Yoga in Dupont & A.D.D.

Every Wednesday during the summer there’s a free yoga class right in the grass in Dupont Circle from 6:30-7:30. Last night I figured I’d save $20 and skip the Bikram class and just try this free one considering it was still 99 degrees outside so it’d be like fake Bikram minus 30 minutes. The problem is, I have A.D.D so yoga outside in one of the busiest neighborhoods in DC proved to be problematic. There’s too much surrounding stimulus to focus on a yoga pose, so for 60 minutes, I sloppily fudged my way through class trying not to bother Lucy, who was in fact able to pay attention.  I was more focused on the following:

*After a shirtless black man ran past our class he yelled ‘hey nigga’ at his homey across the way and I could only wonder what the 50 white women around me were thinking as they tree posed.

*As I slid into downward dog, and peered through my knees behind me, I wondered what the old man parked comfortably and perfectly centered behind me was thinking each time my ass went in the air…but then

*I remembered I was in Dupont and became more curious what the ‘woman’ to his right wearing the Nike Boots and Army shirt was thinking every time ass went in the air

*Then I wondered if someone I knew would see me in my tiny spandex shorts and tank, snap a photo unbeknown to me in some compromising position and  quickly post and tag it on facebook knowing it’d be at least an hour before I could get home and  frantically detag myself.

*Then I stopped caring and was fixated on the trees above my head and wondered if they really do eat people in the park at sundown to grow taller

* watched the birds fly above and wondered, how many times a bird flaps its wings per minute, AND how long can they soar before they have to start flapping again

*as I listened to the guitarist strumming tunes above the Dupont North metro stop, I wondered if subway stop musicians make more in NY or more in DC, because I kinda figured half of all NYers are poor struggling musicians themselves

*Stole Lucy’s bberry and took pictures

*Anytime we stretched downward, I was distracted by and picked at, the dead skin on my left babytoe, and didn’t bother with the stetch/pose at all. I was also fixated on the color contrast of my ‘slave’ feet as CL affectionately calls them, against my mint toe nail polish against my purple mat, against the green grass. For that moment, some dead summer skin on my tiniest toe and overexposedtothesunblackened feet proved more fascinating than free yoga in Dupont Circle.

Really though the deal breaker from the jump was:

Yoga Instructor: (saying something faint and we can’t hear much she says)

Lucy: whispering – ‘what did she say’?

Me:  yelling-  ‘SHE SAID SHES HARD OF HEARING SO WAVE INSTEAD OF YELL IF YOU NEED HELP’

(as I retold this part to GDGJ on the porch last night, he said ‘you made her sound retarded not deaf, as I did my impersonation)

3rd base and a Flying Purple People Eater

Once upon a time I meet this guy. I was young and uber naive. If I remember correctly, it was fall of junior year.  I was in line at Subway getting a sandwhich to go after the Howard vs. Hampton game. I overheard this older gent talking something about script writing. I interjected and asked what he did, and said I was heading home to work on a script for class. He offered me his card and said if I have any questions about the industry, feel free to touch base as he’d been doing script writing but mainly for sports broadcasts.  He was a Hampton alumni in town for the game, but living in NYC, doing sports / sports media work.  I tucked his card away and kept in touch, throwing random questions his way re: internships, etc over the next yearish.

First, I’ll say, he was a great resource and mentor/ guide, as I navigated the school to work transition. But he fell all kinds of in love with me. Yeah I said it, fell in all kindsa cradle robbin love. I mean, that’s not hard to do but, boo, you had a crooked receding hairline and a belly that matched Papa Cabral’s,  no bueno. The career advice stopped coming, and in replace of advice, I got mushy cards, flowers, and a stuffed flying purple people eater. Yes, pause and go back. A Flying Purple People Eater that may be somewhere in my bedroom  at my dads house in Mass and if you squeeze it, the song plays.  After a few months of admiring me from afar, he called and said ‘Heather, most women throw themselves at me, I mean, anyone else and I would have at least gone to third base by now, but you’re impossible’.  (I died inside because the thought of even hugging that dude, turned my stomach) My friends warned me and said I had to put an end to this shenanigans before I showed up missing…so I did… end of the love talk nonsense, because even though he wasn’t THAT far out of age dating range, he certainly looked it,  and well, I simply wasn’t attracted to his Steve Urkel-esqueness. The nonsense  ceased for a while and our roles as mentor / mentee were now tainted but utilized from time to time until one day it all came crashing down.

I had an interview at Bloomberg TV in NY and Nu meet me there so we could hang out after.  Said mentor had a contact at Bloomberg so I called for some insight ahead of time. He had some good info and said he’s sorry he wouldn’t be in town to catch up while I’d be in NYC as he was  going out of the country with his girlfriend (yep girlfriend / kinda sorta baby mama but not really mess), but said we could stay at his place and he’d have his doorman let us in. To two poor jobless souls looking for a place to crash in NY, this was perfect. After tromping around the city all day, sleep was all we wanted and we hopped in a cab to Battery Park . Get in, settle down, watch TV and discover an abundance of porn nestled, well no not nestled, neatly stacked, on the entertainment center shelves as if left that way for company to scoff at. WTF!  Not that porn is bad, but finding an abundance of VHS tapes w/ big booties and comically bad titles like Banana Cream Dream plastered across the front is a bit jostling. We managed to laugh ourselves to sleep, and quickly ran away in the morning, barely thanking the doorman on our way out and leaving nothing but a thank you note on the frig. That was 7 years ago. I had PTSD from the situation and erased him from my memory, until I got a text from a 646 # last weekend saying  something along the lines of ‘hey beautiful…’ I had no idea who it was, and partially flattered, I scratched my head and replied ‘I”m sorry, I’m on my 3rd phone since April (the truth), who is this’?  Upon learning, I wanted to barf but instead I penned, errr uhh, typed this blog while my gut gurgled thinking about his monkey ass.

Oral, Jamaica, America’s Most Wanted…

Yes, they are all apart of the same story, and 10 minutes in my life which I’ll never forget.

The year was maybe 1994, our family was on vacation in Jamaica for spring break. The Cabral’s stayed at Sunquest per usual, but the Iacobos were at Charella Inn down the beach. Nuala, Leana and I were walking to meet Toni and Nick half way to play at the beach.  We meet somewhere in the middle and this Jamaican man stops us…

‘Hey Gahls, I won take ya tuh duh dance hall ta’night, My name is Oral’…he extended his skeevy hand and we all looked at each other, moderately creeped out  and said ‘We’re 13! we can’t go to a dancehall with you” and tried to make a run for it. As we quickly walked away he shouted ‘If ya change ya mind, ask someone to fine me, remembuh, my name is Oral’.

Okay, now, we giggled and said what does he mean oral, like oral sex? We didn’t tell our parents about this run in, as we thought we’d have to be watched under too careful of an eye the rest of vacation and lose all our freedom so we were mum, and managed to be safe until we landed back on US soil.

Well fast forward a few months when I’m babysitting my cousins Evan and Nia who were also on the trip but not there for the Oral meeting.  Its late, its dark, and Evan, maybe 8 at the time wanted to watch America’s Most Wanted, such a boy.  We’re all on the floor playing legos when John Walsh’s all too familiar voice said  ‘and we’re looking for a man from Negril Jamaica that goes by the nickname Oral’. I froze, I was stuck between scared and excited because I … 1) thought I was about to be a hero  2) thought I was going to get reward money for sharing what I knew about this guy. I quickly dial the 800 number and tell the operator everything I knew about ‘Oral’ which wasn’t much, she says ‘Thank you ma’am we’ll pass this info on to investigators’ and HUNG UP! What, I’m not the hero? No prize money!

It was the most anticlimactic ending to what I thought would be an exciting night after I made the call. But alas, many trips back to Negril, and years later…I still keep my eye out for Oral, and so should you.

Real World: Martha’s Vineyard

Cue Amahd’s Back In The Day …

I smell the tide going out, pizza at Giordano’s, fudge wafting out of Murdock’s, and Ice Cream at Mad Martha’s. It was summer 1996 ish and we were young, silly, and had Vineyard Boos. It was simple, uncomplicated, stress free love.  All one needed in life was a Basketball Boy & Beach. We also had a video camera, and a food pantry that doubled as our ‘confessional’ and the desire to make our own version of Real World (which I share with NO ONE).

So this particular innocent love started with looking for my cousin Leana on the corner of Circuit Ave near the Game Room (when the game room was still next to the movie theater where there’s some god aweful something else now).  All our friends were standing on the stoop in front of Ben & Bills Chocolate Emporium as we did most nights…VB we’ll call him (Vineyard Boo) said ‘I’ll walk down there with you’ and the rest is kinda history. VB walked me to find her and said ‘you should come visit me in NY, I’ll show you around’ I was giddy, and smiled. We were both leaving the island  the next day for the rest of summer, so this crush curiosity would have to continue a year later…and it did…

A year later, I found myself sitting on the Inkwell at sunset with VB, he was a charmer, he smoothed talked me for a bit and then the kiss I waited a year for happened! That was our first night on island, so these kisses continued a few more weeks.  It was young innocent puppy love really. Our days were routine,  meet up after basketball/beach, but before dinner (which is strictly family time), then again after dinner. We snuck kisses all up and down Circuit Ave, all up and through the playground after dark, on our front porch when the ‘rents were sleeping!

What I’d give to go back to these innocent days when young love meant walking up and down Circuit Ave with your friends, getting ice cream with VB at Mad Martha’s, sneaking kisses on the lifeguard chair (that’s sadly no longer there), riding bikes around the island and sitting on our porch with our loves because it was after curfue but we technically were home.

Years later I still pull out the VHS family version of Real World: Martha’s Vineyard, die of laughter and embarrassment, I re-read the love letters VB sent me between summer time fun in Oak Bluffs, and reflect on good times as a kid…Ahh to be 15 again…

Green Lovin’ (of the environmentaly friendly sorts)

For the sake of not being crass…I changed this from Green Sex to the title above…also for the sake of any of you weirdos getting ideas that Shrek has been in my bed lately…But for real, this is a great article I found on MSN …lets remember to protect ourselves AND the environment. Don’t ask where 8 is because I don’t know!

Peace and Love
Heather
______________________________________________________________________
Whether you’re single and playing the field, settled down with that special someone, or someplace in between, most of us consider good, satisfying, sexy sex an important part of this complete breakfast. It might not be the first thing you think of while working towards a sustainable and graceful life on this fragile planet, but there’s a lot you can do to make your sex life greener. In the process of greening the ecological footprint of your love making, we might also open up some new doors to deeper pleasure, satisfaction, and romantic connection. (For the complete and uncensored guide, visit TreeHugger.com)

Top Ten Tips

1. Sexy giving
Getting a stylish and useful gift is always a turn on. Organic massage oils, fair trade chocolate, or a bottle of biodynamic red wine are hot options. For Valentine’s, you can even get an all fair trade goodie bag for your lovie. Of course, romance and good sex know no price, and a poem from the heart, a massage, some hot role playing, or a home-cooked dinner for two can be the hottest gifts of all.

2. Bamboo in bed
If you’ve never experience bamboo bed sheets, you’re missing out. Bamboo fabric is silky and slippery (but not so slippery you’ll slide out of bed), wicks moisture, has natural antimicrobial properties, comes from a rapidly renewable resource, and is super sexy.

3. Green and sexy fun
Sexy play can be green and efficient as well. As seen on TreeHugger TV, showering together can save water (but if things get steamier, we suggest taking it to the bedroom and not leaving the shower running). In the winter time, some nice warm loving before bed can get the bedroom toasty, meaning the thermostat can be lower (see How to Green Your Heating, for more). A nice bike ride for two is a fossil-fuel-free way to get the blood flowing and can also be quite stimulating. And of course the classic candle-lit dinner is a delicious way to set the mood and save on energy bills.

4. Natural aphrodisiacs
Since days of yore, lovers have turned to natural herbs and special foods to find stimulation, endurance, and sexual health. While we can’t vouch for any of these, and all supplements should be taken with caution and/or professional advise, it is rumored that herbs like ginseng, kava kava root, damiana leaves, kelp, tribulus, ginko biloba, rhodiola rosea, and of course horny goat weed can help stoke the flames of passion–even more so if certified organic. A host of foods are also used to stimulate the sexual senses, and of course organic wine and Champaign are trusted aphrodisiacs as well.

5. Green grooming
There’s definitely something hot about going purely au natural, but most of us choose products to sexify ourselves. Using natural and organic products are going to be better for you, the environment, and whoever ends up kissing your neck. Many modern tree huggers also do one thing or another to keep their body hair in check, especially when it comes to intimate moments. Shaving and waxing can do the trick, but especially waxing can be resource intensive and also expensive in the long run. Laser and electrolysis hair removal, after a number of treatments, can be more or less permanent, which might be greener over time. The Preserve razor from Recycline has replaceable heads and an ergonomic handle made from recycled plastic (mostly Stonyfield Farms yogurt cups). But don’t stop there. The Razor Saver is a $12 device that resharpens dulled blade cartridges.

6. Go sexy, but go durable
Whether it’s lingerie or a new sex toy, things that are well made and even repairable are almost always the greener and more economical choice in the long run. High-quality sex toys tend to be pretty pricey, but will almost certainly last longer and give more pleasure. Keep this in mind when buying for yourself or for another. Also, note: inflatable sheep can easily be repaired with a bicycle patch kit if popped.

7. Eco-undiesSlinky, slippery, sexy. These are all good things when it comes to some sassy skivvies for the bedroom. Organic cotton, hemp silk, bamboo, and other renewable fibers make ultra-sexy lingerie and underwear. When browsing around, go for quality, not novelty. Buying a bedroom outfit that will be used only a couple times isn’t a great buy. Face it, unless you’re famous, nobody on Ebay is gonna buy those crotchless panties, even if you just wore them once. We suggest shelling out the extra bucks for something classy, sexy, and sustainable that can be donned when the mood is right for years to come. For something on the exotic end, check out Enamore and g=9.8. For sensible and simple, look at Buenostyle and American Apparel. For something in between, try GreenKnickers.

9. Birth control
For safer, baby-free sex, nothing beats a latex condom. Vegans looking for a latex option (though derived from trees, most latex contains a milk enzyme) can check out Glyde condoms. The jury is still out as to whether latex condoms are biodegradable and what effects additives and lubricants might have on biodegradability. Polyurethane condoms are essentially plastic and not biodegradable. Once they’ve done their job, condoms are best sent to the landfill. Flushing condoms down the toilet is definitely no good as they clog pipes, treatment plants, and rivers. So let’s face it, reduce, reuse, recycle just doesn’t apply when it comes to the rubbers. If you have a steady partner and you’ve both been tested for STDs, the pill is an option that can cut out the condom waste. Be be aware that there are rising concerns about the hormones from birth control pills ending up in waterways and having serious effects on wildlife, both from pills flushed down the toilet, and from women’s urine. Though the diaphragm isn’t talked about much these days, it is a non-disposable method of baby-prevention: no waste or little plastic wrappers. An IUD, or intrauterine devise, is a method of birth control that is inserted by a doctor into the uterus that releases either a hormone or copper, which, oddly enough, has effective spermicidal properties. For monogamous couples not interested in any (more) kids, sterilization can be an option to consider. There are other methods as well, all of which a person should discuss with a doctor if there are doubts or questions. The rhythm method is notoriously ineffective and should not be relied on, no matter how green it might seem. Of course the biggest ecological impact resulting from sex is a baby. Human population is arguably the most threatening force on Earth, and with human population expected to reach 8.3 billion by 2030, reproducing is perhaps the largest impact any of us have.

10. Meeting that special tree hugger
Nothing’s quite worse than meeting a really promising guy or girl and then realizing that he or she is an Escalade-driving, non-recycling, Earth-smusher. What are you going to do? Try to reform them? Just go out with them anyway and try to ignore their unconscious ways? Forget it. Go for the green lover. Farmers markets, Critical Mass rides, your local Green Drinks, or the Whole Foods checkout isle can be great places to meet people. A host of match-making sites (see below) can also be great venues for finding that special tree hugger to hug.

his tire ‘looked like a titty’ (clutch pearls)

A few years ago my cousin invited me to a Halloween party at her boyfriend’s house.  It was the first time I’d worn a costume on Halloween in years so I was all in.  So we get there, it was a good time, still warm enough to hang out on the deck, music playing, folks sippin dranks, all good.

My cousin says ‘I want you to meet this guy whose coming, I think you’d like each other’.

He arrives, I play it cool, we chat, he’s handsome, we exchange info and plan to hangout soon…

Its date night, or doomsday, they were interchangeable that evening, but that’s neither here nor there.  I call him to say I’m running 10 minutes late but I’m en route, he says fine he’s running late too, 30 minutes late.  So I start some Xmas shopping early while I piddle around and wait for him. He tells me he has a flat tire and can’t find someone to help him change it.  (don’t understand what the issue is, I thought most men could change a tire).

I’m done with shopping (read, killing time) so I got sit at the bar and wait. Finally he shows up. He’s barely in his seat before the apologies start, but only it didn’t make me want to forgive his tardiness it made me want to find the nearest exit.

“Shit girl, I’m so sorry, my mutherfuggin tire got a flat when I hit this pothole on 66.  I got this new Lexus with the runflats and that shit was the worst. I paid to much money for that shit to happen. Damn, I’m sorry I’m so late’.  I had to stop at this gas station and get help. I called these got damn esses over to help me change that shit. I’m a white collar man, I don’t change tires, I mean, I JUST bought this suit.   Man the tire looked so crazy, the side bubbled up and looked like a titty (hand motion of grabbing two breasts). So what do you want to drink?”

After the longest blank stare of my life, I pinched myself to make sure I’d not fallen asleep at work and this wasn’t a nightmare. Alas, it was my comical very real dating life, and I was awake.

We order drinks, and me a chocolate cake, because chocolate makes everything better. The cursing continues as he explains his last relationship and how his old girl didn’t appreciate the vacations he took her on and that she used him for his money, and other random financial TMIs that need not be disclosed on a date, a first one at that.

He’s my cousins boyfriends very good friend, so I suffer for another hour or so, make small talk and push through it. He’s not a bad guy. A good dude, just not.for.me.  I didn’t need him to come blowing in with the gusto of Chicago wind, cursing like a sailor and going on and on about his new luxury vehicle. I certainly did not find it sexy that he felt he was too good to change a tire.  My dad taught/forced me to learn to change a tire on my way to a winter track meet at age 17, in the snow! If I can change a tire in the snow, surely that dude can change a tire on a beautiful fall evening. I don’t get down with the ‘I’m above xyz’ attitude.  But yeah, all that cursing was no bueno, and he smokes cigarettes, I could tell. Blehh.

Yeah yeah yeah, I know, I curse, a LOT, but I mean, I can reserve that for story telling with my friends. 4 letter expletives are not for first dates. Shit! (giggle). But really, it was too much. It was kinda like Mush Mouth from Fat Albert’s gang was talking but all that came out was curse words. mub mub mub mub fuk fuk fuk fuk shit shit shit shit shit shit shit mub mub mub mub mub.

I did the faux yawn and said ‘well we should get going’.

He offered to drive me home, I think this could be self inflicted torture but I accept the offer. And while I got home quickly and safely,  I had to get a visual demonstration of said tire titty once we got to the parking garage and then hear all about his new car on the way home. Fortunately for me, home was only 5 minutes away….womp womp.

Another one for the record books…

Red Wine & Ice Cubes

Yep I said it. Two things that don’t belong together unless you’re making sangria… I’m trying to jog my brain for when this date took place. I believe my sophomore or junior year at Howard.

So I meet this guy, how I do not remember, nor do I remember his name, but one date was all he got. He asks where I want to go, I decide on this cute little bistro on P St. I’d been wanting to check out (I proved to be too grown for my own good). We have a seat, the tables are close but not uncomfortably so, but I did learn, close enough for people to hear whats happening at your table. We’re offered a wine list and given the rundown on that night’s specials.  I knew very little about wine at that point, nor was I old enough to legally drink , but I certainly knew the basics.

“I’ll have a glass of the pinot noir” I say…. he responds “make that two”.

I’m always a little uncomfortable when a date says ‘make that two’ unless I really know its something he actually wants, and not something he says because he’s unsure what to order.

The sommelier (yes there was one, and he later taught me much of what I know about wine a few years later) returns to the table, pours a tad, I taste, approve, and accept.  Said date takes a sip and with the sommelier still standing there making small talk, says out loud, very loud,

“Its kind of warm, can I have an ice cube”

I try to stop making small talk and unlock eyes with the sommelier who I could feel in my bones wanted to snicker with a very confused look on his face, while I wanted to crawl under the table cloth and hide, as the couple at the next table tried not to wince and snicker too. Maybe it all wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t scrunch his nose up and do some sort of hand motion but yeah…fail…

Dramatic I know, but I don’t do well with public embarrassment. at.all. The wine was just fine, and at room room temperature as most reds should be served. While this could have been a teachable moment, I didn’t like him enough to make it one, so I finished my pinot noir and my very yum dinner, went dutch and went home…

Scrambled Eggs & and Dating

Once upon a time I was sitting at busboys chatting over brunch and mimosas w/ my girlfriends when a handsome gent walked in, He was tall, handsome, and wearing a button down in my fav, color. We caught each others eye  but I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for someone, a date maybe. Finally I said, eff it, wrote on a napkin ‘you caught my eye, more than once, call me if you’re single’.  He called me that evening and we meet for mojitos the next afternoon. I’d soon learn he is batshit crazy.

We went on several dates, he was always a gentleman, opened every door, pulled out chairs, and walked me to my front door and never tried get fresh and come in. Soooo….

One Sunday I decide I’d invite him over for brunch. I tell him I get out of church at 12:30 so he can come over around 1ish.  Our text xchange looked like this…

me: leaving church now, feel free to head my way

him: okay cool

over an hour later, he’s MIA

me: everything okay? brunch is almost ready

him: oh am I still invited? I’m so hungry

I scratch my head, maybe he’s still groggy

me: um, yeah see you soon.

I made scramble eggs,  blue berry pancakes with the blueberries my Auntie Chrissy picked from Hiller’s Farm at home (foreshadowing)

He gets to my house, I set the table, I put a little of everything on both our plates.

him: ohh I don’t really like eggs

me: oh okay *scrape eggs off plate (think, odd because I asked if there was anything he DOESN’T eat before I started cooking)

him: but I’ll eat them if you want me to

me: I mean, don’t eat eggs if you don’t like eggs (thinking wtf, I’d never eat something I hate for someone else)

So eating begins. Now, take note, he’s 6’7″, he ate 1.5 pancakes and said he was full. WTF So I begin to eat my eggs, which I’m assuming he is grossed out by scrambled eggs because when I paused, he picked up  my plate, reached over our eat-at counter, and scraped my eggs into the garbage disposal!!! A plate of eggs in the garbage disposal!!! WHAT THE EFF! I said ‘Uhh I wasn’t done’ he responded with ‘YOU SNOOZE YOU LOOZE;’

YOU SNOOZE YOU LOOZE? What grown man says that in regards to food he didn’t cook, in a house that is not his? WHAT!??

He then offered to wash the dishes, fine. I ask him to set aside the stack of pancakes as I think  my roommate will want them and the rest of the eggs too. He says nothing in response my request so I assume he just did it. I get up to wash my hands, go to throw the paper towel away and discovered he’s thrown away the stack of pancakes and eggs. WHAT!?? I’m now annoyed he’s wasted food (true its just pancakes but it was my handpicked blueberries from home Got Damnit! and I hate wasting food when so many people starve everyday).

I awkwardly had to put him outta my house, tell him ‘this isn’t gonna work’ and delete his number.  Hours later I get a text from him. I sit and wonder what it may say before I open it… ‘I understand this isn’t gonna work but do you wanna smoke a blunt with me this evening”.  I nearly died. This is a man who has a BA from a fancy school and an MBA from a fancier school, is tall and handsome and seemingly has it together (clearly the nonacademic part of his brain is not functioning). But he threw away my scrambled eggs down the garbage disposal (so bad for the environment)  and later asked if I wanted to smoke ganj.

I.Give.Up.

p.s.  He also took a massive dump in my bathroom. flag on the play.

Heading Up to Heaven

My first experience with death, started at my birth. I physically came into this world and my mother physically left, almost as if we’d crossed paths, coming and going. From then on, my recollection of funerals was quite vivid. I’m still not sure, if my dad did the right or wrong thing in exposing me to all of this at such a young age, I’d like to think the former because for the most part, I think It’s made me strong.  I remember being so young and passing by Grandpa Vasquez’ casket, then my Great Uncle Al’s, then Grandpa Cabral’s, then Uncle Charlie’s. Gleason Funeral home became all too familiar; I knew the layout perfectly, as our elders moved on to the next life. Soon, we said goodbye to Uncle Moe, Uncle Dan, Auntie Jay, Auntie Lena, Aunt Gladys, Granma Vasquez, all within a few years time. A whole generation of Greats nearly gone. With each living well past 80, we sent them home, celebrating their lives rather than their deaths.

When I think of those who have moved on, I like to think that Uncle Dan welcomed Uncle Moe up to heaven with a cigar. I saw them in their suits looking dapper, sitting outside sharing a Romeo & Julieta, laughing and looking down on all of us. I like to think my mom is having tea with Gram and all my favorite aunts. Some may think its a morbid way to see it all, maybe it is, just a tad. But knowing that those who made me, me, are in some magical place where everything is beautiful is comforting. Today I’m looking up at those looking down…with a smile.

If only I could download my dreams

I can’t count how many mornings I wake up and remember just enough of my dream to be utterly confused, incredibly excited, and or uber curious about what was happening in my cerebrum while I snoozed. The mind at rest can be revealing. What was that make out session under a kindergarten table with Jack Black all about? Why was Paris Hilton dancing w/ me at a party? Why was my entire family gathered in the yard reminding how much we miss and love each other on a sunny day?
My dream obsession probably began in high school. I was in AP Psychology class and studying dreams, why we have them, what they may mean, and how we can dictate our very own dreams and do a better job at remembering them when the alarm clock goes off.
Since then, I’ve tried to get in tune with my id, force myself to dream things, and try my damndest to remember what I dreamt about. My dreams have always been vivid, I can remember one as a kid, The Incredible Hulk tried to steal me out of a tent in my babysitter’s back yard. I hid in the tent with two characters from the soap opera General Hospital. I ran to zip the tent closed and he caught me, I screamed and struggled and told him if he were nice he could take a bath and wash off all the green. I put him In the tub at grams house and remember being worried about messing up her pristine white wash cloths all to give a bath to the mean grean incredible hulk. I had that dream over and over into adulthood. What the hell does it mean? Aside from the vividness of what I remember I also feel things, what the air feels like, the temperature of water, what a hug feels like. One dream, I stood on the beach with my family until a wave came and nearly washed everyone away. BUT I saved my whole fam, and could feel like cold ocean water washed over my legs as it filled the room I was standing in. What does THAT mean. Or most recently, I had a dream that I was in the J-Lo video that stars Ben Affleck, only I was J-Lo, and well someone who should not be in my sensual dreams was Ben Affleck. Cue up the boat scene when J-Lo’s face down in a scantily clad bikini on the front of the boat and Ben spanks her backside playfully. Yep that scene was my entire dream only it seemed to last forever. I had on a new bathing suit I bought, the black white and vibrant yellow were so clear in my dream, as was the boy tugging at the ‘kini ties, looking devious.

All that to say, if only I had a way to record my dreams, I could cancel my cable and my innnanet, I’d have enough entertainment to last a lifetime. Then I’d run to a shrink with the tapes and ask what the hell they mean!