Things to Consider if You are Pregnant (Which I am NOT...)

Nothing more random to bring me back to blogging than this!

If you happen to find yourself pregnant and are in any way as infatuated with movies as I am, here are some helpful hints for you to consider:

**Be careful if you are married to an astronaut, especially if he lost two minutes while on a space mission and you are suddenly carrying twins. While I watched "The Astronaut's Wife" I realized you must consider all the possiblities, even those which involve a husband replaced by a space transmission hell-bent on taking over the planet by placing said transmission into two fetuses. This could be the fate of your child/children. So, consider yourself warned.

**Also, on that same line of thinking, be wary of men like Husband-of-the-Year Guy Woodhouse, ala "Rosemary's Baby." If, by chance, you move into a sweet new apartment and the neighbors next door are eccentric old people who host strange parties, give you odd charms filled with smelly substances, and take the pictures off the wall when you visit, you could be in for the same fate as poor old Rosemary. You should never, under any circumstances, accept any chocolatey food from these old people, no matter if they call it "the chocolate mouse" or not. You might find yourself in an unwanted sexual tryst with Lucifer himself and consequently knocked up. Nobody wants this.

**On a happier note, if you are pregnant and like to bake pies, it's a good idea (and therapeutic as well) as long as you aren't married to the creeper of the century, like Keri Russell in "Waitress." Even given that minor setback - which she was able to fix in the end - she managed to create one scrum-diliumptious baked good after the other, all while singing that darling "Gonna bake a pie with a heart in the middle..." song to her unborn daughter. I don't even know how to begin to bake a thing, but it made pies and pregnancy look like an absolutely heavenly duo.

And that, folks, is how I am headed back to the blog! Don't let your guard down, ladies. Seriously.

Red Sangria and Planters'

Yep, it's 12:30 in the morning/night, I am drinking my second glass of Red Sangria and eating Planters' Peanuts and so you know what that means - or you don't. I'll tell you. It means it is Tech Week at Parkway!

Last year, it became a bit of a ritual when I got home late, late at night after our Tech Week rehearsals: I'd sneak around in the kitchen, put my bags down ever so silently, and tippy-toe into my bedroom (to get my nighties and remove my contacts) and then I'd get yelled at by a sleeping/snoring Scotty P. who vehemently explained, "I WAS NOT SLEEPING BECAUSE YOUR LOUD ASS WOKE ME UP AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHAT TIME IS IT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" to which I'd respond, "Where do you think I've been? We live in Burnsville you know. I was at Parkway," to which he'd sleepily crone, "It's awfully damn late to be out. But good night sweet pea." And then he'd gently creep back into slumber, from whence he had come - despite his claims to the contrary.

Okay, that isn't the point of the story, but he is a light sleeper and just tonight claims that my car door woke him and so my quietness was lost. After all that other jazz would come the true ritual: I'd retire to the dark living room, get my obligatory glass of Red Sangria and can of Planters' Peanuts (with sea salt) and put on some true crime late-night television to settle in with Facebook or the memories of a long, hilarious evening at the Parkway Playhouse. And I would think to myself, "I am so happy right now."

This might all sound completely corny because it truly is. It also happens to be the honest truth. Late nights before the opening of a show at the Parkway Playhoues with my castmates/friends/second family are my favorite summertime treat. I know it's only my second summer and I am relatively green in terms of the long storied history of Parkway, but I don't care. You might be hard-pressed to find someone who loves it quite so much as I do or who feels so passionately it changed their lives so dramatically.

Or, there might be a million of us out there and so be it. Parkway has been around generations and lifetimes before me and I hope it lasts hundreds of years after I'm gone. But before my departure, I hope to enjoy plenty more summers full of new stories and giggles.For now, it's four days until we open "Annie" and I"ve got my Sangria and nuts all lined up. Yippee for me and Summer 2010! I already know it's going to be a good one.

It already is.

Gleeks Unite!

Good golly gee do I love the show "Glee" - more than just about anything else on television right now...except for the precious few last episodes of "LOST" and the fabulous programming on HBO and Showtime. But even those wonderful shows (like "Treme" and "Nurse Jackie" and "The United States of Tara") don't combine random showtunes into their repetoires, which makes "Glee" top of the tops. Plus, Kristen Chenoweth shows up on occasion and she is my big-time singing girl crush, so there you have it and thank you very much.

After all these years of toiling in obscurity, Gleeks like me have a forum in which to unite once weekly. Fans of belting along with Broadway soundtracks, recreating elaborate dance numbers in front of bedroom mirrors, and collecting live production showbills - our time is now! Not only is this show incredibly well done and classy and filled with all kinds of modern gems and obscure classics, it's popular! Go figure. This is not something with which average Gleeks are especially familiar. (If my fellow Gleeks are anything like me, we are more alligned with, say those kids Puck was throwing into the dumpster last week...)

But no more! Even Ol' Scotty P. is a fan, although he limits his showtunes to the one-hour time slot for the show and doesn't feel the need to make it a part of his daily routine. He does not, for example, sing otherwise normal statements, like I might. (Though that could make for a very interesting addition in his line of work!) No matter. It's an awesome pop culture moment for those who love lively bursts into song, witty banter, talented performers, and top-notch writing.

I wish I could attend William McKinley High and join New Directions, too. I wish this show had been around when I attended my own dismal high school, so that my strange fascination with singing and dancing may have seemed less eccentric. (This is still a long shot. I would probably still have been the wierdo outcast - a skill which, though painful at that time has served me extraordinarily well in my adult life. Dare I say it, people may actually like me better for my differences? So, take that high school memories!) These kids are just super great and I love, love, love them as if they were really real. Is that a clear enough statement to express my obsession?

If only there were more outlets to burst into song to express ourselves - in real life, I mean. I bet communication would improve and we would all feel better. Maybe I'm onto something here. Maybe that's why I feel so happy some days, because I have sung my way through life for a while. Maybe we could all take a cue from "Glee" and break into song here and there. It would be fun and captivating to our audiences.

And if that doesn't catch on, that's okay too. I'll still be doing my little solo act here, you can count on it! And, I bet there are other Gleeks out there who can totally relate...

Laughter Is the Best Medicine

Here are some things that made me laugh in the past few days - and goodness knows I do love a good chuckle. Laughter, and finding funny things anywhere, anytime, is one thing at which I am pretty darn good - it is my best friend!

**Re-watching "The Hangover" tonight. This always makes me laugh, no matter what, and so it is no surprise, but I thought it appropriate to begin the list.

**Looking at my pajamas, which happen to be covered in bumble bees and flowers, and making "Buuuzzzziiiinnnnnggggg" sounds while watching "The Hangover." Ol' Scotty thought that was humorous too, in a childish, silly sort of way.

**About 700 things at the first Parkway Playhouse rehearsal of "Annie" last night, none of which would be funny to a normal, mature adult - or anyone other than me and perhaps one or two other choice people. This is just the first of about 700 more rehearsals throughout the summer, all of which will be filled with laughter and hysterics. And I can't wait for that! I don't think there is any better laughter than that which occurs at Parkway!

**The finale of "Survivor" last night. Specifically, Sandra calling out Russell as she wore that tiara. Hilarious. I also supremely loved when Boston Rob said if he could do it over, he'd beat Russell's ass. Priceless...

**A beagle and a chessie. They didn't do anything out of the ordinary, which means there were their naturally rambunctious, hysterical selves. I especially loved Gracie sliding herself under our bed to her "hidey hole" when she saw me put sneakers on to take a walk. (See, she thinks she might have to go on a walk, something which makes her extremely anxious and insane - because she is neurotic and generally "special needs." But, as many who have met her have said, as she belongs to me, she gets it honestly.)

**Ol' Scotty making fun of my black Converse sneakers I wore yesterday. We both had a good guffaw after he pointed out that if I want to ever look older than 12, I might try not wearing those ridiculous shoes. (For the record, I love those shoes and will wear them to death. Plus, my wearing or not wearing them has no bearing on how old others think I am. It's still 12.)

Here's to another fun-filled day of snickers! Hope there are some in it for you, too!

Meandering Day of Loveliness

Today has been just about perfect. I will herein attempt to explain why.

**When I woke up, Ol' Scotty P. had already turned on the television, which is both unheard of (since he claims to not enable my TV addiction) and terrific (precisely because of my TV addiction - which I, like any good addict, vehemently deny.) "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" was on, and I love that movie, so I cuddled up under the covers with my coffee and reveled in its delight. It occurred to me that these are the moments I could not enjoy if I were a parent, but being as I am currently only a mom to dogs, I decided to stop thinking about that and not feel guilty for things which are not my life. I knew it would be a good day right off the bat...

**It was super warm outside - perfect for a sundress and brand new brown, flowery flip-flops. I spent some time at Burnsville's Farmer's Market, buying homemade jams, farm fresh local eggs, and yummy goat cheese. I visited a produce stand for beans and potatotes and peaches, all raised right here in Yancey County. I thought of my old Saturday morning routines in Morgantown, when I would drink a big latte from Starbucks, get a manicure, and then go shopping for things I didn't need. Both are good, though different, and both are, strangely enough, totally me, and I really feel at peace doing both. Surprising and odd how that happens sometimes...

**Seeing how Ol' Scotty P. is feeling a bit under the weather, we took it easy and spent the afternoon in Asheville with my favorite Aussie Russell Crowe on the big screen in "Robin Hood." We adored it. It had just the right combination of bloody action and intriguing story, and the promise of a sequel which I desperately hope comes true. I skipped breakfast to starve myself on purpose, so I got to eat a huge bucket of delicious popcorn, too, which is always a movie bonus. (I have on numerous occasions eaten a huge bucket of popcorn on a stuffed full stomach, because I love popcorn that much. It is much more enjoyable, however, to do it when you are truly hungry. There is your free tip for the day. You're welcome.)

**After the film, we walked across the street to Cold Stone Creamery for a sweet treat. We were both briefly distracted by a case full of chocolate delights, from which we picked a good number for later tonight. Then we each ate the biggest size (Gotta Have It) of heavenly ice cream goodness on the face of the planet. (I recently had such a craving for Cold Stone that I ate a Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich for lunch a few days ago. It was not a suitable substitute for Cold Stone, that's for sure. It reminded me of my Morgantown cravings and how I would drive to Cold Stone in any weather, at any time of day or night, to fetch it. I am glad I dreamt up today's plan to get my fix!) We sat outside together and had a delicious time, Scotty with his choclatey chocolate and me with my vanilla and cookie dough concoction of bliss. Nothing is a better lunch than movie theater popcorn and Cold Stone ice cream. (What am I saying? Better lunch? Hell, there is no better meal, period!!) I sure am lucky to have enjoyed that...

**Once we got home, Ol' Scotty went downstairs to wail on his guitar and find his "perfect tone" - which I guess is only slightly harder to track down than the truth about large-scale disasters. (This will make sense in a minute.) I decided it was the perfect time to engage in one of my favorite obsessions: watching 9/11 conspiracy documentaries. While I have long loved to do this, a few days ago I hit the mother load: an entire online site dedicated to top documentaries on every subject imaginable. Thankfully, a large number of these are about the 9/11 Truth Movement. Over the past two days, I have watched approximately ten of them. (Though I understand I am prone to exaggeration, this is an honest number. And I'm not even half-way through the list! Blessed, glorious internet!)

Scotty P. queried whether I had discovered the truth yet. I informed him as I will inform you: Not yet, but I think I am getting closer, and I will die trying, if necessary. He then added that, if the Powers That Be get wind of my obsession, I may very well die trying. If that is the case, then all my cynical, conspiracist musings will likely be proven true, won't they? And that will only serve to further my goal! (I do not, however, want to become a martyr for this - or any - cause. So, let's hope I don't fall to such a fate.)

Right now, I am eating a big, fat, piece of red meat (raised free range, of course) and organic broccoli, questioning the federal government's version of September 11, and watching a peaceful Chessie sleep at my feet as a curious Beagle scours the kitchen for wayward crumbs. We are all content as can be here on a rainy Saturday night, the end to a glorious day.

Life is good.

Wonder Why?

Sometimes I just wonder about things in this world. Ol' Scotty P. doesn't seem too interested in my wonderings, so I just have to get those things out in this blog post...

**When I watch "48 Hours" or "Dateline" or "American Justice" or any of the many, many true-crime stories over which I obsess, I wonder why they feel the need to say "in a hushed courtroom, the defendant took the stand..." or some such thing. What other kind of courtroom is there? Have you ever seen the inside of a courtroom whilst a trial takes place that is raucous or otherwise so engaged? Are there jugglers or clowns or vendors wandering the aisles hawking popcorn and COLD Bud Light? Unfortunately, no. (But, that would be all right by me if there were, seeing how much time I spend in courtrooms.)

By definition - and order - the courtroom is typically hushed. Or the bailiff takes offending parties out. (I've seen several drunks escorted from the courtroom before. At 9:00am. In Avery County. Enough said, if you know anything about Avery County...) And, on top of that, most people inside said courtroom are bored to tears, which tends to lead to silence. So, in the interest of efficiency, I think they can leave that part out of the description. Thank you.

**Why do people think a sticker on the back windshield of their vehicle is an appropriate tribute to a dead person? I can't tell you how many decal crosses and birth-and-death dates I've seen driving down the highway, right next to a Dale Earnhart sticker or "My Kid is an Honor Student" decoration. Seriously, if I died and someone put a decal on their car next to the Pittsburgh Steelers decal, I would be pissed. Because I am anti-tacky. (This also goes for those roadside crosses/memorials. I argue that is littering and should be illegal. I better not see any of this nonsense from the other side or I will haunt you. Consider yourself warned.)

**Why do Facebook users need to update their statuses with things like, "I am REEEAAAALLLLY MAD RIGHT NOW AND DON'T EVEN ASK ME ABOUT IT BECAUSE I WILL NEVER EVER TELL YOU EXCEPT TO SAY I AM REEEEAAAAAALLLLY MAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!!!!" (Excessive exclamation points and capitilization intended to copy their over-dramatic emphasis.) These statuses are, naturally, followed by loads of comments like, "OMG - Are you okay?"

Of course the person is okay. They updated their Facebook status, didn't they? So they are clearly not incarcerated, in a coma, paralyzed under a semi-truck, or similarly incapacitated, which would impede their Facebook updates. They are, however, in my humble opinion, attention-seekers who need nothing less than a slew of "OMG - HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!?!?!?!?!?!" comments. What they might need is to be ignored so they might realize their pitiful, childish cries for attention are, um, retarded. There, I said it. This type of behavior is retarded and should result in a lifetime ban from Facebook, thereby eliminating at least one avenue from which these histrionic souls can derive attention.

Okay, for today, these are the most pressing issues I can think about. Until later, then, let the questions continue!

Dream On

Being rather lazy, it's no surprise I like to sleep. And, as one who likes to sleep, it's no shocker that I love to dream. I don't, however, always love my dreams because they are bizarre and extraordinarily crazy. I do, though, love to dissect my dreams and, just the other day, Ol' Scotty P. told me to "never" tell him about my dreams again because "it scares him."

I tried to find out what specifically terrified him about my most recent tale of flying a small scooter-type airplane through the Parkway Playhouse's director's home (a place which was most definitely not real due to its labyrinth style of secret rooms and layered hallways.) Did he not like my inablility to land the device, which I repeatedly crashed into the hardwood floors? Was he bothered that dream Scotty P. shut down his office suddenly to become a file clerk and tried to move us to a million-dollar home? Did he get jealous because I got invited to Dollywood and he didn't want to come with?

No, it turns out, as he explained, my dreams "scare the s**t out of him" because what goes on inside my head is "f'ing insane." (He is nothing if not eloquent, I always say.) I can see his point, but countered that if he's scared by secondhand versions of my nightmares, he should try spending a day living with what's going on inside my head. Seriously.

Regardless, I decided to continue telling him despite his wishes to the contrary. It's good for a couple to share things between them. If I had never told him about my dreams, he would never know about the time dream Steph was having a dream baby and dream Scott insisted it be named Wilhemina, if a girl, or Danny Todd, if a boy. (We had a girl, by the way, and I stuck the newborn in a cardboard box and forgot about her. We did name her Wilhemina. It all turned out because it was only a plastic baby doll anyhow. Dream Steph was glad it was a girl because as bad a name as Wilhemina might be, Danny Todd is, um, atrocious.) He also would have missed out on all my tales of dating Peyton and Eli Manning and how they fight over me in my sleep.

Okay, so I see why he would prefer I just keep a dream journal or something. But what fun would that be? A few nights ago I dreamt that the Penguins won this series against the Canadiens, a scenario which looks right now as likely as my dating a Manning brother.

But, it's fun to share these things with him - clearly more fun for me than him. It's okay, though. I think he secretly likes my creativity and wit.

At least, he does in my dreams.

They Said, "Athlete!"

Last week, Ol' Scotty P. and I went on a swanky dinner date with two other couples who are good friends we don't see often enough, even though we all live within miles of one another. It was fabulous. I got to wear a new dress I had just found for a steal and some fancy shoes, so already, even before the wonderful food and enlightening conversation, the night was successful in my mind.

But the food was absolutely, memorably delicious and the easy, breezy conversation filled with laughter. It was joyous. For a bunch of grown-ups, we had a way better time than I ever had at the beer bashes of my twenties - even if you could not have convinced me of that back then. This fact never ceases to baffle me, as I am just so darned resistant to classifying myself an "adult" sometimes, until I'm reminded of how awesome it is to finally be one!

Lest you think it was all stuffy talk of gardening and parenting tips, I'll just tell you those things did come up, between asking classic questions like, "Which athlete would you most like to sleep with?" Now, this is one of my favorite games to play, made all the better after a few cocktails. (Another difference between being a pseudo-adult and a full-fledged grown-up: You can afford the good liquor. And mixers. And you can order these concoctions at the bar, instead of having to stick to the beer special in a pitcher. I never thought I would see the day. Life really does get good.)

Of course, this is a good question because it limits you as to choices - versus, say, "actors" or similarly vast categories. I chose Sidney Crosby because he is a stand-up guy, lives with Mario, is sweet as can be, talented, cute, has a gold medal AND a Stanley Cup ring, and is Canadian. (I like the accent.) Plus, we are smack in the middle of hockey playoffs, so he graces my screen (hopefully) every other day or so. (And, on a side note, though my campaign to bring Big Ben retribution continues diligently and he did apologize to the city of Pittsburgh, we are not quite ready to throw his name into a conversation like this. Yet. Give it time.)

A few days ago, long after this little back-and-forth took place, Ol' Scott and I were watching the Pens lose a miserable game in the Eastern Conference Semifinals and he remarked, "I can't believe you chose Sidney Crosby over everyone."

I jolted upright from my sad, prone, Pens-are-losing-a-real-stinker position, "Yeah, but they said athlete! Not just anyone! Who would you rather I have chosen?"

He did not respond right away, but then said, "Yeah, you're right. They did say athlete. I guess that's a good choice." And we resumed cussing at the ridiculous play on the ice while willing the Pens to do better in Game 3. (Which they sure did, by the way, making it a 2-1 game lead heading into tonight's showdown!)

The point is this: We have grown up. Like it or not. Tank tops and pitchers of Bud Light in a smoke-filled bar have given way to fancy martinis and multi-course meals. (Most of the time. I won't pretend that you'll never see me in a tank top with a glass of Bud Light, but it is way less frequent now.)

But it's good to know that, even in adulthood, you can play a game like this one with your friends and you can stick to the rules of that game. And you can ponder over the answers with your spouse later because everyone is mature and happy to be that way. I hope that next time we see these dear friends, we can play another version of this game or one similar.

Because it's that sort of connection to the silliness of youth that lets me relish completely the joys of growing up, even if I sometimes don't really believe I have.

Yippee-Kay-Yay, Broadway Lover!

This is a Broadway musical kind of time of year! The Tony nominations were announced this week. I heard all about it from my gay radio boyfriend, "The Ahmaaazing" Seth Ruetetsky on Sirius XM Broadway channel which plays non-stop in my car. (Don't ask me again: Seth and I have a kind of a "thing" going on and I can't explain it right now. Trust me - it's showtune terrific and, yes, ahmaaazing.) On top of all that, the Parkway Playhouse is gloriously near to beginning rehearsals for "Annie" - the first of two musicals I will perform in this summer.

Needless to say, my life is one big, elaborate musical number in my mind right now. (And when I say "right now" it could translate to "all the time" - except seriously more right now.) I've been humming showtunes all day long and dwelling incessantly on the emotions of my favorite shows. I am, simultaneously, attempting to train for a 5K which is coming up this Saturday and, while it is slow, plodding, and not entirely likely to continue for the 3.1 miles, I do so enjoy picking a new Broadway soundtrack on my iPod each time I go out running. It's like a melding of the physical and emotional in the best possible way.

Some time ago, it was my current obsession, "Wicked." I have likely listened to this complete soundtrack no less than 1000 times in the past five months, and it never ceases to amaze me. When I saw it onstage during a freak February snowstorm in South Carolina, my already-perfect vision of it was etched forever in my mind as a fantastic memory. After it had ended, and while the tears were likely still fresh on my cheeks, Ol' Scotty P. and I slipped and slid our way over a magical snow-covered bridge to our cozy hotel room (me, of course, in ridiculously impractical Italian leather three-inch heels, holding Scotty P. with all my might so as not to tumble) and we ate take-out New York Carnegie Deli cheesecake while I wore my souvenir Wicked track jacket and remarked that it was almost as good as being in NYC. And it was, almost. Kind of like how listening to the soundtrack now is almost as good as that night in South Carolina. Almost.

Last week, for example, I chose "Miss Saigon." This is maybe not the most obvious option, but I do love it so. It reminds me of being a naive young adult who still believed in that kind of perfect, self-sacrificing love. I used to listen to my cassette tape copy of it in my freshman dorm room at WVU while I did my homework and tears would stream down my face at the tragic, sorrowful end - which I will not reveal, in case some dear readers are not familiar. (To which I say - get out there and listen! There is no greater joy than immersing oneself in a musical story from start to end, in one sitting, to discover a story told in glorious, delicious song...)

I remember the first time I saw it onstage in Pittsburgh, and how excited I was to finally put a visual to the songs I had memorized for so many years. I've seen it another time since, but somehow, it never had the same emotional kick that those cassette tapes held for an 18-year-old kid away from home, clumsily finding her way to adulthood. That is what that show really means for me, and thank goodness for it. It's a lovely memory to match a lovely show.

And then, a few days ago, in the steamy humidity of the afternoon, I could not help but pick "Oklahoma!" I so wanted to relish the memories of last summer's Parkway Playhouse production - to feel the stickiness of the backstage in the summer heat, to sense the butterflies of "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" when it begins so precious and sweet. As anyone who has ever talked to me in the past year knows, if I could bottle those nine or so performances from last year and relive them forever, I would in a heartbeat. It was therapy in the best sense of the word - I found myself on that old wooden stage in Burnsville, NC, and I vowed to hold onto that joy forever.

So, when I set out running to those terrific tunes, it was like coming full circle. I ran and I thought - about all the new memories of this summer coming up, of the changes on the horizon, of making my home here in the mountains of North Carolina.

That is the true story behind the Broadway love - what it means for me, the feelings and love that rise in my soul when I hear some showtunes and can't help but belt along. It is, as Seth would say, "Ahmaaazing!"

And I cherish it so.

Crosby on the Bedpost

Right now, my Sidney Crosby jersey hangs triumphantly on my bedpost, right where I hung it after the last victory over Ottowa. It will remain there until the Pens no longer are alive in the NHL playoffs - hopefully sometime in June when they lift the Stanley Cup in a repeat of their 90's repeat. I wear it every other day and then I hang it up in its spot for the next installment - a routine I hope to continue for some time. It's a happy reminder in the morning, to know that there is something toward which to look forward and about which to smile.

So much else in my sporting world is less than happy. The Mountaineers' devestating loss in the Final Four, poor Santonio's trade to the Jets, and, of course, Big Bad Ben. Goodness gracious, you'd think he had killed someone...like, say, Ray Lewis or Dante Stallworth. You'd think he'd been convicted of something...like, say, half the rest of the league. But, no, not really. He is, apparently, evil enough to dominate the negative press of every major sports-shouting show and internet site and, thus, I can no longer watch those shows or read those articles. I can't explain my views in this blog because I can't exactly pin down my views.

But, don't count me in with the rest of the frenzied bandwagon "trade him!" followers. In my mind - and plenty of others' - he's still a great quarterback. All these people loved him in the final 40 seconds of Super Bowl XLIII. What, now because he may be sexually aggressive he's no longer able to throw a precision pass under pressure? I guess that is the same logic that because Tiger is a man whore he can no longer...putt. (I don't know enough about golf to make an intelligent analogy here. All I know is that it's fun on the Wii and boring as crap in real life.)

In the real world, I know plenty of respectable people who are great at their jobs, and up to whom others may very well look. I also know that these same folks have made mistakes - sexual and otherwise - in their lives. I don't really think differently about them and don't suspect others would either, even if they knew the facts. I might not agree with the actions or mistakes or missteps or...whatever. I also don't want to start down the slippery slope of legislating/criminilizing morality and/or stupidity. We simply don't have the manpower in this country to keep up with all that!

So, for now, I'll just sit here on my bed with my Crosby jersey and keep all my energy on the ice, where it would be now anyway, even without all the other distractions. I know Sid and Geno and the rest of the Mighty 'Guins will give it their all, making the 'Burgh proud no matter how far they go in the post-season. Because on the ice, at least it's still all about the game.

So, Let's Go Pens!! Because I want that Crosby jersey to stay put a while longer.

Summery Summer Goodness

It's not quite Spring proper, but it feels like Summer, so I've moved on. Sorry, Nature, but I feel secure that once my over-confidence in this weather fully manifests, you will snatch it cruelly away from me and replace it with cold, wet nastiness. So, time is of the essence and I must revel in the joys of Summer Planning-Palooza, 2010:

**After last summer's inaugural performance in "Oklahoma" I have, once again, been given the chance to be part of the Parkway Playhouse's Summer Season. This community theater has changed my life and I am not being overly dramatic. (Dramatic, maybe, but not overly so.) For 64 years, the Parkway has delighted the Burnsville area and I am prouder of being a part of it than I have even been of anything in my entire life. (Check it out at parkwayplayhouse.com. If you are in the Western North Carolina area, it will be good times if you stop by and see it live!!) The unbridled happiness I experience when working hard to bring the production together is more rewarding than I can translate.

This summer, I will be part of "Annie" - wherein I will not play an orphan, contrary to popular belief based upon the age I appear (and likely act, though people don't say that to my face) - and "Guys and Dolls" - in which I may (fingers crossed) get to play an adult! (Or at least a teenager.) I can't wait for late-night practices, cast meltdowns, and general comraderie with other actor-types. It's a blast. I can think of no other way to spend the summer, and don't comprehend other opinions. (Namely, ol' Scotty P.'s, who sincerely seems baffled by me during these months of rehearsals.) Who cares? The show must go on and, in this house, it will, believe you me...

**For the umpteenth time (thank goodness) I will see DMB live and thus summer can be complete. Somehow, after all these years of loyalty, we have scored Gold Circle seats at the Charlotte show and I'm already dizzy with the idea of being that close to my musical gods. Summer is somehow a bit sadder when you don't see crazy Dave dancing and hear (hopefully) "Two Step" live on a humid, sweaty evening. It will be a long wait until July, but let the countdown begin! ("Celebrate we will...Life is short but sweet for certain...")

**After almost four years at my current job, I'm moving on. I don't know what to expect. For the first time in my life, I'll be my own boss. And knowing full-well the type of employee I can be, I may become fast frustrated with myself. But, to grow in this life, you have to take chances and move ahead and that is what I intend to do, as I think positive thoughts and hope to quell any panic attacks.

But don't be crazy! I will be leaving my current job at the end of June and won't begin the new venture until at least September. So, I'll have plenty of time to enjoy the rest of my summer adventures! Let's not forget what type of employee I am...

**Along with the more glamorous, there is the glorious mundane: the sunny days outside with the dogs, dinners downtown Asheville, my birthday(!), family visits, new flip-flops with freshly painted toenails, not-so-white legs, weekend cabin trips, ice cream cones, the smell of sunscreen, sundresses, blonder hair, and all-around heavenly sunny times.

Bring it on, Nature! I'm ready!

What-sa Goin' On?

Since my last blog post, it has miraculously become summer from winter by the beginning of April, I snagged a snazzy new pair of brown clogs on a tremendous sale, and the Mountaineers got all the way to the Final Four in the NCAA tourney. (Some other stuff happened, too, but I try to hit the high points.) Ol' Scotty P. and I have made some pretty big decisions about our joint future - namely, a swimming pool would really be sweet right now and, unfortunately, a new Beagle puppy is not a wise addition to our little family.

In honor of this fresh new time of year, a renewed sense of dedication to this blog. I vow to do the following:

**I will play less Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook and use my time more sensibly. This will particularly make Scotty P. happy, since he firmly believes I spend roughly 75 percent of my time on this sparkly little computer game - when it's really a little less than that. We'll find a healthy compromise.

**Even though I receive almost 500 e-mails a day from Bluefly.com, I will not (repeat: WILL NOT) succomb to these discounted designer wares. I will not buy any beautiful Kate Spade heels or cashmere fingerless gloves or flowy Free People dresses, no matter how lovely those things may look together for some night on the town and no matter the special sales Bluefly claims are TODAY ONLY! My will-power will just have to defeat Bluefly's relentless temptation. Stay strong and breathe...and avoid Bluefly.com like it's a New England Patriots fan with the swine flu.

**I will work harder to write more regularly, since that usually helps to quell the other time-wasters. Wish me luck!!

Today, I Will

Today I have lots of obligations. Tomorrow I have those same obligations, but we are only going to talk about today. Because of today's to-do list, I currently suffer from acid reflux, a sour stomach, a headache, eyes that are on fire, and cold feet. (Well, to be fair, the cold feet are the result of chasing one contemptuous Chessie into the icy yard to cease her digging up our entire yard, as well as the neighbor's, in her quest for moles. While in hot pursuit, I eliminated shoes from the equation and only wore my socks. It was not my brightest moment. I also did not stop the dog from her hunting instincts, which kind of makes sense when you think about it.)

It is fairly easy to get caught up in negatives. Being a natural defiant personality, I will attempt to list some positives to rebut that initial tempation:

**Right now, one overly repentent Chessie is curled in front of the fire, quiet and behaved and ever the model of dog obedience. She also licked my face several times upon finally coming inside. My read on this was an apology for her earlier ill-tempered refusal to listen. I don't know if dogs' brains really function this way, but I will stubbornly hold to my thoughts that they do. I can't stay mad at her because she doesn't ever stay mad at me, even when I did lose my temper and swat her nose. We love each other like that.

**Concurrently, one lazy Beagle is curled at my feet on the couch, snoring away into the afghan-covered pillow upon which she is snuggled ever so sweetly. I know she wants up on the couch because it is warm and fluffy and comfy. Sometimes, I like to think she also wants to comfort me as I trudge through my numerous have-tos. There is something about a Beagle at your feet which makes even the dreariest of tasks perkier. She is such a baby, and that is why I baby her...or the other way around.

**Tonight I get to go to dance class, where I can lose all sense of stress in favor of physical challenge and laughter with a bunch of teenagers. Never, in all my life, have I ever felt better or more myself than when I am dancing. I might not be the most technically proficient dancer and I might never master all the skills, but my soul is happiest when I am trying. Unlike any other thing in my life, being even mediocre at this one hobby has made me happier than any of the other things I have tried or mastered. Who cares if I could (literally) be mother to my classmates? They remind me of all the best and worst aspects of being a teenager. I am happy with my place in life and happy to test my ablities with theirs. It makes me a better dancer and gives me a better outlook on llife, too.

**Yesterday, I found a specific dress at Target which I have loved, loved, loved since Christmas-shopping season and it was half-off. And it is super cute and I love it even more now that it is in my closet. No matter that I have no less than one hundred dresses hanging beside this new one. I will not apologize for my love of clothes, nor will I ever again make a ridiculous statement like, "Please stop me from buying any more dresses." (Which I uttered this past summer after one dress spree too many. Perish the thought those words even escaped my lips!)

Because if I wasn't buying too many dresses and dancing, curled up with dogs at my feet, who would I be? Not someone I would want to know, I'll tell you that!

So, back at it now, acid stomach and all. At least I know what's really important. And let me tell you: a Beagle can do wonders for icy cold feet - they are almost completely warmed up now! Sometimes it really is the littlest things that bring the most peace.

Shut the Crap Up!

While I rarely use the blog to rail against any real or perceived enemies, I sometimes feel the need to share the running commentary in my head with all the world...or, put another way, whoever chooses to read my blog posts. I will preface the following by stating that all uber-obvious choices are just that and don't warrant any repeats here - for example, see Sarah Palin, Brett Favre, and Phil Simms for starters.

So, Shut the Crap Up:

**Tim Tebow. If I desired to know your inner-most thoughts, I would read the Bible verse printed on the greasepaint under your eyes. However, I don't care. And I highly doubt too many other die-hard football fans do either. So, on Super Bowl Sunday, when you "star" in your little anti-abortion/Focus on the Family commercial, I will probably be in the bathroom or getting a beer or eating nachos like everybody else.

I will not, however, be listening to you because the last thing I want to interrupt a good-ass game of pigskin is a wanna-be quarterback spouting propoganda. Shame on you, CBS, for infecting Super Bowl Sunday with anything not about football or beer or that talking E*Trade baby or Viagra or anything else considered ultra-American on that day.

And as for Mr. Tebow, I do believe this commercial is as close to the Super Bowl as you will ever get, judging by your less than stellar performance at the Senior Bowl. Maybe you should try putting all that energy into learning to drop back and pass. I might actually care about what you're doing then. Until that imaginary point in time, just shut the crap up. Thank you.

**Jay Leno. Oh goodness, the Brett Favre of NBC television. You decided to retire. You knew Conan would take over The Tonight Show when you did so. Then, I guess you pulled a fast one and didn't want to leave after all. (Hmmm...wherever would you have gotten such a hair-brained idea like that?)

So, NBC puts you on at 10:00, which I don't think went over well, lending credence to why NBC's numbers are in the toilet. Then, I guess you convinced someone to put you back on the show from which you retired, thereby kicking out the successor you were well aware was taking over for you. Geez, the similarities between you and one infamous QB are striking!

I used to be a fan. I really was. However, now, not so much. You, Mr. Leno, now hold the illustrious place of annoyance just one slot below Number Favre. (Who can't really be replaced in my mind by anyone because that would just be...wrong.) So, please, enough.

**Nancy Grace. I'm over all the missing kids already. I'm pretty sure we know Natalee Hollaway is dead and so is Caylee Anthony. There - cases closed. Jon Gosselin doesn't really need your help to look like a douchebag. (He can shut up as well. Any time now. We, collectively, are waiting...) You seriously give lawyers an even worse name than they have now. Do you realize how hard that is? For crying out loud - shut it!

**Heidi Montag. You need to not only shut the crap up, you need to disappear entirely. I'm not sure why you are newsworthy - strike that, you are NOT newsworthy. We just have a poor imitation of journalism in this country and possibly a poorer imitation of humans who actually follow stories like this. (For the record, I don't count myself in that category because I get my information from printed materials, like Entertainment Weekly, and not Good Morning America. I'm just pointing that out.)

Heidi, Speidi, whatever. Your cries for attention are pitiful. Your plastic surgery is ridiculous. Your "husband" is kind of a waste of space. You are pretty much an idiot. You can't sing - and I'm not the only one who thinks this, as your new CD sold less than 1,000 copies its first week. The only redeeming factor to your existence is that Joel McHale has a field day with you on The Soup and I look forward to a good belly laugh weekly because of it. (So, maybe, don't shut up? Hmmm...that's a tough one. No, do shut up. Joel will find another target.)

And, that's all I have for one day. I'm sure that, in time, I can come up with a brand new list! Until then, I myself will just...shut up.

Championship Sunday, In the Books

Things I noticed from the NFL's Championship Sunday, even though my own beloved Steelers saw fit to lose to unworthy opponents midseason, thereby eliminating even their contention on this most exciting of football playoff days (not that I am bitter):

**If I was a Jets fan who bought one of those pre-marketed shirts or hats which read "AFC Champions Jets" or some such thing, I would be both disgusted at the J-E-T-S JETS! JETS! JETS! and, more importantly, myself for being enough of a dumbass to buy a shirt or hat with a boast of a victory before my team even played the game of which they are claiming victor status. I'm not sure how many of these suckers are out there, but I guarantee you they don't come forward and show themselves. If I were one of these suspected folks, I would either shove that thing so far in my closet I forgot it existed or burn it. Seriously. That is going to be a hard thing to explain later on. (Like, anytime after about 6:30 this evening.) If you did this, you need to get rid of the evidence. Now.

**Do you think Eli Manning is secretly pissed off at Peyton when Peyton does so well and Eli has to watch from that cozy little box in the stadium? And, furthermore, do you think Peyton felt the same way several years ago when the roles were reversed and Eli had the amazing post season on the way to Super Bowl immortality? And, most importantly, do you think big brother Cooper is clamoring from somewhere in the background, "But, hey guys, I was just as good as you too! I'd be just as good as you now if it weren't for my gosh-darned back! Hey...guys?" I wonder about the dynamic between those Manning brothers more than is natural. Or healthy, really. (See: my recurring Eli/Peyton/Steph love triangle dream. Enough said, I think. I have problems.)

**Do you think Rex Ryan's head might actually, literally explode off his shoulders during one of his many tantrums? Even though his anger was quite proper in a few of those non-call situations, I think he needs to settle down before he strokes out. He's a big fellow. All that running around and fitting can't be good for his heart.

**Can Mark Sanchez eat a hot dog in peace now? For crying out loud, that kid was freaking good today. I like the "Sanchize" tag with which he's been saddled against his will. And speaking of him, wouldn't it have been a trip if the Jets had actually made it to the Super Bowl with their rookie quarterback, only to play against the team that beat the team with the Jets' old (emphasis on old) quarterback, who they hired last year specifically to give them their best shot at a Super Bowl, after which they failed to even make last year's playoffs? Isn't it still awesome that the Jets made it this far with this talented rookie QB, given that above outlined situation?

**Now that Jim Caldwell is coaching the Colts in the Super Bowl, do you think I might remember his name? This guy has to be the most low-key coaching figure ever because I forget his name about half the time. (Or it's just early onset alzheimer's.)

**Isn't it ironic that two of the biggest stars of the day were named Pierre and each played for the winning team? I mean, Pierre is hardly a common name, in the NFL or anywhere outside France. Or Montreal. I enjoy little trivial tidbits like that. Because I am an uber-dork.

**Which interception do you think bothers Brett Favre more: the one he threw in overtime as a Green Bay Packer against the eventual winner New York Giants, or the one he threw today to send the game into overtime against the eventual winner New Orleans Saints? I mean, that first example was, like, twelve retirements ago (i.e. 2008) and this one was only the last play of the season in which he was to redeem himself and make his "Favre Watch" melodrama look like good strategy instead of ridiculous adolescent indecision. I don't know, but he'll have some time to think it over...good golly, could he really be done for good? Does it matter right now, given that we do know he won't play another game this season? Shouldn't we just be thankful for small blessings?

**Do you think that poor little Saints kicker thought about the parade of missed field goals during this playoff season before he strolled onfield to make or break the hopes of an entire city of crazed, drunk hooligans? How drunk do you think he is on Bourbon Street right this very instant? How jealous am I of those drunks on Bourbon Street right now? (Don't answer that. I can tell you: plenty.)

Anyway, good for the Big Easy and good for old Peyton, too. This goes out to J.W., the Steelers fan from Indianapolis my sister and I hung out with at the Pittsburgh Hilton bar after the Steelers beat the Ravens a month ago. If he thought he had to hear about how "Fu%$ing Great" Peyton Manning was before today, I'm pretty sure he's in for it the next two weeks.

Good luck, buddy. You are definitely going to need. it. Stay strong. And, just for good measure, it's never too early to start: Go Steelers!!

The Greatest (Oz) Story Ever Told

As my annual movie-centric time of the year beckons, I realize I need to get busy on prospective Oscar nominees and am grateful that I have a bit more time this year - the ceremony occurs in early March. However, the decision to nominate ten films for Best Picture will no doubt make my quest that much harder - a fact about which I am still confused and somewhat bitter.

Nevertheless, I can't help but pay homage to those classic films which have shaped my love of film. This need for tribute definitely came about because of the 70th anniversary DVD editions of two such cinematic marvels: Gone With the Wind and the wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Most people of pretty much any age can relate to some memory of the mesmerizing Wizard of Oz from childhood. I can't actually recall the first time I saw the film. It's just always been a part of my soul. My mom, being a serious film enthusiast herself, never held the fondness for Oz that I did, since Ms. Garland's voice "bugged" her. I, however, like millions of gay men before me, was fascinated by her and the entire production. Though it never became one of my "classic" obsessions, I am quite fond of all things to do with Oz. Re-living it through this new, restored edition, I am reminded of many afternoons in my living room as a kid, crouched down watching an old VHS copy of the film and singing along.

I also did the same thing with Gone With the Wind, though I don't know if all kids felt the same way. When I was in my Civil War phase (see: North and South scrapbook in my basement, created circa 1986) this was certainly a staple of mine when parked in front of the television building Lego houses or playing paper dolls with my little sister. I really believe that these viewings let me in on what was truly a cinematic masterpiece - somehow I understood the magnitude of it. Now that I am an adult and again watching this tremendous epic, I realize I genuinely, innocently missed some of the sexual nuance and feminist underpinnings of Scarlet.

But that's okay. In my heart, when I see both these films, I am a kid again in the living room, flabbergasted by what I see. When I watch the Oscar nominees for this year, I won't be cognizant of the influence on the way I view films.

But it's always with me, just like the joy of those early memories of these masterpieces.

Spectacular Spectacle

"Some people" might like to say the television set is the source of all evil, with its inherently mind-numbing distraction from human relationships. (This is a coded way of saying Scotty P. likes to tell me I routinely rot my brain with some crap on TV.) I like to say it is the source of all that is good in this world and, as evidence, I point to the following, which would be lost to all humanity were it not for the good old boob tube:

**Little Miss Perfect - showing near-constantly on WEtv. (The second season just began this week.) WEtv is like Lifetime's wanna-be cousin who fancies herself more high-brow because she sends money to Feed the Children infomercials and is, therefore, informed about the plight of the world. Regardless of what you think about these so-called "women's entertainment" channels and their stereotypical portrayals of female wiles, there is no way (NO WAY) you should miss out on this little gem.

Little Miss Perfect is the name of a beauty pageant for children, seemingly always taking place somewhere in the south (often in the Carolinas) in a very ritzy venue. Like the ballroom of a Holiday Inn, with all the conference tables pushed into the corner. All the pageant moms are, um, well-fed. And obviously they have spent most of the family's disposable income on makeup, spray tans, and outlandish drag-queen ballgowns for their young, impressionable daughters who may or may not end up on the top of a stripper pole. (I'm not passing judgment on children in beauty pageants. I mean, teaching a five-year-old her main attributes lie in the quality of her blond hair extensions and fake eyelashes doesn't automatically mean you will saddle the kid with self-esteem issues...and strippers make good money here in the south, so there is that.)

Anyway, these kids and their overbearing moms are old news. We've all seen it before. That's not the reason you should watch. You need to see the pageant coach/coordinator/emcee, Michael Galanes. This guy is seriously underrated and he needs more facetime. He holds this entire debacle together with a wide smile on his unnaturally orange face, and manages to stay upbeat while in a constant search for the most perfect-est little girl ever.

Now, I'm not saying he is gay because he spends his time immersed in the world of beauty pageants. Nor am I saying immersion in beauty pageants will make you gay. I'm just saying. The dude is not a straight man. He's also entirely awesome. He infuses these B-level affairs with some serious enthusiasm. While he might tell a parent that winning is everything, he also reminds these kids to just have fun as they try to achieve that most attainable goal: perfection. He is a friend to each dysfunctional family equally.

He also sings what might be the greatest song ever written in the history of music - I can't explain it to you except to say, one line goes a little like, "there are misty-colored rainbows, on the o-ther...sii-iiii-iiii-de!" (Make sure the vibrato on "siiii-iii-de" goes on a while and shimmy your shoulders while you do it. I happen to serenade Scotty P. with this ditty quite often. He's a pretty big fan, as you can guess.) I love Michael Galanes. He's so cliched, he almost can't be real. Except he is. Glorious madness.

**Teen Mom - showing on (arguably) the most important social achievement of the last hundred years, MTV. Golly, where to begin? The name alone conjures up all sorts of images which can't begin to compare to this show's episodes. An actual train-wreck could sue this show for upstaging it.

Now, these teenagers aren't new characters. They are the protagonists from 16 & Pregnant, which aired over the past summer. Except now, the drama has moved up about a hundred levels as these poor kids try to raise their own actual poor kids. I'm not saying it makes parenting look completely wretched. I'm just saying that, as a thirty-something, it scares the crap out of me and makes me question breeding. Ever. This one experiment in reality television could do more to promote birth control than any number of public service announcements.

Some of these girls are truly sympathetic and do a fairly decent job, given their often lowly support systems and inability to financially prosper. Watching actual pain is not fun, and that's not why you should tune in. You need to see the ones who are selfish brats with families enabling their every bratty move.

That is mostly Farrah, with her mom who is basically ordered to watch the baby because Farrah tells her so. Obviously, Farrah needs to find a man, and being a teenager, she needs a social life. You know, I thought to myself, that makes perfect sense. Having a baby shouldn't preclude dates to the pizza parlor and mini-golf! Farrah's mom agrees. She often tries to talk sense into Farrah, as she holds the baby and yells while Farrah is doing her makeup to go out. Of course, I also thought to myself, I bet Farrah wouldn't go out so much if she had to, you know, work and pay bills and live on her own. But...details. Seriously. This show is fun, if only to remind you of your own sensible view on the world.

There are plenty of other instances I could go on about, but for now, this seems like enough. Although, no one could be complete without logging onto youtube.com to watch possibly the greatest spectacle of all time: General Larry Pratt's original hit, "Pants on the Ground." Even though I gave up on American Idol after the skeptacular Bo/Carrie disaster, this is worth your time.

Don't dare to try and get it out of your head - and why would you want to? It's terrific - in fact, just this past weekend, I wowed an entire crowd at a local Waffle House with my own rendition. (Granted, it was, like, 2:00 in the morning and the crowd was, well, slightly intoxicated and maybe easy to please, but still...Brett Favre reportedly pumped up the Vikings in the locker room before their beatdown of the Cowboys by singing his own version. And seeing how I hate Brett Favre and would never, EVER, compare myself to him in any way, I have to give him props for at least this. And, the world may have officially ended as I wrote that last sentence. I will go throw up now...)

So you see, stay tuned to the television and be amazed by your fellow humans on this planet. Find some time in your busy day for one little bit of spectacle. Or, if you'd rather, just wait for me to watch it and then ask me to recap it for you. Because we all know I will find that time in my day. It's how I roll. And I'm not about to stop now!

Looks Back, Wishes Ahead

Last week, Dick Clark and I rang in not just another year, but another decade. There are many things to think about over the past year and last ten years. It's usually better to look ahead, however, and not back - even though this year will be the decade mark for my marriage to Scotty P. and the sad one-year anniversary since Pittsburgh's "City of Champions" title. But enough about all those nostalgic memories - here are a few things I personally can't wait for in 2010:

**Jersey Shore. Okay, I cheat a little because my addiction to this blessed bit of MTV goodness began last year. But, to be fair, it was pretty darn close to year's end and I can tell the madness is going to really heat up in the coming episodes. Why am I completely bonkers over some twenty-something Italian kids with dark tans and big hair? I can't really say. My sister and I have already spent hours analyzing our delicious attraction and haven't truly pinned it down. Does it matter? This is one mindless, fun distraction about which I won't apologize or feel embarrassment. Instead, run with it! (Fist pumping all night long!)

**LOST. It is bittersweet, knowing that the whole thing will wrap up and we'll know (hopefully) the answers to every burning question. And that is also the greatest thing ever. I can't wait for it to begin, and I will be sad upon sadness when it ends. It isn't often the writing and intrigue in a show can not only sustain, but get better each season. This one is primed to be a doozy. Maybe when it's all said and done and I have tons of free time on my hands - which Scotty P. would argue is, um, right now - I'll enroll in that "LOST University" through the BluRay disc and totally immerse myself in Dharma and Oceanic Flight 815 for good. Oh, won't that be the day? (I hope I can finally figure out that giant wheel and Faraday's mom and...oh, forget it. I'll just wait for J.J. Abrams to help me here in a couple of months...)

**The Twin Peaks Festival in North Bend, Washington. (Dates are not yet announced. I've checked.) I have no idea whether I will make all my dreams come true by actually attending this yearly event, but hope springs eternal. I would fit right in with all those oddballs still obessed over a show which ended in the early 1990's. ("Fit in" would be an understatment...) I have several ideas in mind for the costume contest. I would give a limb to see the recreation of the Black Lodge and those creepy red curtains. If I bone up on the DVD Gold Set, I might have a prayer in the trivia rounds. Cherry pie and damn fine coffee is starting to sound like a slice of heaven right now! I have big dreams to make it out to the west coast for the first time this year, and I can't think of a better catalyst than this! Wish me luck!

**Career guidance. I hate to get all serious here, but I am really anxious to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I have several plans in mind to get me on the right track to making that choice. It's not meant to be cryptic - I just need to ponder a few things and then will get back to you on this one. I do know that, one way or the other, I am headed to at least a toe or two on the right path.

**Jeff Probst and Ryan Seacrest coming out of their respective (gay) closets. Enough already, fellas. It's painfully obvious to me that you guys sincerely need to come clean and live your lives. I've recently re-watched a few episodes of Survivor and, honestly, Probst's shirts say it all. Seriously - this could be the year of truth.

Maybe there are more - I would certainly hope so! Right now, this is a good list to get me through these bitter cold days and dreary gray skies and, along with some beer, I should be good to go by springtime! Until the next time, Merry New Year and all that jazz!