Be Safe - Be Well

Such small words. But such big meaning.

"Be safe." I say it almost like "I love you." And so do many of my friends. Whether driving home from work, or going on a long trip. Very effective, you have to admit. And it gives you that little extra feeling of "safeness". You wanting me to be safe will help me be so.

I had a therapist (just for a few weeks - not crazy - just getting uncrazy). He had a good version - "Be well." I love it. It soothed me everytime he delivered it. Because really, is there much else to ask for? To be well equals happy, safe, content, comfortable - everything well entails.

So to you all -- Be Well.

He Deserves It

I've never given my brother-in-law credit. We have some tension between us. Had a lot at the beginning. Over the years, I think we've earned a lot of mutual respect, and learned how to deal with each other, and learned that our brains connect, and learn that there is more than verbal communication.

I think he thought our family was 'the elite'. And 'rich'. He was soooo far from the truth. We just barely squeeked up on middle class. We were lucky to live in the subdivision we did, in the school district we did, amongst the peers we did, in the church we did...Basically, we were lucky. He wasn't as much.

I'm pretty sure there were trailers. And no jobs. And way more squeeking to get by than we did. And parents who cared a lot less. Not saying he had nothing. But we had more - Thank God.

But this guy has pulled himself out of the trenches. He really has. He is a commercial loan officer at a major branch of a major bank. He wears suits to work every day my friend...Can't say many of the rest of us can say that.

And he takes good care of my sister.

And he takes great care of my nieces.

Tonight they were at gym and swim at the Y.

My main point is. I called tonight to find out when we're celebrating niece, H's, "pretend birthday". We're doing that the 23rd. The 24th H is heading down to spend a week with said grandparents in trailers above. That tells you the improvement. And the improvement is mainly due to him. He now controls their finances. Pays the rent. Etc. So his kid can spend time with his mom. Doesn't suck? Yeah?

I could ask for much worse relatives. Yeah - I love him.

A Million Little Pieces -- OF CRAP

I couldn't take a hiatus forever you know. Surely you expected me back with something to say.

So, yes. I admit. I fell prey to the facade that is James Frey and his 'autobiographical' novel A Million Little Pieces. Ok - I admit it. I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker and every single word.

I even work in the travel industry and know the ins and outs. Yet - I chose to believe that there might just be a gate agent in this universe that would board a vomit and urine soaked, alcohol reeking passenger missing his front teeth. I've seen people denied boarding for feint alcohol breath. Why I fell for that theatric? I have no idea.

The root canal with no Novacaine should have also been a clue. Root canals WITH Novacaine sucks ass. Without? I would imagine might induce shock and death.

But --- I gave the first novel a break. Ok - The guy was an addict and he embellished a bit to get the readership he needed to convince that a life of an addict isn't a life. I'm ok with a certain amount of suspension of disbelief for that cause.

But now, I'm reading the second installment. "My Friend Leonard".

Somehow, I'm supposed to be surprised that the Mafioso that was obsessed with the young druggie had completely benovelent intentions. Not that love is a bad intention. And not that there is anything wrong with being gay. But is anyone really surprised that this is the outcome? Didn't we see it coming midway in the first novel?

But THE most retarded thing in the entire book? The dude wants a 'puppy'. So he heads off to the Latin section of Las Angeles to buy a pitbull puppy from the litter called the "Son of Cholo" - Cholo being an "undefeated campeon" - who weighs 50 lbs at 6 months and the maroon is then surprised when the full grown dog is somewhat incontrollable and wants to bite (read - rip the jugular out of) his other dog. And he's surprised by this. Hello? Is there a Mr. Du-MASS in the house??? PIT BULL. They're killers. It is what they do. Their daddy was named Cholo - Which in the vernacular means a Hispanic Meanass Thug. And Cholos was an undefeated champion. Champion at what did you think? Big poops? Um NO -- Biting other dogs' ASS!

Oh - And he's also pissed when his two DJ Rapper roommates have thug parties into the wee hours and he can't sleep. Whooda seen that coming?

The entire novel is one big whine-fest. He's brought teen angst right up to the treshold of adulthood. And, I'm afraid, beyond.

Whaaa - My parents were rich. Whaaaaaaaaa - They didn't pay attention to me. Whaaaaaa - They sent me to a good school. Whaaaaaaaaa- I could afford alcohol and dope and crack and you name it. Whaaaaaa - I got a few DUIs. Whaaaaa - I went to jail. Whaaaaaaa - Rehab. Whaaaaaaaa - A rich, gay Mafioso friend who made me into a millionaire for a couple of years. Whaaaaaaaa - REAL LIFE. Then -- Whaaaaaaaaaa...Two NY Times Best Sellers that people bought even though they knew it was crap.

Me included. Yes -- There IS a Ms. Du-MASS in the house.