The Girl sits picking at a scab on her ankle. The sore lingered as a reminder of a fabulously wonderful pair of shoes. The black shoes boasted a 5 ½ inch silver heels, a zippered strap running up the Achilles to a rhinestone encrusted strap that wraps around the ankle, finished off with a rhinestone encrusted strap that swoops across the toes. The shoes smoked and in them The Girl was smokin’. But still, like all truly wonderful things, they left a mark, as did the evening She wore them.

Nova dreamed up the delicious idea for the gang to deck themselves out in their finest, rent a super-stretch limo and ride to some posh restaurant and drink and eat themselves silly. Of course, because decadence was involved, everyone agreed.

Jill and Woody know a guy who knows a guy, so they rented the limo at cost. They chose to dine at Bern’s Steakhouse, which is in Tampa. Everyone poured themselves into their finery and loaded into the limo.

The trip down rocked. The limousine stretched out into the lap of luxury. A full bar, deluxe leather seats, a booming sound system, and twinkling stars in the ceiling screamed of the debauchery the crowd so loves. The minute everyone sank into their seats the party began. Sy passed out flutes of champagne and Jill cranked up the stereo. The gang chatted and laughed. They played word games. They rolled down the windows and waved at the little people in their regular cars going about their regular lives. They stopped (3 times in 1 ½ hours) to use the restroom and smoke.

Finally they arrived at Bern’s. From the outside the famous steakhouse reminded the Girl of a factory or a warehouse. The crew unloaded, gave the Maitre’d their names, and headed for the bar. Once inside, the eatery no longer seemed like a factory, but rather a whorehouse, albeit an upscale one. Dark wood, red velvet walls, gold paint, busts and friezes helped to create the rich bordello look. Deliciously gaudy.

Speaking of delicious, the captain called for them almost immediately. Bern’s famous phonebook sized wine list rested on the table, so of course, The Boy was in heaven. They ordered a bottle of merlot. (All wine snobs make fun of merlot. But a great merlot really complements a great steak and The Boy and The Girl are uber-snobs of the, “Yeah Whatever,” delivered with a snotty smirk variety and don’t listen to the ramblings of lesser snobs.) They crew talked and drank and ate some appetizers (wunderbar calamari) while waiting for their steaks. The Girl loves her friends and relished in their company.

The dining experience was amazing. The Girl believes that few nobler or more difficult jobs exist than that of a good waiter. Their waiter honed the craft to a fine point. Friendly and efficient, he served them with a grace and elegance to match the evening. Perfect, fresh organic veggies from Bern’s own garden made a delectable salad. The Girl doused hers with wasabi green goddess. Then the steaks arrived. Bern Laxer ages his steaks to perfection. The Girl savored every bite of her 7 oz, medium rare, special chateaubriand. Without hyperbole, The Girl knows that this steak surpassed any She had ever or will ever eat. Dinner lingered on, well into the night. Everyone downed glass after glass of wine. Clouds gathered over the table. No one noticed. They continued on.

To be continued…

The Girl is exhausted. She and The Boy have finally moved into their new home. However, they have the long and arduous task of unpacking ahead of them. Their kitty has settled into a routine. He seems to be adjusting. The cat gives her hope.

There are so many boxes and bags and stacks. She feels overwhelmed. What was it Confucius said? “The journey of 1,000 moves begins with one box.” The Girl sighs and opens a box.

The Girl is introspective. Of late, She has been lost in her own thoughts. She is overwhelmed--by the house and her job and the oppressive sadness at the loss of New Orleans. But far off somewhere, in the distant recesses of her thoughts is a looming fear, that something is not right with the world. The sight of the victims of Hurricane Katrina begging for help, drowning in flood waters and filth is sobering. Is this America? Is this the shining beacon on the hill? Is this the finest the world has to offer? If the best America can hope from its government is a dollar short and a day late, we are screwed. She always suspected, but now She knows: There is no justice. It is just us.

However, the story did end with Pandora finding hope in the bottom of the box…

The Girl learned a lesson from a lizard. The Girl and the Boy were painting. Are painting. (She feels stuck in some bad joke by Nietchze. Eternally returning, trapped forever in time, painting a wall.) She was going to open a window for some fresh air. When She moved the blind, She noticed a big fat lizard trapped between the window and the screen. Feeling sorry for him, The Girl removed the screen and tried to shoo him out. Frightened and confused, the lizard ran inside.

The Boy ran to their rescue. One of his many jobs is lizard wrangler. He cornered the lizard, reached for it, only to have it dash between his legs and run under a door lying on the floor. The lizard was terrified. For all he knew, The Boy was going to eat him. He was hungry because he had been trapped in the window for who knows how long. He was weak from thirst and fear. Hiding was all his reptilian brain would allow him to do. The Boy moved the door to try to release the little guy from his troubles. Unfortunately the door fell and crushed the lizard.

If only he had allowed Them to help.

This is how the lizard taught The Girl a lesson. He managed to trap himself in a window. When The Girl tried to free him, he ran the wrong way. When The Boy tried to free him, he hid. His fear caused his death. Fear is the enemy. So no matter what happens, no matter how strange or worrisome or terrifying things appear to be, The Girl is going to try and trust that everything will work out fine.

The Girl is frightened, but everything will be okay. And once again, The Girl will be happy.

The Girl is happy. Saturday found The Girl, The Boy, and the Gang at the lake. Harley, David, Luke, Sean, Nova, Gabe, Seamus, Coco, Pinky, Jill, and Woodrow were there. They stopped by the grocers, picked up some chicken and some chips, and headed out.

The day was hot. Not just hot, but HA-OT. Someone said it was hot as Hell, but The Girl suspects Hell is more of a dry heat.

Time for some math:

The formula for the Heat index (HI) = -42.379 + 2.04901523(Tf) + 10.14333127(RH) - 0.22475541(Tf)(RH) - ((6.83783 x 10-3)(Tf2) - ((5.481717 x 10-2)(RH2) + ((1.22874 x 10-3)(Tf2)(RH)) + ((8.5282 x 10-4)(Tf)(RH2)) - ((1.99 x 10-6)(Tf2)(RH2))

So when the temperature (Tf) is 90° degrees and the relative humidity (RH) is 80, your body thinks it is 113°, which is hot as shit. (HaS)

Even the water was hot. No breeze came to relieve or even lessen the blast furnace. The crew floated and baked. Baked and floated.

Nova interrupteded the sweat bath when he lugged out a gianomous raft, Big Bertha. After it was blown up every one took a turn riding Bertha around the lake. Harley and David went first. Jill and Woody were next.

The Boy and The Girl were third. They climbed aboard and straddled the sides of the raft as if it were a horse or a lover, gripping with their thighs. Hunkering down, they grabbed hold. Bertha humped and bucked, but they couldn't be thrown off. Round and round they went. The raft bounced behind the boat, with The Boy and The Girl clinging to its back. When the boat turned, the raft cut a wide arc, leaping over the boat's foamy wake. Still Bertha couldn't shake their embrace.

The Girl and The Boy know one another as well as any two people can. She is practiced at reading his signals. He is practiced at steering her body. The Girl tried to sense the nuanced movements of The Boy as they rode the raft. When he leaned out, She leaned in. When he leaned toward her, She leaned away. In this way they were able to ride the raft for a substantial length of time. It was glorious fun.

The spray created by the raft cutting through the water was a welcomed relief. At times it was a mist. At times it was a tsunami. But always it was wet and cold. Big Bertha bounced them about as violently as any roller coaster ever had. Dips and turns and twists. Crazily riding up one side of the boat's wake and pitching back down the other. The Girl was exhilarated.

And exhausted. Holding on to the raft was a great upper body work out. She still aches.


After everyone had taken a spin on Big Bertha, the crew headed back in. They went to a little restaurant on the lake. After guiding their boats into slips they wobbled on sea legs up to a set of picnic tables. Each of them ordered a lunch and most of them ordered a beer. They munched on their hotdogs and burgers and laughed and joked. The Girl soaked in the warmth of her circle of friends and ate a hotdog. She was happy.

The Girl is so very in love with The Boy. They are buying a house. She is so happy. The happiness arises not from just the material joy (that said, hey, who doesn't like to get stuff?), but from the comfort and the safety. The Girl will always love The Boy for giving her a home. She wants to make it a home for him, as well. She has been collecting color samples and decorating magazines and fabric swatches. She is overwhelmed by the prospect of decorating an entire house. Function, mood, and harmony...On the cheap.

The Girl will finally have a home. The Girl is happy!

The Girl hasn’t written anything in a long while-because, well-She has writer’s block. She thought perhaps that She had run out of things to say. That couldn’t be it, because it is not as if She ever shuts up. She thought perhaps that She had run out of important things to say. That couldn’t be it, because it is not as if She ever had anything important to say. At one time the Words couldn’t pour out of her quickly enough. Now it seems as if the well has dried up. Time to pray for rain.

Rather than write nothing She has decided to write anything. Starting at her toes:


Her feet ache. They always ache. Her right arch is non-existent. It leaves spatula shaped prints. She has waited diligently her entire life for her left arch to flatten out and catch up. It is this disparity in the arc of her step which causes the pain. She doesn’t even think about it most of the time.

Her left calf is twitching. The threat of a cramp somewhere deep in the muscle.

Her knees and thighs feel dewy and soft. She is fresh from a bath. Her skin tingles.

Her belly aches. Cramps. In addition to being THE Girl, she is also A girl, and sometimes it just bes that-a way.

Her breasts feel heavy for the same reason She has cramps. She considers this a small price to pay for the privilege of being a girl.


Her back itches. Its skin flying away like little dandelion seeds trying to take root in the rug. She and The Boy went to Egmont Key with Sy and Nova. She enjoyed herself so much that She failed to notice her back blush a shy pink. As She passed the hours floating in the sparkling aquamarine water of the Gulf, her back turned from embarrassed to angry. For a week it radiated a livid red. For one day it was a wonderful olive-brown. Then it dried up and blew away.

Her teeth feel clean. She just brushed them and her whole mouth is cool and mint-y fresh.

“If your eyes are the windows to your soul, does that make your ears the doorways?” She wonders. Bruce Springsteen comes in from the other room. His sad, graveled voice matches her mood.

Her face shines from being exfoliated. The Girl has never believed herself to be beautiful, but She knows She has beautiful skin. Trips to Egmont Key not withstanding, She tries to take care of it.

Her head is buzzing with lists. She needs to go shopping. She makes a list. She needs to clean up. She takes a mental inventory. She has errands to run. She prioritizes the tasks.

That is The Girl from head to toe.

Where, oh where has The Girl been? On the roller coaster....

Up: She threw a birthday bash for The Boy. What fun! Most of their friends came to watch him turn 40. (40? Has it been that long? She remembers when he was a child, now his hair is falling out. She loves to trace the time across his face. He wears the weary world well.) Everyone had fun. They danced and ate and drank. Celebrate The Boy!

Down: Her uncle died. It is surreal, because he was so young. She talked to him on Monday. He died on Thursday. He was here and now he is gone. Why does She still feel his presence?
Where do we go? Will we see one another again? She believes that we all come back. We do this again and again until we get it right. Until all of our loved ones get it right. What lesson did Uncle Dutch teach us? What lesson did we teach him? Did we get it right? Are we done? Deja vu...All over again.

Up: She and the Boy went to Savannah. Beautiful. Spring everywhere. Flowers in trees and on shrubs and in beds and growing wild. Savannah is slow and so they slowed down to keep up. She and the Boy walked everywhere. They talked. They talked over southern fried dinners. They talked over grave stones in ancient elaborate cemeteries. They talked over glasses of wine in manicured parks. They talked on the porches of antebellum mansions. And when they were done talking they sat in silence. The peaceful quiet space between them communicating as much as all the chatter ever did. They ate too much and drank too much. The Girl loves the Boy. The feeling was amplified over the backdrop of Savannah.

Down: Spring brings sickness. The Girl had 2 asthma attacks and was on steroids for 3 weeks. She is sick of being sick: coughing and choking, every breath a struggle as it rattles to the surface and wheezes it's way back in. Rattle, wheeze, cough.

She is better now. And despite all of the ups and downs, The Girl is happy.

The Girl hates Wal-Mart with a deep in the belly hate. She believes that they are partly responsible for the looming apocalypse. They rape communities by closing all of the locally owned competition. This forces people to work at Wal-Mart. They pay their employees next to nothing insuring that the workers will be too poor to shop anywhere but Wal-Mart. Creating a vicious circle of poverty and cheap house wares. What Stalin was to communism and Hitler was to fascism, Sam Walton was to capitalism-bad men taking bad ideas to extremes.

That said, She recently found herself in Wal-Mart purchasing a grill and a smoothie maker. As usual there were 30 shoppers for every one Wal-Mart employee. So, She had to wait for 22 minutes (She timed it) for someone to assist her in removing the grill from the top shelf. While waiting, She enjoyed (insert sarcasm here) the keening wail of some poor child who sounded as happy to be in Wally World as She. Finally, a tiny employee dragged a ladder bigger than herself over and wrestled the grill from high over their heads. The Girl felt guilty because the worker was so small, but she did manage to hand over the cooker. So, grill and smoothie maker in basket, She went to check out.

Of course, this wasn't going to be easy either. Only three registers were open and the queues snaked around the store, disappearing into the greeting cards and ladies underwear. Noticing a cashier who was carrying a till, She asked if another line would be opening soon. The worker told Her to go to number 10, she would be there in a minute. So, The Girl went over, put her grill and smoothie maker on the belt, and waited. In about 5 minutes the cashier came over and began to ring Her purchases up.

It looked as if She would soon be finished with her descent into marked down hell, when from behind her came an angry voice, "Well, we'd be outta here if that rude bitch ha'n't jumped the line." "Surely," thought The Girl, "She isn't speaking to me." As if it had read her mind the even angrier voice said, "Yeah, bitch. I'm talking to you."

The Girl turned and beheld the owner of the voice. The voice belonged to a rather large and harried looking woman. She might have been 30, but if she was, it had been a long, hard, 30 years. Her hair was dyed the botched shade of orange brunettes get from do-it-yourself dye jobs. Her roots were showing. Her chapped lips were parted by the groove where a cigarette would have been resting were it not for the store's no smoking policy. She was fat. She was wearing polyester. And, slung on her hip, was the baby whose crying had so entertained the Girl on her shopping excursion.

The Girl sized up the situation and, not in the mood to play, She retorted, "Wrap your tiny mind around this: How can a person skip to the front of a non-existent line?" She turned around to pay for her purchases. The Fat Lady didn't sing. She bellowed, "Yew thank yore so special don't yew? Yew prissy little bitch. Yew ain't nuthin'. Yew wait 'til I git outside this store. Yew just went in fronta all these people who had been waitin'. Yew jes' wait."

"Please call security," the Girl asked the cashier.
"Call security bitch. I ain't gonna do nuthin' to yew. Yew ain't worth my time."
The Girl lost it, "I'm not worried about it. It's not as if you could catch me, now is it?" Before the Fat Lady could say another thing the Girl put up her hand, "Shut up! Shut your rude mouth!" people were backing away, " Perhaps this is how you behave in the trailer park when you are in need of entertainment, but we are in civilization now. And here in civilization, we don't behave this way. Shut your rude mouth! You may not speak to me that way."

The Fat Lady shifted the baby and her considerable heft onto her other hip. "Who do yew thank yew are, yew bitch?! Yew thank yore all that! Yew skipped all us and yew know it! "
"For Christ's Sake, you insane red-neck. THERE WAS NO ONE IN THIS LINE! It was not even OPENED!' the Girl felt herself becoming hysterical. Was She actually standing in the middle of Wal-Mart arguing with a stranger over whether or not She had cut line? Could this actually be happening? From the shocked , frightened look on the other shoppers' faces, she realized that it must be.

About that time, the manager walked up, "Can I help you?" The Girl tried to calm down. She could feel the whole store watching. "I don't know why this lady attacked me," she explained. "She is having a bad day. Perhaps, it is because her baby won't shut up. Perhaps, it is because she cannot seem to stick to her diet. Perhaps because she is wearing uncomfortably tight pants. Whatever the reason, she is taking it out on me." "Ma'am," he sighed, "if she weren't yelling at you it would be at me or a cashier or another customer. We get it all the time." The Fat Lady was beside herself, but didn't say a word. She just opened and closed her mouth as if she were a huge guppy, flopped up on the shore of public humiliation. Her righteous indignation was replaced by her confused embarrassment. The Girl just walked away.

"I'll walk you out," offered the man. As they went to her car, the Girl and the man chatted. He acted as if this were an everyday happening. He loaded her purchases into her car. He apologized. He waved as She drove away.

The Girl hates Wal-Mart. She has decided to never shop there again. The Girl is happy.

The Girl stopped by her mother's house today. Like every mother and daughter who ever lived, the Girl and her mother both fiercely love one another and fiercely hate one another. The two emotions intertwine until they are indistinguishable from one another. Fathers and sons either love one another or hate one another. The Girl envies their decisiveness.

Today, the Girl just needed to be near her mom. Her mother was in the yard hosing down baby furniture when She pulled up. She didn't say what was wrong. Her mother didn't ask. The Girl went into her mother's pantry and found the candy orange slices, hidden in a jar, on the top shelf, behind the flour canister, just where they always were. The sticky candies hurt her teeth and made her feel mildly nauseated, but they instantly improved her mood.

She rejoined her mother in the yard. Sitting on the front steps She watched in silence as her mom gathered up the toys which had been strewn about by the kids she babysat. She tried to remove the orange goo from her teeth with her tongue. This occupied her for a while. Her mother continued to clean in silence.

"Come here, Girl," her mother called from behind the house. She went to see what was happening. Her mom was standing beside the stump of an old oak. The Girl remembered the tree from her childhood. She always leaned against this tree when counting for hide-and-seek. It was "base." She realized, with a pang of guilt (one-one thousand, two-one thousand), that She hadn't noticed when it was removed. Her attention drifted back to her mom. She pointed to a paperwhite that had bloomed among the stump's useless roots. "You know, these are the first signs of spring. I have seen them come up through the snow."

The Girl pictured the whole world covered in white interupted only by this brave little shock of deep green, bowing under the weight of its pale yellow head. She wasn't so sad anymore.

The Girl helped her mother finish her chores. As they worked her mom pointed out different stalks and stubs and described the blooms they would soon sport. She told the Girl the Latin name for the flowers and all their aliases. She explained which were good to eat and which were deadly, which preferred the sun and which the shade. The Girl learned which plants were pollinated by bees and butterflies and which by the wind. She discovered that cornflowers stink and that clover taste sweet.

By the time the yard was clean The Girl was ready to go. She thanked her mom for the candy and her mom thanked her for the help. Too many things stood in the way of them saying anything else. "You can stop by whenever you want." "Thanks mom."

As the Girl drove home, She realized that She was happy.

The Girl is happy. The air, still warm on her lips, has the sharp after taste of Winter. The Earth tilts away from the sun. The days shorten. The Girl loves the changing of the seasons. She accepts the inevitably of time moving forward.

Looking back, this was a good summer. Every football game found the gang piled up in one place or another, rooting for ...whomever. But every night ended the same way: A slightly woozy crowd, each with a drink in hand, settling into the boiling Jacuzzi at Cy and Nova's. The Girl was pickling herself, alcohol on the inside-hot water on the outside. Even in the fog created by the rum and the steam, She is at peace. She is in love with this rambunctious crowd of crazies that She is privileged to call her friends.

Winter is coming. The Girl is happy.

The Girl is happy. Life has been pulling her in every direction, but She finally has a moment to herself.

Not that She wasn’t happy when life had her in its clutching grasp.

Seamus and Gabe decided to close the club. The police were becoming much too curious since Fat Bob cashed in his chips. As one last hurrah, they decided to throw a Halloween party.

Halloween is The Girl’s favorite holiday. She loves slipping into some other skin, pretending to be a witch or an angel or a demon. She loves celebrating the coming of winter. She feels blessed by taking part in the rituals of some long forgotten god. In her most secret heart, she is a pagan.

The Girl spent a week preparing for the Night. She dyed a column dress grass green. Tying a darker green cord around her waist and crossing it between her breasts, she looked like a Greek goddess. She sewed ribbon roses randomly about the front of the gown. A border of rosettes encircled the hem. The Girl manufactured a white picket fence crown. She tied her hair into knots and painted them red. Little butterflies lighted in her hair. Her sandals sported large roses and a ladybug. She doused herself in rose perfume. No one ever promised you a Rose Garden, but sometimes you get lucky!

All the work was worth it. Seamus and Gabe flung quiet a fling. Everyone made an appearance. Nova and Cy were, appropriately, Austin Powers and Dr. Evil, baby. And starring as Glenda the Good Witch: Coco, in his 6’4”, pink organza splendor. Able donned a habit as the very pregnant Sister Mary Ignoramus. Sean and Luke pimped out in big ‘fros, velvet suits, platform shoes, walking canes, and serious shades. Harley, very hot in dominatrix boots and something resembling a tiny police uniform, kept David, in an orange jumpsuit and leg irons, on a short leash. Frankie, Pinkie, Scott, Jimmy, Seamus and Gabe, The Boy and at least 60 other guest danced and drank and ate and played dress up all night long.

There is something very romantic about a room full of adults in masks playing charades. The Girl loves Halloween. Perhaps, because of this, the Girl is going to Hell. Until then, The Girl is happy.

The Girl is tired. Every weekend one of her friends bounces her and The Boy off to some new fun. She has much to tell: a trip to the beach with Sean and Luke, dinner with Able and Frankie, an engagement for Harley and David, many nights in the hot tub at Sy and Nova's, and a Halloween party at Seamus' Place. But to tell the stories, she would have to stop living them, and to do that, even for a moment would be unbareable.

But She sees a space coming up in her calendar. Every one is leaving town for a week, giving her time to breath. She has so much to tell you then!

The Girl is broke. She has been hangin' at Seamus' place and she was on a winning streak. Then that fat man, whose name is Fat Bob, died right in front of her. Bad mojo. The winning came to an instant end.

She met Fat Bob the night she first discovered the gaming room at Gabe and Seamus' house. She watched as Seamus helped him up. He apparently has (or had) some sort of inner ear problem. Something about the cochlea not responding properly...Whatever... He was always fallin' down.

Everyone was at Seamus' every weekend: gambling with some of the most important people in town; sitting in some of the finest chairs ever made; drinking some of the strongest drinks ever made. Everyone was having fun.

The Girl realized that She had just been waiting for the game of Texas Hold 'em to come find her. A sharp mathematical mind and the uncanny ability to tell when She is being lied to makes her mad good at cards. The money fell down like rain. She won $7,563.00 in one month, more than She normally makes in four. The Girl was on fire, that is until Fat Bob died.

Fat Bob was a man who earned his name. He was about 5'6" and probably weighed 500 pounds, butt-ass naked. His skin was translucent and almost yellow. What hair he had was baby fine and a yellow three shades darker than his skin. It was as if he were the color of fat. However, Bob's most striking feature, besides his enormousness, was his eyes. They were the palest blue She had ever seen. His eyes were so pale, in fact, that it was hard to tell where his irises began. She tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. The Girl had never seen him without a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. Fat Bob was a heart attack on feet, very swollen, angry feet. But it wasn't his heart that got him, it was his inner ear.

Two Saturdays ago she was up $500. Gabe was the dealer. He is such a great guy, smart and charming in a boyish sort of way. Gabe is an expert poker player and it was his instruction (and a little luck) that was making The Girl rich. There were six people at the table. They had been playing for the better part of the night, when Fat Bob lumbered in. The chair let out a frightened little squeal when he sat down. Everyone nodded hello and he was dealt into the next hand. The Girl was given a five of clubs and a seven of clubs initially. She raised the original $20 ante to $50. The first burn revealed an eight of clubs. The Girl hoped that She wasn't sweating. She raised $25. A four of clubs came up. The Girl knew she was sweating and was concentrating on not looking as if She were concentrating. The bet went 'round the table. The pile of chips in the middle of the table was immense. The Girl was trying not to stare...At the chips, her cards, or Fat Bob's weirdly pale eyes. Gabe burned one and was about to deal what She knew was going to be the six of clubs when WHACK! Fat Bob lost his balance and keeled over. Now, Bob was always falling. His inner ear problem was a birth defect and he was pushing 50, so this was nothing new. However, this time instead of wobbling like a weeble, he fell face first onto the finely planed edge of the poker table. The table and Fat Bob's head cracked wide open. All Hell broke loose.

No one wanted to be caught in an illegal gaming place. No one wanted to be caught in an illegal gaming place with a gigantic fat guy lying dead in the middle of the floor. They scattered like roaches in the light.

The Boy, The Girl, Sean, and Harley stayed to help Seamus and Gabe with....The situation. While the men dragged Fat Bob upstairs, Harley and The Girl cleaned up. Cards, chips, money, blood were everywhere. Harley and The Girl talked about anything to keep from talking about the obvious.

It was around four a.m. when the room was clean, Fat Bob was upstairs, a believable story was hatched and the police were called.
The next night it was business as usual at Gabe and Seamus'. Everthing was the same but The Girl. Apparently watching a fat man die is bad luck, because She hasn't won a game since.

The Girl is broke. But She never liked Fat Bob, and although She would never say it out loud, The Girl is happy.

Another storm is coming. The Girl is incredulous. She feels insignificant, as well. The world seems to be unaware of the people living on it. If it were aware, would 5 hurricanes strike Florida in one summer?

Maybe the world isn’t orbiting the sun, as the science guys profess. Maybe it is trapped in a snow globe, owned by a particularly cruel child, who shakes it up every chance he gets. He shakes and shakes and the waters swirl, creating great tides and eddies, storms and more storms. He watches the swirling waters, waiting for them to settle and then; another good shake. Hopefully he will grow tired of this game, lay us down, and go play with some other toy.

The Girl has been learning to play poker. It was quiet by accident that She was pulled into the game. She met a young man at a party. His name is Seamus Finnegan. He is as Irish as the name would lead you to believe. But he is not the red-headed, rosy checked leprechaun-ish sort of Irish. He is more the dark-haired, ship building, IRA, James Joyce-y sort of Irish: beautiful and brooding and too good to be true. She talked to Seamus for quiet a while. He is funny and intelligent. These are The Girl’s two favorite qualities. He explained that he and his partner Gabriel design and create custom furniture. She admires people who are of use (mechanics, bricklayers, house painters, etc.) Intrigued The Girl decided to visit their workshop at the first opportunity.

That opportunity came last Friday. She and The Boy were rearranging their library when they realized that they owned more book than case. They had a need for furniture. She remembered the dark Irish man and suggested that they go to his place to look over his wares. The Boy agreed and the very next moment they were standing in the midst of some of the most beautiful furniture She had ever seen. Some of the pieces were made of solid hardwoods: ash, cherry, maple, oak, pecan, rosewood, walnut, and poplar. Others were made of cedar, cypress, fir, or pine, all softwoods. No nail was to be seen. Every cabinet, chair, table, and bookcase was held together by mortise and tenon or tongue and groove joints. Some of the pieces were finished, some unfinished. All of them were amazing. After walking around the showcase for an hour, running her hand over the smooth surfaces, The Girl found and fell in love with a beautiful purple-heart bookshelf. The wood, a rich, deep purple, had been rubbed to a warm glow. The case is horizontally, rather than vertically, oriented. She knew exactly were this art would be displayed in her home. The Boy paid Seamus and worked out the details of delivery with Gabe. The three of them chatted for a while and The Girl continued to wander about admiring the furniture. While She was opening and closing the drawers of a particularly beautiful dresser, who should walk by but Pageen Harahan? The Girl sort of smiled at the mayor and then CRASH!

Everyone ran to the basement stairs to discover what had made the loud noise. Seamus went down the stairs while Gabe hemmed and hawed. The Girl just followed Seamus down stairs without thinking.

To her amazement the basement wasn’t full of tools and sawdust or even furniture. Instead it was a gaming room as impressive as anything in Las Vegas. Roulette wheels, and one-armed-bandits, keno, two blackjack tables, and two poker tables filled the cavernous room. Clouds of smoke wafted through the pools of light over each table. Along one wall was a mahogany bar, no doubt created by Seamus and Gabe, where people were purchasing cocktail from a red-headed bar tender. The room was packed with people and smelled of bourbon and expensive cigar smoke. The source of the crash, a very fat man, was lying on the floor at one of the poker tables. It appeared as if he had just keeled over.

While Seamus ran over to deal with the man lolling at the table, feet straight up in the air, The Girl took it all in. She didn’t even realize that Gabe was now beside her. “Now you know our secret.” He waited to see her reaction. She just smiled.

Turns out the furniture store is a front for a gaming room run by the Irish mafia, a group of which Seamus is a made man. Since learning this, She and The Boy have been hanging out at Seamus’ place. Gabe has been giving her lessons in poker. She left with $300 last Saturday. All of her friends are there every weekend, as well. David is supplying them with cigars, a boon for his cigar bar, Cubano del Cigarro.

Everybody is happy.

The Girl is feeling dicked over. She made a purchase on the internet and was charged twice. Bastards!

She has decided to begin a month of self-discipline. From September 13th to October 15th, She is going to eat only healthy foods and only in appropriate amounts. She is going to the gym at least three times a week. She is going to Blog once a week. She is going to read a poem by a different poet every night before She goes to sleep. She is going to write a sonnet. She is going to do these things for just a month. Her reasoning being that anyone can do anything, endure anything, if they know it is going to end. At the end of the month, She will reassess the situation.

Why is She doing this? The reasons are endless. Here is a manageable list:

1. She finds pleasure in being strong.

2. Her doctor says it will help her control her blood glucose which is out of whack again.

3. Her writing could use work.

4. She wants to prove to herself that She can.

5. She is smart and funny and kind; a good cook and a good friend; a talented writer and a fair artist; a good teacher and a great deal of fun at a party...And the whole world says, "You are fat." She cannot change the world, but she can make them regret their pettiness.

6. Her mother-in-law asks, "So how is your diet?" The MIL is always suggesting that they diet, or share a salad for dinner, and once suggested that The Boy might be less of a jerk (back when he was) if She lost some weight.

7. She enjoys the feeling of denial in much the same way She enjoys the feeling of indulgence. They are two sides of the same coin.

8. On October 18th, She will be 37.

9. If you aren't growing, you are dying.

10. The Boy promises he will celebrate a month of self-discipline, too.

11. It is only a month.

The Girl has just returned from an interesting trip. Sean and Luke invited her and The Boy to go boating. It was wonderful and terrible and The Girl loved it.

When Sean suggested they go boating, The Girl felt honored. Because She tries to never take anyone or anything as a given, She is always surprised and happy when the people She loves love her back. Every time. She never assumes that She lives in someone’s head or that they think about her when She isn’t standing in front of them. How many of life’s sorrows have been created by people who believe that love is automatically a two way street? “If I love you then it must follow that you love me,” is a folly. Fortunately, She loves Sean and he loves her back.

The Girl checked the weather forecast everyday right up until the morning of the trip. All the weathermen predicted blue skies. Screw the weathermen. It was cloudy all the way to Lake Pedro. The foursome tried to convince themselves that it would blow over. On the two hour drive they chatted and laughed. They listened to some CDs Luke had just purchased. The Girl listened to the music and the chatter and stared out the window. Perhaps she is prejudiced, but Florida truly is sublime. The live oaks, draped in Spanish moss, formed a canopy over the road. Every thing was so green She could smell it. The ride there was great.

Once they launched the boat, it wouldn’t go into gear. Luke was jostling the gear shift. Luke was cursing the gear shift. Sean was standing on the dock waving good-bye as the boat drifted into the tall weeds. Luke jostled and cursed. Sean waved. The boat drifted. Then, right at the very last moment, the transmission fell into gear. They scooped Sean off the dock and ZOOOOOM out of the channel into the lake.

Lake Pedro is huge. It covers over 46,000 acres. However, it is shallow. The combination of huge and shallow (besides being terrible qualities in a man) make Lake Pedro very rough. If the slightest wind blows, the waves become white-caps. The wind was blowing that day, but it wasn’t slight. Therefore Lake Pedro was churning and choppy. It was trying to chew them up. And it began to rain.

Luke and The Boy put the top on and snapped the cover on the bow. They wrapped themselves in towels and zoomed across the lake toward their first destination, The Back-on Inn. The Back-on Inn is a little dive accessible by both land and water. It sits in the mouth of one of Lake Pedro’s many tributaries. From the upstairs porch, where they ate, one has a great view of the river and another place across the way. She enjoyed watching the boats come and go.

Lunch was yummy. She and Sean ordered grouper fingers (fancy fish sticks). Luke and The Boy had grouper sandwiches. The boys ordered beers, many beers to wash the fish down. They also shared catfish bites and fried mushrooms. The grouper fingers were good. Not too much breading and cooked just enough. Many places drown their fried food in breading to hide the taste of an inferior product. Then they over cook it to hide the taste of too much breading. The Back-on Inn did it just right. She felt like the third bear. They mushrooms were also wonderful. Prepared on site, they were crispy on the outside, juicy within.

While they ate and waited for the rain to subside, they talked some more. Luke is perhaps one of the funniest people alive. But it isn’t a loud, in-your-face, funny. He is droll and very, very intelligent. Sean is also funny. His humor, however, is more accessible. He could be a stand-up comedian. They were telling stories. The Boy was laughing so hard he was wheezing. The Girl loves this about The Boy. Her heart is too heavy to laugh out loud, even when things are laugh out loud funny. The Boy has a light heart. His heart acts as her buoy.

By the time the rain was light enough to be traveled through, they were all done eating and the boys were lightly toasted. They loaded up and headed back out on the lake. Luke was driving. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to get the boat on a plain, where it would ride on top of the waves and be smoother. It wasn’t happening. They would ride up on a wave and, BASH! down on the other side. Up, BASH! Up, BASH! Up, BASH!

(The Girl is [secretly] very bright. Nothing has ever been explained to her that she didn’t understand. She is sure that there are things She doesn’t know. However, with enough time and a willing teacher, She suspects there is nothing She couldn’t know. However, She is also [secretly] crazy and a little uncertain about the steadiness of the ground beneath her. As a result, She wastes all of her intelligence keeping her insanity at bay. Where would She be if She weren’t crazy? Where would She be if She weren’t smart?)

That said:

The second law of thermodynamics states “That the entropy of the universe increases during any spontaneous process;” or “Energy spontaneously disperses from being localized to becoming spread out if it is not hindered;” or “qrev/T.” The chaos theory states that most systems in nature are aperiodic, meaning that no variable describing the state of the system undergoes a regular repetition of values.

WHICH MEANS: Shit falls apart and we have no way of predicting when or how it will choose to do so.

The boat, subject to the laws of the universe, fell apart. A little compartment, meant to act as an ice chest, but being used to store things no one wanted to get wet, fell apart. Everything got wet. The front windshield, meant to keep the falling rain from stabbing them like a million tiny daggers, fell apart. They got stabbed. It was crazy, but thrilling. (And a little reassuring, science being reliable and all.)

The boys stopped to fix the boat. The waves were rolling in, white edged and very high. The Girl lay on the stern. The sky was grey. The water was grey. Sometimes it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. As She rocked, The Girl remembered an art project from the third grade . The teacher asked them to create colleges. Mrs. Rooks gave them scraps of wrapping paper, newspaper, tissue paper, construction paper, magazines, scissors and glue. Every other kid was making happy pictures of sunny skies or kitties. The girl took a grey piece of construction paper and glued blue, black, purple, and white strips of tissue paper to it. She cut out the black outline of a boat and glued it to the middle of the page. It was beautiful. She remembers the teacher’s face when She turned it in, “This kid is smart, but crazy.” The Girl remembers looking into the teacher’s dull, serene face. It is her earliest memory of being special. Now She was on that boat under the tissue paper sky in the middle of the tissue paper sea. The Girl was happy.


The boys repaired the boat and they headed in. Sean apologized profusely, but they reassured him they had enjoyed the trip. The Girl really did. It was an adventure. The food was good, the company was better. Sunny days get all the glory. But sunny days are all the same. Rainy days are beautiful and unique.

On the ride home they listened to a comedian. They chatted and laughed. The Girl watched the landscape approach and disappear. The Girl was happy.

The Girl went back to work today. She cannot make herself care. She hates the way most people define themselves through their jobs. It is just a job. People confuse having a job with having work. Work is important. Work matters. A job matters in so much as the rent must be paid and it is necessary to eat. Some people, although She don't know any, manage to find meaningful work and get paid for doing it. But most people go to their jobs every day and think, "They are paying me for this, so it must be meaningful." And the more they are paid, the more special they feel. The Girl? She cannot make herself care.

She once thought of her job as meaningful. But She has come to see it as a job. Others there try to make Her feel guilty for not caring. For not giving up her life in exchange for her job. "This," She wants to shout," is not my life! It is merely paying for my life!" But that would require that She care.

That isn't to say She doesn't do a good job. But She remembers...This is a job.

More meaningful was her recent trip down the Coochalowithee. The Coochalowithee is a small spring fed river near her home. In the early part of the century, the river was used and abused by phosphate miners. The University of State (US) purchased it and cleaned it up in the 70s.

To help pay for the river's up keep, US charges $5 to rent a floatie and another $5 to ride the floatie down the river. The water is a constant 73 degrees, which is very cold when the ambient air is 90. As clear and smooth as glass, the little river winds through cypress knees and under oak trees, past sand hills and lime rock caves. The Girl, the Boy, and Sang Su recently made the 3 1/2 hour trek. They were joined by turtles, fish, and a single snake. Comerants, hawks, and cranes flew overhead. Little ducks splashed in the tall grass. Somewhere nearby a woodpecker hammered at a hollow tree. The Girl enjoyed being rocked and swirled by the river. She enjoyed talking to Sang or the Boy as the water brought them together. She enjoyed the silence when they drifted apart. The canopy of the trees was replaced by the glare of the sun as the river pushed them forward. The water was deep and then shallow and then deep again. The cold ofthe water and the warmth of the sun penetrated her body. Rocked in the cold, sunny womb of her floatie. Utter peace. What could mean more than this?

The Girl is tired of going to the doctor.  Now the Doc has discovered hypoglycemia and ordered more tests.  The good that comes of that?  Well, now we know and prescription appetite suppressants.  The Girl is a firm believer in better living through chemistry.
 
Yesterday, The Girl and The Boy ran errands.  Running errands with Him makes Her feel like part of a team.  Very normal.  And normal is the way She has always wanted to feel.  So while they were walking around Home Depot and the bank and the grocery store, no one noticed Her.  She seemed like anyone else to everyone else.  Her deepest fear has always been that people could look at Her and tell She was different from them.  She always imagined that She wore a scarlet "w" for weird.  But She must not.  No one in the produce section noticed.  The checkout guy rang up her coax cable without staring. 
 
She loves the Boy for many things.  But his ability to blend in is one of her favorites.
 
The Girl is invisible.  The Girl is happy.

Once again, the Girl is awake in the middle of the night. She has never been much of a sleeper. But just because She can't sleep, doesn't mean She doesn't want to sleep. She feels jangle-y, a low and steady hum emanating from the Girl herself keeps her awake.

This week has been eventful in an uneventful way. The Dr. hopes that She nicked a nerve rather than a tendon. He put her on steroids to speed nerve regeneration. Not working.

Harley started school this week. Her first lesson? City Bus 101. Harley had never ridden the bus. The Girl didn't own a car until She was 29. Bus riding is something She knows something about. They caught the bus, rode to the University of State (US), found Harley's classes, and then rode the bus to the mall. They hung out with David and then rode back.

Riding the bus brought back memories for the Girl. Some good and some bad. For a very long time the Girl was very poor. Not poor they way She is now (do I see Cher or go to Disney? I can't do both), but genuinely poor (do I eat or pay the utility bill? I can't do both). She spent years right on the edge of desperation and even fell off a time or two. She lived in one room of a huge, old Victorian for years. There were anywhere from 11 to 15 other people living there at any given time. All of them in the same boat.

She had no TV, no phone, no car, no radio. She sold her plasma, volunteered at the dental school to get her teeth cleaned. She once stole a can of tuna and shared it with her cat.

That said, that time in her life was also one of the happiest. When you have nothing you have nothing to loose. She hadn't signed any contracts then , professionally or privately, and so could leave, her job or her lover, when She chose. All of her time was her own. She went to the library. She paid for one movie and snuck into every movie playing that day. She hung out at coffee shops and used book stores. She volunteered at the soup kitchen, because it reminded her that She didn't have it so bad. She visited consignment shops, trying on vintage dresses. She visited various churches, trying on different gods. She overcame her fear of the dark. She made good friends. And let them slip away, because she wasn't holding on to anything. She couldn't afford to.

She does, however, remember one friend. A boy, he had dark, curly hair and wore thick square glasses. He was handsome in a smart, quiet way. He lived in the room next to her in the big house. Most of the time all the conversations there were about food, because it was so scarce. Often one housemate would steal food from another. The Girl would come home to sometime find her food missing and go to bed with nothing to eat. One day this boy (was his name Dave?) received a package from his grandmother. The Girl laid it on his bed when the UPS guy delivered it. She had forgotten all about it when she heard him calling out for anyone who was at home to meet him on the front porch. She, a stripper named Alicia, and a guy the Girl had never seen before sat out on the wide front steps of the house, curious. Out Dave came, carrying a plate heaping with avocados! He passed the plate around and the four of them ate and talked and laughed. It was a beautiful day, hot but not sticky. A breeze whipped around the house to cool them and chase away the flies. Sunlight freckled the steps and their faces after passing through the pear trees in the yard.

That was over 15 years ago and the Girl can still vividly recall that meal and the dark haired boy's act of selflessness.

The Girl is happy. Frightened, but happy. She went to the doctor today and discovered that in her clumsiness, she may have severed a tendon in her left hand. She doesn't need x-rays or orthopedic specialists to tell her this. She knows the back of her hand like...well you know. She will visit said specialist Thursday. He will poke and prod and say, "Well you seem to have severed a tendon." Why does she need people on the outside of her to tell her how her insides are working? Just take her word for it and fix the damn thing!

The doctor was also perplexed by the Girl's unexplained hives. So, the doctor is also sending Her to a immunologist. He will poke and prod and say, "Why you have very sensitive skin which seems to be worsened by stress." She will smile while big red blotches bloom all over her arms and legs. He will send Her to an even more special specialist, who will poke and prod and scratch his head while She scratches hers. The Girl has grown accustomed to the itchy red whelps. They act as an early warning system, telling Her to run away from things which irritate Her. Also, they often serve as her only excuse for escape. What will she tell the irritating if the specialist cures her?

And the doctor gave Her the depressing news that She gained 7 pounds while in New Orleans.

So flustered was She by the doctor's 1,2, 3 whammy, that She had a blank roll of film developed. And She dropped a huge glass lid onto the floor. It shattered with such ferociousness that She found glass on the counter and behind a closed door.

Why then you ask is She happy? 3 reasons.

1. This weekend was Luke's birthday. Everyone went to The Chinese Laundry for dinner. Dinner was good, but the company was better. The next day, Sean and Luke took Her, The Boy, Harley, and David out on their boat. It was such fun. She is so lucky to be a part of her circle of friends. They are funny, smart, and just plain good people. Some times She loves them so much that She hurts when She thinks about it. The Girl cannot imagine a time when they won't all be friends. But She doesn't take anything for granted and savors each and every moment. She tries to be a good friend back. She is truly grateful.

2. The Boy. He loves Her. She trusts Him enough to tell Him that She is afraid. She gets crazy and He stays and rides the crazy out with her. And because she knows He means it, His staying is always enough.

3. She received a fortune cookie at the end of dinner tonight. She ate the cookie. She is very superstitious and believes that your fortune won't come true if you don't eat the cookie before you read the little slip of destiny. She uncrumpled hers: "Today is a good day." What more did She need?