Things in My Purse

* iPod Touch - gotta keep my life organized - yay me.
* capo
* spark plug for 79 Kawasaki motorcycle
* spoon just in case I want to eat yogurt
* kiddy chopsticks - for Adam - I would never be reduced to using them myself
* pick
* pen
* dollar bill
* keys

How Awesome is Backstreet Boys?

So awesome that when I walked into an antique store, their 1997 poster was front and center.

That's Unique...

I went into a store today. It is called Namaste Arvada. They not only sell handstitched bags, Indian-style slippers and incense, but you can also purchase Cheez-Its and pizza-flavored Combos pretzel snacks. They also have a nice selection of beef jerky in all flavors.

The Biff

So waterskiing is all about precision and balance. Great. I learned that watching a video online. But all this stupid video watching and research is all for naught because it was done far too late to help me avoid a serious sphincter injury that nearly ruined my entire life.

Put lifejacket on. Dive in. Slide feet in rubbery boot thingies. Sit back in 'rocking chair position' with skis pointed towards the sky. Ready.

** NOTE - 'rocking chair position' returns again later in the story. Very important to note this.

After three wobbly attempts to get up onto my skis, I knew it was just within reach. If only I could stand up. I reviewed all the tips I'd heard all morning as the boat begins to pull ahead. I feel it this time. As smooth as butter, I pop out of the water. The exhiliration crackles through my body. And it's this moment that I realize I wasn't briefed on how to stop. Hindsight tells me, "Let go of the rope."

I tip forward a bit and then overcorrect... but I was determined not to fall. Yet. So, I reason, in my present state of unbalance, that rocking chair position is probably a really stable position to get myself up to standing again. So I settle butt back to get ready to stand again. I neglected to remember that I'm going at least 87 miles per hour at this point. This occurs to me as I feel the lake slice through my innards. I let go of the rope as I feel my entire digestive system explode out of my butt, leaving a long trail of stomach, pancreas, and intestines trailing behind me like the tail of a kite. Okay. That's a fabrication. An embellishment.

I climb back into the boat and I won't go into greater detail at this point. Let's just say they don't make bandaids for that kind of an injury. My poor sphincter was probably the size of a football for five excruciatingly long seconds. Youch.

To add to the story, this was within the first 12 hours of meeting Adam's parents. And I spent the next few hours helping the family move 20 tons of rock. Not an embellishment.

I love the lake house.

In Danger

So, Adam and I came upon an unusual scene today. We stopped to help someone and because of this found ourselves in possible danger. Our prime concern was to get this person to a safe place. But matters were complicated and for a few minutes, I wasn't sure that things were going to turn out well. A thousand scenarios played out in my mind. Adam's looking for a weapon and all of a sudden I didn't feel so tough. I wanted Adam and I out of there right away. Although, it showed me how aware and intelligent and mindfully cautious Adam can be. I trust his decisions and I know he would protect me. That's important.

Anyway, it broke my heart. This person apparently had only one place to go to be safe, and the place we took her seemed volatile. That place scared the crap out of me. I take the stability I have for granted for sure. If I was in the same situation, there are probably at least twenty numbers I could call right now to find a haven. I don't know anything about this girl, but I'm sure if she managed her relationships differently, perhaps she would be welcome. Literally, she had no friends. And the 'friend' she did have didn't seem too happy about the whole thing.

A Girl Worth Fighting For

You know, every girl wants to be deemed worthy enough to be fought for. Don't you think? And perhaps, every guy wants to find a girl that's worthy enough to be fought for. This week, I got to direct two shows of this year's musical, Mulan. It was amazing. So many wonderful things happened. The kids really pulled together and performed an incredible show.

The show had five ancestors who debated about things like what a girl is 'supposed' to be and how she should think and speak and act. The Emperor sang to the Captain about going out and getting that girl worth fighting for.

And I can't help but draw comparisons. I think this week, I was fought for. And it feels really wonderful. I had no expectations... well, I had wishes, I suppose, but no expectations. And he amazed me. I'm not saying he felt that he had to have me in his life because I'm something perfect. We all know that was far... very, very far from the truth. But he made an attempt to come after me... the entire 'me' package of scars and loveliness and faults and all... and I think I know why. Maybe it's because he knows me. And I think that is such an amazing, beautiful thought. That he knows me. I love that.

And I know him. I'm knowing him better every day. And I adore him... all his wonderful pieces and all his quirks... cracking knuckles and all.

So... about that dating fast... um. Let's save that for another day.

Dear Guy at the Back East Bar

First of all, let's be candid here. No room for second-guessing or supposition. I'm going to tell you exactly what's up so you don't make the same stupid mistakes next time. Ready?

Sending your married female friend to our table to ask if one of us would dance with you? Strike one. Big strike one. You know what that tells us? That you are a chicken. And neither me nor my friends want to dance with or pitterpat with a chicken.

Your married female friend comes back and shows us a picture of you with your shirt off. Now will we dance with you? No. You know why? It doesn't matter how hot you are if you are a big fat wimp. Wimpyness trumps hotness. Strike two.

"Listen, my friend has just gone through a terrible divorce. His self-esteem is low. Will you dance with him?" Do not make excuses for your wussiness. And especially, do not send your guy friend over to make excuses for your wussiness. We do not want to pitydance you. Nor do you want to be pitydanced. Am I right? Strike three.

Had you come over yourself, you might have had a chance after the first strike. But now, you are at strike three. My friends and I are signing our receipts. And you very quickly and pathetically have lost your chance. Not a big deal. Just an opportunity for learning. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Send a little testosterone through your veins and next time you are out, go ask that lovely girl to dance (all by yourself). You can do it. A little self-confidence goes a long, long way.

On a side note, today is day nine of my six months of no dating. I'm quite disinterested in anything else. It's a good place to be.