No, Barry Gibb Cannot Be 60!

No, you see - if Barry Alan Crompton Gibb is 60 that means I'm not 17 anymore. It means that August 4, 1979 has come and gone, and it means that Maurice isn't hiding out in my hotel room to escape the scolding he's going to get from his older brother for, well, for being too cute for words I guess. Damn - Barry turned 60 didn't he? I knew it the moment I heard that Sir Elton John had actually turned 60 this week. I just couldn't, and really wouldn't admit it to myself. I also don't like to admit that Jeanie and I have seen Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band in the theatre over 50 times, not to mention the overtly insane amount of times we've watched it at home - Yes, I bought the DVD. I only watch it when I watch Cucumber Castle, more or less a Double Feature, so it's not like I'm obsessed - OK.....I am, sue me....Maurice, he's just well, Maurice!

Do you blame me? Robin, you understand darling, don't you? Thank you.

When I was 17 (sounds like the beginnings of a Beatles song now) I worked as an errand girl for Concerts West, a most influential, lucrative position for such a sneak like me. I have to admit, through my job ties and my own extreme carelessness and bravdo I went to over 300 concerts in just under 4 years and NO, I never paid for one. I saw Journey 11 times, Kansas 7 or 8, Loverboy, Brian Adams, Jackson Browne, The Commadores, Styx, REO, and yes - I will now admit it - Tom Jones. (But I saw Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, and Billy Joel too!) I can go on - I can name names, I can even produce pictures but most of them make me laugh because of my hair, my clothes, and the way I tried to apply makeup in the 80's. HOWEVER - (Oh, I forgot Van Halen...must have been a Freudian slip; sorry Alex) no concert, and I mean NO CONCERT, was as fun, as exciting, as full of evil plotting and twisted lying and con-work as that beautiful August evening of the 4th, in 1979 - The Bee Gee's Spirits Having Flown tour. My heart still patters when I think about it. Giggles - knowing the truth.

At 17 I must have been in love. I must have been giddy, I must have been fearless - whatever it was I was JUDE and I wasn't about to let security or management get in my way of meeting and getting to know the one man I had been secretly gushing over for years when I read about him books, magazines, saw him on television, watched him in interviews - YES, I'm talking about the most gorgeous of all men ever - NO, NO, NO, not BARRY Gibb, MAURICE Gibb! Maurice Ernest Gibb - Robin's twin! The quiet one, the one in the middle, whatever, Maurice - Maurice - Maurice! I can honestly say this: If it hadn't been for all the women in the freaking world trying to get their hands on Barry, it would have been so much easier to get to Maurice. No one was trying to attack him! Just me.

Jeanie and I were smarter than most you understand. We had money (jobs), we had access (management), we had really hot bodies in 1979, and wore bikinis around the hotel because we could, and we were guests to boot! What we didn't have was permission to be on the 10th floor of the Sheraton because it was taken, sold out, reserved, and otherwise off limits to anyone not with the band - and by with the band, I mean actually WITH the band - Jeanie and I were not WITH the band. I worked for the concert promoters, not the same thing - but hey, it was better than standing out in the streets with cameras and hoping to GLIMPSE Barry and his brothers as they were escorted through the street to the hall which was across the street. The really interesting fact about the Oklahoma City Sheraton - Myriad Convention Center connection is that there is a real connection - a tunnel system that connects the two venues. I was able to conceive the idea of taking the band through the tunnel to the stage without being seen - how this came about is another story, but maybe someday when I know you better I'll explain why my father left me down in the tunnels of Downtown OKC while he worked the graveyard shift. I was RAISED underground - literally...well from 4-midnight 2 or 3 nights a week.

Jeanie and I, Jeanie and I, Jeanie and I....wow, after 30 years of Saturday Night Fever being the Best Selling Soundtrack, I am still saying "Jeanie and I", but we're still 17...damnit! Jeanie and I found Maurice alright - after the concert and it didn't take much coaxing whatsoever to convince him that he was on the 10th floor when he was actually on the 9th. It took even less coaxing to get him to stay with us for hours that night and even if we only talked and drank Dr. Pepper, the memories of the beginning of our multi-year friendship with Maurice was born....Jeanie and I will celebrate 30 years together this August 21...30 YEARS of scheming, pretending, dreaming, shopping, fighting, lying, eating out, and NOT exchanging shoes because she has smaller feet. We've seen the inside, the outside, the side-side, and the upside of just about every concert hall in the state of Oklahoma as well as surrounding states. I drug that woman/girl every-damn-where and made her smile and act like we were mature and worldly - OMG, to think that I'm not 17 anymore just kills me; but at least after all this time I can say that I have laughed so very much, loved so very hard, lived so openly and honestly, and I have shared my life with a woman that I will always love and cherish - to my Bestest Best Friend - thanks! (Oh, and I'm so so so so so sorry that Barry refused to come down to retrieve Maurice in person. I know you wanted to touch his butt! I got mine! Smiles!!)

Maurice better rest up - Heaven can't be too far away for us all. I'm not about to let him go again!

Forget the Butterfly Effect

What happened to me was so much worse than the proverbial "Butterfly Effect", it could never in a million years be duplicated. I got up and stepped on my dog's toy - it squeeked, and the dog rolled over and in his sleep bit me. He didn't draw blood but I decided to wash the area anyway and dropped the handsoap bottle when I picked it up. I reached down to pick it up, and I hit my head on the counter. OUCH, that did draw a little blood - I went to the medicine cabinet to get a bandaid and all the little bottles in the basket I keep my meds in fell all over floor in the kitchen. While picking them up the phone rang and I answered it. That was stupid. I should have just let it ring. The dog (another one) grabbed a tube of hydrocordizone and chewed on it while I was on the phone - I didn't know. By the time I got to him, he was vomiting. I cleaned it up - but didn't know what he was vomiting until a little later. I called the poison control. They were no help. I drove the dog to the emergency room - but left my credit card in my other pair of pants. I called my daughter to bring the card to me, but she had taken it to the store to get a few groceries and I was stuck with a flushed out dog at a vet's that was open only a few hours on Sunday, and she wanted to be paid. Since I couldnt' reach my daughter she let me go, but when I got home I found that my daughter, in a hurry to pull out of the parking lot had damaged my car's tail light.

It's 3:00 p.m. I have decided to put on my pajamas and go to bed. I'm turning off the lights, I'm putting on the music. I'm not answering any phones. I'm not talking to anyone - tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow will be a better day.

I am a SNIPER RIFLE apparently

Where do they come up with these quizzes? My son Ruby (Yes, I named my son Ruby) sent me a quizfarm.com quiz for my MySpace space - does that sound a bit reduntant? My MySpace space - yes, redundant. Ruby sent the quiz, couldn't wait for the results because he thought I would be a pistol. People are always calling me a pistol, so he thought "OK, Mom will be a pistol!" NO, No I'm not! I'm a Sniper Rifle - thank you, very much! According to the science of this highly developed (sarcastic note) quiz, I prefer to be very far away, hidden, and deadly accurate when I kill someone. Having absolutely no experience whatsoever actually killing someone - It would be impossible for me to gauge the accuracy of this quiz - but when I think about it, I think I would prefer to be far way, quiet, hidden from sight, and deadly accurate if I were going to pull the trigger on the bad guys.

My son, (probably because he's seeking revenge for his name) prefers to be up close, personal, in-your-face, and with more power than necessary to do the job - he's a tank. Not just any tank, he's an Abrams M1...I can see that. Reuben has always been head-strong, upfront, charging through things without hesitation and yes, he seems to knock out everything in his path just trying to get to the dinner table at Thanksgiving. I can see him ranking a tank on this quiz. If there were actually a more aggressive, larger piece of machinery my son would be it. Me, I'm in the wind! You don't see me, my camo is cloaked in camo! It wasn't me...must have been someone else - Ruby, he's all about the credit "ME! I did it! ME!" He raises his hand to volunteer too.

One time, at band camp - I packed my flute into my pant leg and pretended to be a sniper. I killed everyone - dead. I didn't have a scope or anything - point, shoot....bam. That's as close as I came to really killing anyone - but even then I was hiding behind a trashcan just behind the outhouses. They never caught me. Someone thought I was sleeping with my flute - and that rumor went around for a while, but I knew the truth.....he was the first one I shot!

Girly-Girl Cop!

Oh, she's SOOO cool - my good friend N. (no names please) just entered the Oklahoma Highway Patrol Academy. Our newspaper did a little article about her today because she's the OLDEST female (41) to enter the academy - ever. Go N! Go N!

N., like me, is an English teacher - and, like me, she's an unemployed teacher. Oklahoma and education don't always see eye-to-eye. We've been unemployed, employed, partly employed, released, asked to leave, rehired, and yes - asked not to return (but that was me! N. hasn't upset as many administrators as I have.) Because she was an unemployed teacher - she decided to do something meaningful, useful, that could really make a difference - I don't think she even thought about the fact that (A) Most women don't become patrol officers (B) Most women over the age of 25 don't even apply to the academy and (C) Most women over the age of 30 don't pass if they do apply - and she passed! She passed! She's incredible. She beat over 40 men for the position on merit! Of course, being a runner, quietly determined at heart, and stubborn as her Greek ancients - she was bound to make it.

N. and I are both strong Scorpion women with passionate feelings, strong emotions and powerful control over words - Sometimes we have no-penis parties where we sit around the house in our very expensive (new)underwear, smoking fat cigars, drinking whiskey straight from the bottles, and telling as many lies as we can about men we've known, men we haven't met yet, men we want to meet, and men we couldn't possibly be romantically involved with for whatever reason(s). Of course, we invite other wild and passionate women to these parties - we only throw 2 a year or so, and we almost always fly the Jolly Roger; and although there aren't officially any men allowed on the premises - we always ask her husband E. to cook for us because he's the best chef in the state! (But we make him wear a little maid's outfit - and he has to dance for us when we shoot off our fake pistols!) You should see E. disco - no seriously, it's a beautiful thing. He looks like a longshoreman most of the time, even comes from Boston Harbor - but on these nights - lets just say we ban video cameras for a few good reasons.

Hats off to you N....skirts off to you E! Hahahaha...just as soon as you graduate girl, just as soon as you graduate - HOIST THE BONES MATEY - HOIST THE BONES. A merry life for me! (Photos of N. will appear after she graduates. We can't jynx it!)

I Married Theodore Roosevelt!

I was in the third grade, Mrs. Tipton's room, when fate smacked me right between the eyes. I was married to Theodore Roosevelt for about a week during a history pageant where the kids were either portraying famous people or married to one - they were either presidents, war heroes, or current astronauts - the year was 1969. 

I stuck my hand into the fishbowl and drew out a name - Theodore Roosevelt! I could NOT have been more upset. I thought he was fat, had really big teeth, and he looked old and I was sure he was boring - - - WOW, what I learned. 

The year 1969 was a banner year for me really - I changed the spelling of my name from JUDY to JUDE, I stopped matching my socks, and I finally gave up my real-life boyfriend Mike Willis, a boy I had been play-dating for more than five years. We were married too, but it was “for real”. My older sister Linda married us, performing the ceremony in the tent out in our backyard. Then, up in the treehouse, what made it official was the kiss. That's right - right on the mouth! I was 5 he was 4. Not a bad union - we remained married from 1967 to 1969 and for our age that has to speak volumes! Mike drew Emily Dickinson and I was jealous - I wanted to be her and she was taken by Mike - so I got the divorce. Not too soon either - within a few minutes of his marrying Emily Dickinson I was getting hitched to old "four eyes" and learning all about the 26th President of the United States. 

When the time came for us to do our little show in front of all the parents and siblings who were forced to walk to the school on a hot autumn evening - I was wearing a long dress with fake lace up to my nose and a big brimmed hat - My mother was calling me Edith, because in REAL life Teddy, as she called him, was married to Edith Carow and they had 5 kids, and Edith also raised Alice Lee Jr., a daughter my "husband" had fathered with his first wife Alice - before she died on Valentine's day just hours after giving birth. (Little known fact, Alice died on Valentine’s Day and Teddy’s mother died just hours later on the same day, in the same house!) 

I stood on the stage in all of my disgust and I said all the lines perfectly - just like I had rehearsed them 1,000,000 times. "I married Theodore Roosevelt. Theodore became the 26th President of the United States after being elected to the office of Vice President following the assassination of William McKinley in September 1901. My husband was known for his grand speeches, his big smile, and the way he handled diplomatic affairs. My husband won the Nobel Peace Prize, but what I think is best about my husband is that he signed Oklahoma into statehood on November 16, 1907." 

It wasn't until many years later that I realized just how extremely lucky I was to be married to a man who had achieved so much in only one lifetime. I think I would actually marry the man today if he were to actually ask me. He and I have the same drive, the same basic political views - and certainly the same dogmatic attitude; stubborn, forceful, opinionated, persistent, but fiercely loyal, dedicated, humbled by God's majestic powers - mesmerized by true love and the power behind it. Theodore (as I call him) and I are both Scorpios, followers of Christ, and strong believers in the rights of the commoner - millionaires tend to overlook the little man, he did not. 

Yes, I would marry my husband Theodore again - the White House would still be busting loose with wild and domestic animals, our children would still be spoiled completely rotten, and we would spend days, weeks, and months in log cabins, hotels, and bungalows - writing. Just writing. Did you know that Theodore wrote 36 books, more than 5,000,000 words - and....well, of course you knew that? You probably love him too. There is one thing I would scold my dear love about - only perhaps one thing...WHAT THE HELL was he thinking when he asked Brooks Brothers to make 100% wool uniforms for the 1st Volunteer Army in 1898 during the Spanish-American War? It was JULY in CUBA! Silly man.  Yes, I’d marry him all over again, and he and I could sit out on the porch of our log cabin that we built for summer vacations. We could write love poems to each other and go skinny dipping in the creek...because we’re cool like that. 

Pipe Bombs vs. Cannoli Forms

WHO KNEW .... that when you get an idea such as I had about cutting down UL mechanical steel pipe to make cannoli forms that the manager at Home Depot would drill me and make me sign something saying I wasn't making pipe bombs?

I think he took my address and phone number so he could come over later and sample the good stuff - hey, I'm talking about the cannolis! Please! I found an online site about a week ago, ordered a set of four tin forms for just under $10 and that even included shipping. They didn't arrive and I called the store - no answer. Lost my money, so I thought to myself I would just run to Home Depot and have 12 forms cut from stainless steel that they have in stock - but they didn't have stainless steel in stock. They had an alloy of metals that included stainless steel - it had tin, and maybe even aluminum. I must have been a pain in the rear because I asked what the exact composition of the metals was - that's when I freaked out the clerk.

Over the little cell phone that each employee has I could hear the man mumbling something about my inept knowledge about the pipes themselves. He even told the manager that I was asking all sorts of questions about the cost and methods used to cut the ends - could I get them rounded for instance. My face must have looked odd to him when he told me no - I was grimmacing because I thought I might cut myself sometime down the road when I was baking. He was thinking I wanted a smooth edge for the blasting cap! You don't use blasting caps to make cannolis!

Anyway, the manager comes over to me. He's got a pen and a pad of paper out. He's asking me to step over to the side. He wanted my i.d., he wanted my name, my address, my phone number, and he wanted me to stay there in the store for a minute or two until he could check out my vehicle - OH MY GOSH - of course I said yes. I'm one of those idiots that thinks surveilence cameras in the cities are a good thing - I want the cops to find me if I get kidnapped. So, there I am waiting on the police - they never showed up, but I did give the manager permission to check my purse and my car - he did not find any ricotta cheese - and he did not find anything resembling a make-shift bomb factory either.

He questioned me about the baking - I answered him. Then I turned to him and asked him a question -- Why can't you get rebar cut into 36" pieces? I mean, they come in 12", 24" and 48", but what about 36" is there something superstitious about 3-feet pieces of rusted steel? There was silence - he told me he couldn't (and wouldn't) help me with my cannoli forms - and I left the store under my own power without an escort. This event called for a glass of wine....and I partook!

Happy About Something Obviously

I've been caught smiling today! I don't have a clue why either! One of my best friends is going into the Police Academy and she's going to be gone for four months - that can't be it. Our fair state has been rocked with tornadoes for the past two days - that can't be it. The pit bull puppy is chewing up my couch and loveseat - dang, that cannot be the reason.

So, I'm asking myself what the heck is this silly grin all over my face for. Then it hit me - I'm healthy. My son called me today. My mom and dad are still kissing after 51 years and I'm about to write two more books! That's it. I'm about to write two more books - at the same time. One book will be my dreams - ohhhhh, that one will be so much fun to write. I'll need to change my name just to do some of them justice! The other book is actually all of these blogs and a few others that I haven't written, or haven't published - gotta save something for the paying customers.

I could be smiling because nothing makes me happier than to hear from my kids - seriously. I just want to know they're in good, safe, warm places - Alaska counts. Reu called to say the entire unit was in severe lockdown and that they were literally living in a one-room cargo bunker because a "complete ass-hole" (his words) lost a very expensive and sensitive laser that goes on the new weapon the Army is testing. Until they find the thing (3 feet of snow) they're sleeping and sitting on the bare ground. My son is safe, and in a very warm and happy place - he was all pissed off, which means he's in good form, and he's eating well because there was NOTHING else to do.

Faced with the fact that I had to cheer my baby boy up -I smiled. I thought about my duty as a good mother to make him feel better about his current situation. I told the boy to concentrate and to think of something really gross - no, really really gross - like my parents making love - that kind of gross. He did...reported that he now had the image securely in his head - so I asked him "Where would you rather be son, where you are, or in their bedroom?" He was quiet - I could sense him nodding. He thanked me. "I'm OK Mom, thank you! I'll be fine here!"

Just so glad I could help.

Deep Dark Secrets - DDS

OK, why is that the initials for our Deepest Darkest Secrets is also the same initials for our Doctor of Dental Sciences? Could there be a similarity? I'm going to think about that for a second before I call Dr. A. and see if he really wants to work on my mouth next week...I may cancel.

I have one. No silly, not a dentist - we all have dentists, or at least we should. Funny - I don't really have a primary care physician (PCP), oops! I don't have a PCP - this is good - but I do have a DDS - a really really deep-seated secret that could ruin me! Oh, OK, I'll share it, no biggie.

I covet! I have decided to give that up of course, not only because it made the TOP 10 laws of the Old Testiment, but also because it's just plain wrong to go about wanting what doesn't belong to you, and what probably never will. Niki gets it - she'll back me on this one. It wasn't easy to give it up either - Hell, it was dang hard to say NO MORE and just walk away - it had to be done - there wasn't much I could do about it....but pout. I'm good at pouting, so I did that for a while. I even did the extremely mature and logical thing and consulted the MP3 in order to see what the real answer to my problems were - my upgraded version of the Magic 8 Ball.

I held the little silver sliver in my hands - turned it on - waited for it to load and then asked the BURNING question "MP3 will I be able to give up what I'm coveting?" The answer came back to me in the form of a Kelly Clarkson song which was of course downloaded into my RCA....the answer "The Trouble with Love Is"....damn, I knew that! I asked a simple question - will I be able to give it up? I forgot that I didn't really have any "Yes" or "No" songs recorded and downloaded...obviously I would have to actually analyze whatever the ready-made answer would be when I left my life's fate to the wanton flipping of my thumb on the circular fortune teller! "Will I be able to give up what I'm coveting?" I asked again - this time the answer "Turn to Stone"....AAAAGGGHHH - not that! OK, I gave it up! Easy! There you go! Done! I took the answer to mean that if I didn't I might actually be turned to stone - but you know what - I would be. Not the stone you see on the ground, but my heart could be in danger of hardening - and I don't want that.

I had to let it go. Passion is a very hard to thing to release - but, as I found out, when you do it with love - it's not as hard as I thought it would be. After making the decision to let it (him) go - I did the little dance, slowly at first, but completely after about an hour. I need to be free of any strings, anything that holds me back, anything that may be wrong - nothing wrong can be attached to me, not if I want the truth. I can't ask God to bless me and then turn around and do something as stupid as desire someone else's love. What is mine is mine - what is not, is not.

No more secrets - I could run for President! Hahahhaha

My Daughter Laura's Wild Ass

This is a real picture of the donkey-like Somali Wild Ass that my daughter Laura calls "hers". The ass actually lives at the Oklahoma City Zoo, and it may interest you to know that I've lied to my daughter for more than 10 years now regarding her ass!

I have been lying to my kids for years, and the funniest thing about this fact is that they lie right back to me, and we all know what the jig is. I will look Reuben squarely in the face at times and tell him that he was misdelivered in 1986 to my house - the address on the stork's package clearly said the street just to the north of us, but I wanted a baby! I wanted a baby boy, so I took him! I never had any intention of giving him back, and I moved immediately so that no one would find me - but, I go on to tell him, that I still have the address and the receipt for his delivery that fine March afternoon, and that if he doesn't clean his room RIGHT NOW, I have every notion to send him right back to where he came from!

Well, it's the same with Laura's ass. She was 8 years old and had learned a new word at school. The word, you guessed it - ASS. She had been called a stupid ass by a kid on the playground and she began crying about it. I told her "Laura, there are no stupid asses - asses are little donkey like horse things and they live all over the world - they travel well, they help people, they make very little fuss - to be honest, I don't think God ever made a smarter animal!" She believed me. BUT, she wanted to see for herself. So, I did what I always do in these situations - I called the Zoo for verification that they had a donkey-type animal there so that I could prove to my kid that she wasn't actually suppose to be upset when someone called her a donkey, horse, burro - whatever...an ass.

We made it to the Zoo, and there you go. One solid, beautiful, fun to stare at ASS. I even lied to my daughter telling her that the Zoo was going to give it to her for her 9th birthday if she would only do all of her homework for the next 6 weeks. She knew full well that I was lying through my teeth - she looked at me and she rebutted "Mom, the Zoo called and said that I could take my ass home with me if I wanted to." I told her she could do whatever she wanted to with her ass, it was her ass, and if she thought it best to sleep with her ass she should do it, she should feed her ass, she should water her ass, she should even play with her ass - it was HER ass! She thanked me, begged me for ice cream, and we left the Zoo - happy.

Today, 10 years later - Laura is calling my bluff. She knows the Zoo has two Somali Wild Asses and she wants one for real. She's almost 18 and I told her today that I would love to buy her a new ass but that it was cost prohibitive to do so. She would need a permit to host her ass, and if her ass refused to stay with her she would have to board her ass. I asked her if she wanted to leave it at the Zoo and maybe just visit her ass from time to time, but she was insistant - saying she didn't like random, unknown people staring at her ass - and maybe it would be best to keep it closer to home. I love my kid. She sees things from the same colored glasses I do, and makes life THAT much easier to cope with.

What Laura doesn't know is that the Zoo has told me where I can actually pick up an ass for about $2000 and the only permit I would need would be an exotic animal permit, costing somewhere between $300 and $500. When you think about it that's not too much to pay for a new ass, not in Oklahoma...I've seen much more expensive asses in Beverly Hills, NYC, Chicago for instance - no land really. Can you imagine keeping your ass on concrete? No, you need lots of space to run your ass, and you really should have a durable fenceline too - Laura's ass is very very important to me, I don't want it to get out, or worse - get into the wrong hands!

We'll know more about the probability of getting her what she wants a little closer to May 7 - until then, her ass must stay exactly where it is! (If you want to take a look at my daughter's little ass - it will cost you about $6.00 for an adult, and the good news is, every kid in the world can look too! It's a beautiful thing! (She named it Mystique)

Cheaper than Cocaine - Maybe

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------OK, so yes - I'm addicted. It has to be the first step to the beginning of my recovery. Wait - I don't want to recover. I like what I do. I love who I am. If coffee keeps me at this pace, at this place - bring it.

It is true, I have become a coffee snob - but if Starbucks wasn't so dang good I wouldn't be. I have gone way out of my way to make sure that I like Starbucks better than any other brand. When I visit the Newark airport I find that if I don't get my Starbucks before entering, I can do Seattle's Best - as long as I'm in New York City (close enough) - I wouldnt' want to try drinking something else in a lesser location.

We took a trip to Seattle to see a million soldiers and we did...but I made sure the manager of the PX understood that just because I wasn't being PAID to show up and entertain the troops (famous dog) that he had better be fast and ready with the little white cup and green orbed mermaid....I work cheaply yes, but you DO HAVE TO PAY....3 Starbucks a day. That's my going rate, and I'm actually thinking of raising it since I dropped the Quad-Shot down to a Triple. What do you think? Fair?

I've been to about 200 Starbucks, give or take. I have business cards from most of them but I discovered in the Orlando airport that airport Starbucks don't have business cards. Dallas doesn't, I know that - I haven't been to Fairbanks yet - do they even have a Starbucks in Fairbanks? Is my son Starbuckless? Thinking about this just now makes me sad. Really sad. Must pick up the phone - must call the boy - must make sure he's able to function --- No, that's me, nevermind. He's H2O.

Yeah, coffee - even Starbucks is still cheaper than cocaine. I think it's just as effective - it's legal - probably even at the doses I take daily, and it's hot most of the time. I haven't completely fallen under the spell of the iced or frozen drink just yet - I'm sure I will - it's part of the marketing plan I'm sure, but as it stands I am just a regular addict - not quite pathetic, and get this: Last week...I went 2 days without coffee. Well, 40 hours, almost 2 days. It wasn't worth it.

I've said it before, but Starbucks makes me think - and when I think I'm alive - dangerously alive, and I like that. I create so much better on my 2nd or 3rd cup...maybe a loud stereo blasting out CCR, Step, maybe ELO and a little Kansas .... yes....yes...the memories of Steve Walsh thumping around stage in his little red short shorts....give me a minute - - - - Wow, 1979. 1980. 1981. 1982. STYX....damn...I forgot about that one. Pour me another cup, I have to get to the section of my brain with John Waite of the Babies screaming at me for not knowing who he was - Hahahaha...if coffee brings back these types of memories, should we be testing it for memory loss? (Was that Queen? Wow....Burbank '83)