Halloween...Ghosts...Spirits...Virgins???

Morning: No idea...slept straight through. Prince Charming could have been singing outside my window, tossing boulders at my house, and I wouldn't have heard a thing. Zzzzzzzz.

Wake-Up: ARGH! What in the name of Halloween is that banging?!?!? Loud--I mean--loud banging. Dear God! Must grab something to defend myself. Ah, perfect: my trusty hair comb and umbrella. (upon reflection, not the best self-defense tools of the trade, but when bleary-eyed and groggy, you go with whatever looks like something you can fling, jab, or flail). My heart pounding, I tiptoed down the stairs, carefully rounding each corner like a slinky cat...in hot pink slippers. Nothing. Everything was absolutely still. Suppose it could have been a neighbor, but the banging sounded like it was inside the house. Odd.

Lunch and Some Myths: "I heard banging in the house, but when I checked, nothing was there," I said to my mom over a baked potato, salad, and milk (no soda--excellent me!).

"Hmm, well maybe you heard a spirit," she said in all seriousness. She does love Halloween.

"Um, what?" She takes this Halloween thing a bit too far sometimes.

"You know, they say virgins and children are more susceptible to sounds and voices from the other side."

Way too far.

Although, this isn't the first time I've heard of this myth and, with hand on heart, I can honestly say I have had my fair share of unexplainable events (one involving my papaw). It's all a little difficult to explain, but I tend to believe in the paranormal. I do like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures--fun shows. I fully intend to watch Ghost Hunters Live tonight.

Still...

"Why virgins do you think?" I asked my mom.

"Well, I would think it's because virgins have less of life's scarring and are more open-minded to things."

Why do moms always say things in a manner that makes complete and total sense out of something totally incomprehensible? Hmm. It's all very intriguing. Maybe this is my calling. Maybe I'm to be a world-renowned medium and can interview famous spirits about their first sexual encounters. Uh, um...oooh, maybe I can roam heaven's citizens for my "dead" soul mate. Err. Maybe not.

Late Afternoon and Evening: Cowboys lost...again...to Jacksonville. Pathetic. We are now 1-6. It's almost getting comical, like playing connect-the-dots to see what picture you will get. Right now, I'm getting a picture of a giant horse's a**.  Wonder what it will be by the end of the season...oh, wait, it is the end of the season.

Dale Earnhardt Jr:  Oh, God, it just gets worse. I love watching him drive in restrictor plate races--he's like Maverick, You Big Stud (Top Gun, for those unfamiliar), especially in these races...fun to watch and you marvel over the man's technique. Today, at Talladega, Dale was driving masterfully; he had a fast car; he led laps...then, all heck broke loose.  He got into Jeff Burton a little too hard and....you guessed it: wreck. Dale's chances of winning? None. Day over. So sad. Just sucks for him...want to see him back in winner's circle.

It was one of those racing deals. Dale felt terrible, blaming himself for the incident. Honestly, when I see some drivers give interviews (or run away from them) and have zero accountability, it makes me proud to cheer for Dale--he's all man.

Night: Watching Ghost Hunters LIVE on SyFy. Fun stuff.

RING. RING.

Oh, Lord, I'm about to find out everything...married, not married, married, not married. What do I want to hear? Would it even change anything? No, it wouldn't...it couldn't.  My friends used to say it's written in the stars. If true, why have the stars been buried in clouds all these years?

RING. RING.

BFF: "We suck. We suck bad. It's over. We're going 1-15. We're the worst team in the NFL."

Time for a BFF rant on the Cowboys.

Late Night: After diagnosing the Cowboys and answering some e-mails, I finished watching Ghost Hunters Live (no major ghosts found), ate some candy corn (very wrong), drank some soda (really must stop), and decided to solve two of the world's major problems (much better use of time). It's unfortunate my mind has been preoccupied with more pressing matters...like whether I prefer the caviar shampoo sample I received to Pantene, my old standby (don't think I prefer said sample).  Hmm. Not a great use of my time.

I blame the Cowboys...and my toilet.  It all started with toilet toes.  

Oh, and the Texas Rangers lost. Gotta tell ya, I'm just hitting it out of the ballpark this year, aren't I? If this is any indication of what's to come when pesky-pissy-pricky phone decides to ring, then I may need to consider massive quantities of Advil...and Pepto-Bismol.

I Hate "What If..."

Wake-up: Did I just dream about The One That Wasn't? Damn...I did. It's the first time he has infiltrated my sleep since, oh, the night I found out he married Violet, the three headed she-creature. Of course, that particular dream involved him falling into a dark hole in the earth, never to emerge again. **Perhaps she is not at all the kind of individual as I've been told...she may be perfectly nice...still, I wish to think of her as a she-creature.

The night before learning of his sudden marriage, I had a dream where he and I were to be married, only I ran away on the day of said wedding; he had to take to the local news media, begging me to let him know where we should meet for our nuptials. Ironic.

Last night's dream was far more concerning. He invited me to his house...had something he needed to tell me: he wants a baby...and apparently I'm the one to help him with that endeavor.

My uterus hurts.

Stumbling out of bed, I realized the severe lack of sleep (and said dream that may have intoxicated my ovaries) has impacted my ability to function normally--my red toe and bruised knee provide the proof...I swear the door jam came out of nowhere.

Lunch: My phone is an ass. Most days it sits quietly by until Mom or Dad calls...or until bff rings to rant about the Cowboys, brag about his 175 IQ, or talk about his split personality (he doesn't actually have one, although sometimes I could swear he has 937 of them). Today was different. The phone stared at me, mocked me. You know I will ring when you least expect it, right? You'll forget to check the number, like always, and you will not be prepared for what I throw at you. Stupid, insensitive phone.

Still, it stayed quiet, which was quite the opposite of the other night. Amidst everything that has been going on around here, my phone jingled with a message from my living ghost.  It was a simple message with a splash of tease. Since then, nothing. The phone remains blissfully, yet annoyingly silent...like it's hunting its prey--a miniature velociraptor waiting to strike with its ringtones and lob off my ears. 

Night: Not much to report. Very quiet, thank goodness. My parents are doing well, which is a great blessing. I've tucked my phone away in the vein hope that it will find something better to do with its time...like lose all its battery charge.

Hmm. Can't help but wonder why The One That Wasn't dared to wriggle free from she-creature's tentacles to send a message to me...and why now? Hateful curiosity.

Of course, Dad isn't helping. Yesterday's comments are still weighing on my mind.

"Maybe he's not married. What if the messenger got the message wrong?"

Not possible. I don't think it's possible. How could someone be that wrong? What if it's possible?  "I doubt it, Dad."

"You haven't heard it from him, have you? Until then, how do you know?"

Rats. Must raid Mom's DVD closet...yes, an entire area of her closet is devoted to DVDs. Ah! Ever After, Titanic, and You've Got Mail.

"Oh, no, not Titanic," my dad gasped, "you'll snot all over the place."

Lovely.

So, tonight I sit, trying not to contemplate things. I find thinking is highly overrated...kind-of like treadmills. Argh! My knee hurts...stupid door jam. Time for a small bowl of Captain Crunch and a little Pride & Prejudice.

Crud. Dallas Mavericks lost. Rangers are now down two games. Cowboys are...ugh....awful. Maybe I need a slightly bigger bowl of Captain Crunch...and a soda...and some candy corn...then something for my stomach which will undoubtedly flip sideways.

Old Ghosts Resurface

First, let me apologize for falling behind on reading blogs.  Maybe I'm weak, but when either one of my parents gets so violently sick that they can barely breathe, it takes every fiber of my being to stay strong. My parents mean the world to me-- I can't stand seeing them sick...I can't even handle the thought. I just always want them to be happy and healthy. Please know that everything is getting better, but it has been a rough couple of days.

Old Ghosts Resurface...

I did want to share something y'all might find interesting...sure as heck shocked the you-know-what out of me.

Ghostly spirits are said to have easier access to the living during this time of year. What I failed to realize was the impact Halloween has on living ghosts...the kind you don't expect to hear from again...the kind that leaves a message on your phone...the kind that is supposed to be living his happily ever after. 

I know one thing...this happened sooner than most thought. What a treat (meant sarcastically) he is...or a trick...or both. Haunted at Halloween...who would have thought?

True Blood Tuesday--Trick or Treat?

Halloween is upon us, the night where the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest.  It seems only fitting we have a little trick or treat post, True Blood style.

Are you ready for some scoop on what may be upcoming in Season 4?

1. Expect a great deal of magic in season 4...literally. We're talking witches, wizards, and sorcerers folks.

2.  Shapeshifters will get an important role next season, with the introduction of new characters, an exploration into new shapeshifting avenues; and a rumored in-depth look into the mythology of shapeshifting.

3.  Trick or Treat? Rumors are flying that season 4 may explore a new relationship between familiar characters...Sam and Bill.  (How do y'all feel about this one?  Remember, Sam had a very revealing dream about Bill in season 3).

4.  We'll have some new characters thrown into the mix. Thanks to EW.com, we have the following character revelations: Andy's sister, Portia, will be a sharp-tongued lawyer; Naomi, the cage fighter, will add some spice; Queen Mab will be a short-tempered ruler, possibly of Sookie's fairyland; and Suzanne, a housewife type will stop at nothing to bond with her kind.

Happy Halloween!

The End Of The Cowboys' Season

I'm fairly certain the end was already here, but when your QB gets knocked out of the game with a broken collarbone, you are officially done, signed, sealed, and delivered. Tony Romo is out for potentially 8-10 weeks. Now, you know I've been pretty tough on Romo. Then again, many lifelong Cowboys' fans feel the same way, and experts like Super Bowl winning head coach, Tony Dungy, as well as former Cowboys' stars, Tony Dorsett and Charles Hayley. I'm not alone in how I feel.

Thank our defense and special teams for the 20 points; Romo didn't have to do much, apart from not turning it over.

Now we have 38 year old John Kitna in at QB. Apparently, he's in there because he is seasoned and experienced.  Some would argue he is indeed experienced...at losing. Bless him, I really don't envy his position, but fans do not want him in there to carry their team. We're about to go 1-5, the season is gone, why not take a chance? Throw in your underdog, Texas A&M QB, Stephen McGee. What do you have to lose? Give the kid a chance--see what he can do! He just might give this team a much needed shot in the arm (they already have a shot in the foot).

For now, I'll watch them self-destruct. They've given up. It's deplorable, depressing, and embarrassing.  I can tell y'all one thing, if I could be down there, I'd have their butts in gear so fast it would make your head spin.

This team needs an overhaul, there is no question. Should this team go 1-15 with the on-paper talent they have, perhaps Jerry will look back to the 1990's and realize the formula that worked...the formula that put the fear in every opponent we faced...the formula that won us Super Bowls and made us the team of the 90s. 

I want my old Cowboys back.

Random Gripes (Sort-of An I Don't Get It Thing)

I'm bored and sleepy.  Let's gripe!

There are some commercials on the air today that really bug me. 

1. Tide (My mom HATES this commercial)--The mom who borrows her daughter's green shirt.  So, parents are supposed to teach their children to always tell the truth; parents expect their children not to lie. YET, in this ad, good 'ole mom lies to her daughter. Brief recap: Daughter asks mom if she has seen her green shirt; mom responds, "It's not really my style;" mom remembers wearing it on a girls' night out and spilling something on it; mom digs the shirt out, uses Tide, and cleans the shirt; the next day, mom comments to her daughter, "Oh, you found your shirt," when her daughter walks in wearing it; daughter replies, "Oh, yeah, it must have been hiding in my closet somewhere." The commercial ends with the mom looking pretty proud. Isn't that totally hypocritical? (Not to mention the florescent green top is just all sorts of wrong...not a florescent fan, unless it's on a sign).

2. (Not sure of the brand...Apple, maybe?) There is a commercial out now where everyone in every situation uses a phone to make a decision for them: Girl tells a monster in her bedroom, "It says you're not real. Sorry;" etc. What? Really? Can we not figure things out for ourselves? Do we need a phone to make decisions for us, replace common sense, etc? Why don't we just find another brilliant technological advance to dumb down society and stifle imagination even more! Irritates me.

3.  What's with all the di&% drug commercials today? I don't need to watch a NASCAR race or football game in the middle of the day, on a Sunday, and see a constant stream of horny men with ED. Several things bug me about these ads.

A.  These commercials shouldn't air until after 11 p.m. Nobody wants to see those commercials, especially during sporting events. Imagine watching a football game with your son or daughter and having them ask, "What is ED?" Besides, let's be real here, if a man has ANY issue with his perky, he's going to Superman his way to the nearest doctor without ever having to see a commercial for di&^ drugs.

B.  Why do the men in the ads have to get some when the women are typically busy doing household chores? Laundry, painting, etc. Huh? I mean, really? What happened to romance? So, all we can expect is: "I'm horny, it's working, lay down, dear." Ick.

C. I always laugh at the men in the commercials wanting to get busy with their wives. Now, I'd like to believe a man would want to be with his wife upon getting the goods working again, but...look around! He may get it on with his wife because she is the there in the moment (his moment), but do you really think he won't want to share his rediscovered manhood with newer models? (I blame Tiger and Brett for this type of thinking.)

Speaking of #4...

Brett Favre: Well, he has admitted to sending the Playboy and former Jets' employee voice mails--you know, the booty calls--but denies any sexting (i.e. pics of his perky). Well, I guess he really tried to hook up with her. I feel so bad for his wife. What was he thinking?! We know what he was thinking with, but did he even think of his wife when he tried to bed another woman? 

Experts say that people forgive and forget; that if he would simply admit his wrongdoings and apologize, people would wrap their arms around him and forgive all.  Really? An apology after getting caught hardly constitutes an apology in my book. Like Tiger Woods, I will never be able to look at Favre the same way again. In fact, I can't even look at him. He turns my stomach, as does Woods. Maybe the vast majority of people will forgive and forget...I'm not one of them. Reckon that makes me an outsider...imagine that. :)

Okay, I'm done...until tonight...after the Cowboys play. Ugh. My stomach churns just thinking about it.

Makeup Magic Monday: Benefit Dandelion Luminizer

This is probably my favorite "blush" ever. I don't like to look like Betty Boop when I apply blush. I prefer a natural pink. Hello, Dandelion! This powder is truly your natural pale pink in a box.  In fact, it's not really a blush--it's light, natural and makes you look like you had the best sleep of your life.

The benefits of Benefit's Dandelion:

1. Natural looking--purely the perfect pink I've ever found.
2. Will NOT break out sensitive skin, based on my findings.
3. Large quantity--this will last you ages
4. Adjustable color--because it looks so natural, you can easily add extra blush without looking like Betty Boop. Mistake Proof!!!
5. This is one of those colors that will look gorgeous on any skin tone. 

Benefit's Dandelion, available at Sephora, $28.

From A Yankees Fan And A Proud Texan

Only moments ago, I watched the Texas Rangers advance to their very first World Series, and I couldn't be happier. In fact, I'm in tears. This may sound very odd coming from a lifelong Yankees fan, but I'm first and foremost a Texan. How could I not be happy?

My daddy introduced me to the Yankees when I was teeny tiny. I heard all of his Yankees' stories, admired all of his baseball cards he collected as a little boy. The Yankees have been around a long, long time; their history is unparalleled. Compared to the Yankees, the Rangers are practically a brand new franchise.  As a little girl, my parents took me out to see the Rangers play. They taught me to love the Yankees, and embrace my Texas team.

So, as I sit here, tears filling my eyes, listening to them play a proud Texas country song in celebration of their first World Series appearance, I'm embracing my hometown team. If I had to see the Yankees lose to anyone, it would be the Texas Rangers. I'll miss seeing the Yankees in the World Series, but you can bet your bottom dollar every Texas-fiber in me will be fiercely willing those Rangers to their first World Series win.

Congratulations Rangers, y'all played like champions...now, bring it home.

Friday's Celebrity Former Frisky Virgin: Adriana Lima

Victoria's Secret bombshell, Adriana Lima, shocked all when in 2006 she revealed to GQ magazine that she was saving herself for marriage. "Sex is for after marriage," she stated. "They have to respect that this is my choice, if there's no respect that means they don't want me." (GQ magazine, 2006).


Adriana, now 29, is no stranger to dating celebrity men, but there was one man who waited: Serbian basketball star Marko Jaric, 32.  The two began dating in 2007, and on Valentine's Day 2009, they were married.

From Fox & AP

Anytime I start feeling a little in over my head, my mom likes to point to Adriana, to which my response is always the same: "Yeah, but, mom, she's a supermodel. Totally different." Still, it is nice to know there are men that will wait...for supermodels...er...positive thinking time, positive thinking time.

Stereotype #9: Virgins Wear Long Skirts & Turtlenecks

Since it has been a pretty daunting week, I figured we'd have a little fun with one of the more amusing stereotypes I've come across.

"Virgins wear long skirts and turtlenecks."

Sigh. Another "virgins lack a fashion sense" stereotype. Virgins are typically portrayed in film as these dorky, pathetic, scholarly types, who all seem to dress the same way: overalls or long skirts, high-neck blouses or flannels, glasses, a pencil behind the ear, and countless library books weighing down their twiggy arms.  It's really frustrating.

First, turtlenecks can be sexy, so let's not knock the turtleneck. Not all of them are cut boxy; not all of them transform you into a giraffe.

Personally, I don't like long skirts--not my style--but there's nothing wrong with them. Aside from a long, flowing sarong that I've tied around my bathing suit for an evening walk on the beach, I've never worn a long skirt.

Glasses can be sexy. I'm not sure why this is always made to be the mark of a dork...or worse yet, a dorky virgin.

Bottom line is this: Many virgins have evolved past the fashion stereotypes. You likely won't be able to recognize a virgin just by looking. We aren't afraid to wear v-necks or fitted jeans. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've always believed "sexy" follows class, elegance, and comfort more so than it follows the "show it all" outfits. Subtle sexy versus outright sexy. My mama always said to leave a little to the imagination, and she's never wrong (don't tell her I said that). :)

You want more proof that we've evolved past these ridiculous fashion stereotypes? Take a look at both current and former celebrity virgins--singers, actresses, models, etc. Now, I ask you, do any of them fit the stereotypical virgin mold? I don't think so.

I so hope this made sense--I'm still needing to catch up on some sleep from the week that has royally kicked my butt senseless.

Stereotype #9-SLAYED.

P.S. There's nothing wrong with being a dork...besides, I think there's a little dork that resides in all of us anyway.

Terrible Toilet Update and New Radio Rules

After yesterday's fiasco, I made a decision: When fate throws a load of hooey at me, DO NOT turn on the radio. I can't tell you how many times that dang radio has mocked me, and it's usually when I'm having one of those crappy, over the top, hellish days.  I mean, seriously, the sign song plays AFTER I ask for a stupid sign WHILE I'm standing in my birthday suit with toilet toes. Really?! I hate that damn song...always have...hate it more now, I must say.

So, no radio when the crap starts piling up.  CD's only.  Christmas CD's, to be exact. Happy holiday music lightens my spirit every time I hear it. Besides, stinky fate can't compete with anything Christmas or holy, right?

Terrible Toilet: Oh, it's so messed up. I literally don't want to flush the dang thing. It bubbles, spits, wheezes, and the water in the bowl doesn't ripple, it swirls or spins.  It also does this fill-recede-fill-recede thing that it never did before. Odd. So, who's a girl gonna call? Toiletbusters!!! Otherwise known as a girl's daddy.

In walks my dad--the look on his face was somewhere between amused and shocked. He took in the sadly crumpled, oddly misshapen throw rug, the obtrusive garbage bag, and towels I used to mop up the mess, all laying in the tub, and sighed, "It sure looked like a great party."

Funny.  "I'm just making absolutely certain everything dries before bringing it downstairs," I said, trying to avoid what I knew was coming. "Um, so, yeah, then I'll have to scrub the tub, but I didn't know where else to put everything and I didn't want to drag it through the place and the garbage doesn't come until later in the week, so..." I just kept rattling on, hoping...but then I looked at his face...it was coming...any second...and there it goes...

My dad's laughter is something out of a Hanna Barbera cartoon--it just compels you to laugh...so I did.

After clearing away the laughter tears, he observed my toilet. He looked into the back part and started pointing things out, explaining what each thing does.

Uh-huh. I felt like I was in Charlie Brown's world and my dad was one of the teachers. Wah wah woh wah woh. The only words that remotely resembled English with me were: "faulty," "replacement," "float," "Home Depot."

As far as I know, something needs to be replaced and the Home Depot probably has it, I think...

Until then, no radio and flush with caution.

So Not The Sign I Was Looking For

It all started when I asked for a sign.

*I'd like to say it started when the Cowboys lost, but that's not likely considering pathetic play, stupid penalties, and evaporating-should-have-been-wins are becoming a weekly occurrence. Unfortunately, I can't blame everything on them...or can I? Hmm*

I have no idea what possessed me to ask for a stupid sign--suppose I was looking for a little direction, maybe even a cosmic pat on the back. Boy, did I get it--a great big slap-you-in-the-face-spit-on-your-feet-knock-you-on-your-a** pat on the back.

At about 12 a.m., I foolishly asked for a sign.

At 1 a.m., I get a splitting headache. I blamed the Cowboys' loss.

At. 2:15 a.m., after drinking far too much soda (helps the headaches), I finally kicked the nasty headache and tried to go to sleep.

At exactly 3:58 a.m., the gallon of soda I stupidly downed kicked in.

At 4:00 a.m., my usually reliable toilet made a very un-toilet-like sound. It sounded like a cross between a Shrek burp and a Fiona fart.  I turned, bleary eyed, to see water flowing out from under the lid and all over the floor, my feet, the throw rug....everything. Horrified, I tried to lift the ball-thing in back part of the potty (no clue about proper potty lingo, apart from calling it a sh*!ster).  Nothing doing. The damn thing was stuck. Somehow, after tucking my hand under the "thing," I was able to get it stopped.  Terrible Toilet finally cleared itself without the assistance of a plunger. "Oh, now you clear yourself," I grumbled, looking around at the mess.

At 4:15 a.m., I began mopping up my bathroom.  But I couldn't stop there...I grabbed the disinfectant and got to work. I have great respect for Snow White and her whole whistle-while-you-work thing.  Me? I gag while I work. Mop. Mop. Gag. Mop. Mop. Gag. (picture the White Queen in Alice In Wonderland and her slight gag reflex...yeah, similar to that).

4:40 a.m.: My bathroom is clean and squeaky...me feet, however, are not. GAG.  Thoroughly repulsed, I grabbed a towel, wash cloth, and my hair clip, intending to take a shower...I absolutely had to get the toilet water remnants off of my feet. GAG.

4:50 a.m.:  Just before slipping into the shower, I flipped on my bathroom radio--I find music takes the edge off...unless, of course, fate decides to shove it up your a** sideways. The song? "...I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign..." I stood there, a little chilled, completely naked, and thought, "So, that's my sign? I'm destined to get sh!* on for eternity. Fabulous. Great. Really super."

5:15 a.m.: I head downstairs to grab a glass of milk, settle into my comfy recliner, and watch a little television, all in an effort to calm down. I flip on ESPN.  Cowboys' highlights.  Sigh.  Flip to Cinemax On Demand. SNAP! The cable box blows out. Wonderful.

Luna Lovegood would smile, take the lemons life throws at her, make some brilliant lemonade-flavored happiness potion, and move on to the next, no worries.

I prefer to take the lemons, chuck them back as hard as I can, and hope it hits him, her, or it right where it hurts.

To add insult to injury, I've been fighting a semi-mild case of food poisoning/bad reaction since about 4 p.m. today. 

Guess I got my sign. See if I EVER ask for one again. Fate. I have thoughts.  Many thoughts.  Can you guess the choice two-word phrase that has been running through my mind all day? Yeah. About sums up my thoughts on fate at the moment.

Makeup Magic Monday: StriVectin-SD Eye Cream

Best. Eye. Cream. Ever. I swear by this stuff--I've been using it for years. Originally, StriVectin was used by women who suffer from stretch marks, post-pregnancy.  However, women discovered additional benefits: anti-wrinkle and dark circle preventative agents. Because the original formula contained a specific fragrance some women found too strong to use around the sensitive eye area, the makers of StriVectin re-formulated the famous cream sans fragrance.  

StriVectin-SD Eye Cream, $59, available at Macy's.

Friday's NON Celebrity Frisky Virgin: The Frisky Virgin...Me.

It's time I live up to that courage badge...

This is me: 

This is my heart:

My Little Blog Shines...And It Means Everything To Me.

I am quite literally over the moon....and gobsmacked (love that word--it just totally captures the emotion). Jen at Ink Drops has taken the time to create a beautiful blog award called The Star Award, Your Blog Shines.  What a kind, generous, wonderful idea. I can't possibly thank you enough, Jen.

When I first started this blog, I was admittedly nervous...okay, I was utterly terrified. It's no small thing to just say to whoever may stumble upon your blog, "hey, I'm a virgin...at 32!" I was afraid people would lash out, say cruel things, belittle me, ridicule me...basically bully me. Unfortunately, bullying isn't something that  happens to kids alone; as bullies grow and mature, so does the style of bullying (which begs the question: Do bullies actually mature? Or do they just get better at bullying?).

From what we've seen on the news, the bullying is getting worse by the day. I don't think I'll ever understand why some people feel the need to treat others badly. Does it really make the bully feel better about themselves? Does it make them feel more important? Why hurt another human being? I don't get it...never will. We're all in the same boat, really...we're all trying to figure out how to plug the leaks.

I've heard my fair share and I've shed some tears, but my skin has gotten pretty thick in the process.  Still, it stings when I hear the backhanded comment or see "the look," usually accompanied by the ever-popular head tilt. Laughing is my rule at this stage in life.

After over four months of blogging, I have made some very dear friends (yes, I consider you my friends, silly at it seems), received more support and encouragement than I could possibly imagine, and have had actual blog awards bestowed upon my little blog.

I guess I just wanted to say thank you--through this blog and through your support, this once little cowardly lion has found her courage badge...and I'm proudly, openly wearing it, maybe for the first time in my life.