead of me in traffic.  (See miracles do still happen!!)

I don't think I would ever want to live in Hawaii.  But "honk honk", I sure as hell want to visit again soon!


Saturday, June 23, 2012

On the Road to 50 - 3

Even though I just uploaded #2, I'm already for #3.

Yesterday (June 22nd) was the second day in Hawaii.  Patrick (my friend who has joined me on this trip) and I went to the beach outside the Hotel; then, we drove up the coast.  We stopped at another beach about 45 minutes away. It was so heavenly.  Several families dotted this small beach with beautiful sand and rock outcroppings.  We got into the water for a bit, then hopped back in the car and drove further up the coast stopping at several villages to sample local color, coffees and sweets.  Next, we drove through a small rain forest and into the Waipio Valley on the north coast of the Island.

The sights and sounds and peace was so wondrous.  Yesterday, I spent more than 8 hours with the cellphone in the trunk of the car and the camera unattached from me.  I did take a few photos, but more often than not, I simply snapped a record into my memory.

Patrick and I knew each other when he lived in Los Angeles.  Now he's back in Melbourne Australia.  I must have said 25 times yesterday:  "I'm just happy!"  20 plus years ago a wonderful Medium told me that Hawaii was my supreme vacation destination.  Not a place as a home, but a great place to just be.  And June, you were so right.  It took me a while to get here, but it was worth the wait.

I won't be giving up my "big city life" anytime soon.  But I have found a wonderful place to rest, relax and wallow in the peace.

Mahalo Hawaii.

Aloha for now!  XO

On he Road to Fifty - 2

(That's entry #2, not 52)

Around the first of this year, I saw a blurb about the book: “365 Thank Yous”.  It seems the book was published a couple of years ago.  I quickly glanced at the synopsis, and thought that seems interesting.  As it sometimes happens, that’s where I left the thought.

Again a few weeks back near the beginning of June, I saw another blurb about this book.  I downloaded it from B&N and quickly devoured the entire book in two settings.  (Or is it seatings?)  Either way this small book delivered a huge wallop. 

I have always considered myself quite lucky.  I was born on a Friday, the Luckiest day of the week. I am a Pisces, the luckiest sign of all.  I was born in the year of the Rabbit, again, the luckiest sign of all.  If you ask me, I’m pretty darned Lucky.  And  just as lucky as I feel, I always try to remember to be thankful.

So there I am on day one reading this book while I have dinner at a favorite steakhouse.  The book is powerful in quiet ways.  I sat eating my dead cow and crying behind my glasses.  Such a pretty sight!  Oh, I guess I’m supposed to be thankful for that sight too. ... I suppose.  Ha ha.

Anyway, the jist of the book is “the more thankful we are, the more we have things to be thankful for.”  And I agree; this is truly an idea that I can get behind.  I’m now writing thank you notes, left, right and center, and finding more each day to be thankful for.

Today, I am thankful, that I got up, I made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare, the staff at the airport were all polite and courteous, and as I write this, I’m high over the Pacific Ocean on my way to a First Time visit to Hawaii.

Thankful I am that I’m still on the Road to Fifty!  XO  

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Fractions of Dan: Road to Fifty

So I've decided to add a section about the "Road to 50."  So here goes...

As of today-ish, I am 49.25 years old.  I am far past being able to say "I'm this many".

So often we hear "age is just a number."  To which I say "Bullshit."  Almost everything we do is tied to a number.  We celebrate (or hope to forget to celebrate) birthdays.  I had a cake almost every year.  I had my one and only real birthday party at Five.  And even though I had only the one party, there was always a celebration of the day.

For me, one of the biggies was 16.  I had wanted to drive way earlier.  And on a rare occasion I did.  At thirteen, I did 2 weeks of work in Tobacco.  I hated it.  But I drove the tractor.  Then for the next two summers I worked all summer long in Tobacco.  And for the most part I drove the tractor.  One year we pulled a two story harvester behind the tractor.  I could turn that sucker around on a dime.  Or at least a quarter.  So, hating working in the fields, as I approached 16 I began to look for a job "in town" where there were no Tobacco fields.  And then I drove a lot.

Other numbers include 18 (voting age), 21 (legal age for alcohol), 25 (cheaper car insurance) and so on.  When you're 20-something you couldn't care how old you are as long as you're not "THAT" old.  However old that is.  And then when you're 30-something (I was 20 something when 30 something was on TV), you remember the things you did in your 20s because that was like yesterday.

Then comes 40.  The age most men (and lots of women) go a little coo-coo.  The grass is always greener somewhere else.  I moved from Florida to California when I was 37.  So my 40s were already in greener pastures, sorta.  Now comes the advent of 50.  And that brings lots of thoughts which I intend to share along the way.

I do accounting for a living but yesterday my brain was on vacation.  Not from work, but from logic.  I saw a post by my high school English teacher on facebook and began to think "If I'm going to be 50 soon, how old is she?"  This is where my brain went haywire.  At first I thought I should send her a copy of my idea for a new blog post and see if she will tell me her age.  Then I began to do the math.  If she was maybe 30 or so, then my god, she will be 80 this year.  She doesn't seem that old.  Maybe she was in her late 20s when she was my teacher.  She did tell us about ECU (my alma mater too) and the fun times they had there.  Wow, could she really be THAT old.  My mom is 76.  I didn't think they were close to the same age.  BTW, my mom's not old.  And so the thought process went.  I kept thinking Mrs. A's THAT old.  So of course I logged onto f/b and looked at her profile.

And that's when my error was acutely apparent.  She might have been 30 or so, but I was 15-18.  NOT zero.  If Mrs A was 30 when I was 15, then she's 15 years older than I am.  Then I thought oh jeepers, I'm glad I didn't ask her if she was indeed turning 80 this year.

So see, I am right in a way.  Numbers do matter.  I suspect when the hangover wears off on the morning I am 50, I won't feel significantly different, but I bet I will be keenly aware that a new number, and new decade, a new portion of my life has arrived.

So here's to the "Road To 50".  May it be FABULOUS!  (Arms waving and flapping!)

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Bully! I say!

Recently someone sent a f/b private message to me demanding an answer to why I had not contributed to his online campaign to raise money for his short film / foundation. They had put together a short film about bullying and were raising money and awareness.

Let me say I saw a blurb in his wall regarding this short and some other things, but he had not asked me for money and/or support before. Then I was impressed by how easily he wanted to goad (bully) ME into contributing.

I spent nearly every day of my high school life petrified of bullies. Catcalls were a common and nearly daily event Those "We are four, you are one. We WILL torture you." And so Ruffin and Aaron and their friends did. And on top of that, my racist parents had segregated me from blacks until high school; and so add another set of people I was afraid of. I limited in using the student bathroom 3 or 4 times in four years because of fear. I would sneak into the teachers bathroom maybe once a month. (No wonder I go a lot now. I'm making up for lost time.)

Once I came out, I adopted a "Oh hell no you won't" attitude which has served me well. But now sometimes when I smell weakness I can be a bully. This has come to me over the last few years.

I am very humorous and funny. It's a fact. I AM. But with that lightning sharp witted tongue can come a tendency to get my way. I often attribute it to my singleness. If not me, who? Or maybe it's the only child syndrome. Or maybe I am what I feared: A Bully.

I really never set out to hurt anyone. It's not my style. And I hope I don't. But this Bully in the China Shoppe does like his way. Bully. Control Freak. Dominator. Afraid. Some, all, none? So many questions.

So back to my f/b bully. I may contribute. I may not The jury is still out. But I can tell you my opinion: Enough Films short or long about bullying. GO. GO. Make A Difference in the life of a Child, Friend, Co-Worker who is being bullied. If not you,who?

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Happy Easter

When I was a little boy Easter was always a "special" time to see people at church.  Usually, they were wearing a new "Frock" (another word that isn't used much these days).  If you were a girl you definitely had a new outfit to impress Jesus, maybe??  I mean, I didn't see Heidi Klum or Jessica Simpson judging, but maybe Jesus did.  However, was there judgment the other 51 weeks a year when Easter wasn't?  Weren't those weeks important too?  Twisted minds want to know...

But thruly it was truly a festive celebratory time.  Even though I was never a morning person as a child, I did enjoy Easter sunrise service.  We would get up way before sunrise, and drive to church for a service.  The sun would rise at some point during the service and slowly flood the santuary with natural lighting.  Maybe that's where I got my love for "Just So" lighting.  And since then I've learned that the SHADOWS can be equally as important as the LIGHT.  (Simply depends on the location!)
Often people came to Easter service that didn't come any other time of the year.  Unlike Catholics who are church-heavy at both Easter and Christmas, for the Free Will Baptists*, we were an Easter bunch.  So here we are so many days and years since I was a young one attending the FWB Easter service.  And...
Now I am the one wearing the Frock (see attached clip).

This is a parody that I participated in last weekend.  We had such a blast!  Much more about this in the future.


*Free Will Baptists:  You have FREE WILL to go to HELL anytime, anywhere, just eff up once and you're in the express lane to see Lucifer!  (Unless you make a GOOD U-turn quickly!)

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Short on the Short

I was so long winded (you ask what's new, ha ha) on the last post that this one will be much shorter on the Short

Our spoof of American Horror Story is titled "Cooks With Looks".  It's a partial parody plus an actual cooking show.  The recipe works perfectly.  So I will give you a few of pictures as hints of my upcoming character.  (See I am a character, not my scar!) 

Here is the first one.

Fortunately, there is a jacket to my "original" Jacques Pennoise.  Or else those flapping in the breeze bat wings would show up.

Me in the chair.  Fortunately it wasn't Electric...

aside:  Notice the two "Vanity" pictures of me in the hall.  Now I only have about 6 or 7 pictures of me displayed.  Before it was about 25 or 30.  I'm trying to minimize. 

Next up is my face sans scar

And next up is a picture that should have been included with the last blog post.  Maybe when I see Dr F to remove my scar, I can ask him to remove those CoAcH bags from under my eyes.  Fuck, even the beautiful most wrinkle....

The make-up man and one of the stars of the short (same person) is phenomenal.  So wait for the wig, lipstick and the jacket and you will see what Jessica Lange would look like if she didn't smoke, ate like a field hand and drank about the same. 

The short will drop before Easter, so I will be "Tooting" my own horn soon.  VERY Soon!!!

We finished about 70- 80% last night and will wrap tonight.  Wish us luck!

Vanity vs. Reality

When I was a little boy, my mom used to say "Don't Brag!  or Don't be Too Proud."  When simple phrases, with too many meanings are used with kids, parents must be able to determine which meaning they want and explain it.  This chapter my mom skipped.  Truly, given the circumstances that she was brought up in, I totally understand.  But when we kids become adults, we are saddled with the responsibility of choosing which of those childhood admonitions work for us and which to toss out.

See what my mom meant was not to be a braggart.  And I totally see her point.  No one wants to be around someone who is always measuring their dick and bragging.  (Well maybe occasionally, but not really.)  That person who RUNS the party, the office life, the que'd up line that never ever stops bragging about themselves, their possessions (including kids and animals).  Those who use their perceived successes to lord over others.  My little "Angel" is the best best best best best....  YUCK!

Unfortunately, what my mom accomplished was to influence me to allow myself to always be second.  Always holding the door for others to be ushered in.  I am proud to say that I do like to see others succeed, but not at my own expense.  Or at least not always.  So as I grew from a kid to an adult I had to learn that having a Healthy Ego was not the same as being a braggart.  In my un-humble opinion, the person who can't be proud of themselves and toot their own horn are often put themselves in second place.  Even when they win.

Now onto my favorite Capital Vice: Vanity.  I am vane.  At least in my own way.  See vanity affects each person differently.  For me it's my hair and face.  And I am not ashamed of my vanity.  I have some of the best hair on earth.  It's been fried within an inch of its life all to many times (blond, brown, black, black with raspberry rinse, back to blond, onto platinum, back to blond, but never red or any other non-naturally occurring color, and then most often back to blond.)  And within reason, it's almost always adapted.  It is getting a little thinner and a lot greyer, but "Damn it, it's still there!"  At three times in my life I tried to curl it.  And all with horrible consequences.  So now, I choose short, long, parted left, parted right, spiky....  But never curly.  Currently, it's mostly brown and gray.  (Yes I have spelled with both gray and grey.  I looked it up.  Both are correct.  ha ha)  Only time will tell where my hair ends up on the spectrum.

Now onto my face.  I truly am slightly, intensely obsessed with my own face.  After all, it seems to go with me everywhere I go.  And that is the part of my anatomy most people talk too.  (Except Mr Drapes, who talks to my left shoulder tirelessly.  What a weight.  The right shoulder is so jealous sometimes.)  I love my eyes, blue on the outer edges and green on the inner edges.  It is rare that I see photos of people's eyes that I think mine look like.  I once saw a picture of Jacqueline Bisset and thought we had similar looking eyes.  But it's rare  In nearly every photograph taken of me, only the blue shows up.  But I see something more.  I love my nose. And I love some of my chins.  One could go away for sure, but the other two I sorta like.

The only lasting visible scar from my biking boo-boo is a scar next to my right eye.  I am NOT happy with it.  I have tried lots of things and some days it looks as if it's slowly going away.  But I am not always a patient man.  Especially when it comes to my beauty.  And one friend even suggested it adds character.  Who the fuck wants character?  I AM a character, and a half some days!  So the scar will have to go away.  My non-insured bike boo-boo will end up costing me north of $7000 and as I told Mr Yellow Jacket, I don't want to spend another $7000, but that scar will go away.

As this post is getting long, I will end it with a picture of my scar and a link to a short film that got me to thinking and wanting to post all about the above.  I HIGHLY recommend a watch.  It's about 10 minutes and so beautifully shot.

Thanks for riding....

Pic above, link below:


Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Pretty Is As ....

So yesterday, one of my “Partners in Crime” (Yellow Hat from last month in PS) texted me and wanted to know two things: 

 1.     If I wanted to Happy Hour at the GC

To that I had to wait until 8 pm as I had to work late.  And yesterday was my Eco day, I take the bus to the train and the train to work in the morning and then reverse it (obviously) in the evening.  So from work to the GC, I take the train to the bus, go bar-hopping and then the bus to the train and the train to the bus.  It’s much more work, but then I don’t have to drive.  And,

2.     If I wanted to work on a “spoof” short of American Horror Story.  Now AMS has been on my short list of shows that I want to watch, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.  And of course now I’m even more interested in seeing it.  And guess which character I will get to spoof?  No, guess!  Seriously!  GUESS!

Any type of entertainment from singing to movies to stage to writing makes me very happy.  So to be asked to be involved is a thrill. (And maybe a Chilling thrill.)  More details as they emerge.

I dressed up right nice yesterday and carried both a bag and my laptop in a second bag.  So once I determined I would be in WeHo I decided to leave the laptop at work, allowing me to only have to carry one bag with me.  We met at the GC with the other creator and had a few drinks to help with the discussion.  Grease the wheels of my liver is really more like it, but…. So after our pre-dinner drinks, we skipped on down to Hamburger Mary’s for dinner.  And boy did I need a little something to stick to my ribs.  Once we finished dinner and decided it was time to go, we walked out of HM and Yellow Hat sees the #4 bus coming.  I leave them in a cloud of dust as I run to catch the bus.  It’s still is NOT a pretty picture when I run in dress shoes carrying a designer bag.  The shoes and bag are cute but my waddle run with dinner and gin sloshing just “ain’t purdy.”   Needless to say I squeal over my shoulder that I’m sure it’s a pretty sight from behind too.

The bus driver sees all of the fabulousness a-hurrying and is kind enough to wait.  I would hate to have forced to have thrown myself at the bus, but…  Anyway as she opened the door to the bus I hear a roar of laughter.  After brushing my beautiful locks out of my face, wrapping my bag around my arm and searching for my transit card, I huff that I know they are NOT laughing all of the wonderfulness scurrying for the bus.  Wisely, she didn’t answer.  I tap my card and take a seat near the front.  After all, I just ran ¼ of a whole block.  I noticed the kids that were laughing and discovered they didn’t even notice me.  Bastards!  They could have seen a sensation tearing up the pavement.  Then I discover the only person really laughing at me is the bus driver and she’s having herself a good time.  I should have charged her.  Even as I alighted from the bus to catch the train to the bus she was still snickering.  See I am funny, damnit.

So bring on my AHS spoof.  I am ready for my close-up.

And for a little self-promotion, if you didn’t see my short from January, here is a link.


Friday, March 16, 2012

High School

Today’s post on F/b was a picture that I shared from my old high school English teacher.  (I like her so much more now that I don’t have to see her everyday.  I’m just saying.)  The picture has the following:

Don’t Mistake
My Silence for Ignorance
My Calmness for Acceptance
My Kindness for Weakness

To that I added a comment that sometimes kindness and gentleness were simply an Armor used as protection.

To date, I have NEVER hit another person out of anger.  In the past, abuse was linked to spankings.  The idea was if you spanked your child, that child would more likely be an abuser.  Maybe that is true for some, but I doubt it.  My mama wore my ass out with a flyswatter.  And I say she did it often, especially when the Valium and Coffee and Menthol Cigarettes hadn’t kicked in; or were in danger of running out.  Truth is I don’t think I’d be a spanker if I were a parent.  (I’m a much better wanker.)  But I do think that there are TOO many people who have been / are / will be in need of a good spanking.  Somethings just ain’t right!

And speaking of High School, recently a client of mine (Attorney) said:  You know some people have to be considered from the prospective of “how long have they been out of high school.”  (Let me say, most college graduates and certainly those who did post graduate work don’t usually speak in “high school” references.)  So I asked him what he meant.  This was his reasoning:

In High School when someone does something really fucking stupid, one of their friends smacks them on the back of the head and says:  “That was really fucking stupid!”  For some, the further they are from that scenario the stupider they become.  This was one of those “Ah Hah” moments.

Recently I have seen too many people who are a little too big for their britches and a little too far from High School.  It is so tempting to smack them on the back of the head and say “That was really fucking stupid.”  But then their drama ridden lives aren’t even good enough for TNT, so I just let them be.

And, YES, I try very hard not to be that one that others say “JFC that Bitch needs to be fucking smacked in the back of the head.”  Pray for me!  Unlike Whitney, I hope to stay smack-free!

Monday, March 5, 2012


I was so excited when last year I scheduled a vacation to Geneva.  When I found out there was a Half Marathon in Paris the weekend before Geneva, I added that to my trip list.  As things so, Best Laid Plans are often premature.

I picked up a new acctng client and that client has proven to be extremely hyper-active.  And H-A translates into dough for me.  And I like dough.  (See my waistline.  ha ha)  At the end of the day, I ended up postponing my European vacation in favor of making extra money with this new client.  Originally, I thought "Oh I can do that remotely."  How wrong I was.  I was in LA last Friday to complete their first month-end.  I worked non-stop for over 10 hours to get that accomplished and I rocked the joint.  I would NEVER have been able to do it remotely.

I listed to my gut, intuition, little voice (whatever you wanna call it) and it was the right decision.  But I did check the Continental website to see my plan to Paris depart on Thursday and checked on it too see that it arrived on Friday.  I do hope it was a happy flight for the others.  :)

So I've taken a short trip to NYC to placate my travel bug.  I've had a good time while I've been here, but I have discovered I'm tired.  62-64 work hours last week has my my kitty muy tired.

More later as to what I have done while I've been here.

I have essentially be still and resting since the biking accident and yesterday I realized just how little movement I've had since Feb. 12th.  So I'm out to walk part of Manhattan.  Report in laters, gators!


Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Choice Hotels

So my ad today from "Choice Hotels" says that

Spring Break Is Closer Than I Think

Fuck spring break, just give me a couple of college aged men and the will and energy to "Try" to keep up.


Saturday, February 18, 2012

Big Fig and Irony

So I am actually quite cautious in scaring people without a warning.  With this blog you've seen a couple of pictures and read some others.  But to throw these pix onto Facebook isn't my style.  And on my blog I get to really explain, something I can not do on 140 charax of Twitter.  haha

So for a few I did drop them a brief note saying I had a "boo-boo" or some sort of non-sense.  Cola can tell you that my two messages left at the hotel were Doris Day bright and shiny.  :)

So when I told Big Fig he responded with I hope you "are being very careful not to allow scars to settle in. And please don't allow the incident to interfere with the sporty you, which suits you so well."  Some things are said so simply but with such conviction.  Fig is RIGHT.  I am being careful not to allow ANY scars to settle in.  Not the road rash, the Why Me or any other scars.  This is LIFE.  It happens!  Tons of Good and Great and some other stuff, but mostly Good and Great.  And the Sporty does suit me.  I am often in the last 5% of the finishers in any Half Marathon I've been in.  But after 16, I know I can do 13.1 miles without a hitch.  So now I've only to adjust the future ones to accomplish what I need to do for myself. 

'Cause I Ain't Done!!!

Now onto Irony

AmEx sent me a letter telling me that they would gladLy sell me Travel Insurance to handle my "Emergencies."  This arrived on Thursday.  Just 5 days too fucking late!
Aids Life Cycle sent me an invitation on Friday to join their cycle from San Fran to LA.  Just NOW, I think Sporty Spice will WAIT on his next bike ride.  That's a long way to ride and since I only made less than 2 miles on Saturday, I would need a little more practice.  haha



That's The Way It (Read I) Went Down - Part 4

So I waited until Saturday.  I have not had an easy time weening myself off of the pain killers.  I have been 2 days with only 1/2 of a pill.  And I am beginning to understand more.  But this I will come to later.

Just before I left the hospital, I was nearly ready to scream in desperation.  That darned neck brace was hurting like hell.  But the Doc wanted one more CT scan of my face to see that I didn't have any facial fractures.  So I went for another scan and that too came back with no detected fractures or internal bleeding.  Thank heavens!  On being wheeled back toward my pod (4 bays with sheet enclosures) I was stopped in the hall and lined up on the wall.  Nurse Angel came by.  She said "we needed to put you here...." I interrupted by saying "Oh yeah, a paying customer has arrived.  Yay...."  To which she answered, "Well yes, but I thought you'd particularly like a view."  Wait for it....

Earlier Nurse Angel heard me softly giggling.  Upon asking why was "Dan" giggling now, I replied, "Do you think I have time to make the Mac counter at Macy's before closing time?"  She assured me that Mac would have to wait.  Foretelling of how bad I was.  (But Nurse Angel knew me a little better.)

SO, when they did roll in the next patient, whose Mom had full insurance, they brought to me, ME mind you, a perfect specimen on college aged wrestler.  Seems poor baby had been dropped on his head and wasn't moving.  But Lordy was he hubba-bubba.  5'10", 190, bleached blond and nearly hairless.  I needed more oxygen.  Nurse Angel told me I could NOT help him with a sponge bath.  I try, honestly, I try to help!  ha ha

Soon afterwards, Nurse Angel and Sister Jetson set about to get Dan "liberated."  We can't reach Cola at the Hotel, so they work within the hospital to secure me $10 cash and a cab that will take me back to the Hotel for that amount.  They help me up, find me the least stylish top to wear (hell it was free, sorta) and they help me up to walk around a little while the bean counters get together the necessary forms to release me.  Finally Nurse Angel comes and gets me and walks me out to the front entrance.

The next portion is a reminder of how God shows up in my life.  Nurse Angel assembled ALL of my paperwork, including my prescription, gathered me enough ointment to last until Easter for my face and arms and knees and then she walks me out to show me where to wait for the cab.  Then she HUGS me.  A real hug.  And tells me that she's there until 7 and again on Sunday and if there is ANYTHING I need, to come see her personally.  One Million dollars would not have made me any happier.  (HAPPY, but Not Happier!)

The cab took me back to the Hotel, the front desk clerk remembered me and gave me another key withOUT a question.  (She also sent up a bottle of wine as a "Get Better Soon" gift.)

So I go in the room and COLA is laid out like the Queen of Fucking Sheba waiting for the slaves to fan her.  And hasn't even listened to the message.  BASTARD!!!!   ha ha

Truthfully, he had just gotten in and assumed the message was from house-keeping.  They usually leave a "want more towels....." message.  So I gave Cola a rash of shit and then we set off to "git 'er done." 

Some things take a minute.  Some things fall into place without a hitch.  All in all the rest of the entire experience was quick and mostly painless for me.  (Especially once I got the script filled. ha ha)

Cola did a great job on his 55 mile bike ride (which became 65) and on his Half Marathon too.  He did go home with a BRICK.  I however, went home with a LUMP.  There are bright sides......

So here I am today.  One week later.  Not 100% but a damned site closer.


Thursday, February 16, 2012

That's The Way It (Read I) Went Down - Part 3

Now where was our hero?  (Or at least my hero.  I only have me.  The knight on the white horse was incontinent and the fucking horse dumped on my lawn....)

A little more back story....  This isn't Sporty Spice's first time at the "oh jeepers not this" rodeo....  At my first Half in San Francisco, the Queen (real girl) and I took a cab to the start line.  Upon exiting, I sliced my knee open on a stray piece of plastic on the door handle.  Oh lucky ME.  Fortunately, the Queen had a bandage and all was made right.  In Buffalo (Half # 7 or 8), I moved to the grass behind other participants and quickly stepped in a hole and fell flat of my face.  With a loud squeal, I mean Umppphfff.  Either way, "Ho Down".   I picked me-self up, dusted me-self off and started all over again.  (From Pick Myself Up).  So Sporty Spice had been down before....

So once ensconced into the ER my handsome male suitors (you know they wanted ME) passed me off to Nurse Jesus.  Or Jessica.  She is/was/will always be MY Angel.  This woman came to me and from that moment on, I feared NOTHING.  I wasn't really scared once.   Even though I knew where I was and why, the "unknown" can be troublesome.  But NOT with my Jessica.  I asked her why my "men in uniform" were leaving me and she assured me it was to slay other dragons and to rescue other pretty lads.  Ahhhh.  She knows me!  I am VAIN and I do not lie about this.  (I didn't say I don't lie.  I said not about this!)

My wonderful family gives me such prose to work with.  And sometimes drivel and sometimes brilliance.  I was raised with:

"I wouldn't Lie to you, Unless it would HELP me."  ,,,,, No explanation necessary!

So, Jessica and I were best buds for the next 3+ hours.  Now I shall insert a photo to show you what she was able to accomplish.  This is me 4 hours after arriving.  I can tell you it was far worse before.

So my Angel, gently scrubbed and massaged and tended to me.  But most of all, She so soothed and comforted my spirit.  I never want to get into an accident again (and I never want you to either) but if you or I or we do, I pray to God it's in Palm Springs.  So here's the next 3 hours in a nutshell...

I had my shirt cut-off (read my fucking nipples were rock hard from that) and my face cleaned and then Scott took me for my first 2 CT scans.  I purred, I hope I was supposed to.  Then poor Jim tired to check me in.  I felt sorry for him.  He was the ping-pong ball.  Then Jessica told me about the double GSW.  (I hope you all know this is a Gun Shot Wound.  If not, you fail Law and Order class.)  That was interesting.  Then I went back with Frank for a Face CT to make sure of no facial fractures.  (And they know I'm uninsured.  But Jessica tells me they are more interested in ME than insurance.  And I believe her.  And I still do.  I only work to afford the things I want.  And I want a pretty face and NO fractures.)

Finally without the other mundane reporting, I tell Jess that my neck hurts and I beg her to remove the neck brace.  But we have to wait for Dr. B.  They finally get the OK from Dr B and they set me free sorta. 

ASIDE #2.  I tell Jessica not long after arriving that they should skip the hard stuff, I'm uninsured.  And that I'm SOOOOOO sure I will be doing the Half Marathon on Sunday.  (Seems I might be a boy after all.  hafuckingha)  She gently strokes my arm and says "Honey I don't think you will be walking further than the toilet and probably not so happy about that.  My Angel was right.  5 days later and I still hurt like hell and I ain't doing much.  I need to do more, but that's for the weekend.  My wounds hurts so little.  My bones and muscles ache like hell.  But I must remove myself from Percocet.  I only have two more. 

IRONY TIME:  I never leave home without money.  (Sometimes the AE, but Cash is King for any Queen.)  I had $65 in cash, my ID and my iPhone in a pouch under the seat of my bike.)  Remember the officer (Honey, Ms Kennedy) took it with her.  So when Angel asked me if I want to call someone I said, "Yes, but I don't have my phone.)

Short and long, I leave 2 separate messages for Cola.  And since he didn't pick up on the second call, I worry if he's in the hospital too.  Finally Sister Jetson, brings me in 2 small containers of Apple Juice and a Turkey Sandwich.  (This is where I fucking HATE bringing of British descent.)  I gingerly open one of the Apple Juices and am ashamed I drink half of the container.  And I do mean embarrassed.  What do I have to offer?  Some wonder what it's like be white and of European descent?  That's it.  Fucking embarrassed that I drank MORE than 2 ounces.  And I can't afford that.  I have NO money, no phone and NOW I realize I wasn't even capable of walking back to the hotel even if I had wanted to.  (I assure you that this is better being a BLOG and not a VLOG.  I cry pretty-ly, but prefer you not to see.)

So the animal kicks in....That half a container of Apple Juice was manna from heaven.  I finished the container and eager tore into the second one and drained it dry.  The sandwich was 2 fold.  50/50.  I was embarrassed to eat it, but also my mouth was nearly shut because of dried blood.  So eating was very difficult.  I took it knowing they would never give it to another patient.  But I never ate it.  And yes, I fucking felt guilty.  But it was too late, I'd already taken it with me.

This is where I will end Part 3.  There is a Part 4 (and maybe 5 now), but those will have to wait for tomorrow or Saturday.  (I will lay odds on tomorrow. I need this.)

Thanks for riding.  And I do love you!  (Conditionally. See I am British.  haha)


That's The Way It (Read I) Went Down - Part 2


So, yes I've been praying for a good blow job.  One that might just blow my socks off.  But obviously I wasn't "clear" enough.  I got a BIG blow job, but that wind-bag nearly knocked my block off, not my socks.

Part 3 To Follow

Advisory: Part 3 will have graphic "tough" pictures.

That's The Way It (Read I) Went Down - Part 1

I have been looking for a reason to pick up on my blogging and this past weekend presented me with the perfect Foil: ME.  (BTW, the names have been changed so I can torture the innocent in private.)

COLA and I planned a weekend in Palm Springs so that he and Sporty Spice (that's me) could complete a "Brick" weekend.  Cola would ride in a 55 mile bike ride on Saturday while I was signed up to do a 25 miler.  We were both scheduled to do a Half Marathon on Sunday.  This was to be my 17th Half. 

The 122 mile drive out to PS from Sherman Oaks takes about 2 to 2.5 hours.  But not last Friday.  No, four solid hours of unrelenting traffic greeted us with an ugly slap in the face.  We arrived just in time to secure our wristbands for the Saturday morning bike ride.  On the trip out I had already determined to shorten my ride.  (Exactly how short was to be determined later.)  So we deposited our bikes and gear and headed over to The Alibi to meet Yellow Hat and Technicolor. 

The quartet of us had a most delicious dinner and wonderful drinks.  Afterwards we sauntered down to Streetbar and then onto Hunters searching for a good "Old Fashioned".  None were as good as The Alibi, but there is only so much night and so much time to try bad drinks before giving up.  And with the long car ride out and the long bike ride ahead of us, Cola and I decided to retire to prepare for Saturday. 

So then Saturday arrived.  (It typically does arrive after Friday, and this week was no different.)  Cola got up earlier than I, and left for his ride.  I finally got up, got ready and took a picture of "before" the helmet, and ambled down to the start line.

This is Sporty Spice pre-helmet and pre-bike ride.  (For the record I work black shorts, a charcoal tee shirt, red wrap-around sport sunglasses and a white on white helmet.  My first ever bike helmet.  I HATE helmets.)

The start line was a-buzz with loads of riders.  There were 100, 55, 25, 10 and 5 mile bike rides scheduled.  I arrived in time to do the 25 but was no more inclined on Saturday than I was on Friday.  So I let the multitude of 25-ers pass as I patiently waited for the 10.  And finally our time came.  We gathered towards the start line; and inch by inch, we finally made it out onto the road.  (That long unforgiving and cruel road.)

We started by going north for a Indian Canyon.  The headwinds were fierce.  It was like pulling a tailor full of bricks behind me.  Finally we turned east on Vista Chino.  We had gone a little more than one mile.  And no more headwinds.  Yay! I was onto smooth sailing.  Or so I thought.  However, my headwinds were wing-winds.  And guess who wasn't prepared for wing-winds?  ME.  So long and short of it is, I kissed the pavement.  And kissed it Hard.

I can only imagine the beauty of seeing my XL ass fly through the air (or barely skim across the handlebars), whichever the sight.  Fortunately, I have no real recollection of falling, skidding or winding up where and/or how I did. 

My first memory was of being moved ever so slightly.  I remember my neck being in a foreign object and being asked to be very still.  Occasionally, a face would appear in my blurred vision asking me questions.  I knew my name.  I knew my birth date.  (Hopefully, as I hone in on 49 these are questions I should have mastered by now.)  ha ha

My first hurdle, Q: Do you know where you are?  Answer:  No.  Not really.  Q: Any Ideas?  A: Maybe Palm Springs.  But I don't know why I think PS.  Q: You don't? A: No, and that worries me.  This leads to some whispering.  And not on my part.  In my "infinite wisdom" I asked, "Was I drinking?"  More than one face enters my vision.  We don't know, where you?  To my credit, my humor will never leave me.  I looked around at the sky and replied, "Nope, I'm sure I wasn't.  It's too bright out here.  I usually drink at Happy Hour."  Yay, my first laugh.  And with a captivated audience.

By now I do remember that I am definitely in Palm Springs and I say so.  Clearly this makes them happy, or at least a bit happier.  They ask me why?  Here I can only remember that perhaps I'm in PS for a Half Marathon, but something seems off.  They know I'm fishing.  So they ask me who I'm there with.  I remember Yellow Hat first.  But then I know he's not a runner so I scramble to think why I'm there with him and it makes no sense.  Then I remember Technicolor is there too.  But now all of this is confusing.  How in the hay did I get to PS and why am I there or here or somewhere?

The firetruck captain recognizes a southern accent, on my of course, and we strike up a conversation about both of us being from NC.  This little bit of conversation is just enough to bring me to reality, or what part of it I can grasp at the time.  I now remember that I'm in PS with Cola to do the Brick and that it's Saturday and I'm now Not on my bike.  I still don't know exactly where I am but I do realize that all of these people are caring for me.  Now I see a police woman in my vision who tells me she's written a report and that she's taking my bike and that I will go with the EMS.  To which I reply "Thanks Honey."  As soon as I say it I realize that I've just called her Honey but no one else.  So I call to her and apologize.  She isn't offended. 

Now the real reality sinks in.  I am one of the 38 - 100 million uninsured Americans.  I don't waste any time confessing to such and letting them know they can just leave me where I am.  "Clean me up and leave me right here.  I am make it home."  (Oh the stupidity, I mean humanity!)  I get another nice, but nervous, round of laughter.  I am assured I WILL be accompanying the nice uniformed men.  (YUM.)  And about this time, I decided I should make my play.  I was very serious when I informed all who "needed" to know that "fortunately I'm single if anyone needs to know."  And further assured them that I usually looked a lot better.  To this they let me know they had so noted my chart.  (I don't think I was their type.  Probably too sporty!)

The EMTs rolled me back and forth on the ground to get a backboard under me.  Then they prepare to hoist me onto a gurney.  At this point I asked how many are they, and they replied "2."  I asked if they didn't want help getting all this beauty off the ground.  They assured me they could do it.  I "feebly and coyly" asked them not to drop me back on the ground. I'd seen enough of it for one day.  They laugh and hoist me onto the gurney and then into the "Meat Wagon."  (I have loved this term since I was a child and NOW I was the meat in the wagon.  Yay meat!)

They put me in and asked how I am.  And if I was beginning to remember more.  I express my thankfulness for being able to remember some things more and not being able to remember the more painful things.  I also share how frightening it is to awake and have no real memory.  They assure me this is normal with accidents.  And they gently convey that I was in a "bad accident" so it was only natural.  I told them it made me feel as if I had died.  And that was very scary for me.  Once strapped in and plied with oxygen which I sorted liked, A LOT, we start for the Hospital.  And enough oxygen cures the nerves or at least helps.

I asked them to turn on the lights and siren.  They told me they didn't want to scare people.  I then asked if seeing a Two Hundred and PLENTY pound man lying on the street covered in blood hadn't scared the other riders I doubted the siren would.  (But I guess the siren costs extra and the uninsured don't get all the perks, so no siren.)  But boy did I like the Oxygen.  Just before we arrived at the hospital I saw a sign on my tray that said


And I can assure you a tear was shed.  It seems I sorta like living....
Part 2 to follow!