I seem to have picked up an influx of “yeah” men lately. These are the types of men who give nothing to the fantasy AT ALL - not in the beginning (which I don’t mind) or in the middle (which gives me at least some sort of hope) or at the end (which helps me understand if they had a good time at least!). It is … with out a doubt… the most frustrating thing ever, and after 2 years I have finally reached my breaking point. *sigh*

I think if you are reading this blog, you are one of my callers who knows me fairly well. Yeah - we can debate the word “know” and how well do you really know me, etc. etc. but I’m using “know” in a general sense of the word. You may not “know” me in the bibical sense of the word, but you know my little quirks and pet peeves, and you know what gets me off, and what kinds of books I enjoy reading. In the familiar sense of the word “know” you “know” me. What is the one thing I just can not for the life of me tolerate? Besides spiders? (taps fingers against the desk waiting for the right answer…) EXACTLY! I hate SILENCE during phone calls. There are a few exceptions to the rules - and you all know who you are - but for the most part if you are able to have and hold a conversation with me, you best open up your mouth and communicate. It’s not that I think you’re working for me and that I don’t know my place in the phone sex workforce fantasy or anything - I just really need input/feedback/direction so that I know where I’m going and if I’m going in the right direction and if I’m even in the right state! If you let me know what is going on in the beginning of the call - and gently (and quietly if need be) give me a few destinations, I’ll be fine. Honest. I have a really great imagination. I can create things so elaborate that I surprise myself sometimes. I admit that at times I really am horny, too, so I prefer to create fantasies that we both can share and get off on. I just figure it’s better that way. But this weekend I had about 3 callers who really said nothing for the entire length of the call. I literally had to speak to myself for 20 minutes of one call, forcing questions onto the participant (laughing at the word by the way because he wasn’t one!) and going no where quick. I finally just put my head back and moaned for the last 5 minutes praying to the phone sex princess that the call be over. I know this is not the type of thing one wants to read on Monday. I’m probably sinking quickly with my less than popular post on Sarah Palin (Pallin?) and now this one reminding you all of the ills of my “job” - but I had to do it. Because after this I will no longer mention it. Right now it is written forever in CeCe’s Kingdom that silent callers will be dismissed of unless prior arrangements have been made. PLEASE NOTE THAT IF I HAVE BEEN TALKING TO YOU FOR THE PAST YEAR OR TWO AND YOU WOULD CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE OF THE SILENT NATURE - THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU! If I have spoken to you for the past year - months - 2 years - somethin like that, don’t even worry. We “work” together if you’re silent or don’t talk a lot. Usually this means that you’ve written to me before hand and explained your fantasy to me, your situation or whatever, and we have worked it out. Please don’t get all sensitive on me and think that I mean you in this post. I do not! The people that need to read this probably aren’t anywhere near my journal. Which renders this post pointless. But I will continue and say that I am going to start blocking silent callers who give nothing to the fantasy/experience. I’m not the flirt for you. I will physically come through the phone and shake you awake, and I’m not violent. Often. You gotta say somethin to play with me, boys. If you’re not into talking - then please take a look around my site and click on the “custom recording” section. That is what you’ll want. A custom recording. That way you can sit and be silent and not irritate me. I gotta do something so I don’t go insane. “So… what do you get into?” “anything.” “Um - so what were you wanting to speak about tonight - what gets you off?” “Oral sex”. “Oh! Great. Well… let’s do a role play then! Maybe I should be the next door neighbor or something and I can come over because I want to use your pool and…” (silence) “How does that sound…? ” Silence…then a faint “ok.” “Alright then. Um - I’m going to knock on your door now… do you want me to just tell you the story or do you want to play along?” Silence. “Hello?” Silence. “Hello?!” “Yeah?” “Hon - are you not in a place where you can talk?” Silence.

You get the picture.

Speaking of custom recordings … I’m going to be doing one later today (I keep postponing it, hon…sorry!)for a new client of mine. I am so excited. I know that you all can’t speak to me as often as you’d like with things being the way they are in the world…so I’d like to offer the recordings as a gentle weaning of sorts. You can have me in your ear whenever you’d like for a fraction of the price. If you have something specific JUST for you - then custom is what you want. The price will be a bit more - but we can discuss it and come to an agreement. If it’s something general then I can create the recording and set it up on my website where others might enjoy it too. You’ll pay a bit less than you would for a custom - but you’ll still have something that will excite you and tide you over for the twice a month call allowance you’ve put yourself on. *wink*. For those of you who miss me due to my schedule change, this may also be an option for you. You can find the form to fill out by clicking on the “recording” button above in the menu. And for the love of all that is good and holy, if you really are not a great communicator on the phone and can not bring yourself to write a note to me and explain your fantasy to me - or a list of things you’d like me to say/do to help YOU get off, then you may want to consider putting in a request for a custom recording. I promise you I will not be driving you crazy by asking you if you like something - or if you are still there - or to speak or anything like that in the recording. I pretty much know I’ll be speaking to myself and I can sit back and weave myself into a great little fantasy for you. I will enjoy myself - and won’t have to block you for being difficult and driving me to drink. Deal?

This is CeCe - and I approve this message.

And opinions have assholes. Oh, fine, Opinions ARE LIKE assholes. It just sounded better the way I put it, didn’t it?

Translation: Please don’t call me up and ask me jack shit about politics, religion, or money. I guess those are the smoking guns of conversations. There are a few exceptions to the rule, and I’m embarrassed to state one of the reasons, but for the sake of a post - let me just put it all out on the line. The exceptions are this:

1. If you really want to hear about my opinion on any of the aforementioned topics, please go ahead and ask me. It’s your dime. We can talk about abortion, the pope, ANDDDD McCain’s new running mate all nite for $1.87/minute. No problemo.
2. If you know me like the back of your hand, work for a certain politicians campaign (looks at RockStarBadAss and wonders how he’s doing…you have your work cut out for you, sweets. Make ‘mama’ proud!!) and want to dish about certain speeches, commercials and the like, then we can talk because we’re not going to argue. We can talk about abortion, the pope, ANNNNNNDDD McCain’s new running mate (who just looks like a woman who would have kinky F’n sex with her hubby, don’t she? That little Miriam Librarian Act doesn’t fool me for one minute! God Bless her kinky schoolmarm ass) all nite for, once again, $1.87/minute. No problemo. Hey, even I like to talk to people who think the same way I do, therefore making me feel that much better for my opinions. Sure, it’s nice to hear differing opinions but only so you can laugh hysterically at how absolutely fucked up “they” are for thinking the way “they” do, right!?

Any Questions? Good. Next topic of conversation.

I absolutely LOVE my English class. I love love love love it! I’m so jazzed with my teacher and I’m even happier that he has us keeping a journal for the class. Part of our grade will depend on our journal entries. Disappointingly I am unable to use these diary entries as that type of homework. I can’t even think of having him call up this line and doing a fantasy with him. How funny is that? Reminds me of another “brain” crush I had with someone a while ago (my very first ever brain crush, actually) and I felt the same way about him. There are those crushes that just make you kinda creeped out when you think of having sex with them. I don’t know how to explain it. I just wanna fuck his mind, I have no desire to fuck him like intercourse fuck him. Eeew. I’m pretty sure he’s gay anyway. I couldn’t even think to watching him fuck anyone else - it’s like our relationship has become sacred in less than 24 hours and I won’t allow even my kinky mind to soil it. *shrugs* I never said I was easy to understand. So anyway, as I was saying, my brain crush assigns writing exercises. He calls them “Free Writes” (nudge nudge Frisco!) and gives us 10 minutes to do them. Today I wrote about Pet Peeves. I wasn’t planning on sharing it - but I’m going to. So you know how my mind works and you will learn to revere it. Haha. Seriously kidding. You may run and hide. Or you’ll be highly entertained which is much more likely.

Keep in mind that these little exercises don’t really “care” about punctuation, spelling, or anything like that. So I am going to try to duplicate the writing exercise the way it is written in my journal. Here it goes:

I have several pet peeves. A lot of them. and honestly I do have A.D.D., so having a lot of choices really freaks me out. Freaks me out in that I don’t know what to focus on and so my mind just spins around and around out of control (where it stops? nobody knows). But I’m on medication so let me just focus for a moment. Ok. Pet peeve #1: I absolutely hate the fact that my family can not pick up after themselves. Ever. They leave all kinds of stuff laying (learned the proper use of that word today!) around. I can tell exactly how it happens, too:

They got up in the morning - probably late. They made toast - left the bread bag open. Put butter on the toast - left the butter out. Thought to themselves that Jam must sound good - dipped the knife into the jam haphazardly, spread it on their toast - oh, opps, some of it got on the counter - oh wait, I’ll make some eggs. I want some milk. I’m so late. And two hours later when I emerge from my haven of sleep and perfect order, BAMMMM!!! Their shit hits me in the face.

For next week I need to write another exercise. I’ll let you know how that goes and I may post it. I may not. This could get pretty intimate. Much more intimate than knowing who I plan on voting for and how I feel about gun control, Iraq, or even abortion. ‘Cause um - while all these things always mean so much at the time, they seriously aren’t as important to me as just what type of person you are and how you treat the people you love and how you demonstrate that you care about them. Fuck a “Party” - who are you? Seriously, who ARE you? Oh, and do you pick up after yourself. I could love anyone as long as they just pick up after themselves.

I’ll post my schedule some time this weekend. I’ll be up tonight for about 3 more hours hopefully. On Saturday I will be logged in during the late afternoon and again in the evening. Sunday we’ll play it by ear. Monday … um … haven’t thought ahead that far. I’ll keep you posted. Okay?

Talk soon.

I have so much to write about and nothing wants to come out. Or I won’t let it come out. Or something. I don’t know.

I feel that if I write anything right now it will truly be on some cryptic level, and there is nothing wrong with cryptic except everyone will wonder what exactly I’m talking about and it will seem like some juvenile cry for attention. Girls know what I am referring to. It’s that completely aggravating way some girls have of showing you they are distraught - the tears and sniffles and catches in their voice, but when you ask them what is wrong they look at you sideways and say so unconvincingly, “Nothing…” God - I wanna slap girls like that. Hard. I have no desire to be one of those cryptic losers - and yet I have nothing else inside of me that is fighting to get out right now except for that. And I can’t write a letter about it. I’ve done that. I can’t even vent to people about it because the people who I can vent to have already told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would be best to just let this all go and be happy.

And I am happy, by the way. Really happy. I have started school again, I am still smoke-free, I am so incredibly healthy and full of energy because of my pact to walk 10K miles every day (and yup - I did it! I actually averaged 11K steps last week. Go me!) and eat healthy, balanced, non processed meals. It’s a wonder how much better I feel after having started this new way of living. I also have been reading quite a few books about being present and living in the now which is a fancy way of saying don’t have regrets. All in all my life is going pretty damn good. I could complain, but what would be the point? Not to mention, I’m learning this year that nothing is perfect. You can never have a day that doesn’t hold some challenges - and life is all about how you deal with those challenges, those things that come up unexpectedly that threaten to steer you off course.

But I have a twinge of unhappiness. A lot of disappointment, actually. And I’m trying my best to figure out how to deal appropriately with it. I want to give myself permission to feel it, but I don’t want it to turn into bitterness and hatred as those things surprisingly do nothing to the person who you’re disappointed in - and do everything negative to you: tearing your insides up, keeping you up at night, giving you something to worry about, etc.

So that’s where I’m at on a personal level. Just thought I’d share.

In other news, Happy Birthday to Chris! I checked your comment to me and then looked back at my feedback and sure enough, there you were celebrating your birthday with me even back then. I’m happy to be one of your traditions. Have a very very happy birthday and good luck with that other thing that we were talking about. I’m sure you will have a lovely time (or else she’s a fool!)

I’m going to close up shop and head off to bed to write a bit of my story for writing group tomorrow. I will be on late tomorrow evening, but will do my best to log in a little bit before I leave for class. I have a lot of things to squeeze in before I leave for group, and it’s just nearing 3:00AM here now. Forgive me if I can’t log on any earlier than 11:30PM (or so). I’ll post a bit more about my schedule this weekend later today. Stay tuned.

Talk soon!

I have a very good friend - best really - who I occasionally live vicariously through. She has that type of life I always envisioned myself having in a few years: the hubby, the kids, a nice home in NYC, and every Christmas a tree that Martha Stewart would envy. A lot older and wiser than I am, she often gives me tidbits of advise that I gobble up like… I dunno … Skittles that have been sitting in your hand a little too long and have become soft and just a tad bit warm. Shit… that sounds kinda good.

Anyways - my friend, who I shall not name but anyone who knows me knows whom I am speaking, calls me up one day and is way upset. When she gets excited/mad her voice always raises up 2 more octaves and she sounds even more like Minnie Mouse with a ‘tude from the Bronx. It’s adorable.

“CeCe! He’s doing it again!”

“huh?” I ask - immediately turning down the volume on my phone to compensate for the volume of my friend. I turn it down to 5 and then after a moment turn it down to a two. It’s definitely sounding like a two volume conversation.

“He’s humping his pillow.”

“Ok - well … I guess these things happen.” I tell her in my most authorative voice. I remember reading something in Human Sexuality Class about masturbation in children - but not sure exactly what I read. Was it bad? Normal? A sign of something to come? (no pun intended)

“He’s doing it in the open in front of everyone.”

“Well… ok. Well that’s not so good then.” I say delicately while holding back my laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

Busted. “Ok - well - maybe you should just tell him to go into his room and do it.” I have no idea what the hell I’m talking about really. But I know my friend and she is upset. She probably said some things to her son that will forever scar him and I’m trying my best to do intervention with out sounding like I’m a know-it-all because I know nothing at this point. I’m not a Mom. Or I wasn’t then.

“I fuckin’ told him to stop fuckin his pillow!” My friend exploded. “His sister started laughing at him and told him he was gross.”

“But…” I interrupted passionately “He’ll get a damn complex! Do you want him calling up those lines and talking to a Mistress who will make fun of his thingee because that’s the only way he will be able to get off and it will all be because you made him feel ashamed of what is just natural?”

“Shut up, Ce!”

I could hear her softening on the other end and I continued carefully, “Masturbation is natural and it relieves stress! He just needs to do it in a more appropriate place. Can’t his daddy talk to him about it?”

“Shiiiiit” My friend sighed. It was a defeated “shit” though. Her anger was subsiding. “Maybe I should take his pillow away from him.” She considered.

“He’ll just find something else - and then he’ll learn to hide it and be ashamed of what he is doing instead of understanding there isn’t anything wrong with masturbating - he just needs to find a private place to do it because not everyone wants to see that kind of thing or somethin’.”

I was sounding more and more like a child therapist as the conversation went on. My friend must have thought so too - because she told me she would consider my advise and try harder to not freak out when her little boy was masturbating against various stuffed things in the house.

Before I took away Jackson’s manhood he was providing me with a certain sick sort of entertainment. He would take various stuffed animals - attack them - grabbing bits of their soft furry flesh in his teeth and shake the victim back and forth while making growling noises. Once he was sure they were …um … tamed (?) he would mount various parts of their bodies and go to work. Remembering my earlier conversations with my friend I decided to casually move the stuffed animal ala Jackson to a secluded part of the living room and go about my business. He would eventually stop and move on to other activities. I spoke casually about it to the Vet, relieved that he wasn’t humping people’s legs or other dogs in the doggy park (such things carry a serious stigmatization that aren’t easily discarded!) The vet insisted that once Jackson had the operation
he wouldn’t feel the need to do that often/ever. I had hope. At 6 months Jackson had the surgery and after he stopped glaring at me and his stitches healed he was back to doing the humpy dumpy. He had his favorite mates; The Zebra - an old child hood friend he hung out with, a toy bunny that he also had since he was 8 weeks old. Not “had” in that sense. Then there was the huge stuffed dog that I bought because I thought it would be cute if my little tiny doggy cuddled with a stuffed animal 5 times his size. Jackson prefers humping one of his legs and basically doesn’t even do the post-coital thing with the dog. He’s a love em fuck em and leave em kinda dog - what can I say?

I dealt with Jackson’s horniness because it was well contained inside of the home. No one knew that behind his little furry face that housed the sweetest, loving eyes and mischievous grin, he actually was Ron Jeremy to the stuffed animals in the house. I swear I fond a few of them hiding, fearing the way he casually tossed the others to the side after he had had their way with them.

A few weeks ago something happened - something BIG - and I realized that something had to change. I had a big decision to make. Only I could make it for him. I was the adult, the Mommy - and I had to really take my role in Jackson’s life seriously or he would harm himself.

Jackson’s penis got stuck.

All I remember is that he was having his special time with Ms. Zebra and um … he stopped - sated - and went about his business. I don’t look down there all that often because it’s his privates you know? And he gets shy sometimes. But I did happen to notice that there was something there that was kinda stuck. It usually goes back after a few licks or whatever (sorry - it’s natural!) and so I didn’t really worry about it. *sigh* This is a NF friendly blog - so please read that last sentence as it was intended: JACKSON licks himself and it goes back. Thanks. As I was saying… I wasn’t worried. But the next day I saw that it was still kinda peeking out as if to say “Hi - where’s the Zebra bitch - I’m ready for round 2 DAWG!!!” I quelled my fears and went about my business. I took Jackson for a walk where we ran across (of course) the adoring public who immediately wanted to pet my dog until he rolled onto his back displaying for the whole world to see his little Jackson. “Hi…” it said. “Where’s my Zebra bitch?” Embarrassed and shamed I quickly escorted Jackson back home and headed towards Google.

“My Dog’s Penis is stuck - what do I do?” Come on. What did you think I typed in there?

Minutes later I knew what I needed to do. I had to wade through ALOT of advise too. Butter, Neosporin, to massage or not massage?, until I finally stumbled upon the one thing I knew I could do. I had to ice my dog’s um “balls”. Carrying Jackson to the kitchen I opened up the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. Grabbing some paper towel I placed the ice cubes in it and turned Jackson onto his back, cradling him in my arms. His tongue escaped to give me a quick kiss.

“You’re not going to wanna kiss me after this…” I muttered and gently applied the ice.

Jackson’s expression shifted from curiosity to absolute disgust. “I don’t have any balls, stupid.” I heard him say. So I shifted the ice cubes up a bit to the base of his …”Oh - you’re the meanest mommy alive!” his eyes screamed at me and he started to squirm and close his legs at the same time.

“You need to stop humpin the dry ass animals!” I told Jackson.

“Um - I make do with what I have you cruel heartless woman!” He replied.

Looking past the Brawny that was now mush I saw that Jackson’s thingee was still out saying hello to the world. Considering butter for a brief moment (didn’t know where the damn Neosporin was!) I set Jackson down on the floor to consider my other options. I could call the Vet in the morning and HE could put that thing back in. I could try to push it back in…eeeew. No. I could … ‘Damn’ I interrupted my own thoughts, ‘I can’t believe I fuckin was icing my dog’s dick!’ Ok - so - the vet. I’ll bring Jack to the vet!

“Jackson!” I screamed suddenly. “Don’t lick it it will NEVER GO BACK IN!” I Rushed to Jackson to pick him up and interrupt his masturbatory experience - but as I got closer I noticed… The thingee was back in. My nightmare was over. My baby was going to live another day! And most importantly - I didn’t have to take him in to the vet to get his penis put back in.

The very next day I knew what I needed to do. I picked up all his “girlfriends” threw them into the washing machine on delicate and put a bit of wool light in there to make things all nice and soft. Once they were all washed I placed them all on the picnic table in the backyard to dry. I was planning on packing them up after they were nice and dry and giving them to Jackson on “special” occasions. I figured he could have a date night and he could go at it for a bit and I would then pick up the girls and put them away until next time. *sigh* Once the girls were on the picnic table though, Jackson wouldn’t leave me alone. He would go to the table - look up at the nice pieces of ass that were laid out there - and cry, whine, claw at the table legs and attempt to jump up to get them. After hours of this I finally relented and gave him his pieces of ass warning him to not get anything stuck - I still hadn’t found the Neosporin and I wasn’t in the mood to ice his nether regions again. He ignored me and went to work. Luckily nothing got stuck. I kept an eye on things.

So my big decision still is upon me. Do I take away Jackson’s … um … girlfriends again? Do I take away the only thing that brings him pleasure? Do I rob him of his sexuality just as I robbed him of his balls? Shouldn’t a little white Doggy have a little bit of boom boom if he wants it? Who is he hurting? The zebra really isn’t complaining. But if I let him continue to hump dry ass stuffed animals, his penis may very well get stuck again. He’s sort of asking for it by not using any lubrication, don’t you think?

I haven’t made up my mind…and I’m open to suggestions. I really am. A parent needs to do what is in the best interest of their child, you know. I’m suppose to protect him from the harsh realities of life - which I assume means stuck penis’.

My momma definitely didn’t tell me there would be days like this!

I watched the race the other day … horse race. I normally don’t watch but my family was talking about the possibility of history being made so I succumbed to the pressure and tuned in. The first thing I noticed was how absolutely gorgeous these horses were. The way they ran down the stretch - so close to one another and looking absolutely magnificent … wow. The second thing I noticed was how absolutely horribly Big Brown ran. As I was nursing my disappointment that evening, a friend of mine gently pushed my face towards the light. This horse had been abused, some would say, with drug injections, rigorous training, and will probably be put to stud and then who knows what else. His owners definitely don’t have his best interest in mind - but according to several articles I’ve been reading since then, his jockey DEFINITELY did. I’m not sure I’ll be watching many more horse races…and I so enjoyed the whole “Blue Velvet” movie I finally watched a few months ago.

This disappointment though - didn’t devastate me as much as the big disappointment a few days earlier.

Ok - so most of you probably did not hear but - I belong to a dance studio that had the absolute most amazing opportunity to work with a Choreographer from the hit television reality show (emphasis on REALITY) SYTYCD. Knowing that many of my readers probably have no desire to watch that show… or maybe some of you do (wiggles eyebrows up and down) … I will key you in on the big time disappointment I had this week: The show is absolutely not even realistic in regards to dancers. It is absolutely not the REAL deal and it does not bring honor or class to reality television. It is pretty much like American Idol. Paula, Randy and Simon suddenly become the only vehicle one can take in order to achieve stardom. Using this same fricken narcissistic attitude - Nigel, Mia, Hyena Mary Murphy, Debbie Allen, et al. are driving the only vehicle one can take in order to become true dancers. And I “know” one of those teachers - and actually looked up to her and felt her (sigh) God like in a way. To hear the amount of shit come out of her mouth tore me apart. I’m really not being dramatic here. It was not enjoyable at all.

So let’s just end there with my examples and get to the point: It appears that I have a sort of problem here. I have really high expectations - not for people mostly… though if I’m hurt I can definitely take my disappointment to a black/white/live/die sort of place… but I have high expectations for things/people that I am very excited about.

A while ago I heard some news that Julie Andrews was an absolute bitch to work for. I know - I don’t believe it either. But let’s just say it was true - and I happened to find out about it because I was hired through some great turn of luck to be her maid or something… (I’m serious - I would scrub Julie Andrews toilet and be happy about it… and not for the “against Niteflirt TOS” kind of reason). If I found out by working for J.A. that she was indeed a royal bitch I would be crushed. I’m not being dramatic. I would want to die. All this time I have thought of her as Maria Von Trapp - and wanted very badly for her to be my governess. I would not handle it well if I found out she was a bitch. Not well at all.

Oh - another example!! Oprah Winfrey. I really use to like that woman. She had (I thought) really great books - and I really enjoyed her mind. I didn’t have a brain crush on her really (I currently have one on Marilyn Milan from People’s Court… I really wish she was my mom. Don’t tell my mom I said that - but she just seems like she’d be way cool and we’d have a blast looking at boys and getting our nails done and shopping and stuff…) but I really did admire her. A lot. And lately she is just …becoming human, I suppose. Though I would like to really fight that by stating she is really quite self centered and doesn’t appear to be half as generous and selfless as she would like us to believe she is. Not that my opinion of her is going to really matter to her or not - but just trying to illustrate my issues with “hero worship” - I think that is what it is. I build things up - and people up so high that they have no choice but to fail miserably.

Now - I don’t do this with everyone - I don’t think it matters much if the person is a close friend of mine … or if the person is just an acquaintance. I think what matters is that I somehow have assigned this person/friend/event some huge expectation and sometimes they/it lives up to it - but more often - the reality of the moment/situation/person is never quite as good as my imagination/expectation created it to be.

I notice when people have some unrealistic feeling about me - but I’m not so good about letting go of my unrealistic attitude/feelings, you know?

Truth is - we’re all trying to figure this stuff out. Some of us get way in deep right away …. maybe drive the rest of you all crazy because we “think too much” or whatever. Maybe some of “you” drive “us” crazy by not ever really taking things as seriously as we would like - or not seeing the “bigger” picture or ruminating on things the way some of us live our lives doing. But the point is (yeah, I have one) we all are trying to figure it out in our own little ways. We all should be so lucky to have someone patient and understanding next to us. I know I have several people who can most definitely do that for me. I really really hope that I can start doing that for someone else.

For now - to whom it may apply: accept my apology. I expected it to be great - and became disappointed with “good”.

Oh - and to my “goods” - thank you so so so much for the gifts, notes, and emails. Thanks Mr.T for the gift certificate. you lifted up my spirits a hundred-fold.