Murphy-Goode update. Take Two.

WHEW.

*Wipes brow*

*Tilts glass*

My 30-minute Murphy-Goode interview ended about a half hour ago and I'm hoping my answers were intelligent and personable enough to get me into the Top 50.

If I make the Top 50, I'll be asked to write a 500 word essay on why I'm the best candidate for the position. I've already started thinking on this as I need to come up with something more substantial than "because I said so."

...even though I can say it commandingly and arch my left brow menacingly.

After the essays are graded for their WOW factor, the pool of candidates will be whittled down to just 10 social networking hopefuls.

The Top 10 will pack their bags and head to sunny California for a three-day interview process in mid-July.

SIGN ME UP!

I'm going to pack my bags tonight. Power of positive thinking, people.

The Top 10 will also undergo background checks and a drug test.

Lemme ask you something about background checks...say, when you were five, you accidentally stole a pack of gum. You knew it was wrong, but you knew telling your parents wouldn't end well. And by not end well, I mean it would end in certain death. Think that would surface? Sure would be bad timing just as the most perfect job EVER was within grasp.

So, that's the scoop. Now we wait and see.

And vote. I still need votes as more videos are being uploaded every day. Ya'll helped my video gain momentum and I'd hate to lose footing now! If you know of folks who haven't voted yet, please ask them to support me in my quest to chase down this dream job!

You guys have no idea how special you've made me feel today. So many of you checked in, sent emails, Facebooked, Twittered, called - all wanting to know if I was ready for my interview and then later, how it went.

Each one of those messages helped quell my nerves and made me grateful to have such amazing people in my life.

You guys rock and I know, without a doubt, I wouldn't have gotten this far without your support.

Big love, guys. Really. HUGE LOVE.

H

Murphy-Goode Update

It's 2:40pm and no call yet.

They said they'd call anytime between 2-4 Eastern time.

Thank you for all the good luck wishes, emails and notes! You guys are the BEST!

I promise to update ya'll as soon as I can!

Bottoms up :)

A Weed, Or Not a Weed

This is growing in our backyard.

I think it's pretty. Apes thinks it's a weed.

Who is right? Any of ya'll know?

I figure I can still be right if it's a "pretty weed..."

Dreams and Clouds.

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."
- Eleanor Roosevelt

I've always loved that quote, but today it means more to me than simply what it implies.

Today, it also symbolizes friendship, giving and thoughtfulness - for it's the very quote that Ang, one of my long-term blog readers, included on a canvas she painted for me.

Prior to the painting's delivery this past Saturday, Ang hinted she was working on something for me - but wouldn't give details. She simply asked my favorite color and then clammed up. Her ability to keep the painting a secret had, I'm sure, everything to do with the fact she lives in a different state and wasn't subjected to my pouty face. It's wicked good at extracting information.

I noticed the large package on our doorstep almost immediately as we pulled into the driveway.

"Are you expecting anything?" I asked Apes.

"No, I don't think so," she said, preoccupied by the fact I was out of the car before she put it in park.

I took the front steps two at a time and as soon as I saw the return address, I knew what it was.

Well, I didn't know WHAT it was, but I knew who it was FROM and that it would have special meaning to me.

Apes and my best friend Jenni crowded around me as I began cutting the tape and explaining who the package was from.

The moment I laid my eyes upon the canvas, I was moved to tears.

The level of personalization touched me so deeply that it took a few moments to find my voice.





Apes, Jenni and I grinned as we read each cloud, marveling at how spot on Ang (and her partner, April, who helped) was re: all the buzz words that define our life together.

Stewart, Rosie, Jean Paul, Diet Coke, Aponex, Love, Dream...

The front of the canvas was special, but it was the personal note Ang wrote on the wooden frame that elevated the gift to priceless for me.

Ang, I'll keep your note to me private, but I did want to address one thing.

You wrote: "It's no Picasso, but..."

I have to tell you, it's more meaningful to me than a Picasso would ever be.

Hands up (as Apes would say).

I am so humbled by the fact you took the time to create such a meaningful gift for me.

Your painting moves me every time I look at it and your actions inspire me to give more of myself and let others around me know how much I appreciate them.

Your gift is hanging in my office, just to the left of my computer.

Thank you for it, and for being such an amazing person.

I'm damn lucky to know you.

She Crazy.

The moment I dropped my best friend, Jenni G., off at the airport, the doldrums set in.

I always MISS her, but the "missing her" is exaggerated after I get to spend a few days with her.

No one else literally CHIRPS in the morning, to release "pent up energy."

Her laughter is contagious and more often than not, her comments IN-E-PROPRIATE.

But that's what makes her so much fun.

Here's our Memorial Day Weekend, in pictures:

Here I am, minding my own business, loving up on Jean-Paul, the Poodle Pope and Rosie, the one-eyed wonder:


Jenni demanded to get in on the action.


As things often do between Jenni and I, it got physical. She tried to choke me.


When that didn't work, she tried to snap my neck.


You'll be relieved to know I'm fine. I had Apes do a "pain compliance" police move and Jenni fell into line.

Apes suggested Jenni and I learn how to play nicely together, so she took us to this mosaic mural downtown. Our friend Suzanne Moe art directed it and Apes thought it could teach us a valuable lesson.


On Memorial Day, we headed to Heidi and Teri's for a neighborhood picnic. We couldn't wait to get our hands on those babies!

Apes latched on to Kaylee immediately.




Jenni got her some Connor love while Momma Teri looked on.


Mother and Son...


Adorable. Both of 'em.


I grabbed Connor from Jenni, but she wasn't lonely for long. She found Kaylee, who got comfortable and fell asleep almost immediately. Probably something to do with Jenni's ample "pillows"....


Of course, Apes and I had to have our own "family photo" with the twins:


I gotta get me one of those things. I love them.

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday weekend! To the men and women, past and present, serving our country, you were recognized, thought of and prayed for. Thank you for your service.

Mike and Josh, we prayed for your twice. Big love.

Aponex, Meet Jenni G.

Help me.

Turns out, my best friend Jenni also suffers from her own form of Aponex.

Put Apes and Jenni TOGETHER and the weekend has been nothing short of a slaughtering of phrases.

For example:

During a restroom stop at the local grocery store, the three of us entered (separate, thank you) stalls to pee. Within seconds, someone was peeing with such force I feared for my life.

Apes was the first to comment on the, uh, forceful nature of the pee stream.

"I know, I know," said Jenni. "I pee like a race car driver."

You KNOW it's bad when APRIL corrects you.

"Isn't it race horse?"

Jenni, JUST like April, tried to defend her disease.

"Probably, but race car drivers have to hold their pee for so long, it still makes sense. Right?"

Uh huh. Right.

Next up, Apes. But this time, a blast from the past.

One of her exes, who we love dearly, texted over the weekend to share an Aponex from years and years ago.

Apparently, Apes once stated:

"If you can't stand the heat in the kitchen, turn it down."

I think I laughed for a good thirty minutes.

Of course, Apes tried to explain it away. From a therapists point of view.

"It really makes more sense. Seriously, if you just 'get out of the kitchen,' you aren't working on your issues. If you turn down the heat, you have a better chance of working it out. Right?"

Uh huh. Right.

And finally, this morning, April talked about how some parents have to learn to "cut the string" so their kids can live their own lives.

"Umbilical cord, April. Umbilical cord."

It's never dull, kids.

Never.

Apes Attack

Gotta watch your back at all times!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Photo Op

Our friend Suzanne Moe art directed the mosaic mural Jenni and I are standing in front of.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Best Friends

Isn't this what all BFFs do?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Aponex Floodgates.

Aaaaaand, we're back in business, kids!

Apparently all Apes needed was to slip up one time for Aponex to kick into high gear again.

Last night, we were watching Brad Pitt's flick, The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons.

Eh.

I'm easily amused, love film, but I gotta say, I got bored within the first 15 minutes of this one.

After 30 minutes, I was reading my book and watching.

However, near the middle of the flick, there was a scene that caught my eye.

It was pretty.

Daisy, an adult ballerina, was dancing in the moonlight, her silhouette moving through the air as if she were the wind.

"I could so do that," I said to Apes, nodding my head at the television.

She didn't bother to turn her head to look at me.

Dryly, she said:

"Yes, you could. A perfect ten. Hands up."

PS. I still REALLY need more votes for the Murphy-Goode gig! I've made steady improvement (thanks to everyone who has voted from every email address they have) - and I'm actually #17 of 130 entries!! However, hundreds of votes still separate me from the leaders! Please CLICK HERE to vote for me! Ask your friends, family and coworkers to vote. I beg you. I might even clean your toilets. I mean, if you live close.

The Return of Aponex!

I've received several comments and emails from folks begging for more Aponex.

It's not that I haven't wanted to provide...Apes wasn't giving me anything to work with.

I even accused her of purposefully refusing to utter common phrases just so she wouldn't embarrass herself by jacking them all up.

She told me to "stuff a sock in it."

"Oh, so now you're gonna get phrases RIGHT? Way to kill my blog, Apes. Thanks."

She had the audacity to look smug.

HOWEVER,

You all will be relieved to know, APONEX IS BACK!

That's right.

She couldn't hold out forever.

Last night, as we were driving 100 counties over to reach our softball field, I explained to Apes that I wanted us to get up early Friday morning so we could fit a jog in before I head to DC to pick up my best friend, Jenni.

She looked at me like I had three heads.

"Uh huh. YOU are going to get up EARLY? Is that what you just said?"

"Yep. That's what I said. We'll need to get up around 6:30am, I think. Will that give you enough time to shower and get to work after the run?"

"It'll need to be more like 6am."

I cocked my head in her direction.

"See, now YOU are speaking a whole can of crazy. You normally get up at 7am. Why do we need another whole hour?"

"No I don't! How would you know what time I get up? You're fast asleep! I get up at 6:30am every morning, I just don't wake you."

Then she said it.

Wait for it. Wait for it.

She said:

"I don't know what train YOU come from!"

Crickets.
Crickets.

"I think you mean planet, Apes."

"SHIT! Fine, planet. But you tell your blog readers my POINT is that you don't know what you're talking about. Will you at least do that?"

"Sure, Apes. Sure."

P.S. If you haven't submitted a vote for me over at the Murphy-Goode site, PLEASE help me out and "favorite me" by clicking HERE! I'm making steady progress and am nearly on the second page of "most popular videos." You can vote one time from EACH email address you have (hint hint). THANK YOU!!!!

Tidbits. And Stuff.

I'd like to introduce ya'll to my lunch.

I'm not playing with this "eat healthy thing."

I'm not.

But this post isn't about my lunch. I brought it to your attention only because I'm super proud of my culinary skills.

I even used my George Forman grill and I think we can all agree that requires a talent not everyone can claim.

You Diet Coke fans undoubtedly recognized the lone bottle cap lying on my desk. Never fear, it's been rescued and its point value entered onto the My Coke Rewards site. Breath easy.

In all honesty, there is no point to today's blog.

Random thoughts, here we go....

1) If you didn't catch GLEE last night, FIND IT, WATCH IT, LOVE IT. I'm a HUGE Jane Lynch fan and she owned the pilot episode last night. That woman could pee and I'd laugh. Seriously. (Sharon and Marcia, if you could pass that tidbit on to Jane, I'd really appreciate it. K, thanks).

2) I did one push up today. A REAL one. Knees and floor did not meet. Nor did I feel like I was having a heart attack. Progress, people. Progress. Of course, Apes does 25 REAL push ups every morning. I count 'em for her as I lie snuggling the dogs in bed.

3) Our co-ed softball season started last week and we have two games tonight. I'm gonna try and get video of Apes running/stealing bases. We don't call her "Wheels" for nuthin'! My catching skills have improved immensely. I no longer use my boobs to field balls. I've mastered using my glove. *bows.*

4) My best friend Jenni is flying in on Friday and will be spending FOUR glorious days with us. I CAN NOT WAIT! Plans include: DC museums, tubing, dinner with friends, perhaps some dancing and possibly a cookout over at Heidi and Teri's. Here's a pic of us from her last visit (crazy kids):


5) Apes just called and said she'll take care of dinner tonight. I just heard angels sing.

Last, but NOT LEAST, I owe all of you a GIANT thank you for pimping me, posting me, supporting me as I chase down the Murphy-Goode job.

I can not tell you how much I appreciate your support and encouragement. I kinda feel like Cinderella. Only, without the dress and slipper. Or the prince.

I guess what I'm saying is ya'll feel like Fairy Godmothers (and fathers).

That's what I'm saying.

If you haven't voted yet (with all your email addresses..ehem), you can do so by clicking HERE!

Big love!!

ps: I'm going to start linking to the Diet Coke site every time I mention my favorite beverage in hopes they realize I should be receiving some advertising dollars. Sheesh...

Murphy-Goode, PICK ME!

I need your help.

My fate totally rests in your hands.

I just submitted a video to Murphy-Goode, a family-owned winery located within Sonoma Country’s Alexander Valley (CA).

The family behind the winery is looking to hire a lifestyle correspondent with the ability to blog, Twitter, Facebook, Skype and use social media outlets in a way that brings Murphy-Goode to life.

It's a six-month gig, the pay is phenomenal and it has MY NAME written all over it.

Here's the video I submitted (as usual, YouTube "froze" my face in a less-than gorgeous expression):


There are more than 100 videos already submitted to the site and many of them are running away with the "fan favorites" title.

I wanna be a fan favorite!

Can you help me?

Click on this link, find my video and VOTE.

You'll need to go to your email and confirm your vote, but it's fast and easy.

Plus,

I will kiss your teeth if you do it.

If you don't want your teeth kissed, I'll host a party.

A wine party.

A Murphy-Goode wine party.

You'll get an invite.

Scout's honor.

P.S. To all my blogging pals, if you do a post and ask your readers to vote for me, I'll make April do a video blog. And I'll let her say whatever she wants to. You have no idea what I'm offering. She could totally ruin me. Expose me. But I'm willing to take that chance.

P.S.S. Lori, thanks for already pimping my video!!

A Letter.

Dear Weather,

You probably don't know who I am, so allow me to introduce myself.

I'm the girl in Virginia who is freezing her tatas off in MAY.

MAY.

It's inexcusable.

I realize you're old and have been at this weather thing a long time.

Perhaps dementia set in and you got your months confused.

January and May do fall in the same calendar year, I'll give you that.

I'll also admit I probably wouldn't be quite so pissed off if I hadn't already packed away all my winter clothes.

Forgive my lack of judgment...I thought my chances of suffering from frost bite were behind me.

Let me explain something to you, Weather.

I live in an adorable 1950's home that offers tons of character and absolutely zero closet space.

Why should you care?

Because I don't have room to hang up both my summer AND my winter clothes.

Which means I've already spent hours packing my sweatshirts and jackets into large, plastic bags. Not only did I have to pack the bags, but then I had to drag my 30 pound vacuum cleaner up the stairs so I could suction those bags to the width of a pancake so they'd fit in a t-tiny space built to hold blankets, not half my wardrobe.

You see why I'm pissed, right?

My options are freeze to death or negate all my winter wardrobe work.

Bite my ass, weather.

It's frozen solid, so I won't feel it.

Heather

PS. Pay attention, weather. Apparently I'm not the only one who has a bone to pick with you.

Also signing their names to this grievance are (so far):

FreakyDeak
Squirty
Natalie
Ang
Christina
Emily
Lilligirl
Kim
Tina
Dragon
Anna

The Truth About Biscuits

Our healthy "life style change" is really beginning to affect Apes.

We're entering week 4 of eating smaller, healthier meals and April is HUNGRY.

Sister can't stop thinking about food.

She all but attacked me last night - accused me of cheating on her with biscuits.

Biscuits.

April trusts me around other women, just not around biscuits.

I'd gotten up to let the dogs out around midnight because the poodle's high pitched wines were putting me on the fast train to crazy.

After they'd done their business, I crawled back upstairs and into bed.

"Murpmphhhhphhhh?" April said, smacking her lips.

I ignored her, given her affinity for sleep talk.

"Murpmphhhh eat? What murmphhhh?" Her eyes never opened.

I ignored her.

She slapped the bed.

Didn't open her eyes, but spat: "What did you eat?!"

"Eat? I didn't EAT anything. I took the dogs out to pee."

I flipped over, got into my favorite fetal position.

"You had to eat. I can smell it. Something's cooking. Don't lie."

"Don't LIE? I didn't cook anything! Stop talking to me while you're sleeping. Stop."

"I'm not sleeping. I can smell something cooking. Biscuits. You made and ate biscuits."

"We don't even HAVE biscuits!"

"Show me your hands."

"WHAT?"

"Hands. Let me see them."

"Your EYES aren't even open!"

She cracked a lid.

I waved my hands in front of her face.

"Psycho." I muttered, flipping back over.

"Biscuits."

Then, she was asleep. The real kind of sleep, where she doesn't talk or accuse me of being food unfaithful.

The kind of sleep I like.

For the Record

This can NEVER happen again.

Me: carrying a plate, two empty diet coke cans and a jar of peanut butter, into the kitchen while cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear after dialing April at work.

The phone rings.

Ring.
Ring.

April's voice mail picks up.

SQUISH.

Confusion.

"What the?"

I look down.

"OH HELL NO!"

Screaming. I am screaming.

April's voice mail beeps.

Oh yeah, I'm leaving a message.

"I JUST STEPPED, BARE FEET, IN RUNNY DOG POOP! OH MY GOD!!!!!! And I need to know if we're going out to dinner tonight because if not, I need to take something out of the freezer. OH MY GOD!!!!"

I emptied my hands, hung up the phone and hobbled to the bathroom where I cleaned and sanitized my feet one hundred different times.

This shit only happens to me.

Damn it.

The Corner.

On Tuesday, I drove to Richmond for a meeting.

I had ten minutes to kill and decided to observe.

Everything.

I grabbed my notepad, the Wachovia pen that's been swirling around inside my car's change compartment and I began writing down every detail I could.

I used to do this all the time in college - thanks to some advice from a writing professor. He breathed details and challenged students to pick a spot and furiously journal everything that caught our attention. Said it made for better writers.

My "spots" have included emergency rooms, theme parks, my backyard, a Habitat for Humanity build, a car repair shop and now:

Richmond, Va.

The corner of Broad Street and N. Foushee St.

.......

Life in constant motion. Homeless meet Decadence.

His dreadlocks reach his waist. His step is fast, even angry. A tattoo, of what, I can't tell, decorates his arm from elbow to wrist.

Art 6 is directly across from my car. Their sign is neon, their store is empty.

Her little-girl-arm stretches in front of her, pulled by her father who is a few steps ahead of her. He's wearing red and white checkered shorts; she's in a lime green sundress that drops just beneath her knobby knees. He's in such a hurry he's missing her. smile.

The pavement is cracked. Small lines etched into the gray road give way to jagged holes seeping black.

Only an elbow protrudes from the corner. That's all I can see, thanks to the red bricked building to my right. That elbow needs lotion.

I wonder why he limps, that man crossing the street. He favors his left leg, rocking back and forth with every ginger step. The yellow hat sits on his head backwards and I wonder how many summers it's seen. Several spots have faded to white, so my guess is many. One lone workman's glove threatens to escape from his back pocket. It sways with his cadence.

Walking with a cocky confidence, she sways her hips and ample butt. Her black jeans are painted on and secured with tan suspenders. She stops in the middle of the street to strike a pose. She waves. Seconds later, the public transportation driver honks his horn.

I wonder if the elderly woman driving the black Buick knows her tail light's out?

Everywhere I look, red brick. Cobbled together, separated by lines of white.

A bald man in a brown business suit stops at the corner deli. His hand jangles his keys. His other hand scratches his head. Again. Again. Again? Nervous tick? He turns to face me. I see nothing except the awful teal tie.

It's 2:30pm. Time for my meeting.

No. Yes. No.

Yesterday, after returning late in the afternoon from a trip to Richmond, I found this scenario outside our house.

April was nowhere to be found.

Can ANYONE tell me what's WRONG with this picture?

Anyone? Anyone?

If you thought to yourself: "self, it appears as though April is wasting Heather's Diet Coke, leaving it on the sidewalk, for God knows what reason, where it's probably going to go flat," then you'd be correct-o-mondo.

WHAT THE HELL?

Of course, my second concern was for April's safety. I couldn't find her anywhere.

I called.

"Where ARE you?"

"Oh, I'm walking Stewart. My friend Wendy came by with her dog and we decided to walk the block."

"Cool. So, um, what are you doing with the car and WHY WHY WHY is a precious 2-liter abandoned on the sidewalk? You best have a good answer."

"I used it to clean my battery. Do you hear me Heather? I used it to clean my battery. It ate all of the acid away. ACID. What do you think that stuff does to your insides?!"

"Let me get this right. YOU are being wasteful, when there are thirsty kids in third world countries, yet you want to deflect and start talking about acid and my stomach? No. You were wrong to waste it. Just admit it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Silence.

I picked up my Diet Coke, patted it on the screw top and promised to do a better job protecting it from mean, wasteful April.

Motherhood is hard, ya'll.

The Luckiest Girl.

Apes and I have been together for nearly four years and I'm still getting emails like this one:

Hey Honey,

I meant to email you earlier...but haven't gotten a breather yet...busy, busy, busy here. I wanted to tell you I love you very much, my bright and shining star writer.

My love for you is always. Forever. You are stuck with me!

Love,
A.

I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.

The end.

Beverage Bully

Perhaps those of you who, um, identify with Apes can help me understand something.

Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, must she come upstairs at night and drink my entire bedtime beverage, the one I pour SPECIFICALLY for MYSELF?

Every night. Same thing happens.

I take the time to pour a tall glass of refreshing Diet Coke.

I even take a few minutes to notice how the ice cubes shift and how quickly sweat beads on the glass.

I literally become one with my Diet Coke before I gingerly carry the glass upstairs.

Apes usually follows, hops in the shower, puts on her pjs and walks DIRECTLY toward my Diet Coke and drinks everything but the dregs.

I've expressed my displeasure.

She's expressed her lack of concern at my displeasure.

Last night, as I poured my drink, I thought I'd found a way to "compromise."

"Hey, Apes. Are you going to, um, BE THIRSTY when we get upstairs? Because if you are, come over here and down my drink NOW, that way I can refill it before I even get upstairs."

Proud of myself, I watched her gulp down my Diet Coke.

I refilled it. Walked upstairs.

Apes took a shower, got in her pjs, and walked DIRECTLY to my bedside table.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" I literally jumped in her path.

"Uh Huh. You had your fill downstairs. This is MINE."

"Wait a minute. Why is this drink YOURS, yet everything in our closet has to be OURS?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You get butter stains on all my favorite shirts. When I asked to have tops that are just MINE, you refused and said everything is OURS. Why do you get to have your own drink? Seems like a double standard. It should be OURS."

I stared at her.

"April, you aren't going to make me say it, are you?"

"Say what, Heather?"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO."

"No. I'm not going to make you say it. God forbid. Drink your damn Coke."

Lest you think I was unfair, I did offer her the ice dregs...

Judy Blume Under Attack

Okay, people.

I got a HUGE response from my women readers when I wrote about my love for Judy Blume and the heart palpitations I experienced upon receiving an autographed copy of her book 'Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.'

So I know you love her as much as I do.

Judy is coming under severe attack for writing a heartfelt, supportive message for Planned Parenthood.

By "under severe attack," I mean she's receiving hate mail, her office is being flooded with volatile calls and the death threats are pouring in.

That's right.

Death threats from people who are up in arms because Planned Parenthood supports a woman's right to choose. According to them, it's murder. But death threats...those apparently are okay and not at all associated with murder.

Just more of the same hypocrisy many of us live with every single day.

Planned Parenthood is fighting back.

Please take two seconds to visit their site, fill out the form and send your support to Judy.

There is a portion of the form where you can leave your own message - let her know how she and her writing have affected your life.

Judy Blume is an exemplary role model for women of all ages.

She's left her mark on generations of girls.

It's time we let her know just how many of us there are.

ps. Let's set the blogging world on fire about this. Please write your own post, link to mine, Facebook this, Reddit, Mixx, Stumble, WHATEVER you can to help spread the word and garner more support for Judy.

Twinkle Toes

I have a really bad habit.

I'm a toenail peeler.

In fact, I laugh in the face of clippers.

A real woman doesn't need no stinkin' clippers.

That's what I always say...on the rare occasion I get a pedicure and the manicurist looks frightened.

Or when I maim April, which is happening on a fairly regular basis right now.

It's not purposeful.

I mean, I don't walk up to her and run my feet down her leg in an attempt to scar her.

But at night, when we're lying in bed, I do like to throw a leg over hers. Just to have some kind of contact.

Occasionally one of us will move and my toe-nail-of-death will stab her.

She screams like she's been amputated. You should hear it.

This exact sequence happened last night, only April shifted after she'd already fallen asleep.

She turned slightly, raised her leg and BAM.

Jammed her leg right into my big toe.

"OWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! GAAAWWWD!!!!!" she yelled, pounding the bed. "What the hell is wrong with your feet?!"

"Are you trying to insult me?" I tried to sound offended, but Ape's reaction was so comical I started laughing so hard tears streamed down my cheeks.

She grunted, turned her back to me and huffed:

"Good thing I got a Tetanus shot at work yesterday!"

"Uh huh, good thing" I said mockingly, doubled over.

I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, kids.

A long time.

Purchasing Power.

Apes and I were at Home Depot this weekend, picking out a new light fixture to hang outside our front door.

I nearly fell out of my own body when Apes said:

"You go ahead and pick out what you like."

It hardly computed.

Normally all our major purchases (read: more than $25) require no less than:

An Excel spreadsheet detailing the dimensions of our top three choices for comparison

A pros and cons list

Three visits to hold, examine and get comfortable with the item

"Really?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Really."

Within minutes, I'd selected a cute lil' glass and iron fixture off the shelf, got the "OK by me" nod from Apes and we were headed to the checkout line.

I nearly took April's temperature.

The quick purchase is so out of character for her.

She didn't appear to be sweating or shaking, so I figured she was making one of those "relationship compromises."

I totally loved her for it.

As we were checking out, a young brother-sister duo caught my eye.

The brother, about 10-years-old, was perhaps the cutest boy I'd ever seen. His sister, probably 8 years of age, was doing her best to keep a pack of gum from him.

Within seconds of watching their interaction, it was obvious the two shared a very close bond. He'd slap her upside the head, but not in the way most siblings do it. There was no bruising or blood.

The love was there, but so was the pecking order.

As we were walking away, I heard the brother say, very calmly:

"OK, listen. You can either give it to me now (pause) or when we get home (bigger pause) I will take it by force. Understand?"

Awesome.

I want him to be my kid.

For the record, I'm so stealing that kid's line should I ever need to.

Mii Mii Mii Mii

Elated we were both getting a sizable refund from the government this year, Apes and I earmarked roughly $400 to purchase a Wii and Wii Fit.

We made said purchases yesterday and raced home, ready to air punch each other's brains out.

SCREEEEEEEEEECH.

That's the sound I heard when while fumbling around our new system, making my best guess about cords, plugs and controllers, Apes said:

"Do you KNOW for sure you're doing it right? Shouldn't you be reading the directions?"

When my eye-ball rolling didn't seem to reassure her, I muttered, "It's not rocket science. My 5-year cousin can hook the system up."

To her credit, she didn't mention how abnormally smart my cousin is. Instead, she said, "Maybe you have to do those steps in a certain order. And do you know where all the twisty ties are? We should keep those. And the plastic wrapers..."

Her voice trailed off as she scanned the immediate area.

True, it did look like a Wii exploded in our living room, but I was focused.

There were games to play, records to set.

Once the system gave me the green light, it was GO TIME.

SCREEEEEEEECH.

Not yet.

"We have to create our Miis first!" April said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of creating a video game character that looked kind-of-but-not-really-like-her.

"Okay, Okay," I said, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

For an agonizing half hour, April scrolled through pages of eyes, noses, hair lines, mouths and color schemes, asking:

"Is that me?"

"Wait, that one! That's me! Right?"

"Hold on, lemme change this. Because I think that's more me, right? I mean, it's not the chin line I want, but it's the closest one to what I actually have. Don't you think?"

"I don't think that changed my skin color? Do you? Did it change?"

"YOU ARE KILLING ME!" I hollered from my perch on our over-sized living room chair.

"Fine, fine," April said, frustrated with me for being frustrated with her. "This part is important, you know! Oh, you can make yourself skinnier or heavier...I guess I need to be honest and give myself a little pooch..."

I just shook my head. That's my girl. HONEST. No matter what.

"Okay, you go," she said, proud of her final Mii.

"I'll be done in 4 seconds. Watch and learn, grasshopper."

Quickly I picked my skin color, hair do, eyes, nose and mouth.

"Oh no, YOU need a bigger mouth," April said, knowingly.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. BIGGER. MOUTH."

"Whatever."

I picked a bigger mouth. She totally had me.

Just as I was about to exit and save my final Mii, she shot out of her recliner.

"Oh no you don't! You have to make yourself fatter! That's not fair! I had to!"

"EXCUSE ME?" I said, laughing heartily. I couldn't help it.

"We got the Wii Fit to lose weight and we need to be honest about what our bodies look like right now. You loose weight, your Mii will change. BE FAIR! I did it!"

"I didn't MAKE you do it!"

She glared at me.

I slid the curser to the right, dying a little inside as my Mii's stomach pooched.

"Fair is fair," she said, settling back into her chair.

I'd like to introduce you to our Mii's...pooches and all...

10am.

Every day, I watched him shuffle past my front window.

10:00am. On the dot.

His outfit, always the same.

A faded orange-and-black flannel shirt over a gray, ratty t-shirt.

Too-big sweat pants fought to cover a withering waist and arthritic legs.

Worn out tan slippers on his feet.

He'd grown a beard over the last six months and it was as unkempt as his life.

78 years old, but looked 112.

His morning shuffle always took about 30 minutes.

His destination: The 7-11 at the end of the block.

Every day he bought a paper and enough alcohol to numb himself.

His purchases were easily recognizable through the plastic bag he moved from one crippled hand to the next.

Our street had been his home for most of his adult life and he wasn't the nicest neighbor.

Prior to his recent downturn in health, he'd allowed some questionable people to come and go from his house, causing all kinds of trouble for many of us.

He yelled at me, pointing a finger in my face, when I asked him to corral his "guests."

This was his street and the rest of us were nuisances.

He didn't wave or smile, but that didn't stop some of us from trying anyway.

Occasionally he'd grunt or nod a greeting in return.

He drank a lot.

Cursed a lot.

And last week he died.

Two heart attacks in quick succession.

I'm surprised at how sad I am.

At how much a part of MY daily routine he'd become.

10am feels empty.

I hate he was lonely and angry and dependent on alcohol when most people his age are reflecting on a life well-lived.

He made sure to never appear approachable.

I'm guessing what we had to offer was foreign to him.

A genuine smile.

A friendly wave.

He'd lived a hard life and didn't trust many people.

My heart always twinged just a bit, every time I saw him.

It's 10am right now.

It feels empty.

Greatest Hits List

I've been catching up on the series LOST and I'm fascinated by how intricate the story lines are.

I'm only at the end of Season 3, so no spoilers if you're one of the people caught up on Season 5!

I will hunt you down and hurt you. Probably.

I just finished watching an episode about Charlie.

He willingly agrees to do something he knows will result in his death, because he thinks it means the people he loves will be rescued.

Prior to flipping the ominous yellow switch, he makes a list.

His 5 Greatest Hits list.

Taking his whole life into account, he came up with a list including major accomplishments and emotional memories.



I've been mulling the idea over in my head...

What would my list look like?

I gave it a shot:

5 Greatest Hits

I worked with a little boy for almost two years. He was in a therapeutic school and had some serious conduct issues. The start of our relationship was rocky. He didn't trust me and did everything he could to push me away. I'll never forget the first time he let me hug him. He didn't hug me back, but he let me wrap my arms around him. Months later, when he did finally circle my neck in a hug, I thought my heart would break from sheer emotion. The day he ran to the bus, stopped, turned and yelled: "Miss Hedda, I'm gonna miss you!" still makes me well up. That little boy has my heart and I'm thankful every day our paths crossed.

Getting an email from one of the editors of Curve Magazine, letting me know they wanted to publish an article I'd written about my friend Suzanne Moe. It was my first national publication and I ran up and down the hallways at work.

JUDY BLUME. Getting an email from her and receiving an autographed copy of Are You There God? It's Me Margaret.

Sitting in the front of a small bar in Knoxville, Tennessee, watching Jen Foster perform. As she exited the stage and walked past me, she stopped and said: "You're really cute." Stunned and an idiot when I am flustered, I quipped: "I bet you say that to all the girls." Immediately I began kicking myself for not being cooler and more composed, and she said, "No. I don't." and kept walking. I was totally flattered. Even if I did blow an opportunity to chat with her.

Falling in love with April and knowing I'd found my way. I found home.

Here's what's great about this exercise - I realized how many wonderful things and people I have to be thankful for in my life.

I could have a Top 15 list.

Totally put me in a good mood.

Try it.

Gimme your Greatest Hits list.

If you do it, send me the link to your post and I'll included it below!

Read more GREATEST HITS lists:

Ang

Reticent Writer