Chicago Condo!

Searching! Searching! Anyone out there with a little insight, please give me an e-mail or comment - I'm in the market for a nice condo in Chicago without the realtor's BS about not being able to tell me where to spend my money.

Funny, you can tell a realtor you want to be in a safe neighborhood without much crime (she laughs, because it's like saying you want a quiet neighborhood in NYC) and you can tell the realtor that you want to be close to the bustle without the noise of the EL train, but they can't tell you what area to buy in. That would be illegal. I have $300K to spend and they can't tell me where to spend it. I don't get that.

In Oklahoma $300K will get you a 4300 sq ft house in an area with less crime than the local Lutheran Church. It'll be the best dang hood in the city for sure, and if you want the outskirts - just ask. Oh, but don't ask a licensed realtor - they won't even flinch for fear that you'll turn them in for favortism - backlash advice, or something they call "unethical practice" because they can't reveal the stats to you regarding the murders, rapes, arson, robberies and/or assaults in the area - that would be UNFAIR to YOU they say! No, really - it's not. I want to spend the $300K knowing I'm going to LIVE to enjoy it.

That same $300K in Chicago (and NYC) will get you a condo, which is what I want - in a highrise, which is what I want, and it may (just may) get you a gym membership. (Those cost $275.00 a year here, by the way, and come with a private trainer for an extra $150.00 annual fee) I don't want to be pushy and ask for a garage space - one of my freedom acts is to be without a car for about a year to see if I can do it. Heck, I just want to see if I can survive a week or two of the winter weather before taking off for Panama City, Florida - I doubt I make 2 full weeks anyway.

So...here's what I expect from you: Write me - tell me where to move to, and I know from others it's suppose to be north of 20th and East of Wicker - cool - what do you think about Sheridan Street vs. Kenmore vs. Marine? Did you know there isn't a Starbucks within winter walking distance from 5000 N. Marine, Chicago? Big, gorgeous building, but I will not spend the $300K there if I can't walk to a Starbucks! Forget about it - not happening! Oh, and I will have Faith, and I have my perfect dog Matrix too - so parks are nice. I'm planning on paying a service in the winter to walk the dogs - I'm such a weenie...and I'm buying a DeLonghi Magnifica model expresso machine for the hard-winter months as well. I can always put on a green apron and pretend I work at as a barista!

Love to you all who know what I'm searching for!! It's the writer in me I guess, but I think it's time to suffer for the cause. (Hahahaha...right, I'm just getting the heck out of Dodge!)

Good Friday to You!

ONLY God Almighty can make it snow in Oklahoma with the temperature being 40-44 degrees farenheit! I woke up this morning to the thought that the pollen must be outrageous! I saw white flakes falling, twisting, spinning in the air - and when I let the dogs out - the pollen was frozen! It was hitting my face and I looked up laughing - ONLY YOU GOD! Only You!

The entire day represents of course, the first full day and night that our Savior Jesus Christ was separated from us, while he was laid in the tomb - alone, cold, dead - no wonder the weather patterns become confused. No wonder the skies cry. Here, in Oklahoma, if you check the weather patterns for this particular day - no, not April 6, but the day of Good Friday - you will be utterly amazed at the way He, and yes, HE ALONE, can do what He does with our weather - getting our attention every single time. Sometimes it rains non-stop, other times it is so gray and so dark that we swear it's Saturday before it's actually noon on Friday. Today - snow!

Was it a good day? Oh, I don't know - my dogs got out. I had to chase them down with the car and assure Laura that they had to feel a bit uneasy about the weather themselves...they will return home. They just wanted a bit of really fresh air. About an hour later I went to comfort a friend who lost his father this week - and I couldnt' cry for him. He wasn't crying either. We realized that THIS Easter his father will be with OUR Father, and DANG that makes me so very jealous. Everytime someone that I know is a Christian dies - I get a knot of sheer envy throbbing in my stomach. He'll get to be there! He'll get to celebrate there! I'm stuck here, and no matter how great here is today - it isn't there.

But it was a Good Friday. My Girly-Girl Cop decided to come home and let her mark be made. She decided not to play the game that the Oklahoma Highway Patrol wanted her to play - they tried their damnest to humiliate her, to push her to greater limits than any of the men that made the academy - and JUST because she's a woman they thought it was OK to single her out, and to make her do things that they would NEVER ask a man to do - so she nodded, politely declined to continue, and she'll never be outdone - I bet NO OTHER woman over 40 makes it as far as she did, and if they do - they will probably succumb to the bullies - she stood up....and...and..she's going to write a book about it to express her willingness to help other women who refuse to be made to feel less of a person just because she wanted to serve in a boys club. She won!

I am not, am not, am not a male-basher - but I won't stand for a man (or in her case a bunch of men) to try and break the spirit of a woman. It will not happen without a fight - and she fought! What a great way to celebrate a Good Friday! Raise your hands and say thank you to any and every WOMAN who was strong enough to be a woman....when you needed one! Thanks Niki! You're my hero today!

Happy Easter to the World and to my God.

It Comes Naturally For Me!

Happy 72nd MOMMY! This is my Mom, she's the funny looking one on the right. The handsome man next to her is her first cousin, famous baseball player Calvin Julius Caesar Tuskahoma McLish!

When I tell you that my good looks and talent come naturally I mean it. Before I was born my mom was scheming and dreaming, meeting famous actors such as James Garner, Dale Robertson, James Cagney and others - mainly because she, like me, put herself in the situation or the location to meet people of interest. Like me, Mom was never star-struck or really all that personally impressed by a persona - why should she be? People are people - right?

If ever there was a dame to be celebrated for bravo, intuition and sheer gutsy-go it would be Rebecca Ruth Edwards. Let me tell you a little something about Miss Sneakypants - that way you'll know that what I do isn't altogether my fault - it's in the GENES. (You should have met her father, she didn't stand a chance either!)

The Sunday following Labor Day 1955 - think about the weather, think about the time of day - it was 10 minutes past the start of the weekly sermon at 40th Street Baptist Church, so if every Baptist church starts at 9 :30 then it must have been aroun 9:40 a.m. when my poor father lost his license to remain a single man. Mom (at that time Miss Becky Edwards, unmarried and oh-so-cute in her little new bobbed hairdo and clean pressed wool skirt and button-down jacket to match) walked into the back of the church, into the entrance, and promptly sat beside her little sister Naomi who was instructed to save my mother a seat should she be late - and late she was. Everyone turned around, everyone saw her coming into the back of the auditorium, everyone looked at her new suit - it was worth the $15.00 price tag JUST for that reason. She wasn't late - she was making an entrance.

Mom giggled a bit, shyly lowered her head as she ducked into her pew beside her equally mischievious sister and waved off her onlookers with a dainty gloved hand as if to say "Nothing to see, turn around please." One face did not completely turn around to face the minister - that was his first mistake. Dad was always a little slow now that I think about it. LOST! GOTCHA! Caught! The man was seen - the eyes were held - the plot began to capture the U.S. Naval sailor, the new boy sitting just ahead of the two giggling girls.

"Naomi, I'm going to marry that man", she said softly between the 2nd and 4th stanza of Amazing Grace (Baptists never sing the 3rd stanza of any old hymn. Not true Baptists anyway!) "I'm going to marry him, and you can have his brother if he's got one." That promise being made - my father made an attempt to get away as fast as he could - perhaps he saw the look in her green eyes, perhaps he sensed his collar tightening when he once again turned to look her over before trying to exit the building.

OUT went her foot into the aisle , AS SHE PRAYED, and DOWN went the noble sailor who must have had his eyes on the back door! BAM! To the floor in all his glory, noise has always been my dad's enemy - he absolutely hates a scene. Banking on this male instinct Mom quickly threw her glove to the ground - and YES, being the very Southern gentleman that my dad is, he retrieved it and then he returned it. THAT was mistake number 2. If he wasn't hooked before, he was in the pail at this point.

"My name is Becky" she began. "Wayne" was his return. "Well, Reuben Wayne, but they call me Wayne." She smiled - pirates smile at times like this. We (did I say we?) get a little information, and we store it - storing it requires the break of a slight smile to seal the door on the compartment of the storage space in our brains. "Wayne, I have a problem. I don't have a date to the picnic after church. It's just in a few minutes, and well, I don't have a single opportunity to find a boy to take me - I came in late, and all the boys are taken." THIS is where my dear sweet dad made his third and final mistake - they went to the picnic together - ONLY there wasn't a picnic! It was just mom's little mean and manipulating way to keep him a little longer - and alone.

Her plan was simple - walk to the park, and on the way pick up a basket of this and that from her house which, if you walked straight down 40th street would be just perfectly situated between the church and the park. They did this of course, and being home, and able to change clothes in a flash, the little petite gal went from buttoned up Miss Priss to a jeans-clad 50's girl complete with her brother's white polo, delicate scarf about the neck, and even - yes, the vanilla perfume from her mother's cabinet just behind the ears. Ears you could now see and smell since her waist length hair had been cut only days before to reveal the new womanly sprite - her new and true self. For his part - dad just stood there with his mouth opened and nodded as he passed four of her five brothers and a couple of her sisters who knew absolutely NOTHING of a picnic following the service, but certainly knew their little Becky!

On December 3, 1955 - less than 2 months later, my mom and my dad married. MARRIED. He fell literally for the woman with the pretty little waistline, the thick auburn curls, and that...smile, that wicked, twisted little curved up smile - and he's been smiling ever since.

Happy Birthday She-Devil! Love ya more than you'll know.

Your Hard-Earned Tax Dollars at Work!

Photo Credit: Someone other than me. It wasn't listed. Did you know that our government is into spending our money in ways that MIGHT not meet with every one of our expectations? Oh, you knew that? Well then, this won't surprise you at all.

My son, my beautiful, directionally-challenged U.S. Army soldier son Reuben called me to inform me that he had once again "stepped in it" and that meant that he and his battle buddies had to make restitution for his faux-paux...if I had, oh I don't know, a dime for every folly, flub, boo-boo, or oopsy that my baby boy created for me during the first 21 years of his life - there wouldn't be a need to write for a living - we'll say that. I love the kid - but really - a navigator in a multi-million dollar tank should be able to tell the difference between East and West at 6:45 p.m. ... the sun usually has something to do with it - wouldnt' you think? He wasn't driving the tank, he was navigating - and the top was open! The top was open! (Of course they were outside, someone asked me if they were performing the manuever outside when this happened today - yes, they drive tanks outside most of the time!)

My Baby Boy misguided his team - and the only excuse he gave when they came in dead last place was that he didn't know which direction the sun was going to be setting - TODAY! Do you or do you not feel safe knowing that MY SON will be protecting you? You'll feel a lot better when I tell you that he's an expert shooter, has the highest ranks in hand-to-hand, pistol, grenade (that makes me happy) and in DRIVING the tank - it's the navigation that tripped him up. You should also know that he can't be beat at NCAA Playstation gaming and has over 38 straight seasons of being the National Championship Head Coach and that includes his personal designing and redesigning of plays that haven't hit the gridiron yet because he's saving them for when he becomes a high school coach. He was on one of Oklahoma's BEST high school football teams, and he was the leader year after year - but THANK GOD no one ever asked him to take the ball to the East goal, or to the West goal - he just had the kill whoever had the ball in their hands! (Reggie White taught him that much. Reuben played ironman lineman.)

So, with the loss came a challenge - a well known, in-your-face challenge that allowed every other member of the unit at least a 30-40 minute headstart marching their way back to the bunker. The LOSERS had to find out scientifically - through hard work and concentration - exactly how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Toosie Pop! My son lucked out and volunteered to be the counter rather than on the licking team. The answer - 4,233 unless you count Pvt. Simmons' attempt to bite through the last thinning layers - and - they were not allowed to just lick one side - had to be all the way around until the chocolate was exposed on all sides.

Now you know! Hooah!

Hiding In Plain Sight!

It can't be easy being a two-legged dog in a four-legged world. Poor Faith, I can't take her anywhere without curious questions, people stopping us every 10-15 seconds to ask the same questions that the last group of on-lookers just asked. She's good with all the attention - sometimes it's me that has to take a breather - Faith just sticks out her tongue and smiles!

We live in a suburb of Oklahoma City, the city is named Edmond, and we're doing our best to help the state celebrate our 100th year anniversary this year - really cool things happened in Edmond in the past 100 years. Recently Edmond has been making news because of a little dog that just happens to live in the neighborhood - we've been here quite a while, but I guess she's just now being seen. They call that hiding in plain sight. Faith probably doesn't even know she's been in hiding. With winter weather, storms, traveling, (getting lost on airplanes and having the media tell the world you live in Orlando could have something to do with it) and of course just chilling under the bed - Faith's been noticed more recently than she has been in the past, that's all.

This afternoon (74 degrees and sunny) a few boys in the hood were playing hide-n-go-seek in the various yards that surround our little cul de sac street - one bouncing, long haired kid took his refuge behind my refuge...our garbage can, one of those big green dumpsters that the city gives you and then demands that you find a way to hide it out of sight so that the homeowners association doesn't come down on you - when did we agree that they could anyway? Whatever - the kid was hiding behind a dumpster in my yard when Faith, who had been visiting another neighbor (to her great surprise), decided to out the boy by skipping her 37 inch frame over to him at warp speed...barking! He was freaked!

The kid was torn between turning himself in, and possibly losing the game, or staying and getting an up close and personal view of my kanga-dog now rapidly approaching him; tongue out, barking voice, no arms - walking upright - yes, he HAD seen the dog on Montel and Ripleys, but he NEVER expected to see her in ....her own yard, just two doors down from his! OUT! He's out! The other boys got to the central tree first, and called him out! Hahahha...the dog won! When the boy called back to his friends that it was unfair they just laughed at him - "She's on our team!" they shouted back - "She's always lived there, we knew that". Well, now he does.

I took Faith to the post office a couple of days ago where she's always meeting new people. It's always the same: "Have I seen that dog on Oprah? You live here?" They ask me if I live in Edmond because I have a post office box and I guess they realize you have to live in the immediate area to rent one - I do live here - and have! No, we're not from California. We're not from NYC - which is the first choice of most passersby because of the 10 trips we've taken I suppose - and we're not from Florida...which so far has seen more of our sunny faces than any other state in the union besides our own Sooner State.

Yes, you've seen her on Oprah. You've seen her on Ripleys. She's been on Montel, Maury, David, Ricki, in magazines, newspapers, on stage with over a dozen rock bands - she's been in circus performances both in person and on television, she's been on Animal Planet, Animal Radio, Animal Attractions, PBS, AOL, CNN, MSNBC, and every local station known to men - but she lives in plain sight - and I might add, not too glamorously - she spends 90% of her time under the bed! That's right people - the World's Most Photographed Dog is a cave animal after all.

Who knew she was so .....normal? (God did!)

There Was This Woman ---

OH, don't you know that EVERY time a man gets in trouble his reason, no, his excuse begins with "There was this woman". Adam used that same line on God in the Garden of Eden - it didn't work then, and it doesn't work now - own up!

I know your son doesn't call you at 2:00 in the morning to tell you he's bored and that he wishes he was in Iraq but mine does. He's training at his duty station (Army) in Fairbanks, Alaska and he's bored - too much snow. After complaining about not having enough to do, after complaining about the food, the trek to town just to get a beer, the fact that he and his unit had to stay several nights in a one-room bunker because someone lost a scope to a weapon -- he finally came clean as to why - for the past 3 nights - my son, my one and only boy, has been calling me nearly every other hour to talk. "Mom, there's this woman."

OK...he's in love. I get that. CALL HER!

When he drove the car through the house (not to it, through it) he was thinking about a girl he liked at school. When he broke the arm of his own team's quarterback - he was thinking about a girl he wanted to ask out. When he failed to stop at a stop sign clearly marked, and yes, it even came with blinking lights overhead --- THERE WAS THIS WOMAN was the beginning of the sentence that ended weakly, and probably really pathetically as well. She was in front of him, in a cute little car, and she smiled - he had to follow.

Tonight - I drove my two daughters to the mall so they could see a movie. I walked around the mammoth shell of the closed shops, dreaming, thinking, wishing, and looking at the clothes, the shoes, the tiny little pink, hi-cut panties with a matching hot laced bra in the window at Victoria Secret that I knew would actually never come off the rack and actually make it into my own bag - but I looked anyway - why? Well, there was ....this woman....I remember her. She was pretty hot. She had legs that went way way up to her short shorts and she walked, no she would glide, like a queen or - maybe like an angel - and she had an attitude on her, girl, she could tell anyone where to go, what to do, when to do it, and if they couldn't somehow tell from the shape of her lip, the stare of her eyes, and the way she tossed her head back almost immediately following a "look" - well, they certainly needed help.

There was this woman - they say being narcisistic is a bad thing, but you know - a little bit helps now and then. I miss her sometimes. I do.

Mr. Handsome! (My 2nd Favorite Boss)

Before I had the honor of training my Mr. Edward H. Moler, I went around bragging to anyone and everyone that my favorite boss was none other than James Scott Garner, or Bumgarner if you're from Oklahoma - and you like to pretend you're in the know.

My Mr. Handsome - see picture please, is the epitome of gorgeous both inside and out, and I have to tell you Jim, Moler rivals you in every way - but I do give you the edge in the looks department if only for the way you tip your hat, Sir.

In less than a week Mr. Handsome, Jim Garner, turns 79 and with the soul of the lion that he has always been - I'm sure we'll hear a few more roars out of this guy before too terribly long. I won't give up many of his secrets by telling you that what you saw on television and in the early films was exactly what we saw as his employees, co-workers, friends. He simply is Jim: grits-eating, golf-swinging, eyebrow-lifting-innocent Jim, and there really wasn't much acting going on - well, maybe there was in a few films, the ones where he had to play the bad guy - no one believes that role -- not in a million years. Clever, tricky, sneaky, off-the-cuff, and off-the-edge of the cliff yes, but never a bad guy...maybe just a little bad?

When I left Hollywood for the Plains and pains of Oklahoma, I made the right decision - but I left an incredibly awesome man when I did. One I could have used over and over and over again to gain knowledge compounded upon knowledge - it's just a damn good thing I walked into Mr. Moler's life when I did. It was a great trade guys - and to be honest, Edward H. Moler needed a little spicing up too! I was happy to oblige. Best boss in the world - it was a difficult decision, and the ONLY reason Jim that I had to give the title to Moler was simply that he put up with me as long as he did....I wish you would have begged. I would have been in writer's Heaven by now, instead I'm in Purgatory - waiting..writing..waiting. But the adventures were worth it.

In your words Mr. Handsome (may I borrow them for this?) "Oh Hell! You knew what you were gettin' your own self into!" Big Smile! Big Smile! Big...Big...Big...I love you so much smile. You're simply amazing. You know, if I were born a boy my Mom would have called me James? Well, Matthew James, after Matt Dillon and James Arnez, but I can fudge a little - Thanks for the lessons.

Greatest Man to Walk the Earth - Used a Crutch

OK, there's Jesus, and He didn't use a crutch, but let's talk about the OTHER greatest man to ever walk the Earth - My Grandpa Edwards. I wanted to host a photo of him, but don't have one that I can look up online. He was many things, but being online was not one of them. He wasn't a soldier, never actually owned much, had a fishing pole though, and he did claim to be Superman; and yes, I believed him.

 Papa was 71 years old and 3 days when I first met him. I guess I probably didn't meet him for another several days actually, not until they let Mom take me home from the hospital where I was born 4 weeks premature and a little on the dead side. Papa and Grandma allowed Mom and Dad and the four of us kids to live in their 2 bedroom, 1 bath, no car garage home near downtown Oklahoma City while Dad looked for a place in the burbs to raise his new and vastly overcrowded family. Grandpa, for his part, let me sleep in his room - the back porch! I know that had to have gone over well with the two dominate women in the home; however, Grandpa pulled rank - he always did. He insisted, and that was that. He even agreed to stop smoking if I was in the room in my little laundry basket where I slept when I wasn't in his arms directly. 

 I knew nothing about a two-legged Grandpa growing up, all the good ones, mine, had only one real leg - anyone claiming their Grandpa had two legs must have been jealous because the BEST Grandpas only had one, and I knew this - you guessed it - because HE said so. Grandpa said a lot of things, and that was one of them. He also told me I was his favorite grandkid, and of course, I believed that too. (Knowing now of course that he probably whispered that lie to everyone of his 25 grandchildren, but at the time - at the time.) Grandpa kept a little book in his drawer by his bed and sometimes he would pull it out and read a little from it - never letting me see it fully, he just wanted me to trust him. It was a book about me. It had my name in it, he showed me that. He said it was a book about only the good things and that it was all about how I was going to grow up and be a world-famous horse jockey - then he changed it one day, on a whim, and said the book magically changed the words on him. Suddenly, the book now claimed that I was going to play baseball and be the first girl pitcher in the major leagues. (Now I knew he was lying! I liked football!)

 Grandpa took me with him everywhere because he sat in my Dad's car in the front seat and I sat right between them. He paid for every Orange Crush I ever drank I think, and I drank plenty! He gave me a nickel when I did backflips for him - and I earned a lot of cash that way too. When I was 9 he lost his wooden/fake leg in the lake while we were fishing - it threatened to float away - and he sent me out after it. That's the day I realized I could swim - I paddled my way out to the leg and retrieved it dragging it back by my teeth - it had a strap. He laughed! I laughed! They don't make Grandpas like him anymore...I got the last really good one. Papa and I sat in the back of the church one day - 40th Street Baptist Church; and he told me not to pray too hard. I thought it was a funny thing to say really since God liked to hear from us. Not too hard he said, God knew me well enough to know what I wanted. I just had to be honest about it and not lie and say I was always good and deserved to be heard. When I think back on that day in church I realize that he was talking about himself too - but he was always perfect, though - always. 

 When he decided to stop fishing and die I was really upset about it. He gave me a good talking to that day too, and even though I wasn't quite ready to let that old man leave me - he told me not to cry too hard about it. He said and I quote "I know you well enough to know what you want, and I can't give it to you. You'll just have to see me when you get there, but I can tell you this - if God will let me, I'll just have one leg so you can recognize me when you do come up to visit." The greatest man that I ever SAW walk the Earth, used a crutch or a cane every time I saw him do it.

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.