Life Will Go On

This has been a incredible week for me and my family. Death came to us so unexpectedly and it has solidified a stronger & much thicker bond between all of us. Today and tonight we spent at my uncles wake.

To be honest it was really hard to be in a room with all these people that I haven't seen in 10 maybe 15 years that have known our families. This was a strange feeling for me, but also a calming feeling to know that they still remember and love this man. My uncle made a lot of friends in his life and tonight they came to pay their respects to him.

Death has a strange way of bringing people together. What I found the strangest was that as I sat alone for a few minutes watching, I observed people mingling, sipping coffee and talking, at the end of the room I could see my uncle in his coffin, just laying there kinda smiling at the whole thing.

I mean, really, all these people remembering him while he lay still in his last resting place right in front of my eyes. I got this weird eerie feeling come over me like I have never felt. I knew as I was looking at him he was looking at me. So I got up and went and knelt down in front of him and said "Bye, Zio. I will miss you and I love you. I promise I will watch over Eddy and Mic, forever. Never worry. I will always be there for the both of them".

Then I got up to touch his hand and walked away. The one thing that left an impression is that after I left his side I realised how cold he felt and how sad I felt knowing that I would never hear his voice or be able to touch him again. I thought life will go on, but today a life is gone.

JB

RIP It's been a sad week

This week started off with bad news for my family. My uncle died unexpectedly on Monday. I haven't really wanted to post anything, but I felt that I should at least say a few words. My uncle was a father, a husband, a brother, and an all around good man, who was loved and respected.

He gave all he could to his family and the ones he loved and I will miss him deeply. He was also Eddy's father. Eddy is a rock, and this week I saw the rock roll and sway. This was hard on me, but I was happy to be there to stop the rock from going over the edge.

In times of sadness and loss, the one thing we have is our family and friends. Without them, what do we really have? This week I watched my family come to terms with the death of someone we loved and realised how precious and fragile life truly is.

Tell the people you love that you love them at every opportunity you have. Don't waste time anymore and just love because you may wake up one morning to find out that the person you loved is gone and can never come back, and you never told them you loved them enough, never took the time to hug them enough. Now it's to late.

Please stop wasting time. Tell everyone around you everyday what they mean to you and how they make you happy. Please just do it. Don't hesitate because it maybe the last time you have the chance to say it.

Zio (this means uncle in Italian), I will miss you everyday and I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to say good-bye and tell you how much I loved you.

RIP

JB

Laundry Guy vs. Bitter Sister

I have to say that Friday's are really special at work, and I don't mean that in a good way. Whenever Friday rolls around, it’s like something I can’t explain. What I do know is that it would take much too long for me to go into detail about the whole day, so I’m just going to share one particular story.

Every Friday, we get our table linens from our laundry service. You would think that the delivery would be rather uneventful, but it’s actually something that no one around here looks forward to. You see, the laundry guy that we have is a real jerk. None of us can stand him, especially my sister (aka Bitter). Whenever this guy shows up, he goes straight for the refrigerator & grabs a drink, like it's his own place and he can do whatever he wants. Then, he leans up against the bar & starts talking to my sister. I can’t begin to tell you how much this infuriates her.

Laundry Guy: So, what's new?

Bitter Sister: Since last week? Nothing. Why are you talking to me? Don't you have something to do, like the laundry?

Laundry Guy: Nope, I made this my last stop, so I could stay longer.

Bitter Sister: Well, can you just hand over the table cloths & stuff, so I can go through them?

Laundry Guy: In a minute. I want to talk to you first.

Meanwhile, my mother & I are watching all of this unfold from the kitchen, and doing our best not to laugh.

After a good 10 minutes, he finally does start handing out the linens, and it’s never the right amount. Considering the company he works for has been our laundry service for ten years, you would think that they would have the numbers down by now, but no. We are always short on napkins & table cloths, and often get a bunch of the wrong size table cloths as well. My sister is always in his face about it, but it doesn't help him bring the right order when he comes again. One time she actually told him that maybe he should go back to school and learn how to count. He said, "Relax, Laundry Nazi (his choice of word, not mine). You know I just deliver. I don’t count the linens. The ladies in the laundry room do the counting."

I swear I thought my sister was going to explode, but she just shoved the invoice in his face and told him to go get the linens we needed out of his truck. Every week, she has to send him back out to his truck. Personally, I don’t think it’s the ladies in the laundry room that mess up. I swear he just does it to get my sister all riled up because he has a thing for her. (Note to self, laundry guy, that is not the way to get my sister on your good side.) Speaking of which, he also always goes for a dump (I’m so not kidding) in our men's room (my sister cleans the bathrooms, so you see where I'm going with this) when he comes by. When he finally comes out of there (followed by the most heinous smell ever), he always flashes a huge grin at my sister, and says, "So, how about a cappuccino?" (OMG, is he for real??)

By this point, my sister’s had it. Her face gets flushed, her eyes narrow into pointy daggers, her lips flatten out into a straight line, and....

Laundry Guy: Aw, what's wrong? Not in a good mood today?"

(Stupid, stupid, laundry guy, don't push Bitter's buttons. I mean, even I'm ducking for cover, and I'm in the kitchen, ten feet away.)

Bitter Sister: I'm going for a cigarette.

Laundry Guy: Smoking is a bad & expensive habit. You should quit.

Bitter Sister: (under her breath) Go f**k yourself.

Unfortunately, her going outside for a smoke means that my mother & I have to listen to him go on and on (God, help us) about nothing, until my sister makes her way back inside and he starts talking to her again. (Does this guy ever learn?) When he does eventually make his way to the door, he always says, "Nice seeing you, ladies. This is my favorite restaurant. See you next week."

I'm telling you, if looks could kill....

JB

American Kids vs. Italian Kids: Can You Relate?

I thought I'd share this e-mail that's been going around. I don't know who wrote it, but he/she sure made me laugh.

Can you relate?

JB
=================================================

American Kids vs. Italian Kids

American kids: Move out when they're 18 with the full support of their parents.

Italian kids: Move out when they're 28, having saved enough money for a house, and are two weeks away from getting married... unless there's room in the basement for the newlyweds.

American kids: When their Mom visits them, she brings a Bundt cake, and you sip coffee and chat.

Italian kids: When their Mom visits them, she brings 3 days worth of food, begins to tidy up, dust, do the laundry, and rearrange the furniture.

American kids: Their dads always call before they come over to visit them, and it's usually only on special occasions.

Italian kids: Are not at all fazed when their dads show up, unannounced, on a Saturday morning at 8:00, and starts pruning the fruit trees. If there are no fruit trees, he'll plant some.

American kids: Always pay retail, and look in the Yellow Pages when they need to have something done.

Italian kids: Call their dad or uncle, and ask for another dad's or uncle's phone number to get it done.

American kids: Will come over for cake and coffee, and get only cake and coffee. No more.

Italian kids: Will come over for cake and coffee, and get antipasto, wine, a pasta dish, a choice of two meats, salad, bread, a cannoli, fruit, espresso, and a few after dinner drinks.

American kids: Will greet you with 'Hello' or 'Hi'.

Italian kids: Will give you a big hug, a kiss on your cheek, and a pat on your back.

American kids: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.

Italian kids: Call your parents Mom and Dad.

American kids: Have never seen you cry.

Italian kids: Cry with you.

American kids: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.

Italian kids: Will spend hours there, talking, laughing, and just being together.

American kids: Know few things about you.

Italian kids: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.

American kids: Eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on soft mushy white bread.

Italian kids: Eat Genoa Salami and Provolone sandwiches on crusty Italian bread (for breakfast).

American kids: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing

Italian kids: Will kick the whole crowds' ass who left you behind.

American kids: Think that being Italian is cool.

Italian kids: Know that being Italian is cool.

American kids: Will ignore this.

Italian kids: Will forward this.

Ever Wonder What Really Goes On In A Restaurant?

When you go out to eat at a restaurant, you’re focus is probably on what you’re going to order, who you’re with, and what you’re talking about. It’s unlikely that you’re wondering about the people who work there and what goes on behind the door marked Employee’s Only. Or, maybe you do, I don’t know. As someone who’s worked in restaurants my whole life, I can tell you that there’s a lot more than meets the eye. Seriously, people, I have 30 years worth of stories that can compete with any best loved soap opera. So, stay tuned to my blog and get your fill of what really goes on in a restaurant.

JB

P.S. Have you read any of my work related posts?

To Plastic Wrap or Not To Plastic Wrap?

Half Al Dente, Half Slightly More Cooked?

The Hate Inside

I was going through my journal and found something that I wrote back in July of this year. As you're about to discover, I was in a very dark place at the time, so covered in hate that I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. Now, three months later, a lot of that hate has been neutralized by love, which always comes in to remind me that it’s important to remember the good times.

JB

=================================

The Hate Inside

My body is infested with hate,
Hate that came to me one cold December,
In the form of a woman
Disguised as love
She introduced hate to me slowly,
Lying to me,
But calling it love
Words of hate came from her lips,
Entered my ears,
And left their scars

I was once a kind soul,
Full of love, compassion, joy,
But hate drew me in, saying:
Let me release you
Let me give you some reprieve
Feel the hate
It will set you free
I said: No, I am a good person
Hate said: No, you're not

I tried to bury hate,
But hate came back,
Blanketed my very being,
And devoured the love I once had
Now, I need to hate,
Or I will die from hurt,
From heartbreak

I wake to hate
I bath in hate
I seep with hate
I relish the hate
I can’t breathe without hate

Hate made my skin dry
Hate made my bones ache
Hate turned my blood into poison

My eyes went black from hate
My hands only feel hate
My legs are the anchors of hate

My heart is the sewage system of hate,
Poisoning me slowly
With the venom it pumps out

Until all is settled,
Until I no longer need her hateful grasp on me,
Until hate finally drains
From the last drop of my black blood,
I will return hate to its rightful owner,
My beloved,
On a cold winter’s night

© 2008 JB. All rights reserved.

Half Al Dente, Half Slightly More Cooked?

I don’t know about everyone else, but for me pasta should be cooked al dente, which means that the pasta should have an ever so slightly firm texture when chewed. When pasta is over cooked, it expands and breaks quite easily, especially if you're trying to roll it onto your fork. I say roll it onto your fork because that's how it ought to be eaten, with the help of a spoon, if necessary. Do not cut the pasta into a million tiny pieces (unless you're feeding a child, then I can understand). Seriously, what’s up with that, people? You don’t cut your spaghetti or any long noodle.

Cutting pasta is actually something that drives my mother completely crazy. When she sees plates come back to the kitchen with the pasta looking absolutely murdered instead of eaten, it's an insult to her. As an Italian, she really takes in personally. For me it's a hoot to watch her get all worked up as she lists her Italian do's and don’t about how pasta should be eaten.

Anyway, where was I... Oh, yeah, when it comes to cooking pasta, my mother & sister always have the same discussion about whether it will be al dente or not. They can go on for a good half hour (if not more) about it. As I said, I like my pasta al dente, and I tell them that's how I think it should be cooked, but my mother says, "It's not about how you like the pasta. It can't be too hard or cooked too much. You understand, JB? Please stop being so smart." (OK, ma, I'll try to be more stupid.) Then, my sister says, "No way. I’m not over cooking the pasta. We are an Italian restaurant, and what kind of Italians cook their pasta to the point of it expanding? Then, when you strain it, the pasta looks like mush. Please!"

Back and forth they go, arguing about how to cook pasta. Meanwhile, I’m over in the corner laughing at the both of them, thinking: Holy sh*t, we have this fight at least once a week. What the hell is wrong with us? Finally, I have to butt in and tell them to just cook the freakin’ pasta because tomorrow is coming up fast and I want to go home. I tell them that a happy medium would half al dente, half slightly more cooked, and they both give me this look like I'm on freakin' on crack because what the h*ll does half al dente, half slightly more cooked mean anyway, right? Then, my mother says, "Please stop watching those cooking shows. They messing up your head & they making us look bad." Meanwhile, my sister is making faces at me from behind her. (Sometimes, we resort to being like small children when it comes with dealing with mama pasta dearest.) I tell them that we should have a cooking show because nobody would believe that for a complete hour we can discuss how to cook pasta for people who use a knife and fork to eat any noodle that is too long to roll onto the end of a fork, but my mother doesn't think anyone would believe us. Well, if she's right about one thing, it's that what you see on TV doesn't even come close to what goes on in a kitchen. Seriously, if Gordon Ramsey thinks he's running Hell's Kitchen, he can think again because we are the original Hell's Kitchen.

JB

Time

Time
Watch it pass
Through faces of those you love to love,
Hate to hate

Bitter,
Angry,
Ageless,
Their excuses based on time

Time has a strangle hold
On you,
On us,
On them

In the midst of chaos,
Time keeps a fine line
Between the here & now,
‘Til you’re out of time

Where does time go?
To the local drinking hole after 7pm?

What is time?
Who has time?
Why so little time?

Time stands still
Still stands still
Take your pills
Fill the holes in your soul
Numb

Is all this a time lapse,
An illusion brought on by time,
Created from time?

Time has taken your soul
To that dark empty place
Pop the last pill
Sleep long

Time is running out
Out is running in
In is standing still

Roll over
Wake up on time for your death,
For time has prepared your bed of dirt!

© 2008 JB. All rights reserved

Here We Go Again: Another E-Mail From My Ex

Endeavor:
- to strive to achieve or reach
- to attempt (as the fulfillment of an obligation) by exertion of effort
- to work with set purpose
(http://www.merriam-webster.com/)

For those of you who don't know yet, I finally cut ties with my Ex. Although, as I said in a previous post, it seems that I wasn't clear enough when I told her that we can't be friends because she sent me yet another e-mail. I have not responded, nor will I, but I just had to blog about it because she actually tried to get to me today by sending me a quote. Meanwhile, she doesn't even understand it. Here's the e-mail:

Hi JB,

I copied (copied what ??).... Sorry. I just want you to know, i don't want to loose your friendship, (like I said before, what part of 'we can't be friends' does she not understand?) when the day comes that you you are able to talk to me, i will be here... I just don't like the way it ended... (why, because it means that you can't have your cake & eat it too?) Please say something to me, i don't want to make you angry or to bring you in a bad place, (well, you're doing a d*mn good job) i just want to know how you are doing... (none of your freakin' business) (i don't know what the word endeovor means in the thought...) (yeah, and you can't spell it either)

"A guiding operational principle in my life [is that]...if frustrated in one's endeavor by a stone wall or any kind of blockage, one must find a way around--another route toward one's goal."
— E. Margaret Burbidge

Chatte

It's a rather ironic quote coming from a person who keeps ramming her head into the 'we can't be friends' wall that I put up. Well, she can keep on ramming her head into it because I am not tearing it down.

JB

Why Lie, Why?

"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything." - Mark Twain

People do all sorts of things to avoid the truth. They lie, cheat, steal, kill, and just plain run as far as they can from it. The question that's been on my mind for about three days now is why do people lie? If anyone can answer this for me, I'd really like to know. These last two years of my life were turned upside down because two people that I trusted and called friends wove a web of lies so thick that I'm still uncovering all the layers.

Why do people lie? It’s bothering me so much. I can’t understand why it’s so hard to just be honest. Seriously, people, just be honest. It takes less effort to tell the truth than it does to lie because, when you lie once, you usually have to keep on lying in order to cover up the fact that you lied in the first place. Sometimes, you lie so much that you actually start believing that the lies are truth. How can this be right!? Why lie, why?

I have experienced first hand what lies can do. The saddest part is that the lies not only affected me, but also all of my friends and family on both sides of the lies. So, you see how when people assume it’s alright to lie how it can ripple through everything? It makes me sad that people don’t look at the big picture. If only they had the courage to be honest, but I guess that's just wishful thinking.

To all of you liars out there, maybe it’s time you start to right all the wrongs that you imposed on the people you hurt because they sure as h*ll weren't asking for the pain you caused. I guess to right your wrongs you would have to grow a spine because most of you are too spineless to face what you have done. You can keep living your lies, but in the end know that you will end up alone with only your lies to comfort you in the dark.

JB

Introducing Eddy...

Finally, Eddy has posted something for me. This makes me so happy! Eddy is my cousin and my editor. I would like to say that without her, I couldn't do this blog. I mean it. So, thanks, Eddy, you're the best. Love you all around. You make my stories so much better.

JB

Choice: My Word of the Month

The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice. - George Elliot

There are two primary choices in life: to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them. - Denis Waitley

Definitions for the word 'choice' found on the Web:

- pick, selection (the person or thing chosen or selected) "he was my pick for mayor"
- selection, option, pick (the act of choosing or selecting) "your choice of colors was unfortunate"; "you can take your pick"
- alternative, choice (one of a number of things from which only one can be chosen) "what option did I have?"; "there no other alternative"; "my only choice is to refuse"
(http://wordnet.princeton.edu/)

- the act of choosing : selection
- power of choosing : option
- a number and variety to choose among
(http://www.merriam-webster.com/)


'Choice' makes for an interesting word. A simple choice could cause a wardrobe malfunction, like pairing pink shoes with a yellow top (cute if you’re two years old, but totally ridiculous if you’re an adult… my apologies in advance if this is your taste). Making a choice can also be a little more complicated, such as deciding who you’re going to vote for in this year’s election. Now, what about when it comes to making a choice for someone else? This is where things can get really tricky, especially if you don't consider the consequences or feelings of the person you are making the choice for. I should know because a handful of people made a choice for me, and it turned my life into a disaster that could have been avoided had they simply let me make my own choice.

Something to think about.

JB

Why Exercising My Right To Vote Was A Total Shocker

Hey all, this is Eddy sitting in for JB. She’s been asking me to write a guest post for a while now, so I figured today was as good a day as any. Here it goes…

Yesterday I went to an advanced poll to cast my vote for this year's election. As a new rule, we are required to prove both our identity & address, so I pulled out my driver's license to show the woman who was verifying voter information. Now I can't recall the last time I actually looked at my license, so imagine my surprise when I noticed that it had…EXPIRED!! (What!!?? Holy crap!! I've been driving around with an expired license!!) Talk about a nice shock to the system. H*ll, if I hadn't gone to vote, who knows how much time would have passed before I had any idea that I was breaking the law.

As I wondered why the heck I hadn't received the usual form in the mail telling me that my license was up for renewal, I handed the woman my expired license and hoped that I wouldn't be turned away because of it. Lucky for me, she didn't even turn it over to look at the expiry date. I just had to recite my name and address to her while she read along silently, and then it was off to the voting booth where I literally had to shield myself from some guy (he was a volunteer) who kept wandering over to the look out the window (the booth was positioned in front of it, towards the left hand side) every time someone went to mark their ballot.

After I got home, I called to inquire as to why I wasn't notified about my license being up for renewal, but the office was closed, so I had to wait until this morning. After an annoying game of "press (fill in the blank) for (fill in the blank)" with my telephone keypad & the charming (hardly) electronic voice, I finally got to speak with a human being. I explained my situation to the woman on the line, and she told me that I should have received a postcard reminder a few months before my birthday. Apparently they send out postcards now instead of letters and many people end up thinking it's junk mail. I politely told her that I'm very careful when I go through my mail and assured her that I never received the so-called renewal postcard. She then told me that I didn't actually need one and that all I had to do was go to a local issuing office to get my license renewed. She said it would cost $75 and reminded me that I couldn't drive with an expired license. (Gee, lady, thanks for stating the obvious, but I need to drive to get myself there.)

When I arrived at the office, I had to fill out a renewal form. As I was signing my name at the bottom, I saw that I also had to date the form, but couldn't remember whether today was the 6th or 7th of October. I glanced around the office walls for one of those large date calendars, but there wasn't one to be found. Seated on my right was a guy who was also filling out a form, so I asked him. He glanced at his watch and told me it was the 6th (I guess he must have one of those watches that also show the date), so I wrote that down and went to stand in line. Then, not even a minute later, the same guy, now also standing in line, leans over and says, "Actually, today’s date it the 7th." (Hmmm, clearly this guy needs to get his watch fixed or his eyes checked.)

When it was my turn at the counter, I handed over my form and the woman said, "Oh, you don’t have a postcard?" I told her that I'd never received one and that the only reason I even knew my license was up for renewal was because I went to vote yesterday. She said, "WOW! It’s a good thing you went to vote!" (You got that right, lady.) She then had me stand in front of the photo screen so she could take my picture. (Just what I need, another hideous photo id. Seriously, do id pictures of any kind ever turn out good?) I then stepped back to the counter to pay the $75 fee and collect the paper that would act as my temporary driver's license until my new one arrived in the mail. (It better show up.)

So, there you have it, everyone. Now you know why exercising my right to vote was a total shocker. Meanwhile, if you haven't already checked to see if your license has expired without you knowing it, you might want to do that now.

Until next time,
Eddy

Who is JB?

JB...

• is a women who works with her mother, sister, and a bunch of other relatives in her family business (an Italian restaurant that's been around for 20 years, although family members have been working together for the last 40 years, so that's a lot of family time... way too much)
• is a chef
• is sometimes a mess
• is single
• loves cycling
• has a secret love for writing (even though she failed English three times and had to make it up in summer school)
• isn't perfect, yet those who love her love her forever, and those who don't usually do eventually because, as she's always said, the line between love and hate is blurred
• loves languages
• has only ever had French & Italian lovers
• is an enigma, even to herself
• never kisses and tells, unless you piss her off
• loves to drink beer when she is relaxing, tea when she is down, and red wine to get the creative juices flowing
• is grateful for music and movies because they keep her sane
• is also grateful for her bike because getting away for a ride keeps her from throwing knives at her family when they're working
• is the kind of person who, when you are in need & least expect it, will show up with some kind of care package full of stuff just for you (don't ask her how she knows you needed what she brought, she just does)

The Broken Hearts Club

I started a club called The Broken Hearts Club (not a very original name, but it fits). The problem is there's only one member -- me! It's really lonely. So, I was thinking that if anyone out there reading this knows what it feels like to be the owner of a broken heart, maybe you'd like to join me on my blog and share your story. God knows I've posted enough about my broken heart story on here. Maybe we can help one another heal.

What do you say, folks? Leave me a comment.

JB

Tiny Ponies

As you all know from my previous posts, I talk about my Ex a lot. I mean, she makes for some good stories. In one conversation with her, I get a good 6 stories, but I can only take them in small doses. Too much at once would send me over the edge, which is just about where I was going last week (this would be before I called & said we can’t be friends, etc), when she told me about her tiny ponies. Let me explain.

We agreed to meet & have coffee. As soon as I sat myself down, she wanted to start by telling me about these dreams she keeps having. I told her to go for it & tell me. I was anticipating something crazy, and, believe me, this French biscuit does not let you down when it comes to crazy. In fact, I swear she put the “C” in crazy. Anyway, as I was saying, she started telling me about her dreams….

My Ex: Well, I was sleeping (mmm, yeah, I figured as much), and I dreamt that I was taking care of these tiny ponies.

Me: Tiny? Like those in the zoo?

My Ex: Non, non (that’s her French), JB. The rainbow coloured ones (she said in a really excited voice), like in the kids TV show. (Here we go, all aboard her crazy coco rico train of thoughts.) (Coco rico is some French thing she says. Like I said, crazy....)

She continued by telling me that the tiny ponies were sleeping beside her on her pillow, all nice & comfortable, and she was putting little ‘blankies’ (her word for blankets, not mine) over them, and tucking them in.

My Ex: (in a really high pitched voice) I put my arms around all 12.

Me: Twelve? You stopped and counted?

My Ex: Mais, oui, (i.e. but, yes) JB. I counted, and then I hugged them all, and we sleep.

Me: Have you counted how many days it been since your last pill, petite chatte (i.e. little cat... it's her nickname)? Maybe you should take one now, and share with me because I think I may need one.

My Ex: Please, JB, not funny. You know this is serious. Je ne peux pas dormir (i.e. I can’t sleep).

Then, she gave me this serious look again. Holy cow, I thought, here it comes... and it did.

My Ex: Apres (i.e. after), I was walking my sister.

Me: You were walking your sister? Is she a dog in your dream?

My Ex: Non, non. Are you making fun of me?

Me: No, not at all, chatte. I'm listening.

My Ex: My sister, she was riding a pony.

At this point, I spit out my coffee.

My Ex: Please, JB, je suis sérieux (i.e. I am serious). Apres (i.e. after), I dream that I gave birth to 2 dead twin babies, and I was taking care of them... but they were dead. Is this not strange. (Is this not strange? H*ell, yes! WTF?!)

Well, this was it for me. An hour had gone by, and I really needed to get out of there. So, I told her I was getting on my tiny pony, and taking my a** to work.

Needless to say, after that conversation, I knew it was time to cut the ties that bind, get that French biscuit back on the train to Nowhere Ville de France, and say au revoir, ma chatte, au revoir. Translation: Goodbye, my cat, goodbye. Maybe next time she’ll dream of fairies and orange bottomed monkeys.

Mon Dieu!

JB

About My Blog: What Do You Think? Inquiring Minds Want To Know

I was talking to my cousin (who keeps me in check by editing my posts for me so that they're not too long winded or hard to follow) about my blog, and we got on the topic of comments. More specifically, why there aren't any comments yet. So, I want to know: what do you think? Am I boring? Do you think I'm nuts? Can you relate to me? Do you enjoy the same books/movies/music that I do? Tell me something, anything. Seriously, folks, I'm not afraid of feedback. As I said in a previous post, this is an outlet for me, a way to help me heal, so I welcome other points-of-view. Who knows, maybe what you have to say just might help me deal with what's going on in my so-called life, and/or maybe what I have to say will help one of you. We may not all be on the same path, but we are all in this great big world together.

JB