A page for you

948

I will be 40 in November, and you know what?  My life has never been more interesting!  And I owe some of that to this computer, but mostly I owe it to the people in my life.

I have been told by several different people in the past weeks that I am charming (in a quirky way) and that I underestimate my charm.  One woman I chat with frequently told me I am sexy and yet another with whom I correspond said that I am beautiful.  Wow.  A girl entering her fifth decade needs to hear these things!

I have family that misses me (I've been in a stay-home mode for the past few months.), friends that enjoy me, women that are interested in me, a job that I enjoy usually and a cat who finds me more or less adequate.

Is that the sound of my head inflating?  Yeah.

 

Why don't more people blog?

I have always wanted to be a fly on the wall everywhere, to watch people and understand them... not only out of curiousity but to help me figure out human nature in order to inform my writing.  As it is, I cannot predict behavior.  I can only report the world as I see it.

I know that some people don't write because they are lazy or because writing can be laborious and even painful, but they should write!  More than an outlet it is ...  (searching for word or phrase that fits)... ... something that welds us together and lifts us....

Bananas!  I have to get ready for work!  Later!

I'm back.  Hours have elapsed between this sentence and the one above it.  Here's more on that thought:

You have to die, you might as well write.  This journal is cast in pixels.  At some point in the future, it will disappear.  That is the transient nature of art and the transient nature of life.  Nothing lasts forever in an unchangeable form, except maybe styrofoam.

See? 

So what's the risk?  They love you.  They hate you.  They ignore you.  They smother you.  Hey, they have to die too.  It just doesn't matter.  Cast your bread upon the waters... we're all hungry to find our connection.  And as it turns out, your most freakish thought, your deepest secret, has an ally somewhere.

For my next trick, my next journal entry will be blank.  It's for you.  Click where it says "Add your own."

Everybody wants her, baby. What's a matter with you?

This is a recurring theme lately.

It re-echoes from person to person.

M told me many women are hitting on her.

M told me that my friend Cristy is beautiful. (Well, she is.)  All my new friends get enamored of her. 

M told me that many women should be chasing me 'cause I'm just so full of wonderfulness.

Well... here I am, people.  Employed, not too damaged, honest, witty and near you if you live in Martin, St. Lucie, Palm Beach, Okeechobee, Indian River and maybe even Brevard.

929

Cookie

Cookie does not refer to female genitalia.

Cookie is a real person.  Corinne, a Nanticoke indian from Maryland.  She has African-American blood.  People only see a black woman when they see her, but she is "tribal."

She isn't like the Seminoles of Florida.  We went to camp with Seminoles a few Thanksgivings ago.  It was me and my father's family, and Cookie (who invited herself along) and her man-friend, Lee and his grandson, Cornelius.

The Seminoles have something to do with you or they have nothing to do with you.  You do as they do.  Don't be annoying.  That's the way to be with them.

Not Cookie.  At the table, loaded with samp and all kinds of foods, she stopped everyone and requested a blessing.  That stopped the Seminole families in their tracks.  That was just plain rude.

My father obliged when one of the women asked him.  He prayed to the great father.  The indians seemed to appreciate what he said.

The indians do not celebrate this day.  Would you? 

Instead it is a time to be together with family, sit quietly in the woods, tell stories, laugh, smoke dope, go care for cattle, ride ATVs, maybe hunt.  But there is food.  Traditional and modern food.  And it's back in the woods, so anything goes. 

I'm off track!  I'm talking about Cookie.  Sorry... I really liked hanging out on Brighton Reservation.  And no, I did not go to the casino.  But I do wish I was a member of the tribe.  Each registered member of the tribe, even the babies, gets a monthly dividend from the casino.  Last I heard it was $4,000 a month.  Sweet!

It is unfortunate that the tribe has gone from extreme poverty to extreme wealth.  There is little incentive to work or to get an education.  Some do.  And the Seminole have a high-tech cattle operation as well.  They sell cattle by satellite!

Anyway...  Cookie... has helped my step-mother for some 18 or 19 years.  She cooks the best collard greens you have ever had.  And her fried chicken is to die for.  Colonel Sanders has nothing on Cookie.

But Cookie, though actually quite successful, is depressed, self-centered, annoying.  She wants praise, attention and sympathy and let's you know about it all day long. She is loveable.  She is straight-forward and I love that in anybody.  Cookie has a field day when someone misbehaves.  She's a riot.

On Tuesdays, when I go to Dad's to help around the house Cookie is there, washing and mopping and ordering me around when I'm trying to do what my step-mom wants me to.  Everything takes a lot longer to get done that way. But the suffering is worth it because Cookie makes dinner and eats with us before she leaves.

Cookie took in Lee's grandson after his mother was murdered by his father.  He was just a baby then.  She is raising him to be smart and strong.  He is very handsome.  Cornelius' mother had three children.  An older brother, a sister "Nene," and Cornelius.  Sorry... the poor kid.  I would not name a child "Cornelius."  It can be a distinguished name, I suppose.  It can also make you think about "The Planet of the Apes." (Please, I have Roddy McDowell damage.  The full-grown pixie thing... eeesh.  And who was Tony Randall trying to fool?)  But I digress.

Cookie's brother lost his family in a fire that claimed ... how many? 14? of his family members including his children.  It was in the national news.  How you keep from going insane after that, I don't know.  Cookie was a wreck.

Cookie's sister, Bert, is a nurse in Palm Beach County.  Bert has survived two rounds of brain surgery.  She's a walking miracle.

Sometimes Cookie has cook-outs in her backyard in Fort Pierce.  Everyone around is invited, probably even people she doesn't like.  Fried fish, smoked turkey, once there was even goat. (I think I missed that one.)  Her company includes all kinds of people. 

But me, I go for the greens.  There is nothing like them in the world.  Southern cooking, "soul food"... and it is good for the soul and the body, too.

Cookie's house is full of cast-offs of her employers and of things she bought because her employers had one like it.  It's a nice house, a little over-stuffed for it's size.  And in her garage is an old two-seater Cadillac.  A real pimp-mobile.  She just can't part with it.

She drives a trusty Ford Taurus wagon she calls the Green Hornet, but she keeps saying she's going to get a new car.  I kept telling her that it runs great so there's no reason to get rid of it.  But when people who can afford a new car WANT a new car, what can you do?

Me, I keepmy cars until I can't anymore. Then I get a good used one and start all over again.  I've had the Saturn for six years.  That's 110,000 plus miles.  It's cheaper to keep her.

So that's Miss Cookie. "Cook-Cook."  "Cookie-mama."  Any questions?

 

907

advice to strangers who find me online

1. Have a profile.  Introduce yourself.

2. Don't make demands.

3. Be nice.

Someone just IMed me, said she was a lesbian woman, and asked if I was horny.

When I said "Excuse me?" she said "Are you horny or not?"

That's just rude.  I blocked her... if she really even was female.  That was tasteless, boorish.  Bad form!  Tacky, tacky, tacky.

If you're in that much of a hurry, honey... don't talk to me.

ok, here's a question....

How do you meet women who are interested in women when you don't want to meet them in a bar?

There is the computer, of course.  But the computer is laborious, slow and you never know what you're going to get.  I know there are plenty of good women out there waiting and looking, but where are they?

I ask not only for myself but for another woman I met online who is seeking her first experience with a woman.  She is looking for someone feminine and well-kept. 

People can usually tell I'm female and you can take me out, but this one is looking for someone she can take somewhere nice before she takes her home....

Suggestions welcomed!

 

Cold weather again?

Day off.  Car in shop for maintenance.  Brisk 60 Fahrenheit (inside) with wind.   Cat snuggled up beside me on top of the blankets.  She doesn't like to be under the covers.  I am so lucky not to have to sit up to compute.

My old cat, Katie, who had to be put to sleep between the hurricanes, loved to curl up beside me under the blankets.  Not Pookie!  She must have some claustrophobic issues. 

It's a pretty day outside.  Sunny, not too many clouds.

I walked to the post office after dropping off my car.  I'm lucky that the P.O. is across the street, up the highway here, instead of closer to "downtown."  Downtown isn't very big but it has almost everything you might need.  No Wal-Mart though.  I'm glad of that. 

I'm cold.  I'm lazy though.  Don't wanna get up and snap on the quartz heater.  But you know that the one that warms up the bathroom is already cranking down the hall.

M. said she's getting her hair cut today.  Yeah, I'm still talking to M, in spite of myself.  A: I know what it's like to be dumped cold., B: She is interesting and we have things in common., C:  A little danger is good for your heart and puts a noticeable strut in one's step., D: I'm only human!

I am only a short distance from the auto shop where my car is.  I hear some serious revving in that direction.  It's not likely to be my four-cylinder car making the noise.  I love my car.  There are more than 130,000 miles on it.  Did I mention this already? Saturns are good cars.  Of course, any well-maintained car is probably a good car.  But my car has been dependable, and in fact, quite possibly saved my life in my first week of ownership when I was slammed into broadside by an old duffer doing 70 on I-95.  Long story.  All I can say is "GOOD CAR!"  He hit the passenger side.  I am just not up to relating the whole story.  Anyway, I can vouch for the side-impact door beams.  They really work.

Ok, this entry has no specific topic.  What's a girl to do?