A man tells me that he met his now wife in the 7-11 Convenience store. He went in for a coke and she was buying one, too.

Just as an aside, I’m told that ‘older’ women are dating younger men now, which is making it hard for ‘older’ men to get a date. Kind of a turn around, isn’t it?

My art teacher, Stan, tells me this one:
“I knew this happy couple that had been married for years, and they had four kids. One day not too long ago, they up and divorced. I was shocked!

“So, they are just recently divorced and the ex-wife is driving down the freeway when a car comes along side her, swerves a bit and bangs her door.

“She pulls her car over to the side of the road and the other driver does, also.
This woman, my friend, is really, really mad. She gives the driver hell for hitting her car.
He says, “Lady, lady, I’m really sorry, my phone was ringing and it distracted me, but it’s OK, I’ve got good insurance, I’ll take care of all of this for you.”

The woman continues to rant while he begs her to calm down.”

Stan looks at me and says, “You know what, Venus? She married the man. And, he owns this huge, famous company, he has a home in Telluride, Colorado and more homes in other fancy places. He has a yacht and a jet. He’s very wealthy. She’s a socialite, now. She has a dream life.”

“Geez,” I say, “and so many people can’t even get a date and she gets this and just by driving down the freeway? What happened to her ex-husband?”

Stan says, “Oh, he died. His luck wasn’t as good.”

Here’s a thought. Maybe if you’re out there looking and looking for The Right One and it has become a Huge Job…maybe you should just shuck The Big Painful Search, give it up, relax and take a drive down the freeway to get a coke? Maybe Destiny is indeed at work in our lives?
…. If so, let her take over. Surrender. Try it. Surrender, relax and be happy, at least for awhile, and see what may happen.

Can I visit you in Telluride?
………………………………………………………………………….
***WINNER OF A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS *TUULA WHITELAND*
Offer valid through July 3rd, 2008. Null and void after that.

I have a Stinky Cold and I am exhausted. A screaming, angry two year old boy with white curls as big as inner tubes (well, almost) is yanking on my arm and yelling, “BABA, NO, NO, NO!”

It’s Saturday and I am sitting on the porch of what we call The Cottage. The Cottage is a cute little place right next to my mother’s mobile home.

I’m sitting here with my mother. Once again, our almost 86 year old Mother has smears of mud on her cheeks and forehead. She has been watering her plants, once again tripped through the hose, and fallen flat on her face. Since she does this almost daily, we girls have finally stopped worrying about it.

Mother falls because she gets the big green hose wrapped up around her ankles. It’s that simple. As she says, ‘Well, when I’m going down, I always remember what my mother told me when she was old. ‘When you’re falling, just relax into the fall, just let go and relax,’ and you know, Mother lived to be eighty-eight and she never broke anything in her life.”

I sit back in the chair and try and remove my mind from Loch’s clutching and screaming.

Many years ago when Summer was young and I was just divorced for the second (and last time) we lived in this same cottage for a year while I gathered myself for another foray into the world.

Today, Summer is working out of town and I have her children, my grandkids, for five days. Right now five days seems like fifty. I have come to my mother’s place to get a treatment from Dr. Ron and a bit of a rest, at least for an hour or so.

My sister Polly is here, acting as receptionist, as her husband, Dr. Ron, is seeing chiropractic clients inside the cottage. I have already been in to see him. He was shocked at the sight of me.

“My god,” he says, “are you OK?”

He asks me this as Loch, the 2 year old clings to my legs and screams and screams and demands that I come outside with him.

The Perfect Child, the Boy With NO Faults, as Summer and I have always referred to him, has suddenly morphed into a two-year old demanding dictator. He has been yelling and screaming “NO” and making heavy demands for 3 days, now. He has also given me his sticky, gummy, throat-raking cold.

Dr Ron says, “I’ve never seen you look so bad.”

“I need a treatment,” I rasp.

We both look down at Lock who is climbing my legs, smearing them with his tears and continuing to scream and scream.

My sister Polly, leaves the patients in the office and comes into the treatment room.

“Loch,” she says, “want some chocolate?”

Loch lets go of my leg and grabs Polly’s hand, while sunshine breaks over his face.

“Eeeh gads, ” I think, “if his mother only knew what goes on up here!”

Dr. Ron quickly gets to work as I spill out my three day story.

“At least Loch naps everyday but Lexi never does. She’s five, now. I took a little nap while Loch was down and when I got up, Lexi had gathered her sticker books, removed all the stickers and stickered everything in my house. All my pillows and bed sheets, the toilets, the bottoms of all my coffee and teacups. And the outsides of the cups and glasses. She stickered all my miles of wood laminate floors, most of my books, my desk, the computer and all the knicknacks. She only refrained from stickering my walls because I caught her stickering the new wall paper a few days ago and told her that it is the only thing that she absolutely can not sticker. It’s my brand new wall paper, and sometimes the stickers don’t come off it.”

Dr. Ron understands. He and Polly have grandkids.

“And,” I continue, “Lexi brought all her stuffed animals to my house. I’m not kidding, she must have a hundred. As I said, after what I thought was a very brief nap, I found all those stickers and the animals everywhere. One animal each in all the cat and dog dishes and inside my muddy walking shoes which she had also placed on the couch. On every counter and table and shelf and space she had stickered and placed a stuffed animal. And over each of them she had carefully placed a brand new kleenex from the two boxes I just bought for this miserable cold! I even found a stuffed and stickered and kleenexed unicorn on top of my stove.”

Dr. Ron is busy adjusting me as I rant.

“I don’t mind all this,” I say. “She’s quiet about it. The odd thing is, Lexi has turned into a Model Child. I don’t know how this has happened, but now Loch has replaced her. He is The New Lexi, or Lexi #2 as she used to be.”

The treatment is over and I rush out to the waiting room to see what damage Polly has done with the chocolate.
Polly has fed the kids two pieces of chocolate and a cookie, each.

“We need some nuts,” I yell. “Some protein! Don’t you know what this will do to Lexi’s blood sugar? She will start to have temper fits like Loch. I have to give her protein every several hours or she has screaming fits!”

I stumble out to the porch with the kids in hand. Loch starts to scream.
My mother is still there, sitting in a nice chair, as now are my sister Candy and my sister Barbara. Polly joins us.
I drop into a seat.

“Geez. What happened to you?” one of my sisters says.

“I’m having five days with the kids,” I say.

Oh. Everybody gets it.

” I was at the grocery store with them,” I say. “Again. I’m going through the line, buying the groceries when the checker says, ‘Oh. I remember all of you.’ We won’t go into why.”

I continue. “Well, the older man behind us is remarking on Loch’s magnificent hair as everyone always does. He and I have quite a conversation about Loch’s beauty. Meanwhile, Lexi is in the basket and reaches out for a magazine in the rack.

“I want that muscle magazine!” she breathes.

“What?”

“That one, Baba, that one! The muscle magazine with the man on it with the bare chest and all those tan muscles! I have to have it! I love muscles.”

Lexi is only five years old.

“Please Baba, please Baba, please Baba.”

I catch the man behind me looking at me like, “who the hell is this woman?”

‘Oh, what the heck,’ I think.
I buy her the muscle magazine.

“So,” my sister Candy says. Candy looks very pretty in a pink shirt and shorts. “So. What we all want to know, is how did it go the day Ken came up to help you babysit the kids? He did come up, right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” I say. “I told him he had to help me at least one day as they are his grand kids, too, and he hasn’t developed a relationship with them. He’s been too busy getting married. He counted it up when he was with me, it’s five wives that he can remember!”

My family is snickering and waiting for the full story. When our daughter Summer was two, Ken and I divorced. I got married once again, and divorced and that was the end of it, while Ken kept on marrying.

“It went very well,” I tell them. “He came at 8:30AM and he stayed until 6:30PM. He kept saying, ‘when is Bill coming home to help you out,’ and I kept saying, ‘you can leave if you want to,’ and he kept saying, ‘no, I’m staying.’ But, as soon as Bill came in his studio door, Ken shot out to his car, like he was on a spring. I don’t blame him.”

“He was really good with the kids. I felt miserable with this cold and kept sneezing and sneezing and blowing bursts of water and germs into the air, and I was snorting into kleenex all day. I was quite attractive. He told me I’m beautiful.”

Everybody looks at me.

“He told me he has always thought that I am beautiful and that he still thinks I am beautiful.”
I sneeze a big glob of something into the air.
Everyone covers their faces.

“He’s married again to a nice lady. They golf and play bridge together.”

Barbara says, “What’s happening with all his brothers and sisters?”

“Well, you remember Carolyn? She was divorced once and widowed once. Oddly, she married two men named ‘Dick’ both times. She married two Dicks.”

My mother brightens and jerks forward in her chair, “Who has two dicks?!”

We’re off in gales of laughter as my mother is left wondering why.

Loch stops crying and goes to pull some flowers off their stems.

Lexi is busy drawing something at the glass-topped garden table.

I take a deep breath. Thank god for family and thank goodness for this lovely break from the routine of child rearing. I don’t remember that being with little kids was this hard but back then I was lots younger when Summer was little. Even though I was single a lot and raised her always on my own, I remember it as a wonderful experience.

It sure it would be easier if I didn’t have this Stinking, Snotty Cold. I sneeze and sneeze and sneeze.

Mother says, again, “Who has two dicks?”

“Well, Mom, I say, “you know what? I don’t know who has two dicks but I wouldn’t want to meet him. One dick can cause enough trouble, don’t you think?”

We all laugh and think about that one.

Polly says, “So, are you going to have Ken help you babysit in August when you have the kids for two weeks?”

“Absolutely.”

I think for a moment. I’m remembering the other day when Ken sat with me and the kids. He was looking at the kids and me and getting a bit teary eyed. He said, “This is our family, Venus.”

I said, “Yes. It is. And, you always said that in the end we would be back together again, and here we are! We’re together and we’re watching our grandkids.”

When Ken leaves, I hug him good bye and sincerely thank him for his help. He hugs me very warmly and says, “I still love you.”

I say, “I love you, too.”
And, you know what? I do. Oddly and strangely enough, I do love the man. Even though I mightily fought the thought of it all these years, in the end, indeed, here we are together. We’re two grandparents, kept together by our daughter and our two grandkids, and glad to be here.

I tell my family what happened and what I am thinking.

We all kind of drift off into our own inner spaces. I know we are each thinking about the men in our lives and our kids and grandkids and everything that has happened. It’s a big picture book unfolding and for some of us, maybe it’s even near the end of the book.

I feel very lucky to have my family and my ex-boyfriend Bill who is so kind and loving with Lexi and Loch and for my ex-husband Ken who has loved us all these years but maybe didn’t know what to do with that love and I’m lucky to have Polly’s husband Dr. Ron, who calls me in the evening after this day is done and says, “Boy. I have never seen you look so bad. I want you and Bill and the kids to come over to our house for ribs and wine, and the kids can swim. You need a break.”

Yes, I am a Lucky, Happy Baba…….. And, the sneezing and snot-flying is finally stopping….! And Loch is still napping as I write this.
Yes! All is well.
……………………………………………………………………………………….
**WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING FOR A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *PAT CHARITY* Offer good through Tuesday July 1st, null and void after that date.

My mother fell splat, on her forehead, today. Polly tells me this.

I call my sister earlier in the day to say that I have visited Mom this morning and that I took her some macaroni and cheese. She has been dizzy for a week and threw up all day yesterday. Will Polly please check on her later today?

When I call Mom’s house, Polly tells me about Mom’s filthy forehead. Polly tells me this while she is cooking up some egg drop soup for her.

“You should see Mom,” she tells me. “She says she tripped on the hose outside in the yard and fell flat on her face. She has mud and twigs stuck all over her forehead. Then, she was watering an overhanging pot full of plants and it tipped over on her and she is covered in mud and dirt. Mom!” she shouts, “you need to take a bath, tonight.”

I hear Mom laughing. Polly has us on speaker phone.

As it turns out, I have a bit of a day myself.

When I leave Mom’s house in the morning to go up town to get her mac and cheese, I notice a dark colored car coming toward me to my left, which suddenly seems to swivel and blow up in a cloud of gray smoke and then immediately the car is in my face, heading straight at me. I sharply twist my steering wheel to the right and do a spin out of the way. Thank goodness I have excellent reflexes, (inherited from my father, I think) and an excellent car.

A very near miss. I realize as I pass the car that it’s driver failed to realize all the cars in front of it are stopped. Instantly the river hits the brakes and jerks away from them and (almost) into me. If I hadn’t been watching and been so quick, eeeh gads, it would have been The Big Goodbye. And isn’t that life? So changeable from one moment to the next. You just get comfortable with something in your life and it’s whipped out from under you.

With my heart now beating a wild disco rhythm from the scare, I proceed to the grocery store where I buy baked chicken and romaine lettuce and mac and cheese. The Chicken and romaine is for a lunch I am making for two of my grammar school friends.

Patti is down from Seattle and Nancee is coming up the mountain to see me. I have warned them about my meals; that sometimes they are excellent and sometimes they are horrid. They are willing to take a chance.

During lunch, I mention to them that Gerry Is Here.

“Gerry,” I say, “is Bill’s old army buddy from many years ago. He arrived last night for a visit.”

I mention that Gerry has barely worked in his life. That when he needed money he would get a job tending the night desk in a motel in the desert and that for awhile he worked for the forest service putting out fires.
Gerry has spent his life smoking grass; mary jane, marijuana. His day consists of cutting his grass, rolling it up into a cigarette paper, tapping it on the table and smoking it. That’s it. That’s what he does.

Recently, his mother died and left him a big portfolio. He now has more money then I do and I worked my butt off all my life!

I tell the girls that Bill told me when I first met Gerry, many years ago, that all Bill’s women couldn’t stand Gerry. Bill warned me. He told me he would understand if I didn’t like him, either, but the truth is, Gerry doesn’t bother me, at all.

Oh well, maybe one time.

It was during the first fire storms four years ago that kept burning past my house for four days. I’d go to my mother’s house down the road, to just get away and watch the walls of fire tear across the mountains behind my house.
One day my sister Candy called and screamed, “I’m sitting in my car at the end of your street and your house is next, Venus! The fire is coming right at it, you’re toast!”

She was mistaken.

Gerry and Bill stayed at the house and using Gerry’s fire skills, they put out embers on the property. I would come and go. The police barricaded the street and no one was allowed to drive down the road. I would walk it, about a mile plus from my mother’s house to mine.

At my house, Gerry was always yammering on and on about negative stuff. “It’s gonna’ burn your house, Venus. I’ve never seen worse then this. It’s just a matter of time.” Things like that. Finally, about 3 days into the continuing conflagration I looked at him and yelled, “Shut up! Shut Up! Shut, Shut, Shut Up! Shut…Up!”

He said, “oh. well. ok.”

I don’t snap very often but when I do, I do a fine job of it.

I tell my friends at lunch today, all these things about Gerry; the weed smoking and the fires and the big money by accident and then I add that he is a Jehovah’s Witness and when he leaves my home after a visit, Bill and I find religious tracks on the backs of our toilets.

The girls say, “…But…it doesn’t sound like he is living his religion…!” They seem mystified and horrified.

I agree and say, “Yes, but Gerry feels like he needs to make a stab at saving us from hell. It’s true he doesn’t seem to have much conviction behind it.”

I say brightly, “Gerry is right in the next room. In Bill’s studio. He just got back from China where he had a good time spinning silk worms. Do you want to meet him?”

Nancee says, “No.”

I’m surprised. If someone offered me a chance to meet such a character I would jump up and shout “Yes!”

Then, I mention a book I am reading by Suzanne Somers, called ‘Ageless’. It’s how she uses bio-identical hormones and HGH and other products from cutting-edge Anti-Aging M.D.s to be healthy, look fabulous and feel good. I am all excited about the subject and am researching the field and am going to see someone about retarding aging and feeling and looking good longer. I mention this to the girls.

Patti says, “Why? What’s wrong with getting old? Why not just accept it?”

My mouth is opening and closing with no sound except maybe little peeping noises.

I squeak out, “Why would you want to get all those nasty, messy diseases and break your brittle bones if you didn’t have to?”

The girls look at me as though I am daft and dumb.

“It’s not just looks,” I say. “I admit I’m going to die but I want to die healthy.”

Nobody says anything. The conversation sinks into the chicken salad.

I wonder about myself. I don’t seem normal. I am almost always up for meeting fun people and researching and trying new things. Apparently, I am not placid in life. I don’t just let the river take me quietly along while I watch the banks of Time slip past.

I grew up with these girls, these wonderful, smart and loving ladies and I care dearly for them…but it is like we are swimming in two different streams.
Their lives are their church and their husbands and their grandchildren and their friends and they’re placidly paddling along.

I can’t seem to placidly paddle. Something remarkable is always catching my attention.
As Summer sighs and says when I try and draw her into my latest discovery, ‘You know how you are Mother. You get excited about everything. You do know that don’t you?”

Well, here’s the deal. Let me run around and pick the daisies and you can drink the daisy water in the vase…..You do what you do best, and I will do what I do…If you can accept me the way I am…I will do my best to accept you, the way you are. Maybe if we all did that, the world would be just a bit less violent, and a bit more peaceful…… Or, maybe not, because the people like me are always stirring things up!
………………………………………………….
WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING FOR A FREE, 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *Jeja Super*. Offer good through June 23rd, 2008. After that it is null and void

Hello my friends,

Here is the information for the health products I spoke about on my radio show, titled, VENUS HELPS YOU WITH YOUR PHYSICAL AND MENTAL HEALTH, June 18, 2008

For more details please see the Archived Show at www.hayhouseradio.com The Dear Venus Show

1. The Old Herbal Drink (Called KM) that I have been drinking for more then 20 years for energy, beauty, aches and pains and much more. www.venus.matol.com
(*PLEASE NOTE: if you live outside the USA or Canada, to order the products you must contact my friend Ariel, to send them to you. Make sure you tell him, “VENUS SENT ME” so he will help you. Email him at matolinfo@xplornet.com (Ariel)

2. The All natural, patented, Anti-Aging Products that I have been taking for almost 7 years. They DO work. See my website www.godisalwayshappy.com On the Home Page, look to the left and click on Health and Beauty

3. The Amazing Herbal Tea that flushes the liver, cleans the bowel and all the body systems. A very simple and easy cleanse.
www.htcholytea.com/venus
OR
www.holyteaclub.com/venus for whole sale

IMPORTANT NOTE: you can sign up for any of these as a distributor and get them WHOLESALE. You do NOT have to sell them or do the business. I always sign up for things at wholesale, why not?

I’m trying something new. Not wearing underpants.

Let me explain where I got this idea:

I’m going to a very small dinner party for a friend of mine. It is her 60th birthday and it is a surprise party. It’s held in a restaurant, right in the middle of the big stadium area in San Diego, and unbeknownst to us, it is the night of the Huge Mexican/Argentinean Soccer Game at the stadium. Which has not much to do with the story about my underwear. Well, maybe nothing at all to do with underpants, actually but, let me set the scene.

My sisters, Barbara and Candy (Sister Polly is in Italy) and several friends have tried all week to find a nice restaurant for a birthday dinner. That is almost impossible because Leslie, The Birthday Girl, not understanding that this is a surprise party for her, keeps rejecting all her mother’s suggestions for dinner at any restaurant we suggest to her mom.

We have constraints. Like, Leslie won’t eat almost everything and she is almost blind and only drives with her 85 year old mother who reads the road signs to her. So, we girls want to keep the party close to her home!

We finally find a restaurant that Leslie wants, but then some of us ‘girls’ have to get there from North County (about an hour away) and we don’t know at the time, about the HUGE soccer game and the state of the freeways that we will encounter.

Plus, the day isn’t going so well.
I have driven an hour to the coast for an appointment and can never find the place. I am mightily pissed. I then drive back inland to the car pool meeting spot where we (my sister Candy and her friend Stephanie) will meet and car pool to the party. I have to wait 2 hours for them to join me….because I am not at my appointment where I should have been.

When we pile into Candy’s car for the ride downtown, we are all sweaty and kind of mean. Candy is upset about the whole week of trying to find the right restaurant and Stephanie, our friend, has had a horrific day and wants to quit her job, like right now. It is one of those kinds of days.

Then, it starts to rain. It is a cold rain. It ‘never’ rains in June in San Diego and we are in tiny little summer outfits and sandals.

But, our snappiness propels us down the heavily congested freeways and we finally get to the restaurant. Our hair is all frizzed up from the rain and we are chilled and damp. We meet our sister Barbara there, who’s hair is also as frowsy and thick as a dog blanket. Our friend Connie who has flown in from up north, is here to surprise Leslie.

Ok, let’s not string this party out. Let me just say at one point while we are having dinner, ‘Pretty, Blonde, Divorced, Childless Connie’, who I have not seen in many years, mentions that she has not worn underpants since 1979.

I am amazed. I suck a hanging salad leaf into my mouth and say, ‘but…but…what if you leak, or something?’

Connie says, “Oh, I just stick panty-liners in my jeans or whatever. It is so nice. No panty lines. No fat pouching out under the panties. And, it saves a LOT of money on panties. I threw out all my underpants in 1979 so I think I shall retire on all that money I have saved.”

Then, she goes on to say, ” But, I didn’t do this on my own. I learned it from a lovely woman I worked with. She was tall and beautiful and we worked at the airlines, together. She never had a panty line. So, as of 1979 I also stopped wearing panties.”

After the party, I go home and think about Connie and her no-pantie proclamation.
I decide I will try it and I email and tell her so.

She emails back, “Be FREE of panties if you so choose! It will save you lots of money and might spark up your love life!”

I email back the next day and say, “Hey, I got some ‘liddle’ tiny panty liners today and I will be trying them out inside my jeans. Oooh Laa La Connie, you may have changed my life. I hope the ‘liddle’ panty liner doesn’t creep down my leg.”

Connie emails back and says, “It takes practice.”

Well, I have tried the no-panty thing for two days, now and I haven’t had any wedgies and I feel thinner. I really think our panties must add a good pound or two.
I also feel kind of breezy in the butt and fine in my mind. Like ‘Ha Ha, I am getting away with something wicked that you don’t know about!”

I wave gaily to a man in the grocery parking lot. He waves back and grins and shouts Hello. I swish my naked butt.

I am telling you about this panty business because I had a woman friend over for tea the other day. During the telling of some sad stories she said, “You know Venus, we take care of the men in our lives and we take care of our kids and we take care of our parents and who takes care of us?”

We looked at each other over our cups of tea and she said, “We women take care of each other.”

And, so, I am taking care of you, My Lady Friends.
I never had the thought to ditch my under pants until Connie told me about the freedom you can get from that ditching. I am now passing this bit of advice on to you. I may not be a Hillary Clinton, leading women resolutely on to equality and freedom, but I can do my bit with the underwear advice.

And as for you guys? Hey, maybe you should try it, too?

Let’s all do our part to keep America FREE!
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING FOR A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *Milly Eminger.* Offer null and void after June 14th, 2008 (To participate in the drawings make sure you are signed up. Go to the home page www.godisalwayshappy.com and click on ; ‘Free Sessions and More’.)

My mother FLOSSED HER TEETH at the table in a fine restaurant.
Yes, she did.

My sister Barbara and I had taken her up into the mountains for lunch and when we were finished with the fine lunch, Mother pulled out her dental floss, wrapped a giant wad around her hand and Flossed Her Teeth at the Table. Very thouroughly.

Barbara and I were aghast. We have never seen or known her to do something like this. We didn’t say anything. What could we say? We just looked at each other with pinball eyes.

Mother was not herself that day in the mountains. She was dizzy with ear trouble and she was strange in strange ways.

I have been thinking about this all week. I am thinking, ‘Is this the end?’ ‘She wasn’t herself. She was odd that day! What does this mean?’

Today, I buy a bottle of fine wine, some herbed goat cheese, raw asparagus and celery and I march over to my Mother’s with the feast. I have to find out if she will floss her teeth after we eat, but even if she does, that might be understandable because it is just us, but I have to ascertain for myself if she has cracked her mental marbles.

I am also wondering if her actions were caused the drug she is taking for the dizziness.

I need to know.

Since Saturday, I have been thinking, ‘When Mom passes we will have to sell the property and it isn’t a good time to do that. But, all 6 of us kids can’t agree on what to do with it and so it will need to be sold. I don’t want that. We have already gotten an offer of 6-7 million for the 11 acres and we turned it down. We don’t want the huge Loews building and a shopping center on that property. It would ruin the character of the town and most townspeople would hate us if we gave our souls for the money, for Progress, if we prostituted ourselves to The Developers. And, we kids don’t want to sell the land for blood and greed, anyway.

So much depends on Mother. She is almost 86. I often wonder, ‘What will I do when my mother dies?!’

I can’t stand the thought. I know that mothers die, and often when they’re much younger than ours, but still, how will we get on without our mother? Mother is always there for us.

We stop by her place all the time. We let ourselves into her old, ratty mobile home, because she can’t hear us knock.

She is usually asleep on her bed or in her big, blue living room chair, with her black dog, Becky beside her. Or, she’s watching Dr. Phil or Oprah or she is out on her new deck watering her potted flowers. Or, she is reading and researching something or she is on her computer. Always, she has a crockpot of soup going that has been going for weeks and she has usually forgotten to turn off the coffee maker from the morning.

You can count on the cat box reeking and the trash overflowing and the house to be a mess of cat hair and magazines and books and sometimes dead squirrels and lately, opossums. Becky brings them in the house to play with and accidently kills them. And there is usually dog or cat vomit on the grimy rugs. And, of course, there is Sassy, the Mean Cat to contend with.

We do have a housecleaner for my mother, but the house is hopeless and we know it, and we kids don’t expect much from the lady who tries to clean it. We bless her and leave her be.

Today, I arrive with my arms full of grocery fun and find Mother raising from her bed, disoriented. She has been doing exercises for her dizziness and she thinks they wore her out and maybe she fell asleep?

I show her the bottle of wine and she gets all grinny and excited. She follows me into the kitchen where I open the wine and lay out the food. We adjourn to her deck.

Mother loves her new deck. It has a lovely table and comfortable chairs and an awning. Mom has the deck filled with tubs of flowers and some tomatoes.

The Mean Cat is in the chair I want to sit in. I callously dump her out. Well…I try. I have the chair tipped waaaay over on its side and she is hanging on. So I give the chair a few knocks and she’s out.

The Mean Cat has had a hard life. She was brought up in a machine shop where all the male customers treated her roughly and so she treats us the same. I tried to be friendly at first, but when she ripped the skin on my little finger, almost to the bone, I gave up on our friendship.

I sit in the Mean Cat’s chair (knowing I have white cat hair all over my back, now) and Mom sits next to me. I pour the wine and cut the cheese and line up the asparagus and quartered celery. Ummm. Yummm. Mom and I make a toast to happiness, good health and great sex.

“Ha!” my mother says, “I haven’t seen any sex since your father died 8 years ago….not that I can remember anything about having sex with him…isn’t that strange?”

But, then she tells me that one of her boyfriends, David, has called from Reno.
“He said, ‘I should be there with you, right now!’” Mom says she said, ‘Well, why aren’t you?’

He told her he would think about it.

I growl a bit in my throat and say, “Well, don’t bank on it, Mom. He’s been saying this for years. Remember, he’s almost ninety and you said seven years ago when he did come to see you, that he is stingy with his penis.”

Mother is drinking her wine and eating goat cheese. She knows how he is.

She tells me about another man she knows that she fancies. She tells me he runs over to see her at the Senior Center and then at lunch he sits as far, far away from her as he can. And, as she has told me before, she mentions again that she thinks he lives in his car. Today, she adds that she thinks he lives in his car with another man.

“Mom,” I say, “I think he may be odd.”

Her other boyfriend, Skip, who is my age and handsome, has been thrown into the air by his horse, hit splat on the ground and broken 3 ribs, flattened a lung and broke something else of importance.

“Eat some more cheese,” I say, “and drink some more wine.”

I am watching my mother and listening to her, carefully. She seems herself.
I sidle up on the subject I have in my mind.

“Mom, are you still taking that drug for your ears?”

No. She stopped it a day or so ago.

“Mom,” I say. “Do you remember that you flossed your teeth at the table when Barbara and I took you to lunch in Wynola?”

Mother looks at me. Looks at her glass of wine. Looks at the plate of asparagus.

“Mom? Do you remember that? You did a mighty job of flossing. In the restaurant. At the table.”

No. She doesn’t. She has utterly no recall of flossing her teeth at lunch.

This is the first time, I think, that I am glad she has no memory of the occasion! This proves my idea about the medicine she was taking. She isn’t getting senile. She was drugged! Haalaluya! She was drugged. Thank you god, my mother was out of her mind from drugs.

I am not going to lose my mother, yet. And, we don’t have to sell the property to a developer, yet. And, I don’t have to wander into a depression about my mother, yet.

“Here Mom,” I say as I pour her more red wine. “Drink up.”

“Oh, my goodness, I feel it,” my mother breathes. “Wow.”

‘Yes,’ I am musing, as I pour her a larger good shot of red wine, ‘maybe I will turn my mother into a drunken drug addict and then I won’t have to worry about her mental state because I can always blame her behavior on her addictions.’

Very clever of me, don’t you think?
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WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING, A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *Clorinda Chavez* Offer good through June 14th, 2008 when it becomes null and void. To be automatically notified of winners, please sign up for the Blog Feed in red, to your right.

It’s been a long day and about 11PM I’m finally falling asleep, snuggled up in my white sheets with the embroidered brown spots on the trim. My down comforter is pulled up under my chin and I am quietly snoozing off, carried away on the slow dreamland boat.

My short-haired, gray cat Sparkle, begins batting the bed covers and jumping in a circle. I figure she’s playing with her tail but she doesn’t stop.
I turn on the light and have a look. I don’t see anything but Sparkle is clearly upset about something that I’m not seeing. I give the blanket a big shake and something falls to the floor, along with Sparkle.

I crawl to the end of the bed and peer over the edge. Eeeh gads! I see a creature about two inches long, a finger length wide and covered with legs. It whips across the floor like a snake! I think maybe I scream.

Sparkle bounds after it as it skitters under a rattan table, the kind that is thick all the way up, like a column. Sparkle is frantic, trying to get under the column but there is no room. I see what I have to do; take the glass table top off the rattan and then lift the base so Sparkle can save me.

Oh my god. The round, glass table top weighs more then I do! I’m struggling, and pulling and sliding the glass, trying to get it off the column. Sparkle is poised to act. Finally, I almost pull a kidney loose, but I have the glass on the floor. I tip the column up. Oh my god! There it is, a hairy, fleshy creature wound up upon itself. Sparkle crouches close to it.

“Keep an eye on it, Sparkle!” I shout. I run to the kitchen to get two plastic tumblers. Maybe I can capture the beast.

When I come racing back, my bare feet slapping the floor, the creature is gone and Sparkle is crouched with her nose next to the underside of the small enamel free standing gas fireplace. She puts her arm and paw underneath it, then yanks it out. Her ears twitch and she’s all business. I think I am meowing. Somebody is.

I’m not going to put my arm under the fireplace. Flushing the creature into the open is Sparkle’s job. I love this cat. She’s my Protector. She finds, catches and eats the house spiders and patrols the house. If it hadn’t been for her I would be sleeping with this creature, nustled up under the covers with this ’snake’. The thought of that makes all the hairs on my body shout and wave.

I wait. Sparkle waits. She bats her arm again under the fireplace and the creature slithers out and whipsaws itself across the floor toward me and I believe I scream. It disappears under a pot of flowers that is sitting on the floor. In a flash, Sparkle is after what I now think must be a millipede. All my cat friend needs, I think, is a cape; My Savior, Bat Cat.

Sparkle needs my help. I carefully lift the blue pot and the hairy monster races for the lamp base but I’m fast and bring one of the plastic water glasses down on it to capture it. But, Oh my god, it’s too big to fit under the glass!

It’s under the floor lamp base, now and with the next slide it will be under the couch and then Sparkle and I will never get it, it will go up under the material that is the bottom of the couch. And, I will never be able to sit on the couch, again, and I will not sleep all night, waiting for it to come sneaking out and slither and slide into bed with me, again.

Sparkle and I need help.
I race to the other end of the house to Bill’s studio. I knock but there is no answer and this is an emergency so I open the door and pretty much fall into the place.

“Bill! Bill!”

No answer, but there he is, in bed, on top of his blankets, on his back in a white tee shirt and under-shorts. He’s snoring loudly.

“Bill. Bill. I need help.”

No answer.

“Bill! Bill! Please wake up!”

Nothing.

I earnestly pat his leg.

“Bill! Bill!”

Nothing. I keep trying. I pat some more. I call some more. Bill snores on. Finally, I grab a knee cap and squeeze and turn it.

Bill shoots up in bed like a vampire rising from the grave.

“Whaaaaat?!”

He’s not happy and it takes awhile but finally he rolls out of bed and staggers in a circle. He’s obviously been in a very deep sleep and I’m sorry to wake him but I need his help on this one.

I pretty much drag and lead him to my bedroom where I explain the situation. Sparkle is at the lamp base so we still have a chance to capture the creature.

I hand Bill the 2 green glasses.

“You do it,” I say.

Bill is not pleased.

I lift up the lamp and the four of us are off; the cat, the creature, Bill and I are racing around the room. Bill is slapping a glass over bare flooring here, and bare flooring there. Finally, he gets the tumbler over the beast with the legs and the glass is too small! Funny, that I forgot about that.

Bill staggers off, stumbles face first into the wall by the bedroom door, recovers, disappears and comes back with a small plastic bucket and a magazine.

Sparkle tells us the beast is now under the rattan table column again.

“Are you ready!?” I shout to Bill. He is.

I lift the table base and the creature tears under the stand that holds all the boxes and wires to my flat screen TV. Bill yanks the table away from the wall and all my TV plugs are ripped from the box! Oh my!

Bill jerks, swoops low, and captures the fleeing beast with the plastic tub. We all shout. Bill slips the magazine under the tub, lifts the contraption and the deed is done.

I insist he put the creature outside in the garden.

“Take it as far away as you can!”

Bill is barefooted and does not take it as far as I would wish which guarantees, I think, that I will be seeing the creature in my bedroom again.

I thank Bill profusely, and I thank Sparkle profusely. My Saviors. My Heros.

I crawl back into bed while Sparkle continues room patrol. It is a long time before I sleep.

In the morning, I go into Bill’s studio to thank him, again. It is 8 O’Clock and he is still in bed. He struggles up, looks at me and says, “What happened?”

I look at him.

He says, “I’m usually up at 5AM and I’ve slept in. I can hardly move.”

Then, he tells me that a buddy had sent him some pills to try, that would make him relax for his up coming plane flight back east. Bill does not like to fly and appreciates getting drugged up to do it.

“I took two of my friend’s pills last night,” he says. “My friend said they are muscle relaxers. I’m not going to do that, again.”

Now, it comes clear. No wonder the man wouldn’t wake up when I came calling, no wonder he fell into my wall. I am amazed that he was able to capture the critter with the many legs. I’m even more amazed that he remembers the Heroic Deed.

He does remember, but not so well. He complains that I woke him up all night. He admits that he wasn’t able to take Bob The Dog out to pee the night before bed because he, Bill, couldn’t get out of bed and he complains that Bob made him take him outside at 2AM to do his urgent dog business. I am amazed that I haven’t found both Bill and Bob in the bushes this morning.

But, all is well that ends well.

I can sleep well tonight, and Bill is busy flushing the rest of the pills down the toilet. He may have to fly back east, Cold Turkey, but that would be better then having to be carried off the plane. He agrees.

How embarrassing that would be, I tell him. He agrees. We both conclude that it is certainly a good thing that he did a dry run.

But, why on the night I needed to Be Saved From A Millipede?
Because, I think, Life has a sense of humor.
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WINNER OF A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *Norine Conroy* Offer good through June 4th, Weds, 20008. Null and void after that.

I take a tranquilizer and drag myself up town to the dentist. I am dreading this. I haven’t been to a dentist in eight years! Why? Because they hurt you and tell you terrible things like, “My god, this is the biggest, blackest cavity I have ever seen; we are going to have to drill all the way to your navel. It’s going to hurt….ummmm? And, why haven’t you been here in eight years? If you had come in every six months like you’re supposed to, we wouldn’t have to be drilling this hard, this loud and this deep. Tsk tsk.”

But, what luck! No cavities.
The dentist replaces a deteriorating filling, blows some sand in a pot hole and replaces a broken part of a tooth.
Then, she takes a mold for a tooth guard as I am a ‘grinder.’
Next, I get my teeth cleaned. And eeeh gads, it doesn’t hurt!

The dentist, the helper and the hygienist keep saying, ‘Oh! This is going so well. This is awesome. You have beautiful teeth. Oh, your gums are so healthy. Your teeth are so clean. Oh, this is so easy. Oh, you are doing such a good job! This is marvelous.”

I think I must have an unclear mind and am overestimating my good teeth fortune, so finally, just to clarify any misunderstanding about how wonderful I am and how glorious my teeth are, referring to the tranquilizer, I say, “I’m on drugs.”

They approve and clap their little gloved hands.
“Oh! Wonderful! That was a great idea.”

I am suspicious. I think this office has taken sensitivity training in how to work with nervous, weasly dental patients to make them feel better, which in turn makes their jobs easier and the patients more willing to return.

And, although I am suspicious, I like all the positive talk. In fact, I’m having a wonderful time! I am having a wonderful time at the dentist, can you imagine? And, yes by golly, I will be coming back in six months to get some more royal treatment. And gifts. I leave the dental office with a bag of tooth brushes, a tube of special tooth cream, two packets of wooden dental picks, green mint dental floss and a magazine on how to lose stomach fat.

All in all, quite a fine day.
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*WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING FOR A FREE TELEPHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: *Maddy Farnor*. Offer valid through May 29th, 2008 when it becomes null and void.

My daughter Summer, is upset.
She says, “I am not normal! Tell them I’m not normal!”

I just told her that someone who listens to us on the radio and reads my blog, wrote to me very affectionately, “Your Mom, your granddaughter Lexi and you are so weird but Summer is right there in the middle and she is the only normal one.”

Summer almost has tears in her eyes.
“I’m not normal, Mother.”

This surprises me. She has always been the serious counterbalance to my extravagant nature. I have learned to step with care around her with all my high excitement and outrageous opinions and actions.
She has never liked me to talk about her or her life, to others, so I am cautious.

I think Lexi has wrought a desire in Summer to be more like us. Lexi is five and as Summer says, because of her brilliance and her fiery, passionate, dramatic and emotional nature, 90 percent of her time has to be given to Lexi.
As my mother says, ‘Lexi is just like you, Venus. Only more so.’

I believe that Lexi has finally worn Summer down and battered her up so much that Summer has decided to give up and join us. Why not? It’s hard being in the middle.

As Summer says, “With Lexi, I feel like I am raising my mother! And, you are on one side of me and Lexi is on the other.”

Today, Summer is at my house with Lexi and her two year old brother, Loch ‘the perfect child, the boy with the curly, wild and white blonde hair, the botticelli angel with the beautiful smile.
He’s the two year old who thinks before he acts, who listens when we say ‘no,’ the child who is balanced and calm and in love with beauty and people. He’s the boy who naps for 2-3 hours a day, goes to bed at 7PM and plays happily in his crib for an hour in the morning after he wakes up.’

Totally, the opposite in almost every way to his sister who races full-on all day and goes to bed at midnight; if her folks are lucky. Lexi is the girl who plays with the boys at pre-school because the girls can’t match her speed and frenetic energy.

Today, Lexi has been a dog for the past hour or two. She is racing around the floor on all fours, coming over to occasionally lick our legs and beg for attention.

I have fixed her a plate of scrambled eggs, catsup and mixed fruit. Lexi doesn’t like to eat until 8:30 at night when she becomes ravenous, so we wheedle and deedle with her all day, trying to get protein into her. We have given up any pretense of pretending that she is a normal child who can sit at the table with us for a regular meal. We have given up on silverware, too. Her fingers work better except when she is a dog and must be fed by hand.

Every time she wings by us, barking and yapping, her mother or I shove some egg into her mouth or a piece of fruit.

Eventually, I get up from the table and wander off to my bedroom. I open and step into my closet. I’m changing my shirt, calling out something to Summer when she finds me and comes into the closet with me. We’re chatting earnestly about something when I notice that Summer is trying to shove a large chunk of pineapple into my mouth. I open obediently, then come to my senses, and shout, “What are you doing?”

Summer blinks, comes out of some kind of trance and says, “….Oh! Oh! I was on a mission, looking for Lexi, I was going to put this pineapple in her mouth when I heard you chatting from the closet and came in and I guess…I guess, well you know how it is when you’re on autopilot? I was just following through!”

This is so ridiculous that we start laughing madly and of course, I drop to my knees where I can laugh even more.

“This proves you aren’t exactly normal, Summer!”

I think she feels better when she hears that.

I’m now sufficiently dressed and we’re all in the car, zipping across town to visit the semi-feral kitties at my friend Carol’s house. This is our second visit. Summer and the kids are getting to know he kitties so they can take two home when the cats are old enough.

Let me amend the semi-feral cat statement. They are more feral then we thought, even though they live half in Carol’s garage and half in her laundry room. How do I know this?

Because of a piercing scream that comes from Summer after we have been with the kitties for about ten minutes.

“It bit me! It bit me! The little, beige cat bit me!”

I saunter over to take a look. Ummm. Summer’s bleeding like Red Rose in the fairy tale who was stuck by thorns. She’s holding up a middle finger which gushes with blood like a small fountain. Summer’s mouth has formed an ‘0′ shape and her eyes are rolling like pin balls in a tin cup.

This is where I am going to tell you that Summer is not normal. She has a phobia. She got it from me, who got it from my father who got it from his mother. We are nervous. But, only about certain diseases. We’ve had to specialize, otherwise there wouldn’t be time to have other things in our lives.

Summer is afraid of Lexi being sick. She is afraid of Lexi’s high fevers and mysterious rashes.
She is afraid of cat bites and rabies and cat scratch fever and stepping on rusty nails.

“I think it’s time to go home, Summer,” I say.

We’ve washed the finger up with soap and peroxide and bound the middle finger in a big wad of white kleenex. She holds it straight up in the air with blood melting through it.

I think I may have to carry her to the car but she makes it and we even remember to take the kids.

Summer is driving, but not so well. She has a glaze over her eyes and I know she is thinking, ‘The cat has rabies, I’m going to die or maybe get a horrible, horrible infection and this has ruined my day.’

She stares ahead at the country road we are on and creeps the car along.

“You will be fine,” I say.

No response. She drives with the tissued, bloody finger held straight up off the steering wheel.

What can I say? I know what phobias are like. They take you over. They ruin your life. They turn you into a ball of stupid terror.

We inch along. Finally, we come to the turn off to my street. A dark, dusty car roars past us on my side and the man gives Summer The Finger.

“That man just gave you The Finger!” I say.

“I don’t care,” Summer says. “He’s been following me all the way home.”

Ah. No wonder.

We’re in the house now and I’ve got Summer sitting on my beautiful blue, very hip and very uncomfortable new couch.

I have given her a special medicine for all occasions, a glass of dark red wine.

“You’ll feel better, soon,” I say.

“I won’t,” Summer says. “This has ruined my day. Why would this happen!? What could possibly be the reason for this?”

She holds up her middle finger twisted with kleenex, for me to see.
She is giving me The Finger!

Suddenly, it all comes clear.

“I know why it happened!” I shout. “I know why! I know why! You’re giving me The Finger! You got your middle finger bit. The man in the old car gave you The Finger! It’s the Universe saying…”F… IT! F… IT!
All this stuff is just not worth worrying about! Give up all your worries and your fears. Give it all The Finger! Oh Wow! How Cool!”

Damn. I’m a genius. Or, maybe the Universe is and I’m a good interpreter.

Summer is so shocked, that she bursts out laughing.
“Do you really think that’s it?” she says.

“Of course it is! How much more clear could this Sign From The Universe Be?!”

We go hysterical with laughter.

“You’re right,” Summer says. “I’m not going to worry about this cat bite anymore. I think the Universe is right. I got the message twice, bang, bang. I think it’s time for me to say that about a lot of things in my life. Just F… It.”

And, the Universe,” I say, choking with glee, “found a shocking way to tell you!”
Har Har Har Har.

And we take that red wine and we toast the Universe and thank It for showing Summer what to do and with such clarity and in a way that she could see it!

addendum: Summer went to the doctor and he says she’s fine and she won’t get rabies. And, she didn’t get an infection, either, so let’s hear it for the Universe, Hip, Hip, Hooray. Give All Your Annoyances ‘The Finger!’

*THE WINNER OF THE RANDOM DRAWING FOR A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS IS: Len Roberts (Offer valid through May 24th, 2008)

This morning I swallowed an earwig.

Every-night, I put a glass bottle of water by my bed on the bedside table. When I get thirsty in the night, I drink from it. I don’t keep a cap on the bottle.

This morning I pop out of bed, notice a bit of water left in the bottle, and think, ‘might as well drink it.’ I toss the water down and oh my god! I’ve swallowed an earwig! I know immediately what it is and I can feel it lodged down inside my throat, on the right side, near my collar bone. In my mind I can ’see’ it’s long, narrow, shiny brown body with the two pinchers flung in front of it, and I can ‘feel’ it’s waving antenna.

“ArrrGH!” Without any conscious thought I immediately bend myself in half towards the floor and croak and choke, “Arrrgggh, agggh, ukukuk!”

The earwig drops out, splat! on that laminated wood floor.

What fantastic luck!

I sit down hard on my bed and then as I always do, I pull a card for my day ahead, from a deck of regular playing cards.

Arrrgh! I get the Death Card!

I try and remain jolly when I get the Death Card but so far, when this happens I always hear about or see a friend who is dying and this ‘bright’ news along with swallowing earwigs is not a good start to a day.

But, hey, it all works out! My sister Polly gives me two tickets to a Do Wop Concert for this evening, that she and her husband Doctor Ron have to give away because they decide to go to Italy, instead.

A Do Wop Concert is where a lot of Very Famous singers from the 1950’s and 60’s get together on stage and sing all their Very Famous old rock and roll songs.

I invite my ex-boyfriend Bill to come with me for the performance. We’re excited. We’re so excited that Bill drives (what is rapidly becoming my ‘old’) green Jaguar down the mountain at 85 and 90 miles an hour.

I scream, “What’s the matter with you?! Why are you driving so fast?”

But, he won’t slow down. Honestly, I don’t know what is the matter with this normally dead slow driver and there is that word, ‘dead’ again. And, as he races the car I am remembering the Death Card I pulled for this day.

I look at the man. Maybe he’s been revitalized by the coming Do Wop performance, remembering his darkly handsome, lost youth, or something? He isn’t saying, he’s just driving like he probably used to drive when he was a kid.

We get to the Civic Theatre an hour early. Now what?

Everybody else is there, too, milling around in the large courtyard.

“Oh, yes,” I say to Bill. “That’s how old folks are. They get early to everything.”

Bill looks around at the gray-haired, limping mob and says, “Looks like The Old Geezer Club, to me.”

We look at each other. We’re sure we look nothing like the Old Geezers.

The people who have gathered for the show are incredibly interesting. There’s a lot of old men in old duck-tail hair cuts. Well, I mean, those that have hair have the duck-tail, greasy hairstyle.

There’s lotsa’ lumpy flesh here, and lotsa’ blond ladies. And, canes and wheelchairs and people I probably knew in school that bear no resemblance to their Be-Bop-Do-Wop former selves.

At last, we move into the theatre and take our seats.

Bill likes his seat. We are way back on the aisle, by the doors and Bill can flick in and out of the hall whenever he wants and bring in wine and treats. Which he does. The show is underway and he immediately drops his glass of red wine onto his white chino pants. He then goes out and gets a thick brownie with masses of chocolate frosting. He eats it, then leans over and complains to me, “I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t see much of the stage.”

I snatch his glasses off his nose and hold the lenses to the feeble light. Just as I suspected. They are loaded with gobs of fudge frosting.

Here are my thoughts about the concert.

You have all these old MoTown men in their 70’s, shuffling on stage, trying to do all the fancy kicks and leg and body drops and it ain’t workin.’ One man has to sit down on the bandstand for a few minutes and recover. The music and the words seem mushy and hard to distinguish. I’m feeling kind of bad for all of these Formally Famous Big Rock and Roll Stars in their hot red or bright lemon velour suits that look like pajamas.

And then I realize, ‘Oh. That’s it! That’s the Death Card for the day. It’s The Old Geezer Show!’

I’m relieved. We all have to go on this eventual final field trip, but at least nobody I know is doing it right now, right today. We’ve all got to go, but, hey, this is wonderful…..we’re all sitting here singing our way to The Promised Land.

Maybe all of us Old Geezers can gather together and sing our way into heaven. What do you think? A bit of shuffle, a little MoTown, some Rock and Roll…and we’re in.

……… “Good Night Sweetheart. It’s Time To Go….Good Night Sweetheart, Good Night.”

I hope I get a fun playing card tomorrow.
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WINNER OF A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS: Lorry Chadwick. Offer valid through May 20,2008. Void after that date. ***Know immediately if your name is chosen. Sign up for the blog feed to your right.**