Do the fat wooly bears really have a chance?

In the Spring it's the spotted salamanders who are trying to cross the road.  They wait for dark.  They wait for rain.  Then they go forth- risking death to make it to their vernal nesting pools.  Some make it, some don't.  But they all still try.

In the fall the big fat furry wooly bears cross the road.  They wait for sun.  They wait for warmth and then they go for it.  I'm not sure what they're trying to cross the road for but some make it, and some don't.  But they still try.

We are, as of late, a family of BIG losers.  It's hard to watch.  The boys' soccer team (of which I'm embarrassed to say I coach) has failed to win A GAME this season.  There have been many games because of all the jamborees: 3 games per jamboree x 3 jamborees + two regular season games= LOTS OF LOSING.

Claire's field hockey team (of which I'm excited to say she made) has had 6 games.  SIX chances to win.  But NOOO!  And I'm starting to play for a brand new women's hockey league in the area.  There are four teams in the league- we've played four games and have lost them all.  And I'm not talking tiny losses (close games).  We have ALL lost BIG TIME.  Like, BIG TIME.  Blowouts- 4-0, 5-0, sometimes more.  We are a family of losers.  I keep telling the kids, "We're making progress,"  "You're getting better,"  "You're gonna win one of these days,"  but FUCK THAT!  I want them to WIN now.  I want them to have won yesterday.  And the day before.  I want them (and me too) to rejoice in the feeling of WINNING.  The feeling, specifically in sports, that is, "I AM BETTER THAN YOU RIGHT NOW!" 

This sucks.

It really sucks.

Because they're starting to get used to LOSING.  They're starting to accept LOSING!

So I googled (well, actually Binged) "benefits of losing" and the pages and pages of "Benefits of weight loss" popped up.  Okay, that didn't work.  So, I added "benefits of losing in sports" and the only sites that popped up were "benefits of sports" sites.  Okay, Okay, I thought, "benefits of losing the game".  NO RESULTS FOUND!  Seriously.  You try it.  So, under those words was a related search section so I clicked on "We are losing the game" and a series of heavy metal music videos popped up.  This isn't where I wanted to go.  I wanted there to be a list of POSITIVES TO LOSING somewhere out there and what I discovered is that THERE IS NO FUCKING POSITIVE TO LOSING!  It just plain sucks.  So, I typed in "positives to losing in athletics" and I came across an article about a losing softball team that talks about how they take away the positives from losing but it doesn't really highlight the positives (because there fucking aren't any).  The article does end with a quote from the sage athletic director: "They'll take these lessons on into life...this isn't the only adversity they're going to face in their lifetime.  This will teach them how to handle it in most ways students don't get the opportunities to learn."  In other words- YOU'RE LEARNING HOW TO BE LOSERS.  AREN'T YOU LUCKY???  BE GLAD YOU FUCKING LOSERS.

I'm sorry I'm swearing so much.  I'm just mad.  I'm mad at all this losing.

We just watched Little Miss Sunshine on Saturday night.   If you haven't seen this movie you have to see it RIGHT NOW.  I'm not kidding.  It's one of my favorites.  The dad in the film is trying to get a book deal on his 9 steps to happiness theory.  His main philosophy is that there are winners in this world and there are losers.  I'm pretty sure by the end of the movie his outlook on life (and happiness) changes but it's a good question.  Are we destined for winning or losing?  And is this destiny handed down from generation to generation?  Are you born a winner?  A loser?   Do my children have a chance at WINNING??

I went to an amazing school to play field hockey.  I'm sure I've talked about it here before.  So, I won't go into details. We made it to the Final Four three out of my four years.  We made it to the final game two of those times.  Did I ever win a national championship?  NO.  Is this something I still think about?  Yes.  We did not win.  We got close.  We showed up.  But I didn't ever have a chance to have that feeling.  AM I PASSING THIS GENETIC LOSING TRAIT TO MY KIDS?  Holy shit, I hope not.  Please let this not be the case.

It's not about winning and losing- it's about playing the game.  Right?  Everyone says this.  They're playing the game.  They're risking the chance of losing in order TO MAYBE POSSIBLY WIN!  My fat wooly bears really do have chance!!  Someone has to win.  Why can't it be one of mine???

ON THE TOPIC

“They’ll take these lessons on to life,” Oberhelman said. “This isn’t the only adversity they’re going to face in their lifetime. They’re going to face a lot of downtime in their careers and in their personal lives. This will teach them how to handle it in ways most students don’t get the opportunity to learn.” - See more at: http://mustangnews.net/young-softball-team-takes-positives-from-losing-record/#sthash.TP9bLmDF.dpuf

“They’ll take these lessons on to life,” Oberhelman said. “This isn’t the only adversity they’re going to face in their lifetime. They’re going to face a lot of downtime in their careers and in their personal lives. This will teach them how to handle it in ways most students don’t get the opportunity to learn.”
- See more at: http://mustangnews.net/young-softball-team-takes-positives-from-losing-record/#sthash.TP9bLmDF.dpuf

It's PAT!

Today I bought Pat's Sweet Italian sausages for dinner.  Sausage: pork and goodies all rolled into one.  I was there when he first started making them.  Back in the day.  When the Market was a "small" market.  At the corner of Main and Bridge.  Pat would grind my ground beef right IN FRONT OF MY FACE!  I miss the place.  I never minded waiting for Pat- he moves at a snail's pace.  I would pick stuff out of the cooler that I didn't need while I waited- shit like maple creme and chocolate milk.  Who needs that?  But his ground beef was the freshest, wrapped in white paper like the "olden" days.  The  new Market doesn't do that and it tastes like the Styrofoam they serve it on, for jeezum sake.

I saw Pat the other day at the Jonesville Post Office.  He rolled out the door and spoke sincerely to another elderly friend.  I don't know how old he is but he's hunched and backed and moves with deliberation.  He had on his Richmond Market hat and fleece vest and probably a pair of fleeced lined khakis but I failed to take note.   I saw his skin colored Mercury and was reminded of my Grandparent's Oldsmobile.  It all seemed so fitting- a reliable old American car for a reliable old American. 

I love seeing, to this day, Pat's hunched back stacking his meats to display at the Market.  I'm not sure what he feels/thinks about the "new" place. He doesn't nearly have the same contact with his customers and I'm certain he's not dealing with the same custom orders he had at the old Corner Market.  But maybe he likes the slower pace.  The one thing I have noticed, however, is that he still whistles while he works.

He whistles ALL THE TIME!  It's just a whistle- no specific tune.  I mean, who does this anymore?  Do you know anyone who whistles ALL THE TIME?  It's amazing.  AND he moves SOOO slowly!!  Who does this anymore??  Do you know anyone who moves slowly ALL THE TIME?

I soooooo want to be Pat the butcher.  I want to move slowly.  I want to whistle while I work.  Did I mention I want to move slowly?

 **********************
I'm in the car.  A LOT!  Driving them (shutter) anywhere they want to go.  Going from Point A to Point B and everyone tells me I should soak it up because some day they won't want to be with me and I'm all, like, they don't WANT to be with me right now- they want to get to POINT B.  Eeegads.  Let's slow it down people!

The only time I'm walking slowly (or moving deliberately) is when I'm walking in the woods with Paul Bunyan and then it's all about stopping to look at drainage options, single track trail options, best trees for tree house options, and how to build a bridge over said creek.  Which is all fine and dandy- really it is.  Because if this is the only time I'm moving at Pat's pace then I'll take it.  I'll take it!  BRING ME TO THE WOODS ANYDAY!  I LOVE THE WOODS!

Some day I'll be old too- I can't ever picture me moving that slowly or that hunched over- but maybe I will.  Maybe I'll sit still to have one complete mug of tea.  Maybe I'll be able to listen to what my kids really really need.  Maybe I'll be able to listen to what I really really need.  In the meantime, I'll listen to this, because it makes sense to me, especially when they sing:

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.





You'll help me walk slow- won't you??

Blowin' in the wind.

A few days before Christmas we were hit with a crazy windstorm.  The last day of school before break was cancelled and for the teachers who didn't receive their crappy gifts from all their students, I'm sure, it felt like the world ended.  Our kids were psyched.  And then the power went out.  Word got out that it might be out until Christmas Eve.  "Wow," I thought, "what am I going to do with that gigantic pig butt we have for Christmas Eve dinner that was thawing out in the grill outside?"  "Wow," I thought, "wish we could use that grill to cook that gigantic pig butt since I have no oven to use."  And then I thought, "Wow, I wish the grill had not blown over in the storm and scattered into many little pieces on the ground because now I have to buy Paul Bunyan a new grill."   

Luckily the juice was only out for 48 hours.  And then I took a shower.

I sat at a stop light last Monday when I was returning home from work.  Yes, (throat clearing), I do work.  And I witnessed a hydrangea head blow through the intersection like a tumbleweed in a Western movie.  I looked around and saw the grass in the Waterbury Green looking flat and brown.  The two feet of snow that came down between Christmas and New Year's got washed away from the rain last weekend right into the Winooski River.  It looked disgusting around here.  They say there has been a January thaw every year since the beginning of anyone recording it- except maybe one year (1977) when either there was no winter, or winter was in summer, or I can't remember why. 

But it's snowing right now; in fact, the wind is blowing too.  I'm feeling a bit like I'm in a blizzard, tucked all up inside of its center.  I'm getting blown around like a tumbleweed across the desert. 

There are two types of people; well, there are many types but for right now, in this demonstration, there are two.  1) the people who wait for experiences to come to them and 2) the people who go after what they really want and make it happen. 

Jules and Cath and I were talking about this last night at the bakery.  Jules had an offer from another company come flying into her lap, as if it dropped out of the sky at the moment she needed it most.  What luck!  I've been waiting for something to drop out of the sky now for a few years- something other than rain on beautiful fluffy snow.  And then Paul Bunyan did something for me last April to help me become that other type of person that actually does something to make a dream come true.  He helped me to start doing this:

And I've loved doing this, especially with him.  Big schemes in my head about beer specials and building a special barn and having people come to fill growlers and campers converted to traveling bars inundated my brain.  BUT last night as I was standing in line to order my dinner I started to talk to a couple behind me, also from my hometown, who are STARTING A BREWERY one valley over.  Same concept- barn, growlers, parties, bands.  Our little town can't support two "come fill your growler" kind of establishments. 

I felt like my hydrangea head just got blown in another direction.  Is this a sign from the stars?  Is the world trying to tell me something? 

How is it that I turn 40 in 3 months and 10 days and I still am not sure what I'm "supposed" to be doing?  How does anyone ever really ever know that what they're doing is "supposed" to be what they're doing?  Are you supposed to be doing what you're doing?  Yes?  Really?  You think so?  What a wonderful feeling that must be!  Because this tumbleweed action is starting to make me feel like groupie following the wrong band.

We didn't win.

We didn't win the 640 MILLION dollar jackpot. We thought we might. We bought tickets. For the first time. Ever. We played the lottery for the first time in our lives. Paul Bunyan turns 40 in August. I'm right on his tail. That's almost 80 years (combined) of NOT playing the lottery and that's, you know, that's a lot of NOT participating.

And if there is one thing that I'm teaching my kids to do, it's to play! At our local Shaw's they were giving away (!) over 15 MILLION dollars in prizes. We just collected our Wish Big Win Big game pieces every time we bought certain foods (the processed and non-organic kind) and then we'd come home and spread out our game sheet and lick and stick our game pieces to their matching pictures. We came very close to winning an I-Pad but we just needed that fucking Whip Creme container. And every time I was at the check-out and the young Nick, or Jane, or Sam who was scanning all my goods would ask, "Are you playing our Wish Big Win Big game," I'd say, "Hellz Yes, you can't win IF YOU DON'T PLAY." And the kids would chuckle and know that they actually had already won anyway because I just bought FOUR boxes of Frosted Flakes to get double the number of game pieces.

We didn't win...anything.

So last Friday when all the craziness was swirling around this WORLD RECORD jackpot Paul Bunyan went down to our country store and said, "Uh Linda, how do I do this?" We picked birthdays and ages and I went to my journal to find out what my crazy psychic palm reader told me were my lucky numbers and we bought 5 tickets. And somewhere out there in the world someone was yelling at me, "YOU HAVE A GREATER CHANCE OF GETTING HIT BY LIGHTNING!" And I yelled back, "YOU GOTTA PLAY TO WIN BITCH!" and then I added, "AND I DON'T PLAY OUTSIDE WHEN I HEAR THUNDER!"

Well, when the kids heard about how we had a SLIGHT chance of winning 640 MILLION dollars they started dreaming about what they would buy. There were I-Pads, I-Pods, I-Phones being passed around like candy, Wii, an art studio (Claire), 4-wheelers and dirt bikes (Timmy), a 5 story tree house with a hot tub in it (Auggie), a brand new speed boat (Paul Bunyan) AND a 50 foot sailboat (Paul Bunyan). All I said I wanted was a new bathroom. That's really not too much to ask for. Oh, and a house in Telluride. We shook hands about paying off friends' mortgages and buying pop-campers for them. It was like we had already won. And then we danced.

Yea, we didn't win. Someone won though- actually three people did except we don't know who they are yet. And so when it's all said and done they'll get like only a little over a million dollars, or something like that, after taxes and that's, like, chump change. Or something like that. I'm not really a Mega Million lottery super star so I don't really understand it so well. I won't pretend to.


Paul Bunyan bought the kids a few "scratch" off game cards as well last Friday. Claire took home $20. He tried to get her to reinvest it into 20 more tickets. She said, "uhm, no." I'm not sure what she is planning on spending her winnings on (candy) but she knew enough to get out while she was ahead. And that's a tough thing to teach with this betting thing. I mean you gotta bet big to win big, and you gotta wish big to win big, and for god's sake you gotta play to win.

So, can we pool our money next time?

Tell-you-ride!!

In the fall of 1997 Paul Bunyan and I, hair (well, what was left of Paul Bunyan's) still wind blown from a cross country tour, pulled up to Frisco, Colorado in a Nissan Pathfinder chocked full of, well, I don't think we had much at that time. We bought a mattress, a futon and a cheap t.v. from Walmart.





I got a job as a fresh smiley hostess at the brewery on the corner and he was an instant star on the Breckenridge ski patrol.





There were nights when my butt cheeks would be so cracked from the dry air that I didn't know if I could quite make it up there. And there were days when Paul Bunyan would be gone on the river for so long that I didn't know if I could quite make it up there.





I had a brand new fresh M.A. in English in my back pocket and I was skiing all the way to April and drinking margaritas on the sun deck every afternoon. And yet something didn't feel right in the gut.




I tried to let my soul be free but it was trying to dig some soil to take root in- and well, the hardwoods don't take so well at that elevation.




So I made Paul Bunyan and brand new stinkin' puppy Sydney pack up the U-Haul to move east for a job I took in Philly, where houses were made from rocks and not sticks.




Paul Bunyan would have stayed forever. He would have found his own private stash of powder, marked his claim with a native American flag, and became a good old fashioned raccoon faced ski bum. No doubt.



But we put down our roots. She grew first and fast.




And then we officially became permanently grounded when these two trees came, at once. It was everything the palm reader from the Jersey shore told me it would be.





And we haven't gone on vacation, alone as a family, without grandparents, for ten years.




Until this house came up for rent on an on-line silent auction to raise money for Haiti relief...TWO years ago.




It's a cute little place (those are license plates on the sides!) with only 500 sq. feet of moving room.




We got the winning bid.




And every morning I woke up and looked out the window right at the mountain.




And every night I woke up and looked out the sky light and saw the stars.




And every day I would wonder how I could bake enough cookies to raise 2.6 million dollars to buy this place.





Or how many pretzels I could bake to buy this for $600,000.




But one thing that surprised me, besides how quickly my butt cheeks dried out (almost as much as my hair) was how I was able to set my soul free. I know that if I lived in a mountain town I would have my own set of worries like, if tomorrow would be a powder day or not. But I was surprised at how much my soul was refilled in that valley at 9,000 feet above sea level.





The blue sky that seems to go on forever, the Alpen glow, the dogs running free all over town, the beer, the dirty chips, the Baggo game at the lunch spot on the mountain, the music streaming from every chair lift, the local kids dirty from playing outside every day all day, the bikes with super wide tires to ride to the mountain in the snow, the TWO Thai restaurants, the ability to walk to everything (or ride the free gondola). I want it all- back.




We stopped at Breck on the way back down to Denver. It was crowded. Not the same.



My favorite twice baked wings at Downstairs at Eric's weren't even the same. Definitely not as good as I remember.






The brewery on the corner where I first learned that tourists are assholes- not as good as I remember. The jeweler where Paul Bunyan bought my engagement ring- gone. Our friends? Moved away. The people we used to be- not the same.

You see, I got these trees growing from my soul here in Vermont. They started to take up root here about ten years ago and now they're thriving in this weather. They've grown despite the rainy and soggy and not as clear blue as Colorado. But hey, they're hardwoods. And in the fall I love that they turn red and orange and purple and in the spring I love that they start to bud all green and I definitely, wholeheartedly, believe that in the winter they warm my soul more than those spindly little pines ever could.

Some of my Skillz.

I missed my twentieth high school reunion this summer. I was driving. In a car. To International Falls, MN. And I was sad. Because we had some good times in high school. Dave, and Denny, and Doug, and Eric, and Bobby, and Boozie. Twenty years is a long time ago but I remember a few things I learned back then.

I remember in 9th grade I learned how to make an omelet. It's one of the most important things I learned how to do in high school. I mean seriously, it's the one thing besides typing that I use almost every day. And speaking of typing it definitely is the single most useful thing I learned. We had an old school typing teacher back then and she would walk up and down the rows, her nylons swish swish swishing, and her beady eyes looking condescendingly over your type writer to make sure you weren't looking at the keys. I've never ever regretted learning to type so quickly.

I also had to learn how to sew. I made a lined canvas tote bag that I gave to my grandmother Mary. She used it to keep her crosswords in. After she died I got it back and now I use it to hold my knitting needles. I also acquired her old Singer sewing machine. I used it to make these Halloween costumes a few years ago:


Arg!



I mean seriously, how professional is that?


Okay, so I haven't tried to sew anything nearly as sophisticated as this since.




But my skillz came in handy.

I remember calculus and AP History with Juice and Mr. Hutter's English class. And I definitely remember German class with Frau Crocker. Well, I don't use any of the crap I learned in those classes anymore- I mean, I don't remember any of that crap. But the thing that I learned in high school that I use every day, many hours (sometimes) a day, is how to drive a vehicle.

Now, being that we live where we live it takes us a good half hour to get anywhere good. Half hour to work, half hour to hockey, half hour to dinner out in Burlington, half hour to friends, half hour to life off the mountain. So, I'm in my car A LOT. And I like my car. And I don't mind driving.

I learned to drive a VW Rabbit. And I've been a good driver in my life as a driver. One small speeding ticket RIGHT after I got my license, but it was a total speed trap and it wasn't my fault. But in college my teammates and I drove my little Honda Civic to Steamboat, CO and New Orleans for spring break. NO issues. I drove across the country with Paul Bunyan. NO issues. I drove all over Philly for three years. NO issues. And then. And then I got this car:



It's my beautiful silver tank of a mini van. I had no qualms about getting and/or driving a mini van. It's a wonderful wonderful thing- the mini van is. It's a total swagger wagon. And you could never understand this until you drive one, so don't knock it. Well, not too long after we bought the swagger wagon in 2005 I came around this corner a little too hard and hit the mail boxes at the bottom of our hill.






This scratch was the result.




Not too long after that I dented my bumper fairly significantly by backing into this:



which I've done more than once.



I've shut the garage door on my opened back gate. I've backed into the Tundra, denting that detrimentally.




In June, Paul parked the car right between the yellow power lines to the left and the wooden posts on the right so essentially what happened when I pulled out of the spot was his fault.



Because who parks in a spot like that? I mean how was I supposed to see the posts on my right? Seriously.




In our little town it's common courtesy to pull to the side and stop to let the person approaching this bridge first go across on his/her own. There are no signs saying you must do this. It's just common knowledge. You WAIT for the other person to cross the bridge before going. So that is exactly what I did. I pulled over to the right (very close to the guard rail) and waited....just like I'm supposed to do.




It wasn't until I pulled away that I realized I was a little too close to the guard rail.

I've stopped getting upset over all this. I mean, it's a car. And I'm not hitting anyone else's car. Which, you know, we should all be thankful for. I probably should revisit some of the rules of backing up that I learned in high school. You know, like, looking behind you and around you. Who knows, this all may be a factor of me being IN my car more than I ever have in my life. It may be the factor that I'm usually late for wherever I'm going and that I probably should just slow down. It may be that it's hard driving such a big vehicle and that when I don't need the mini van anymore, I'll be back to my good old ways. Oh wait, I did back that VW rabbit into my mom's jetta in the driveway. It's been so long, I forgot that story too.


Well, here's how I look at it: by the time Claire gets the van we won't worry if she beats the shit out of it. She just better not back into my brand new Golf TDI.

A Chronological Puke Story Cont., in case you're interested, but...

Charlie Brown Christmas tree found.





Charlie Brown Christmas tree decorated. Without too many fistacuffs.




Five hour traditional cookie baking session complete. Without too many fistacuffs.




Stockings were hung by the chimney with care.




Night Before Christmas read. Check.




Everyone happy. Yup.


Including this Hussy who received this Hussifying outfit, which is exactly what I needed, which is better than any gift I wanted.






And then the vomit. It returned. Christmas night. Like a phantom green and red ghost haunting my Christmas. Twin A and Twin B. At the same time. It stole the spirit from me, although I'm not sure I ever had it. I thought the spirit drifted in during that 5 hour cookie baking session but then I lost a few of my ball bearings and it was gone. It came back Christmas day with skating on the pond and the homecoming smells of pot roast in the oven and the joy of brand new games. And then that ghost.

I puked, vomited, hurled, barfed, upchucked the next day. Just once. But I don't trust this ghost. It's been lingering in our house since Dec. 16th, despite my 3 hour Lysol-ing event on Christmas Eve. Every nob, light switch, door handle, chair surface. And yet my exorcism didn't work.

On this same day, the day after Christmas, Sydney decided to go on a walkabout down the hill to her favorite garbage can. I got in the car to find her and sure enough she was as round as a pot bellied pig. Paul Bunyan and I have discovered that if we pour hydrogen peroxide down her throat, it will induce her to vomit. And so we did this, saving us thousands of dollars in vet bills for emergency pancreatic care. I followed her around the yard, with my shovel, ready to get rid of the piles of vomit, because she's been known to re-eat her garbage. But then it got too cold. I thought I could watch from inside. And sure enough she slinked off. Again. I got in the car to find her. She had puked, vomited, hurled, barfed, upchucked twice, down the hill from us. I put her in the car to bring her back up to the house. She started to retch in the car so I quickly opened the car door and out she jumped, just in time to puke, vomit, hurl, barf, upchuck one last gigantic pile.

This morning, I found her pee all over the floor. Because when she taxes her kidneys like that, she pisses out everything she drinks, without even knowing she's peeing. I'm drowning in it. I can't let her out, because when I do she heads down the hill to eat her own vomit.

I'm retelling this all to you not because I know you want to hear it, but because it will explain why next year I will be pretending that Christmas time is not here. It will be the reason I want to skip it all together. I realize that the spirit of Christmas is about giving to others. But I look forward to the day when my charges stop giving me regurgitated food to clean up and my dog stops giving me a reason to shoot her. I gave this year. Yes, I didn't know I gave you something. But I gave you the stomach bug. Next year, how bout we'll just skip this little holiday and I'll knit you a little something for 2012.

A Few Letters of Request

Dear Connie,

I'm still sort of upset with you for moving away halfway through my therapy work. I still need your help. I need you to help me figure out why I can live in a house with clutter and crap everywhere and, yet, my whole body seizes up and I start to have panic attacks when the tiny pieces from the Lego sets that the boys' received for their birthday get scattered throughout the house and are used for other things other than the helicopter or airplane or boat they were designed to be used with.

Love, your Hussy


Dear Lego Gods,

Why did you have to make such small god damn pieces?

Love, your Hussy


Dear Liebe,

Will you please stop pulling our nice pieces of pottery off the counter? You have broken my favorite sugar bowl and favorite butter dish, all in one week. You may have the yard....anything in it. You may dig holes, eat flowers, pee and poop anywhere. The yard is yours. Anything on the counter is mine. Do you understand?

Love, your Hussy


Dear hydrangea gods,

Will you please explain to me why this happened this year?



And why I only got ONE flower?




Albeit beautiful, one is never enough for me. See Connie? I still need your help.

Love, your Hussy


Dear Hunter,

Will you please kill the mice that are in the house and not the ones that are outside?

Love, your Hussy


Dear Circus Boy,

I know that we have been missing each other as of late. Although, I feel like I've been missing you more than you've been missing me. But that's okay. I understand that is sometimes how things work. I've also discovered how much I really love you. Despite feeling guilty that I love you so much, I still have to come to terms with the fact that I need my liver to function as well as it possibly can right now...to get rid of those dead and dying spirochetes. So, I'm going to have to control my cravings for a little while. But we'll meet again...very soon. It won't be long until I have your cold long bottle neck in my hands again. And the birds will be singing.

Love, your Hussy

One of These Kids Is Doing His Own Thing.

**I've threatened to take $21 out of his bank account unless he agrees to go back in for a retake and smile for the f-ing camera.