First of all, I have been working on this page. I hated it before and I actually still hate it so let’s substitute “working on” with “farting around with” and call it a day. Unless you feel like asking a bunch of FAQ of me in the hopes that I might answer them which is probably a good idea, isn’t it? ISN’T IT? No, you are entirely sick of it and you’re highly offended that I asked, yeah yeah I know.

Secondly, I’m speaking at BlogHer this year. The Plan is that my mom and daughter will attend with me if we can all swing it. I’m not sure what they’re thinking putting a microphone in my hand and letting me sit on a panel. My therapist will probably THANK THEM WITH A DOZEN ROSES EACH.

This month I’ve decided to nominate a Perfect Post Award (put on by these two ladies) and I haven’t done that in a while. It’s only because I can’t always remember to do it and never for a shortage of good writing. Sometimes the posts I dearly love are long and full of lots of details but this month I was touched deeply by the simplicity of my friend Jess. She and her husband are going through a separation and now they are working on a reconciliation.

Her post is entitled “Beginnings” and has a sweet picture in the post. It’s just a beautiful thing. She writes with such rawness and honesty and with all her soul right out there that it’s refreshing in the best possible sense of that word. I can’t comment much more on it than that.

To her benefit, my daughter is quite neat and tidy about her apartment space. But when I got there on Sunday afternoon and the hot, hot sun (are you singing how bizarre! how bizarre! now?) came crashing through the windows I noticed a rather disgusting sight: her toilet bowl. It was the college mom in me that grabbed some cleaner, poured it on until my eyes bled from the fumes, and scrubbed it until it was fit for me to hoist my own tootie on it.

I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything else until that toilet was clean.

Right after that, The Fluid Pudding called me and we knew we’d arrive at Bailey’s Chocolate Bar at the same time. When I got off the phone I said to Mallory, “That was THE Fluid Pudding. Yeah. Uh huh. She has my cell number.” and I was smug for 1/1000th of a second because explaining my excitement to people about those that I read (and know and love) online is like reasoning with a clown that his honking nose is not funny. Unless you’re into that. And with online writers, I am. I am into them.

Since everyone including her and her and her and her and her and her and her has already re-capped this better and way before I, then I shall simply provide photographic evidence that I, indeed, met Bossy on her Saturn-sponsored Excellent Road trip.

Near the destination we saw great houses and this blue one just called my name. If this is your house then: PRETTY.

There was a scrumptious cheese tray with spiced walnuts that made my mouth do a happy dance. Perhaps a lambada?

There were photos I tried to take secretly save for the WHIRR, CLICK of the Canon. This should be an ad for something. Bamboo linens? Cheeky haircuts? Divine goddesses?

There were “Wouldn’t This Be A Funny Picture?” poses that required no libation lubrication. This is me sober. No, don’t run away. Come back.

There were desserts that my daughter ordered while I was busy chatting away with boisterous women. At one point, perhaps to simply shut me up, she shoved the pistachio-encrusted truffle in my mouth.

There were pictures that should never be enlarged because leftover mint from mojito-tasting is stuck in my teeth. If it looks fuzzy, it’s because my camera is drunk again. The lush.

There were “artistic” shots of Bossy taken with the ethereal light she produces from her being. While I am enamored with her site, I’m altogether smitten with her presence and soulfulness. I had taken two other pictures of her that she didn’t like (but one has her great arched eyebrow and it scares me a little) so I promised not to post it.

Several things stand out from that night: smelling Fluid Pudding’s hair (twice), Mallory putting her foot on the table and having every camera in the vicinity snap a photo of her tattooed tootsie, standing on a chair to pose for the long-armed Bossy shot and then realizing that leaning over in my skirt in front of the restaurant window may not have been a good idea, getting passionate and loud, no I mean LOUD, about education, and learning Bossy’s middle name. It made me forget all about cleaning toilets.

This week in therapy I had probably the hardest time yet. It’s no fun intentionally being vulnerable and out of control, but there you have it: it’s a necessity. You probably don’t want to hear all about it, but I will share the most touching and profound thing my therapist said to me last night.

I feel like you always have this hard-shell exterior and try to keep it together but you have a thin veneer. At any moment I could reach over with a pin and just graze the surface and you will shatter.

Right after that I read these healing, reparative words at Jen Gray:

“ today i was reminded that for the most part,
we are all trying to do the best we can.
and that encouragement works wonders over
criticism.”

Too true, dear readers. Too true.

Enough of that sappy moment there, but I thought that was such a great insight because I know that no matter how many things I divulge about myself online it is only that which I am willing to share at the moment I decide to sit down and write. This endeavor is merely a reservoir for the leftover thoughts that consume me during the day. I’m craving dark chocolate and pretzels this week. That should explain it.

In the midst of a rather difficult week, I came home from work yesterday to find two things at my door. A gift card from Sandra to Sephora, the makeup company that literally sucks me into the store with a Jedi force and compliments me on my eye color and asks, “Could I try just a little of this color on you? Just for fun?” Normally, I wouldn’t comply but the guy with the blue mascara on his lashes and extra plump lips who seduced me with his knowledge of wrinkle cream did a number on me and I walked out with 30 bucks of eyeshadow. I say that it sucks me in, but we all know who the sucker is here.

The other thing awaiting me on my doorstep was this coffee mug from MeL.

MeL, who wants my full lips and to whom I advise this: When walking into Sephora, honey, they will hold lip liner to your temple and force you to purchase glossing products. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

First, Mrs. RW bestowed upon me an Excellent Blog Award.

Here are my excellent picks based on their consistently well-written words. They sure do write a good sentence.

1. Stay At Aum Mom, MeL - She always writes her name with a capital M and a capital L. She’s a sassy gal and she knows it.

2. EbonyMommy - Always a good read with phenomenal pictures. Check out her boys at Easter and just try not to want to put their heads inside your mouth to taste their goodness. Just try.

3. AngryBlackBitch - You’ll get used to the swearing and pray this woman is on your side during Debate Team Finals.

4. defective yeti - I clicked on his name the first time I saw it because it made me snort. Now I click on his name just to see inside his brain.

5. run jen run - She probably tires of me linking her, but if you had seen her in that Ms. Pac Man outfit or snuggled her curly locks, you’d agree. Make her stop hounding me about TequilaCon ‘08, please. I can’t drink away my daughter’s college graduation weekend, Jenny! I can’t!

Next, Lara awarded me the Blogs of Distinction Award. They make me “laugh, cry, think or sigh”. These are my tender spot reads. Before reading them in my feeder I know that happy thoughts are to come.

1. The Silent K - She makes me want to take her yoga classes and get all downward-facing-dog with her. In a good way.

2. Jen Lemen - While the warm and fuzzy approaches dizzying levels in my head to read her, I remember that she is real and vulnerable and the best kind of artsy-fartsy.

3. Adie Loves Polly - She’s four years old, for crying out loud. Simplicity at the highest point of beauty. Polly is her Polaroid and she takes pictures with quaint captions of her thoughts or words. Jesus, get thee a tissue.

4. Leah Peah - One day I noticed that I read all her posts with my head cocked to the side. That’s what I do when I’m sitting down with a dear friend enjoying their words. It’s my vulnerable, yes I’m hearing you, honey, and I love what you’re saying stance. Apparently.

5. Chookooloonks Photography - Karen sent me a Christmas card last December with a sunflower on it and said that it’s difficult to look at one without smiling. Such wisdom, this one.

Cross posted at Flawed But Authentic.

Two teachers from my high school days made quite a difference for me. One of them was my English teacher. She introduced me to Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and changed the way I felt about literature forever. For a while, I went around calling everyone Goody before their name because I thought that “Goody Proctor” was such a funny name. The other was our student government adviser who had us do amazing things as a group and let us move forth in whatever direction we chose. He even had us out to his house and we had bonfires and sweet, innocent moments where he encouraged us to find out just who we wanted to be and also how to daringly become just that.

As luck would have it, they were married to one another.

At a time when I thought life was over (I had a two year old daughter by this time, and going out was nonexistent) they provided me with lots of comfort. And hot cocoa with a plethora of marshmallows. They also allowed me to bring my young daughter with me when all the other students came to visit.

Small things like bonfires and cocoa and laughter fill my memory bank and it may seem silly, but I am forever grateful. They fortified my belief in myself and my contribution to the world (they were the best kind of hippies) but also invigorated my conviction that I wasn’t a Throw Away. As confidence builders, they were extraordinary.

Who in your past did that for you?

Sit down with marshmallow-laden hot cocoa and tell me all about it. I’ll start the fireplace.