Blast from the Past, 15 Years Back, Part III

The other night, I was flipping through an old (15 years old) journal, and posted pieces of an entry from July 20, 1995. Since I was a great deal more prolific when I was (lonely and) single, without a family to distract me, one 1995 journal entry equals three 2010 blog posts. Here's the gripping conclusion:

I like to underline things I read in books. From 'The Fatigue Artist:' "the Tai Chi teacher says the universe is a great system of vibrations we dras to us by our feelings: fear draws fear, love draws love." Sounds a little like Napoleon Hill. Think and grow rich. I always like new or consistent interpretations of how thing work... just as Nietzsche convinces me there is no god, I say a silent prayer for my plane to stay in the air. In the morning, as I walk to work, Penn Station up Seventh Avenue to 34th, east past Macy's, always past the Empire State Building, then I zigzag around to Park and 51st depending upon red lights, I use this time to think positive thoughts and get the positive energy to start the day right. Sometimes the vibe doesn't last very long... it's hard to work in an office on a sunny summer day. At The Firm I could lose track of the time of the day, day of the week, the seasons... but in the morning, I weave my fantasies about my career. On the way home, I dream about finding a husband to go home to.

"Because of what he showed me, he is mine forever. I can forgive him almost anything."

I can say that about a lot of men, most significantly Johnny Moneybags. Johnny helped me to believe in myself when I needed to most. The night he propositioned my boss' wife pales in comparison.

Also the Spud Stud. The Simple Life. He did a lot of things that hurt me, but he didn't mean to.

Mickey, my Vancouver Sex Slave. The Edge. He showed me how to give in to pleasures that wouldn't last, possibly because he believes that nothing lasts.

Even Curtis the Scuba Dude showed me things that I am grateful for...that I could forget Johnny Moneybags, at least for the moment. That I shouldn't take everything so seriously.

I guess that ties in to Mickey's theory that people who are not as driven and ambitious and intense as we are appear more youthful. But would I call it youthful (desirable) or immature (undesirable)?

On SUnday, thanks to Mickey's inspiration and Ellyn's reminders, I am taking a sailing lesson with Melissa in Atlantic Highlands. I look forward to the adventure, to discovering a new activity that I enjoy for itself, and to the opportunity to meet new people.

"I have no design; I make opportunity my design...I have no friends; I make my mind my friend."

I used to be that kind of a loner, but now I do need friends, I do need love. Someone to confirm that our existence means something. That the path I choose makes a difference (the road not taken would have led to a different, not necessarily better or worse, result, and the sum of these choices matters!)

"This was a juncture when life begged to be lived as art. That way, it could be tolerated." Almost midnight. Time for bed. I will continue tomorrow, in my beautiful new notebook. I have a lot to say.

Blast from the Past, 15 Years Back, Part II

Earlier this evening I was looking through one of my old journals, and happened upon an entry from almost exactly 15 years ago -- July 20, 1995 -- when I was a much different person... single and searching, having just purchased my first home in Somerset, New Jersey, and done some renovations including a deck and a hot tub.

Continued:

So tonight I am out on my deck, hot tub burbling in the background, a single candle burning on my table while I write. Drank an Anchor Steam beer in memory of another time, another love, the Spud Stud. Wonder how he's doing, moved to Fresno now. We've tried to keep in touch, but he doesn't have much use for the telephone.

If I could have anything, what would it be? Love. A soulmate. But wuold i be willing to give up what I have? My career? My home? My intelligence? Not that one is always required to give up one thing to have another, but determining what I'd do for love is one way to place a value on it.

Everything else I have or truly seems within my reach.

When I wonder where people find love, I can only seem to come up with where I won't find it. Not at a bar. Not in a personal ad. Not through my current set of friends, but perhaps through the people I work with. Maybe at the beach. But that TV writer I met on the beach in Pt. Pleasant Beach last Saturday never called.

The bugs are making a lot of noise flying into the floodlights on my deck. At least they seem to be leaving me alone for the most part.

Of course, so do my friends. It often occurs to me that if I stop calling most of my friends, it is entirely possible that I would never hear from them again.

Ellyn, for example. Not that I want to talk to her now that I know how freely she talks behind my back. But I hold onto these high school friendships that I have outgrown... because sometimes they feel like the only ones I have. The ones I must turn to when I need someone to go out with on a weekend, or talk to in any depth about girl stuff. For the most part, they're willing to let me drone on with my mini-dramas. One time Melissa said, correctly I think, that I need to turn every situation into a drama.

Amazing what a new notebook can do for the writer in me. Four pages have been covered in words. "Is there a wordsmith in the house?" That line goes back to my days of wondering about the Slaughtered Lamb, caring about him and drawing intricate parallels between our lives and careers (Eddie Murphy in Trading Places, anyone?) Now he doesn't even bother to return my calls. That would hurt if I let it.

Blast from the Past, 15 Years Back

I happened upon an old journal entry from July 20, 1995, 9:15pm and thought I would share it with all of you:

Sucked in by another clever marketing scheme, I have a new notebook. Not that the old one was full, but, like Nietzsche, I feel compelled to start and stop, not necessarily chronologically, but wherever the mood strikes me. Today I bought three tiny notebooks, probably manufactured by the same people who brought me this one. I bought them... because they were small, with tiny pictures on them... a coffee cup, a butt-naked cupid, and the moon hugging/engulfing the sun. I'd burn incense tonight if I remembered where I keep it.

Finished 'The Fatigue Artist' by Lynne Sharon Schwartz tonight. Knowing it would run out soon, I bought another new hardcover, 'The Romantic Movement' by Alain de Botton, along with my bounty of notebooks, at the Barnes & Noble on 53rd and Third. I love bookstores, have high hopes of meeting my future husband in a bookstore. Hey... you never know. But today, no husband.

Speaking of husbands...

1. Larry is having lunch with Bachelor #1 next Wednesday. Bachelor #1... tall, blonde, 37ish, VP/Development at Client K. Probably gay. I had my hopes up when he agreed to September 9th as our wedding day, but I haven't heard from him since.
2. Bob has stepped into the husband search, possibly to offer up Bachelor #2, net worth $15-$25 million, a partner with financial player Client C.
3. (dare I say it under "speaking of husbands?") I spoke with Johnny Moneybags yesterday. He's free again, must have recently kicked Stewardess out of his townhouse (or moved out just to get away from her?) We're both going to the NAB Radio Show in New Orleans. I still miss the days when we could talk forever about anything. I guess every woman has someone like Johnny Moneybags... in her life, in her past, in her heart. Certainly Erica Jong. In 'Fatigue Artist,' Laura had Q. Ayn Rand would write about men like Francisco & John Galt & Howard Roark... but were her words inspired by a muse she could not tame?

Looking Back (Engagement Rings and Sealing Wax and Other Fancy Stuff)

These days, I have been looking back at my old journals (more than 25 years worth!) for diamonds in the rough to post here on Roxiticus Desperate Housewives. My high school writing is about what I'd expect from a teenager. Since I married Rex and got me one of those diamond rings that many of the girls who attended Syracuse University with me appeared to be majoring in, my writing has taken on a more stable, less exciting quality to be expected. However, after reading some of my writing from college, I am so grossed out by my 18-to-22-year-old self that I can understand why someone might make up a whole other life for themselves and call it a "memoir." If I were to publish my memoirs, I'd just like to leave out a few embarrassing years, say 1984-1990. Not that I did anything to be ashamed of or even that I deeply regret. I just can't stand the writing style, or the large chunks of putrid content about how in love I thought I was with MoneyPenny. Only after we moved into the Nineties and I dumped him did my writing acquire a bit of an edge. Of course, during those dark single years, I started to believe that I only dated to entertain my friends afterwards. Turns out I dated to have something to write about in my Roxiticus Desperate Memoirs!

Before the solitude, my best writing came during the bouts of dissatisfaction that interrupted the embarrassing fawning. Here's a fun little piece from April 1990:

Passover with the in-laws last night was a nightmare. Uncle Sheldon put his fork into the center of the cheesecake to serve his greedy little self. Cousin Howie picked wax out of his ear and talked about his prostate. Fat Bobby suggested that I go into the kitchen and help out. Cousin Meryl brought her baby with the pierced ears. Fat Bonnie whined that I wouldn't get her a job. And MoneyPenny tried to fix the clogged drain in the kitchen sink. He was angry when I asked if we could elope. I can just see his mother accusing me of being selfish about our wedding plans… "I can't believe you have the nerve to think your happiness comes first!"

Today, I find it painful to think of how Memoir Me was fantasizing about a wedding when MoneyPenny hadn't even proposed, never mind shopping for engagement rings.

The other thing I do from time to time is Google the names of old friends and lovers….the first guy who ever French-kissed me is now a faith-healing reverend. MoneyPenny has a boring day job and plays in a band on weekends. Johnny Moneybags moved South, and probably married the Southern type of gal he was seeking back when we were together. One of the almost-blind dates I had (a high-powered investment banker I met on the train) is in jail for securities fraud. Ah, those were the days.

The Late Night Philosopher 1995

April 30, 1995 -- 2:30am:

Revelations seem to come when I stay up late at night. Lately I am haunted every night by an unfounded fear of someone breaking into my house. As Nietzsche would say, “For what?” But when I’m alone at night, I’m not exactly rational. I plan my escape through the window.

I stay up late paying bills, wondering whether a mortgage refinance makes sense after only a year in my new house, or whether to get a home equity loan to pay for the new deck and hot tub I have designed and plan to build/install by Memorial Day. I read Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, change the message on my answering machine to a Kierkegaard quote:
“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never.”

Old SK is certainly more uplifting than Nietzsche. According to the editor’s notes on "The Will to Power," Nietzsche read Ibsen but “never got around to reading Kierkegaard.” Their philosophies, in some ways, are similar; yet, at the same time, they are incongruous. Is that what I mean? I mean, you can’t agree with both of them. Then again, do any of these guys who try to deny existence or values or meaning really mean it? If so, why bother?

On Marie Osmond/Dan Seals’ “Meet Me In Montana”:
When I met Cowboy Tommy, it was a time in my life when I was ready to say “I’ve had all of this life I can handle; meet me underneath that big Montana sky.” The song still makes me cry, but, in essence, it glorifies two people running back to each other for security after giving up their career dreams. I was only ready to do that when my career was in the doldrums. I still ache over not being the right woman for Tommy, but I’m glad I didn’t have the opportunity to give up my career before it started.

Then there’s Steve Wariner singing “A Woman Loves”:
“A woman loves beyond her questions
And dreams beyond her doubts
Her heart will lead and she will follow
Even when there’s no way out
Her eyes refuse to see the danger
As she walks right through the fire
A man may give himself to passion & desire
But a woman loves…”

A fairly positive refrain to a very negative situation where a woman puts up with abuse (cheating, apparently). Is that our destiny, to love a partner who doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worthy? Is it better to have loved a loser, than never to have loved at all?

Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie

A year or so ago, I read a memoir by Margaret Sartor called Miss American Pie about growing up in Montgomery, Alabama in the 70s. I grew up in New Jersey, basically during the same time frame, so I found the memoir intriguing. Given my interest in the blogosphere, her memoir made me wonder how much good diary-style writing, particularly by high schoolers, was going on out there. I explored LiveJournal a bit, but found it lacking. Miss American Pie also got me thinking about resurrecting my old journals from high school. There is something too intimate about publishing my current journals, even on my blog, but how about something dated….if I would no longer get in trouble with my mom and dad for all the details of a freshman year football party?

So here's an excerpt from my Freshman Honors English journal, including responses from my English teacher, Mrs. Bill. Weird to think all of us felt comfortable sharing our innermost thoughts with a thirtysomething English teacher who would one day betray some of my friends' trust as they sought her letter of recommendation to the National Honor Society.

January 1, 1981

Bree: Pat and I are having a terrific party tomorrow night – at Maybelle Fortuna's house. That sounds a little strange but what happened is…

Pat & I were visiting JimmyZee (we were in his "den of sin" watching Loveboat) and he said we should have a party and he would come. We couldn't have the party at my house or Pat's because of our parents (my mother dislikes boys and booze) so we talked Maybelle into having a party at her house. We invited about 10 to 15 football players (including Clone, Spoon, Louchips, ChocolateCake & JimmyZee). Oops! I forgot Animal. Double oops! I forgot OHM – the most important guest! JimmyZee says he and the guys will supply the "beverages." What a merry time we will have! Rikki ran away from home. I can't believe it – I just called her house to see if she could talk and her father told me. I wonder where she went – I knew she had been hanging out with the burnouts lately and was getting kind of crazy but I didn't think she'd do anything that stupid!

Mrs. Bill: Has Rikki returned home yet?

January 4, 1981

Bree: Friday's party was a riot! Ohm, Animal, Spoon and his brother didn't come (JimmyZee forgot to talk to them) but about 20 others did. All kinds of nuts showed up. First JimmyZee, Spider, ChocolateCake, Dennis the Menace and Clone arrived. They brought one bottle of wine.

Mrs. Bill: That won't go very far with that group.

Bree: Maybelle's parents were downstairs so we just sat there staring at each other. Spider walked around saying "Hi! I'm Spider!" to everyone. I gave JimmyZee his birthday present (Underoos) and Dennis the Menace started saying "I want a bra! I want a bra!" Spider asked JimmyZee if he could have the panties to hang on his rear-view mirror "because it would look cool." Finally at about 8:30 Maybelle's parents went upstairs and the guys demolished the bottle of wine (this took about 80 seconds) and I said, "Is that all you brought?" The guys said they were going out to the liquor store to get some other stuff. We figured they weren't coming back because the party was so boring.

At about 8:45, Reed, Louchips, and a bunch of burnouts came along and brought a few cases of beer. They wanted to know where everyone was and we couldn't tell them since we didn't know. Then the other guys came back with various beverages and we had a really wild party.

Some of the interesting moments:

1. JimmyZee put a little statue that said "World's Best Dad" (it belonged to Mr. Fortuna) in the toilet. I went in there and saw it and I said to ChocolateCake, "There's a little man in the toilet!" So ChocolateCake went in and pissed on it and then he said "Now check out your little man!"
   
2. ChocolateCake and JimmyZee hung a rubber filled with water on the Christmas tree as an ornament. Later JimmyZee came up to me and said, "You know that rubber that was hanging on the tree? Well I just threw it at some lady!" I shrieked, "You idiot! That wasn't 'some lady.' THAT WAS MRS. FORTUNA!" That one really cracked everyone up.
   
3. ChocolateCake was making a moat on the rug around me with two bottles of beer so I grabbed a bowl of potato chips and poured them over his head. In return, he winged a bowl of cookies at me. Then came the killer: I whaled him with a chocolate cake. While a group of guys were having beer-spraying fights, ChocolateCake said, "Uh-duh-hey-that-wasn't-very-nice-er-uh" and he went into the bathroom to wash the cake off (I don't know why he bothered – his entire body was already coated with a layer of gook – he and his friends had done vicious things to each other with everything in the kitchen)
   
4. Meat (some guy who plays football for Fairleigh Dickinson University and used to play for our high school last year) put a glass object in his mouth and broke it with his teeth. Then he went into the kitchen (where the floor was torn up because it's being done over) and started to chew on the floor. Some guy from Florida was running around looking for empty cans. When I asked him what he wanted them for he said "Meat is hungry. We have to find some metal for him to eat."
   
5. Then the utter destruction began. Meat bent a brass (or something like it) decoration (which was in the shape of a Christmas tree) into a different shape (around his head). The guy from Florida tore some pictures off the wall and everyone ran out the door. Mrs. Fortuna (who was drunk) heard the dog barking, came down and took the dog for a walk. She came back and the dog crapped on the floor. Suddenly all the guys came back inside and one of them yelled "Did it shit?" and we all cracked up. They started saying "We chased that guy who destroyed everything but we couldn't catch him." They didn't seem to notice that Meat and the guy from Florida were still there. Mrs. Fortuna went upstairs again and more food fights and other general destruction occurred. At about 12:00-12:30 we got everyone out of the house. Then Mr. and Mrs. F (both drunk) came down and saw the mess which we were trying to clean up. In the end, there were 2 garbage cans full of beer bottles, wine bottles, and other "beverages." Mrs. F started crying and Mr. F. started screaming (That guy is 6'+ and no joy when he's mad). Finally we managed to get everything cleaned up pretty decently. Then Mrs. F opened the refrigerator and saw and empty 6 of beer bottles and she started laughing her head off. Everything turned out OK except Donna can't have any more parties for the rest of the time she lives with her parents and a few things (an artificial Christmas tree among them) were destroyed beyond repair.
   

Mrs. Bill: I find it sad most of all. Those guys are animals that they would have no regard for others & just leave all the mess.

Bree: Other than the party, I haven't done anything very exciting lately. I don't want to go back to school yet – I'm not ready for it. I hope ChocolateCake doesn't get me with mashed potatoes in the cafeteria. But then, I doubt if he'll remember anything that happened.

DISCO IS LIKE A FAN: IT BLOWS
TURN IT OVER, IT SUCKS
GET INTO IT, IT BITES!
HMM…

Mrs. Bill: I don't get it. I get the sex & the fan but not the disco part

Bree: Clone doesn't think he's a clone of Spoon – he thinks he's a Clone of Jim Morrison of the Doors. But when I tried to tell him he doesn't look anything like Jim, he wouldn't believe me. Oh well.

January 7, 1981

Bree: How do I hate English? Let me count the ways

1. In January
   
2. When you give stupid assignments that God couldn't finish in a week and want them done in 2 days Mrs. Bill: I wasn't asking God to do it
3. Whenever I think about exams
4. While reading "Lord of the Flies"
5. When it snows and school is closed and I can't get to the library to work on my assignments
6. When English work interferes with Abusement Society basketball games
7. When English interferes with phone calls
8. When I don't get any sleep because I'm worrying about work I haven't finished
9. When I should be doing my Animal Farm composition but instead I'm writing down reasons for hating English
10. When I can't think of anything better to do
    

Mrs. Bill: English is a great excuse

January 11, 1981

Bree: I despise George Orwell and "Animal Farm." When I first read the book on my own in 8^th grade I thought it was terrific. Now I feel like making vulgar noises when I think about the book. Maybe I'm a Benjamin…

Mrs. Bill: Maybe you are

Bree: SCHOOL SUCKS!

These had better not be the best years of my life or I'm in trouble. Why do people tell me that they are?

Mrs. Bill: They were the worst years of my life.

Bree: Today I went to see Chevy Chase in "Seems Like Old Times." The movie was OK, but "Foul Play" was better. Chevy should have had a bigger part. Hmm…

BigBee turns me off

Mrs. Bill: GOOD!

Bree: Spoon is a horny sex maniac. Stradlater.
Clone makes me retch.
ChocolateCake won't go out with a girl unless she sleeps with him.
Lips is bothering me.
Spider is cute but boring and lost.

Mrs. Bill: I think he is lost in a lot of ways.

Bree: JimmyZee uses girls.
Boys are a pain in the ass.

Mrs. Bill: Only when you turn your back to them.

January 13, 1981

Bree: I haven't written much in the last few weeks… hmm…

One of my buddies from WBRW got a job at WPST – now I know 2 of their DJ's. However, WPLJ is still better than WPST.
Blah! I should record that noise.
JIMMYZEE IS A CARRIER OF DISEASE!
I think I'm going to barf. Maybe I should go to Barfers in the Flemington Mall.
DO YOU COOK YOUR LOCUSTS BEFORE YOU EAT THEM? (IF LUCAS KNEW I WROTE THAT HE WOULD BE UPSET BECAUSE HE CALLS IT "HIS LINE." WHOA! EXCITEMENT, THRILLS, AND A HEADACHE & SORE THROAT TOO).

Mrs. Bill: No I just dip them in hot sauce

Bree: Sorry to hear about your accident – hope you're feeling better since the day you were like a zombie (as Mrs. Chiflada would say).

Mrs. Bill: Thanks for caring at all.

That afternoon I got an eviction notice from my landlord. What a horrible day!

January 14, 1981

Bree: Spoon is not a nice boy. He threw a pencil at me because I yelled "HOOTER" at him.
BLAH!
I hate going to English. It would be better if I sat next to Pat. Ken is NOT my special friend.

Mrs. Bill: You can cut and take 7 points instead.

Bree: Double N is #1
Whoa!
I'm living on JEWELS power!

Mrs. Bill: Will this be explained next week?

January 17, 1981

Bree: I SAY WHIP IT!!! Whip it good…

I have no idea what Ray's last name is. The other day he walked up to me and said, "When are you going to meet me?" I said "WHAT??!!" and Ray said, "You said you'd meet me somewhere… SOON!" and I got really grossed out. I said, "RIGHT! Then why can't I remember saying it?" and Ray went away. Blah!

Lucas is behaving very strangely lately. He used to eat lunch (I don't really mean eat – no one in their right mind EATS the nuclear waste they serve in the cafeteria) with us, but now he goes to the library instead. Well, that's his problem.

Mrs. Bill: Maybe he needs a break from you as well as the food

Bree: Rikki hasn't come back yet and I don't think she's going to. Apparently she's having a really good time, but maybe she'll be back when the money gets tight… I sure hope so, anyway.

The rug in Maybelle's house is not in very good shape, but it is going to be torn out (I think) because they're redecorating their house.

I can't say that I'm very impressed with Meat's glass-breaking talent. Perhaps if he had a talent for cleaning up broken glass I would find him acceptable.

Mrs. Bill: That's not a talent – that's just basic consideration.

Bree: For a rather interesting reason, Coach's girlfriends and the football players call him "JEWELS." (Can you guess the reason they call him that) I wonder if his wife calls him that too.

Mrs. Bill: YES! I doubt it. But the two of them are perfect for each other.

Bree: I went to the basketball game yesterday even though the doctor said I shouldn't leave the house all weekend. I supposedly have the flu but I don't feel sick at all. On Thursday I fainted in the morning & I was really sick so I went to see the doctor (she was an absolute & total idiot), who examined me and said she thought I was coming down with the flu. She told me to stay in bed all weekend.

Now the problem is: I DO NOT stay in bed for 4 days (Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday) unless I feel sick and after I slept for a few hours on Thursday (I was just getting out of bed when you called and I still felt kind of sleepy so I could only say "uh")

Mrs. Bill: I can't even stay in bed for 4 days if I'm sick. I go crazy.
I found you very eloquent.

Bree: I felt really good. So I said, "Forget that idiotic doctor, I'm going to the game." And I'm glad I went, because I still feel fine (despite my parents telling me I would get even sicker). I saw my good buddy Lips and his friends from Cross Country Cable. I knew one of the guys there because I slammed a car door on his friend's leg after the Hellsborough football game when they guy said he was glad they won. I must have really hurt the other guy's leg (ha ha) because he wasn't at the game – aw, too bad.

Mrs. Bill: I remember you telling that one.

Bree: During the Freshman game Spider (lost as usual) popped in to talk to us. I heard a thud behind me & I turned around. There was Spider (looking like a spider) and I was so surprised I screamed (I hope no one noticed). Then I told Pat to turn around and she said she didn't have time (we were doing stats). Then Pat said, "What happened to Spider?" (he had been sitting across the court from us) and I said, "If you're going to ask that question, turn around!" and Pat says, "But I haven't got time!" Finally she got a chance to look back and she saw Spider and she screamed. The poor guy must think he's really repulsive or something because everyone (well 2 of us anyway) screams when they see him.

Mrs. Bill: You'll give him a complex if he doesn't have one already.

Bree: Then we had a really thrilling discussion with Spider. He seems to be under the impression that he got high with you sometime. IS THIS TRUE???

Mrs. Bill: Not that I recollect. High in what way – on what? I've been on lots of natural highs & even some alcoholic highs at cast parties after the plays if he was at one of those.

Bree: I kind of doubted it because he didn't seem to remember too much about anything. Pat said something about him being lost and he kind of acted queerly (not gay, just queer). He looked like a balloon that was being slowly deflated (BLAH!) and he made some rather odd faces. I asked Spider, "Are you on drugs?" and he said, "no" and so I said, "Then how did you get high." He said "Alcohol and pot are just stimulants." What a kook!

January 20, 1981

Bree: Basketball today… freshmen won. Whoa!

I feel myself becoming shallow. I'm starting to escape from my vacuum and it's not a good sign. Stupid things are important to me. I have to get away – what I need is a long vacation away from the world. However, I have not yet found the travel agent who can arrange it.

Mrs. Bill: Why is a vacuum good – it's artificial.

Bree: The hostages have been released from Iran. Is there something wrong with me – I seem to be the only one around who isn't excited about it.

Mrs. Bill: I'm not excited, merely relieved

Bree: I'm glad they are back but it seems to me that there are people in worse shape than the hostages who no one cares about. It seems sort of ridiculous to worry about 50 people when so many more are dying every day, but I guess it's just some kind of political principle.

Mrs. Bill: Yes or lack of it I'm afraid.

Bree: As Golding might say, PEOPLE ARE BAD.
But not all of them.

Mrs. Bill: Or not all the time just most of the time

First Post -- Roxiticus Memoirs

I'm trying to do a little bit of bloginization over on my primary site, Roxiticus Desperate Housewives. My new blog, Roxiticus Memoirs, will give my public diary, including old high school journals, a space and a blog of its own.