Pop Rocks

What the hell did they do to Pop Rocks? It has been years, lots of years since I last had them. And let me tell you....they took the pop and the rock out of that action. It would appear that they too have been altered from their pure, perfect state to be more user friendly and "safe" for all. I could not be more disappointed. Yet another example of how our current culture has stripped the edgy rawness out of something powerful, and left us with a watered down, mediocre, easy-to-swallow version. And yes, they were powerful.....very powerful.

It was the experience of eating these candies that first introduced me to the eroticism of mixing a bit of pain with my pleasure. Oh, and the danger!! All those urban myths about people blinding themselves by putting Pop Rocks in their eyes, or kids dying from eating them and drinking Coke at the same time. Who could resist them? Simply put....for me and my prepubescent third grade class, Pop Rocks were sex. We didn't know it at the time, but for some of us, we were laying the ground work for what would become a healthy appetite for all things that....hurt so good.

How did you eat them? Did you put them on your tongue...one at a time? Did you bite down gently, exploding the rock between your teeth? Or did you pour the whole package in your mouth at once, and just let the shrapnel fly? Did that unique combination of caution and intrigue awaken something inside of you? Maybe you've never thought about it....but I have. And Pop Rocks were definitely the S&M candy of my youth. If you loved them, and you aren't embracing your inner sub/dom.....what are you waiting for? Let your freak flag fly, my friend.

Single Girl

Ok, so I drank the kool aid. I didn't really have a choice. They started feeding it to me long before I knew what it was. My whole life I sucked down that sweet concoction made up of the idea that my purpose in life was to find a person to marry. That everyone's purpose in life is to search for a mate, and that only through such a discovery could one experience the reward of true happiness and satisfaction. What bullshit.

Don't get me wrong....people can be beautiful together. I've seen love, I believe in it. And I've seen relationships that are amazing and that foster true happiness and satisfaction. Sadly, I don't see them often...but I know that they exist. And that knowledge is what keeps me single. I see no reason to be in a relationship that is less than that. So, when people ask me why I'm single....I impart this "wisdom" and then watch as they mull it over. Then, slowly but surely, the vast majority of them will reach for that kool aid and take another comforting sip of what assures them that they are on the right path in their own life. And then I get the look. The look that says, ya right....you would be married in a hot second if you had the chance. Guess again. I've been down that road, and what I know for sure is that until my guy is the absolute right guy....I'm riding solo.

And how about that absolute right guy? Some say I'm too picky, that he doesn't exist. But I've seen him too, so I know that he does. I've actually known two of them, which encourages me even more. If there are two that I know of, then somewhere in the dark corners of the world, more are hiding. And the last thing I want to do is be in a relationship with the wrong person, when the right one comes along.

So, for the people who ask me why, and for those who want to set me up with their single friends and family, and also for those who look at me with concern in their eyes......please don't. This girl is just fine right where she is at. She has embarked on a new adventure, and to the extent that she can be, given all of her compexities....she is happy too.

Lost Camera

Yes, I know the person who lost the camera that you found.....interesting twist of fate that this blog address would be the only other thing in the case. Oh, the wonders of the internet!! Anyway, the owner of the camera is excited that you found it, and is very interested in getting it back as it holds sentimental value. The e-mail address that you left me is coming back as "undeliverable". Please try to e-mail her directly.

Thank you. You really rock!!

One year later....

So, it's been a year. A year since this girl took a swim in very uncomfortable waters, and decided to let you into her world. I wasn't myself at the time....all broken and lost. I mean, I would've had to have been crazy to start something like this in the first place. Putting my thoughts on display....giving you the tools to decipher my secret language....providing a map, for anyone willing to expend the effort to find me. All pretty scary stuff for someone who is as insanely private as I am. But you know, it's all about the growth that comes from facing fear...and the discovery of all the great stuff that lies beyond it. To all of you who are brave enough to let me know that you have been here, thank you. I love to read your comments. And to those of you who like to silently observe....you are welcome to continue. I no longer need to convince y'all to let me be queen. I finally figured out that I already am one ;) And a new year begins....

Wishing for....?

"If you could have three wishes, what would they be?" I was recently asked this question. And it took considerable thought for me to come up with an answer, but it also sparked a much larger internal philosophical discussion about karma, grace, and how we inevitably make our wishes come true (or not). I decided to approach this hypothetical question as if the person asking could in fact make my wishes real. I mean, you never know....right? There's that whole "be careful what you wish for" thing. First I had to decide what a "wish" is to me. Is it about something completely unrealistic? Like, wishing that I would wake up tomorrow with x-ray vision and the ability to read people's thoughts? Or are they about achieving something possible, but highly unlikely? For instance....world peace, or the end of famine. Should a wish be about making life more comfortable? Like, eradicating worries, concerns, issues (and boy do I have plenty of those!), and other normal irritants that life serves us up in daily doses.
What I came up with is this: When I think of something that I wish for...it is generally something that is possible...and likely, to the point that I believe in it. While it would be cool to have x-ray vision, I would never be able to be surprised when opening a gift, or seeing what's behind mystery door number 2. And ending famine sounds wonderful, but I would be altering the course of other people's paths through my will (karma doesn't like that). And you know, without worries and irritants, how would I know to cherish what is pure and beautiful? We all dream of things that we are probably never going to do...like jumping off of a bluff and taking flight, or traveling to the edge of space and discovering what is there, experiencing eternal life...so why not make our wishes something that can actually happen? I think that is the only way to get more wishes. Go out and make one happen, then you've got room for another. Can you imagine the positive energy shift that would occur in this world if we were all experiencing the satisfaction of realizing our wishes? I'm not going to tell you what my wishes are, but I'm working on one of them as I write this post and in order for me to make it come true, I have to ask y'all to ponder this - If you could have three wishes, what would they be?

Prince...one more time

Ok, I was just starting to get over the whole Superbowl thing. Well, not really getting over it....but letting it go. I listened to the respected opinion of a certain guitar master that I know, and his take on it inspired me to soften my stance on what I perceived to be appauling actions by this well documented musical genius. Musical genius or not, I'm back to the rigidity of my previous post....Prince is on the naughty list, for good! This isn't even about tingles, this is about so much more. The story goes something like this -
A friend of mine approached me today and asked me if I would like to go and see Prince with her. She reads this blog, and knows that pre-superbowl, I am ALL over going to see Prince, but now....not so much. She informs me that he is playing a small venue in Northern California next month, and really wants us to go and see him. I agree to go. Simple, right? Not even close! We get on ticketmaster and learn that in order to attend this concert, one must be a Citibank/AAdvantage card holder. The tickets must be purchased using said credit card and a special code must be entered verifying that you are an enrolled/paid member of the Citibank/AAdvantage club. Well, I don't think I probably need to go into what my reaction was to that, or the tirade that ensued for several minutes later. I have never seen such a gross example of the alignment of art and capitalism, in my life. And a bank, of all things! It doesn't get any worse than banks (well, maybe insurance companies are worse...it's a toss up). I mean, what is he doing?
You know, some of the greatest things I've seen have been what musicians do on stage. Going to live shows and watching the bands you love, play the music you love....it does something wonderful to you. The vibe is so incredible, and the feeling of the sound resonating through your whole body is euphoric. The energy stays with you for days - it's amazing. I am horrified and saddened by the increasing trend of elitist promotional tactics that make concert going impossible for many, and a financial burden to most. I forgot to mention that a ticket to this little citibank gig....$225.
So, what to do about it? We are the ones in control. Don't buy tickets to these shows. It really does come down to simple supply and demand. Don't go buy a CD at Best Buy, or pay to join the fan club, just so you can have a code to some pre-sale bullshit. At every turn, concert promoters and artists are finding ways to squeeze every dollar they can out of us. Take a stand and make art accessible to everyone who is interested. Ironically, the first concert I went to was Prince, on the Purple Rain tour. I was 14. That experience changed me, opened up something wonderful inside of me...and you know, how many 14 year olds are getting citibank credit cards and paying $225 to see Prince now? My guess is none - and that is just wrong.

Red Pixy Stix

So, if you are a avid reader of this blog, you already know that a common theme for me is honesty. Or rather, my need for it. It's almost a sickness for me, I realize. But, I believe that "keeping it real" ultimately results in a quality of life that reaches far beyond the mediocrity of the mundane, deep into the depths of dreamy candy lands. And I am all over lands o' candy. So, I do what I can to adhere to my policy of truth (great song, by the way), ever cognizant of the fact that people, myself included, are going to sometimes embrace their shady side, or make poor decisions. It's not about moral judgements, it's about taking ownership of who you are. It's kind of like...."I did/do (insert: derelict behavior), it was/is (insert: "a mistake" or "the best thing that ever happened to me"), and now I know (insert: what we learned from the process)......and yes, I will have some Skittles with that....thank you." This journey, the dreamy candy land quest that I pursue with such dedication, is constantly stymied by elements beyond my control. For I am a tiny piece, within a small part, inside of a larger machine operating in the infinite abyss. And this machine is oppressive, nasty and fueled by lies, greed and corruption. There are no dreamy lands waiting for the operators of the machine. Thank god! I mean, I wouldn't want to be sitting back sharing a bag of Red Vines with George Bush, or listening to the Bunnymen with Dick Cheney. And, I especially don't want to be working some great time in my little world, and suddenly find myself swapping moisturizing tips with Hillary Clinton! See, this is where it gets tricky though. Will I ever be able to reconcile my inner peace with my lack of outer peace? Will I reach the highest peak in my dreamy candy land, given all the negative, dishonest energy surrounding me every day? In times of doubt, I tend to stick to what I know.....red pixy stix. The red pixy stick is not something to be taken for granted. They are only offered to those who inspire me (or those that I have huge crushes on). They serve as an invitation into my world, and the recognition that you are a welcomed and appreciated part of my path. I'm saving one for Obama.....just in case. He may prove to be worthy, and if so, then it's all his. And if it turns out that he can fuel the machine with tolerance, acceptance and truth, then he can have my whole supply.

Why I think V.D. sucks -

First of all, let me just say that I completely believe in love, romance and all that tingly stuff. I do. I mean, if I were the type to adorn my bumper with stickers, I would have one that proudly stated, "I brake for love, honk if you do too". Really. I'm not one of these jaded, cynical types that scoff at all things sweet and tender. But, having said all of that, I have to go on record and say that I find nothing romantic about Valentines Day. And this isn't because I'm not my valentine's, valentine either (although, that does suck something fierce). It's because Valentines Day is an institution, dictated by the rules of Hallmark, Russell Stover, and rose farmers 'round the world. It's not spontaneous, original or creative. Does it really bring lovers closer together if they both go out and find a valentine offering to present to each other on a day that every other couple is doing the same thing? Are we that generic? Do we need a designated day to remind us to show our love and appreciation for the special person in our lives? I would much rather have my guy show his adoration for me on a random day when I'm not expecting it, and more importantly.....at a time when he is actually feeling it. And for a girl like me, with a halo made of razor-wire, this could be most effectively achieved by simply showing up at my door sportin' a mohawk, eye liner, and a cocky grin. Nothing says "I love You" quite like liberty spikes and Max Factor. Sorry, I was just going someplace really wacky with that.....Anyway, whether you are with the one you love, or trying like hell to love the one you are with -- skip V.D. and celebrate each other in your own unique way. That's when it counts, that's when you know it's real.

Crimes Against Tube Socks -

WARNING: Disturbing Image to Follow....Proceed with Caution!

Curious, huh? I tried to warn you....

Ok, check out the guy in the white pants:




















It's ok if you are blushing. It's not easy to look at, I know. I have to believe that this guy is violating a tube sock in the worst kind of way. Because if that bad boy is real, then the phrase "size doesn't matter", needs to be modified to "size doesn't matter, unless you are that size". No girl wants to see wood like that with her name on it. They just don't. If I saw something like that coming at me....I'd run like hell! I encourage anyone with some insight that might help shed some light on what is going on here, to please share. I'm just at a loss with this one.
How about the rest of the band? That big pecker isn't the only thing wrong with this picture. Instead of Journey, they should have called themselves Steve Perry and the Circus Side Show Freaks.

Prince....and the tingle factor

So, what defines our individual connection to artists? I guess it could be many things, almost anything really. But for me, it's all about the tingle. This little feeling that starts in my gut, and travels to my brain at the same speed that it journeys a bit farther south. It is in this southern region that the tingle resounds, constantly drawing me back, always leaving me wanting more, never ceasing to produce that magical wave of excitement and intrigue that captivates, inspires and engages me to the point of complete awe. The power of the tingle is all encompassing, and once you discover an artist that can summon it, you will always be a loyal and devoted admirer of whatever they create. But, like most of life's spendid gifts, there is a down side. For once the tingle dies.....it never comes back. Get a girl tingly, keep her tingly, and she will be yours forever. Snuff the tingle....and you've lost her for good.
Which brings me to Prince - and the fucking superbowl halftime show. The idea of a musical genius like Prince performing at the most commercial television event of the year repulses me to a degree of which no words can describe. Every fiber in my being is revolted by the vision of this truly amazing musician lowering himself to perform for the ungrateful, unenlightened, and uninteresting televison viewing masses. Whatever his motivation may be for making this decision, no justification will satisfy this long time fan. And no understanding will resurrect the tingle. It's gone, so I am too.
I don't understand artists that don't understand their audience. Prince performing the half time show is like Monet selling his paintings in a mall, or Steinbeck writing a weekly column for the Enquirer. It's gross, disappointing, and wrong. Prince playing the superbowl obviously doesn't make him less talented, it just makes him less real. The Prince tingle was one of a kind - and I will miss it.....alot!

Giving Thanks.....

Thanksgiving. Not high on my list of holidays that I get "up" for. I don't do turkey, gravy or any other traditional Thanksgiving fare that involves carcass. So, as most Americans are bellying up to the dinner table to gorge themselves with the tortured flesh of an innocent bird, I will be dining on whatever offering did not at some point have a heartbeat. Tofurky, anyone? But, in keeping with a sense of tradition and holiday spirit, I've decided to share 26 reasons why I am thankful. These are all things that were of particular interest or comfort to me over the past year. Why 26? No reason other than it happens to be my favorite number. Here it goes....in no particular order of thankful worthiness.....

1. Cherry Limeade.
2. My iPod. No device has ever commanded such loyalty before!
3. Stars....the ones in the sky.
4. Lola, Clara, and Sprout. They all know how to love far better than me.
5. 300 thread count sheets.
6. My friends. You know who you are. My beautiful foxes who have become my family.
7. Music.
8. Curiousity. And my neverending quest for knowledge and understanding.
9. My family. I love ya, mostly cause I gotta - but also because ya gotta love me too.
10. CANDY! Pez, Pixy Stix, and Cotton Candy. What would this life be without them?
11. My Gretsch Guitar. The coolest thing I own.
12. Dill Pickles. They are a cuisine....not a condiment!
13. My Kawasaki KLX300.
14. The inspiration to travel down a different rabbit hole.
15. Super Bowl Champions - Pittsburgh Steelers!
16. My track. May I tread on you for a thousand more miles.
17. My good health.
18. Chips and salsa, or chips and onion dip, or just chips.
19. Bath Tubs.
20. Lillies - water, tiger, stargazer, or calla. Doesn't matter. Oh, snapdragons too.
21. Grilled cheese sandwiches.
22. Long inspired talks.
23. The open trail through the woods.
24. Otterpops, juice bars and vanilla ice cream.
25. The dictionary.
26. The loyal readership of this blog. Yeah you....and quite possibly, only you.

So, there it is. I should make these lists more often, as it induces the "fuzzy" good vibe that we as a population are sorely missing. Enjoy your time, however you choose to spend it this Thanksgiving - even if that means stuffing yourself with charred animal flesh. Peace.

Farewell, My Immortal....

for you have ventured down a path that I cannot follow. A Christmas album....I don't know what you were thinking, and I have no understanding, for this is obviously not for me to understand....I just can't say YUCK loudly enough. I'm so, so sad.

Out of the Dark-

When I was a kid, the dark was horrible. Scary. I lived in the mountains and it is friggin' dark in the mountains. You can't always see the moon, and if the sky is not clear, the stars don't help much either. Noises were most definitely wretched creatures on a single mission to find small children to feast on. Shadows, also menacing forces looking to steal me from the safety of my little bed. Fear so paralyzing that if those noises or shadows had been anything real, they would have had little or no fight from me, because I was too scared to even breathe.
As I got older, I got to know a different kind of dark. The dark that exists when all the lights are on and the day is as bright as can be. The dark that would become a place for me to plot the demise of my tormentors, or hide when I was in plain view, a place for me to silently scream. It was in this dark that I discovered that the dark isn't scary at all. I learned that things are scariest when you look at them completely exposed to light. (Ok, so I spent some years brooding, aptly clad in black, wishing like hell that Lestat would come through my bedroom window and ravage me - didn't you?)
Today, however, my dark is beautiful and enchanting, a candy-filled dream land. My elaborate dream world is a place anyone would love to be....if they knew the way. It's peaceful and there is always really great music playing. Sure, I go there sometimes to process some pretty heavy stuff, and sometimes I am still plotting the demise of my tormentors, but most of the time I am daydreaming about lovely, amazing, wonderful things. Sending positive thoughts and energy to the people that I love, and re-energizing my body. My dark is the origin of my light. (Ok, so now I ride the new-age vibe, working my "energy" mojo, still clad mostly in black, and still kind of wishing that whole Lestat thing would happen - don't you?)
My point....complexity of thought, intensity of thought, or commitment to thought, does not make someone dark. Having an edge, and a sassy one at that, does not make someone dark. Darkness is individual. Something that each person has and utilizes in a different way. I'll say it again for the one person that I need to hear me....My dark is the origin of my light. (Get it?)

depeche mode interview

Amusing and worth a peek. D.G.'s hands rock my world!!

This one's for the boys

Ok, everyone knows that the art of seduction is truly an art. Some have tremendous skill and can literally have women dis-robing with something as simple as a look. Some have to work a little harder, summon their inner Casanova to put on a little dog and pony show in order to enchant their prey. Others are hopeless, re-creating some cheesy scene they picked up in a movie somewhere, hoping like hell that they get laid, if for no other reason than the effort that they have put forth. Then there are the guys who are clueless, throwing everything they've got out there in hopes that something will stick. They are simply playing the odds that sooner or later, someone desperate enough is gonna give them a go. Now, I have been on the receiving end of a few seduction tactics in my day. Some have worked, most have not. In the world of sexual pursuit, wouldn't it be easier if we could all be more direct? Here is my preference for anyone plotting pants-removing maneuvers in my direction....I like originality, and there is nothing more original than being honest. Honesty is a lost art form in itself. Here's the deal, if you want to have sex, and intend on never calling me again....just say so. If it's just a physical thing for you, make that clear. Because then, I can let go of all the girly questions and make it a physical thing for me too. Save the seduction scene for someone you really care about, someone that you share real intimacy with. I leave you with this - Don't pretend to be more interested than you are, or pull out all of the stops to make me bite. Just tell it like it is, man. I promise, your life will be less dramatic and you will probably get more tail than ever before. Really.

You lose, sucka!

So, a couple of weeks ago, my nephew asked me to play marbles with him. I don't want to play, so I kind of don't answer him until he says, "winner gets a quarter". Well, immediately I am a bit more interested in playing. I ask him if he has a quarter, to which he replies, "yes." I let him know that I need to see said quarter before we begin. So, he runs off to his room and comes back with a quarter that he took from his piggy bank. It never occurs to him to ask me to present my quarter, but I figure he must know I'm good for it. After all, I've never lied or tried to cheat him in the past. We choose 5 marbles each, careful to opt for those we think will be the true winners of the bunch. I naturally go for the ones that are the most interesting to look at and create a nice array of color in my hand. For, I have no intention of winning the game. But I do want him to work for it, a bit. So, game on.

I let him take my first two marbles with relative ease. After his confidence builds, he starts getting cocky. Making statements about how it must feel to lose, and how much he rules and I suck. I let him take all but one of my beauties, and upon winning number 4, he shouts out, "you lose, sucka." That's all it took, the beast in me emerged and I knew that this little boy was going down. I became the Yoda of marbles, summoning some hidden inner jedi skill of shooting precise angles and lines to win all of my marbles back and begin taking his. My thumb had the aim of a sniper, it was amazing. Picking marbles off, one by one. As his attitude started to wane, and he started to realize that I was a marble pro, he started to cheat. Winning at all costs. What the hell was that? So, even at 6, little humans go to the dark places in their hearts to protect what, their pride? Self esteem? Reputation? No, their MONEY! The quarter that he had anted up was no longer in sight. He had hidden it. (I promise you that I had no intention of taking his quarter, I wasn't even going to win the game. I was just trying to teach him a little bit about being a good winner. I have no interest in stealing from kids piggy banks - I am not into evil deeds, or bad karma)

When I asked him where it was, he pretended to not know. He told me that the bet didn't count and that he was just kidding when he made it. Immediately, my heart sank. Does corruption exist in all of us from the beginning? Are we all just cheaters by nature? Surely if a child's mind is capable of manipulating words and situations in their own best interest, the answer must be yes. Is it only by some other means that some of us keep this tendency in check and choose not to indulge in our own will to cheat others to better ourselves? Just as I was giving up on the entire human race, and getting ready to pull my soap box out of my back pocket to deliver a dissertation on the evil that is greed....my nephew presented me with the quarter and declared me the victor of the game. I told him that he was a good boy, and for being a good sport I would give him his quarter back and that the best part of the game was just playing with him. With that, he quickly snatched up that quarter and ran off with it. I am a sucka!

Little Worms

I saved a worm today. An earthworm to be exact. I feel fuzzy all over. Basically, any fuzzy feeling inducing activites rank pretty high on the "do as many times as possible" list. I've helped hundreds of these blind and deaf creatures find their way from the inevitable concrete bake fest, back to the safety of the grass and soil. It's amazing how a single little worm writhing in the sun can inspire me to think outside of my own head. This is no small feat. But, somehow earthworms get to me every time.
So, you are probably saying to yourself, "it's just a worm, big deal - and this girl might be a little wacked." Well, you are right. It is just a worm, and in the grand scheme of things....not a real big deal. You are probably right about the wacked part too. But, here's the thing-it's easy to care about the big stuff. The big, important stuff that obviously matters. The little things are where everything that matters is manifested. I find it inspiring when I see people acting on what little things matter to them. I like to see people celebrating the little things about the people they love. I love to see people recognizing how important the little things are. I trust the little things, almost without question.
The little things are what makes us unique and in my case...a little wacked. But who says wacked is bad? Today I was important to an earthworm. I gotta say, I've had worse days.

How many miles to go?

I run. Well, I do what is technically running, but the casual observer would probably call it jogging. It's running to me. It's laborious in a truly rewarding and exhilarating way. Sometimes I have to trick my body into thinking it can go another mile. Sometimes the tricks don't work and I have to accept that my body can go no further. It is a balance of victories and defeats to which I am both the winner and loser. A constant test of my own stength, perseverance and will. I run on a track, where the beginning and the end are the same spot. Am I running towards the end, or away from the beginning?

I run. Well, I do what is technically running, but the casual observer would probably call it escaping. It's running to me. It's safe in a truly disappointing and unfulfilling way. Sometimes I have to trick my mind into thinking that I can be tied down. Sometimes the tricks don't work and I have to accept that my mind is not able to commit to anything. It is a balance of victories and defeats to which I am both the winner and loser. A constant display of my own insecurities, stubborness, and lack of faith. I run on a track, where the beginning and end are the same spot. Am I running towards the end or away from the beginning?

I run. Well, I do what is technically running, but the casual observer would probably call it chasing. It's running to me. It's challenging in a truly strategic and calculating way. Sometimes I have to trick myself into believing that what I am chasing can be caught. Sometimes the tricks are just tricks and my quarry disappears as soon as I reach out to grab it. It is a balance of victories and defeats to which I am both the winner and loser. A constant reminder of my own vanity, ego, and need for validation. I run on a track, where the beginning and the end are the same spot. Am I running towards the end or away from the beginning?

Towards life, away from life. Running reminds me that I am alive, but it also keeps me from truly living. How many miles will I go before I have to stop and catch my breath? Will I ever stumble across a single space in time that will be a place where I want to be? A place so peaceful that I'm no longer interested in chasing what is out there in the abyss.....a place so safe that I don't care what is out there running after me. I catch glimpses of it sometimes, this place, so I know it's out there. Luckily, I run on a track, where the beginning and the end are the same spot, if I miss it the first time around - I'll catch up to it on the next lap, or maybe I'll slow down and let it catch up to me.

What does tamed mean?

Excerpt from The Little Prince, by Antoine De Saint Exupery:

"Come and play with me," the little prince proposed. "I'm feeling so sad."
"I can't play with you, " the fox said. "I'm not tamed."
"I'm looking for friends. What does tamed mean?"
"It's something that's been too often neglected. It means, 'to create ties'...."
"The only thing you learn are the things you tame," said the fox. "People haven't time to learn anything. They buy things ready-made in stores. But since there are no stores where you can buy friends, people no longer have friends. If you want a friend, tame me!"
"What do I have to do?" asked the little prince.
"You have to be very patient," the fox answered. "First you'll sit down a little ways away from me, over there in the grass. I'll watch you out of the corner of my eye and you won't say anything. Language is the source of misunderstandings. But day by day, you'll be able to sit a little closer....."

I love the message of this passage. I often reflect on the words of the fox when I am meeting someone new who I hope to build a friendship with. Anyone who reads this post who actually knows me is chuckling right now because they know how issued I am about trust and letting people into my life. It basically never happens. But every once in a while, someone will come along who I find myself effortlessly drawn to, and who I instantly adore. And I am reminded that real friendship is a rare, beautiful gift. It's unassuming, forgiving, and most importantly patient. It's something you build and nurture - it's something that takes time. We are not conditioned for things that take time anymore. If we don't have instant gratification, we move on. There is beauty in letting people be who they are and not what you want them to be. There is grace in taking the good with the bad and not just forgiving, but truly forgetting. There have been so many times that I have let my pride cause me to shut the door on someone that I should have been more patient with. These are people that I look back on and wish I still knew. If I had been a better friend, I would still have them in my life and my life would be better for it.

So, if you see me hangin' out in your yard, not saying anything and letting you just be you....know that I am not a stalker.....just someone who would like to tame you. Someone who would like to be your friend.

P.S. Patience is not my strong point - I'm working on it, but it would help if you just yelled out to me to come on in!!

P.S.S. To all of the amazing foxes already in my circle of tamedness - this girl smiles everyday because of you.

Some albums from back in the day.....

If you are in need of some musical inspiration, find these albums and LISTEN to them. They have been in constant rotation on my iPod for the last two weeks. They are timeless and perfect....they rule!

Echo and the Bunnymen - Songs to Learn and Sing
Lou Reed - Rock n Roll Animal
Peter Gabriel - 1
Pearl Jam - Ten
Neil Young - Harvest