Monthly Archives: March 2010

Oh world.


These little ladies are the best things I know.  They just own me.  They keep me young. 

I got a couple shiny pins for volunteering with the youth program. I have them in my jewelry box.  But look at my face there in that picture.  You couldn’t give me anything brighter than that sharp joy.

Star Party


“Hey boss?”


“Do you mind if I leave about 20 minutes early?  I have to be downtown by six.”

“Have fun partying.”

“I’m going to an astronomy lecture at the museum, actually.”

Cut to three hours later, I’m drinking bourbon out of my purse and stage whispering to my buddy Yost that I’m totally turned on by the Hubble Telescope, and I recall laughingly that little hint of indignation that crept into that last sentence.

My boss knows me too well, I guess.  Everything turns into a party.

I joined a gym.


I signed the papers and handed them over.  This gym was perfectly situated by my work.  It’s a racquetball club, actually.  “Ok,” she scanned them.  I looked around. 

No underemployed gym rats and hardly any women.  Just a bunch of toned executive types paying racquetball while the ellipticals got dusty in the corner, and the fitness class I dropped in on?  I was half the class.  Perfect, I thought.  I can drop in after work, get in, get out.  No crowds, low rates because I have no desire to play racquetball.

The receptionist handed me my membership card.  “Would you like water, juice or beer?”


She pointed to the case.  “Water?  Juice?  Beer?”  She pulled out a Stone IPA, like she knew me. 

I looked around.  A handsome 50-something fella winked at me as he walked past me, out the door to his BMW, throwing another look my way as he put the top down.

“Is this really a gym?”

“Sure” was her answer.

I went back again today.  As I was walking in, juggling a purse and gym bag, a woman, younger and thinner than me, held the door for me on her way out.  “Well aren’t you pretty!” she chirped.

I turned to the receptionist.  “This clearly isn’t a real gym.  It’s some sort of experiment.”

“Sign in here please?”


A new life.


Several months back, my friend Drea’s husband sent her flowers, and as I snapped this picture, my favorite picture of her, I remember thinking that I’d never seen her look more beautiful and content and ….. womanly.

And there was something to the sparkle I saw that day.  40 weeks later, yesterday, the first day of spring, Drea gave birth to little Audriana Casey.

The Word.


Just the other day, I got this in the mail.

A letter all in Korean, and two fliers.  According to the pictures, they appeared to be literature on how not to be homeless, and how to domesticate brown bears.  Seriously, right there in the lower right, that little girl is patting a bear while her mother looks on.

Careful inspection shows an address on the back that belongs to the Jehovah’s Witness church.  This is either a mistake, or a prank.  I’m hoping prank.  (“Lola?”)

And it made me think of something.

About eight years ago I lived in an apartment at the end of a long hallway.  There we were, right next to an apartment with two guys, age 18 and 20.  Their girlfriends were 16 and 18.  At least four nights a week I’d have to wade through a hallway full of drunk (occasionally crying) high school girls, there for some party.  Being knee deep in impressionable young pussy didn’t stop either of these guys from knocking on the wall between us, calling out for sex.   We were friends, in a fashion, but their habits GOT OLD FAST.

One morning there was a knock on the door.  I checked my alarm clock (remember those?) and it was 7:30 am.  Slightly too late for the party twins.  I checked the peephole, saw a little kid, and opened it up. 

Classic bait move.  Jehovah’s Witnesses.  They said they’d like to share a scripture with me.  That always makes me chuckle because I’ve never met a missionary who’s more familiar with the Bible than me, much to their chagrin.  (HI JOEL!)  The whole book is so contradictory, and it’s like a ring in their nose, you can lead them in circles for your own amusement for hoursssssssssss.

And then one popped into my head.  Romans 12:19 says “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written,* Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”  *(This is, a reference to Deuteronomy 32:35, “To me belongeth vengeance and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.”)

Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.  I decided to take him up on his offer.

“Oh thanks guys.  I’m already a member of your church.  And I’m so glad you’re here.  The guys across the street, they’re really hostile at times but ….. the other night one of them was telling me that he’s really not sure where he’s going in life and ……… well, I shared some of the Word with him and he was upset that his roommate might find out but he really wanted to read more ….. I could really use a hand.  You just gotta ignore what they say, they really wanna hear this.  Could you guys put them on the list?”

“Oh!  Of course!  Thanks for spreading the good news with them!”

“Well of course.  Oh and ……….. the only time to catch them at home is really early in the mornings.”

“Got it.  God bless!”

“Oh, you too.  YOU TOO.”

I’m not sure if they got religion, or just the early morning wakeups got to them, but either way ……….. peace reigned in our building after that.

Three years ago.


I didn’t ask for it.

I didn’t go looking for it.  I just went about my daily business.  A unlikely set of events put us both in a very ordinary room and what came after was an ….. occupational hazard.

Sometimes people’s judgment of the love affair that began that day, it starts to sting a bit.  And so my defense is that I had no way of knowing what could happen, I certainly didn’t wake up that day and say, “I’d like my heart to blow up in my face.”

I just wanted a cup of coffee.  That’s nothing to blame me for.

But can I tell you a secret?  Say there’d been a way for me to know.  Some way I could have seen the whole thing in fast-forward or read my own future blog posts, everything from the part where airport security sang just to give us something to slowdance to, to the months spent crying instead of eating, to the night not long ago where I sat at home and used math to compare the human heart to a hydrogen bomb.  Armed with the knowledge that I was about to be ripped apart in the most violent fashion imaginable, I would have …. well I think I would have thrown up.  And then I would have signed up for the whole thing.

But don’t tell anyone that.  Some days I still need people’s sympathy.

America’s Next Top Model. Yes, again.


Dear Naduah,

………. that was over quick.  Why you gotta be like that, huh?  I LIKED you.  I TRUSTED you.  And you got weird.

Love, Valancy Jane

I think Anslee is my new favorite (her ears! so cute!), but I’m a little gun-shy because the promo for next week shows her yelling at another contestant.  We all know how I feel about that, so we’ll see.

Raina could steal my affection, I think.  This photo below is perfect, in my opinion.  (Other than them feeling the need to airbrush out the nipple but whatevs.)

Simone needs to “push through it” as Tyra would say, but I think she’s got all the ingredients.

Ren is great ……. but lets face it.  Ren is going to quit.  Oh and I’m entirely certain her name is actually Lauren and she’s just trying to sound edgier.  Which is totally fine.  But I’m calling her Lauren now.

Aurora has tentatively picked Jessica and I don’t entirely disagree.  Aurora won’t like that I think of her as a little vanilla, but she’s good and I’m willing to change my mind.

It seems remiss not to mention Brenda, because she’s doing well, but I just can’t muster up much of an opinion on her other than a vaguely positive feeling.  We’ll see.

Angelea laid low this week, giving Alasia a chance to showcase some major crazy.  (And butt cheek.)  Someone tell her it’s a modeling competition, not a yelling competition.

Lord knows I don’t mind a little butt cheek, but let’s leave this post in a better place, shall we?  Here’s another shot of Anslee, modeling a perfume that begins as a color.

It’s time to talk about ANTM.


I like Anslee, even if it’s clear she has no idea what she’s doing.

Simone is gorgeous, and I think her makeover gives her a good edge.

Ren is ok, even if she does cite her occupation as “living.”

I ADORE Naduah, and not just because she’s from my hometown, I swear.  Who knew a shaved head could be so endearing and cute?  She’s my early fave.

And Angelea still scares the crap out of me.  I don’t think the therapy really took.  When she looks at the camera, I duck.