Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Well. I have written about 8 blogs in my head. about kids. the holidays. relationships. expectations both met and failed. excitement. and disappointment. December is an emotional month for me. 10 years ago this month, Steve and I decided to take a break and see where it would lead us. 10 years later we are good friends, good solid parenting partners. But I miss being a traditional family and I miss being a wife. I never thought I'd say that.

But. Since I don't really have the time to write, I'm going to post my favorite, well most of my favorite pictures from 2011.

Happy Holidays.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Tom Henry.

A link to my column in the News Sentinel:

Please follow the link to support that effort. Below is the original piece. 

Heres the thing about politics. I’ll never feel like I have all the information I need to make an informed decision. Regardless of the 8000 websites out there, despite my die hard politico friends who follow these things with eagle eyes, I always feel that I’m going with my gut.

When it comes to local politics, you can throw in at least a handful of variables. For many years, I voted based on pretty basic criteria: if you were a democrat: I voted for you. If you were female: I voted for you. If you didn’t litter my earth with political signs, I voted for you. And if you seemed like someone I could be neighbors with, well, I’d vote for you.

Some years, I didn’t vote at all. I didn’t even really know what I wanted out of my Mayor to be honest. I remember as a kid, Harvester pulled out of FW and this caused quite the  uproar from the lower middle class adults in my midst.  I remember downtown fort waynes death. I handn’t heard the word urban sprawl until I was in my 30’s and by then it was too late, it had already happened to our town. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I started to understand that the Mayors job was to help our city grow, and what the long term affects can be. That being said, at the ripe age of 41 my method for picking who I’m voting for hasn’t changed all that much, but what has changed is I know a lot more people now. And people, this is a pretty small town.

A few years ago you might remember this little race between Matt Kelty and Tom Henry. This was the first Mayoral race where I knew both parties, to a certain extent personally. I was friends with someone who literally WAS Matt Keltys neighbor. And to their telling, he was, well, not a friendly neighbor. I had met him a few times socially, and he was charming and nice and we engaged in friendly political banter. In all, he came off as not a bad guy, but my gut said, “NO WAY”.

Then Tom Henry stepped into the ring. And this is where it got interesting, because I used to clean Tom Henry’s toilet. And you can’t clean someone’s toilet without getting to know a little something about that person.

A few years prior to this race, I was a stay at home mom who had just left her husband of 11 years and didn’t have a job. Or degree. But I knew how to clean so I started cleaning houses to keep food on the table. Somehow, through a friend of a friend, Cindy Henry hired me to come in twice a month and clean her home. You learn a lot about people when you clean their home. Any house keeper will tell you, there aren’t many secrets you can keep. And I have to be honest, I fell a little in love with the Henrys. Now, they are any other typical family. At the time both of their children were still living at home and they had their typical struggles with teens. But there was a love in that family you could feel when you walked in the door. In the little notes left to each other, reminders of things to do, or places gone to.

As a housekeeper, you come to appreciate a good hard working family. They pick up before you come clean their home. Sure, they may leave a bit of detritus of family life. But they don’t hog out the place and leave you a complete wreck to deal with.  Cindy always left me a nice note, and never forgot to leave my check. The Henry’s knew my situation and Cindy offered me an additional job at the restaurant, even though I could only work every other weekend. And I’ll be honest, I was not good. Every night after my shift, Tom would walk me out to my car, making sure I was safe before I left for the night. I remember at the time thinking what a nice thing that was. I had worked for the Henry’s for about 5 months when Christmas came. This was my first Christmas as a single parent and it was a very difficult and sad time for me. I was also really struggling financially. The day prior to the holidays when I came to clean, Tom and Cindy had left me a present. And it was a nice present. Something they went out and picked out just for me. I literally sat on their living-room floor in front of their tree and wept. Touched by their thoughtfulness.

I eventually had to get full time employment, my wealthy families were too erratic both in scheduling and pay. I simply had to have a consistent flow of income. That was the last I saw of the Henry’s.

So when the election came around it was a no brainer for me to vote for Tom. I saw how he treated his family. I knew how he treated those who worked for him. He was someone I wanted to be neighbors with.

So here we are again, gearing up for another election. And a lot of my friends are voting for Paula Hughes. I think a lot of them are voting for her because she is a woman. I think some of them are voting for her because shes a republican. Some of them are voting for her because they would like to be her neighbor.

But I’m not. I’m pretty happy with what Mayor Henry has done these last two years.  I see room for improvement and I do have some gripes. The money paid to out of town companies when that work should go to local companies, I have a huge issue with that. Websites, video production, this whole social media fiasco . . . I question where some of our dollars are going. I really, really hope those issues get addressed. I hope he learned some things in the first two years that will help him move forward efficiently and productively.

I don’t like the way the current campaign is being conducted; I’d run it differently. I hate stooping to the other sides level in the mud slinging.  Finally, please, please candidates, please quit sending me 18 fliers a week. I got the first one. I’m good.

At the end of the day, he’s a good guy. Who loves this town and loves the people in it.  I know he thinks about, and tries to help the people who live like I do. Who appreciates working hard, and appreciates hard workers.  I know its genuine. Because the true character of a person shines, when no one is really watching.  And that I’ve seen for myself.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

by request:

when i first found you, i hated you.
only big league chew could make you tolerable.
bubble gum and beer and cigarettes.
ah youth.

you helped me through bad dates
school dances
second period.

you helped me fail out of college
cheers my marriage
drink with the neighbors.

then i discovered goooood beer.
and i fell in love.
with stouts and porters, hefes and Belgiums. dopplebocks, ipas, wheats and black lagers.
we travel to find you, pour you into special glasses, treasure your body, your flavor your smell.
rarely do you disappoint.

i love you.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011


This also appeared in the online version of The News Sentinel. The link above should take you there.

For the last 10 years or so I’ve watched our country through its trials and tribulations and thought “what happened to protestors?”. As a child growing up in the 70’s I saw the tail end of the war protests. I knew the chant ‘hell no we wont go” and “give peace a chance” I was young enough to hear my mother talk about Gloria Steinem and the burning of bras. I saw women rise up and demand to be paid fairly. My mom took me to see Norma Rae in theatres. I sang 9 to 5 in my bedroom. I knew I could do whatever I wanted when I grew up.
I knew who Dr. King was and found it unfathomable that just a short time before I was born there was still legal segregation. I was ASTOUNDED that my best friend in 5th grade wouldn’t have attended my SCHOOL just 20 years prior to my birth!
And since then, we’ve been pretty quiet. Every weekend a handful of people stand on our local courthouse lawn with their anti war signs, and I honk. And I wonder, why don’t we care anymore?
There are a lot of opinions about whats going on with our country. Its hard to disseminate the facts. With the demise of the fair and balanced act, its hard to even trust what is being reported. Who is our enemy? The 1%? Ourselves? Depends who you ask. People say, we need to quit being bi-partisan. We need to quit fighting each other. Yes, yes we do. But when the “enemy” is so vague, how do we even have a voice?

And that’s why I’m ok with the Occupy protests. I may agree with a lot of these people. I may disagree with a lot of them. Some of them might be lazy slackers with too much time. But I believe a lot of them are just like me. Tired. Frustrated. Confused. Angry.  And tired of being QUIET. Tired of not having a voice. I don’t have money to lobby for what I want. But I have a voice. And maybe I haven’t used it often enough, or in the right venues and maybe no one will listen to me.

The Occupy movement is admittedly chaotic at best. But I’m happy to see people standing up and saying you know what? We are pissed. We want change. We may not exactly know HOW to change it, but damn it people, pay attention to us. And I hope some leaders emerge. With out Dr. King, the civil rights movement may have floundered, without a rational, passionate, articulate voice at the forefront.

A year ago this month, I attened the Rally for Sanity in Washington DC. Over a weekend I drove to Washington and stood at our Nations Capital with hundreds of thousands of other people who are TIRED. This is not a nation of people who are willing to sit back any longer. We want a productive, prosperous country back. We want choices and jobs and food on our tables. And we want someone to lead us to a solution. Until we can get our government to work TOGETHER it wont happen.

I don’t know if the occupy moment will bring change. It may bring a bunch of wacko’s out of the woodwork, even a local parade does THAT. But maybe it will remind us that we are a nation of people who can, and have, risen up and made change happen. Who have shifted the status quo and impacted future generations.

No matter what you believe, stand up. Be heard. Have a voice. We have been silent, ALL OF US. For too long.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011


When I was 16 I walked into a classroom to deliver a note to a teacher and in the middle of the room was the cutest blond boy with an ear to ear grin. Story has it he told his buddy he was going to go out with me. I wasnt so sure about that.

He was a rough kid with a mile long strut and a chip on his shoulder bigger than mine. I wasnt in the mood to settle down but I kept hearing what a nice guy he was. Over the summer we talked a little and for awhile he took off to Florida with a buddy. He left me a note that I never got and would always regret not getting.

That fall at a football game he came over to talk to me.  I started spending time at his house and next thing you know, he's mine.

And we got very serious very fast. He told me stories of his mother and father and their crazy life. He didnt come from a great home, but I loved being there. Its been 20 years but my main memory is laying in bed talking and cuddling and pondering our future. We were going to get married and run away. We had it all planned out. For my birthday that spring he baked me a cake and bought me a ring. A few months later we hit the bricks. He was unsure about where he was. He thought he might still have feelings for his ex girlfriend and here I was with my first broken heart. We spent the next year and a half on and off. Fighting and making up.  It was sometimes really ugly.

It was sometimes so sweet it would break your heart.

We'd be apart and he'd call me and cry. We'd get back together and be great, then jealousy and anger and all sorts of teenage angst would kick in and we'd be scrapping again. We were young. We were stupid. We were angry and we drank too much.

But he'd come see me, with that crooked grin and i'd fall all over again.

He kinda moved on, and so did i. I got my own apartment and he'd come see me there and it would be like "the old days". But it wasnt. Too much had changed. He was still in school and we had drifted apart. the last time I saw him it was christmas time, he had a girlfriend but I went over anyway. We didnt part on the best terms. I never saw him again.

Not too long after that I was married. I had heard here and there that he was having serious issues with his mom. Schizophrenic. I tried tracking him down. I got his number but I was never able to reach him. I kept thinking surely I'd run into him soon, see how he was. I missed him. I just couldnt seem to find him.

On this date, 20 years ago in the evening after work I got a call from my best friends mom. She was the one who told me Statton had been killed. I can clearly picture where i was. What I said. What I did. the next week was a fog. I went to the Branning house to be with the boys of my youth. I went to the funeral. I remember thinking, its not supposed to be this way. We were supposed to run off and be married and live happily ever after. And I feel like a stranger with all these people I didnt know crying and acting like they knew him.

and they did.

but not the statton i knew. before he was "skrinny".

When he was just a boy. and i was just a girl. Two lost kid with big dreams and big hearts and cheesey grins on our faces.

after his death his friends were kind enough to give me back all the letters I had written him, that he had saved. I put them in the basement with all the ones he had written me. They are still there. I still wear his packers shirt from his freshman year of hs. Its so thin you can see through it, but it comforts me.

I cried every single day for a year after his death. In the shower so my husband wouldnt hear me. I dreamt of him for years. years. i dreamt of trying to find him. And then one day in my dream he showed up. and he was fine.

i miss him. im sad that i didnt see what he was going to do. who he would be as a man. because i think he was going to move past his family history, and be great.

there are a lot of people today, who miss him. his best friends. his circle of friends who knew him after i did. the girl who took my place once we finally quit trying to be something. his little sister . . . .

nothing makes today better. and 20 years marks that turning point where he has been gone for as long as he lived. and somehow it feels more wrong than usual.

Statton babe, we all miss you. We love you. You are not forgotten.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


most of my blogs tackle the deep brain stuff in heathers world, so this will be a nice change of pace.  i'm going to talk about football. before i go into the preface, i'll tell you why i'm writing about this. Elbert Starks. Elbert and I go back to freshman year biology class, he was best friends with the best pair of buns in the class and we stayed friends even when my obsession with those buns subsided. Elbert is a professional writer and had a strong sports focus for many years and spends a fair amount of time commenting on sports on his facebook. I'm writing about sports from a completely different perspective, but this post, is for Elbert. (that sounded like a preface, but it was a preface to the preface).

preface: i started watching sports 4 years ago. this is my 4th season as a football fan. i grew up in a hippy dippy liberal household. my dad played acoustic guitar in bars. he was an avid participant in all forms of theatre. sports were so . . base.  there is nothing cultured about sports. my ex husband was into music and history and pbs. sure sometimes he'd put a game on, but i can count on one hand in 12 years together that we watched football. i had a scathing view of sports. in kids sports the parents and coaches pushed the kids too hard. the screaming and yelling and demand to win. i didn't want that for my children. at the college level sports were more important than an education. awful! and you really didnt want to get me started on professional sports with their bloated egos, inflated salaries and their inexcusable behavior both on and off the field, court, rink  . . .. . and so i spent the first couple decades of my life being proudly highbrow, anti sports, looking down my nose at your team colors and dreading football season and your incessant posting about your team. and i guarantee you know someone who is  JUST like that ....

so i met my current partner and he was an avid sports fan. and i made it pretty damn clear he had a choice to make. sports, or me. well i won of course because you know, we found other ways to occupy our time and life was good. a year into our relationship i was feeling bad about this massive cut he had made in his life, and while it didnt seem to bother him to not be watching football, one rainy sunday i put the game on for him and settled into nap time. about 1.5 hours later chris is snoring away and i'm laying there yelling at the tv. VERY QUIETLY. uh oh. i'm not only paying attention, i'm actually enjoying this....

i spent my first season in denial but chris loved telling his family i was a newly hatched football fan. year two chris's dad bought me my first (and only) piece of official NFL merchandise, my Colts sweatshirt... i was conflicted. on one hand, i was really enjoying this. on the other, i was mortified. i was one of THOSE people. because its my nature, i really had to take a hard look at this thing and figure it out. what was it that really captured me? and i'll be honest. it was Peyton Manning. once i had a better understanding of the game, i started to really grasp what captivated me about Peyton. watching him quarterback was like a ballet of movement. it was orchestrated and executed as delicately and exactly as a prima ballerina. now i know right now, some of you are slack jawed. but i'm telling you, the man is amazing. as i continued to understand the game, the plays, i became even more enthralled with the colts. yes, i was a "fan" because they are my home team. but watching how they conducted themselves on the field is what made me fall in love. they dont showboat. they dont send their hands high thanking god for their touchdown. they are paid to do a job, and they do it. i started to build a healthy respect for the coaching, the players and even the fans.

soon i was watching more than just the colts games. and i developed what some would call a complicated system for which teams i rooted for. i'm always going to root for the underdog. whoever is most likely to not win the game is going to be the first person i cheered for. i spent a lot of time cheering on the lions, the bills, the browns. i cheered on the steelers because some of my good friends are fans and i wanted them to be happy. the packers have a soft spot in my heart. they were Statttons team. i still have his packers shirt and wear it often. i'll always have a love for the green and yellow. there were teams i rooted against for sometimes good reasons and sometimes just because i'm heather. i'll always root against the broncos. i worked with a couple a few years back and he was a big broncos fan. and i loathed him (yes, you davin). i'm also not a huge fan of tim tebow so it works out well (tho i did watch his story and i'd like him if he and his mother hadn't done that abysmal anti abortion ad, but that is another blog). I never liked the eagles, but once they brought Mike Vick in I had to go extreme in my hatred. I can not root on a human who treated animals that way. and yes, i know all the horrible things other players have allegedly done, but he did do it and if you have any compassion in your soul you will relish watching him get his clocked cleaned week after week till that wussy leaves the game. (sorry elbert)
I'll always root against the patriots because tom brady cheated on his wife with a supermodel. so tacky. I dont like Drew Brees and I dont know why, he just annoys me. and i hate black and gold so they are always on my cheer against roster. Last on my root against list are the bears. mostly because i cant stand when people say "da bears" and i dont like blue and orange and jay cutler is a BABY. (sorry jen, i know you love them) however, if the bears play any of the above teams then i root for the bears.

so once i've rooted for the underdog, rooted against the teams i dont like, sometimes we are simply down to little things. like i loved the chargers because of darren sproles, but now he's with the eagles . . . i prefer the chargers colors to say, the falcons so the last resort is going by colors i like, or nostalgia factor (dolphins). (tho with the way the dolphins are playing this year they are going to get sympathy cheering).

now. the MAIN thing i wanted to address here (and yes, i got a little side tracked) is the whole FAN thing. see, for those of you who dont follow football, peyton is out this season. in fact, i'm not sure we will see peyton play qb again. and i guess there is this whole band wagon factor that people get pissy about. because the colts havent always been here, it took awhile for them to develop a fan base. this seemed to happen once they became GOOD. i guess fans wanted to cheer on a WINNING team. crazy huh? so people defected from other teams and became colts fans and were thus referred to as "band wagon" ers. now that they are having, what looks to be a challenging season, some people are assuming that colts fans will, you know, not be colts fans. now this may be true of some people. by nature americans are finicky and their need for instant gratification is pretty high. but i think a true fan, will always be a true fan. for the love of the team and the sport. i may have fallen in love with the colts because of peyton, but i'm not a colts fan just because of him. as long as they continue to play with integrity, act appropriately on and off the filed (mcafees drunken swim in broadripple not withstanding . . .) i'll support them 110%. above any other team, even the pretty green and yellow. : )

so go on about jumping on and off the band wagon. dis the colts all you want this season. (tho i think we held our own pretty well against the steelers. FREENY CRAZY!).  i can sit back and (mostly) laugh at you. or with you. in the end people. its just a game. its a little pig skin ball being thrown back and forth by a bunch of dudes who make more than you and i will ever see. but i do have a healthy respect for the art of the game now. and i'll continue to enjoy watching it, for whatever team is playing that hour that through my complicated system, im cheering for. and finally. Go Colts! :)

Friday, September 23, 2011


so. i decided when i received this new camera that i would slow down, and when something caught my eye that i wanted to take a picture of, i would. so last night i'm driving from KCs football game in napanee back to north webster and randomly there is this freaking rainbow. i say randomly because there had been no rain . . . anyway, so i find a place to pull over (this is tricky because its mostly corn fields, and the corn was too high to shoot over) so i find a place and low and behold i have in front of me a golden field, a barn, a country house and a PICK UP TRUCK. nothing says indiana like all that! and the rainbow of course. so i have the camera in the back hatch of chriss car that im driving so i go around to the back and get the camera out. as im doing this i'm thinking, please dont let some wacked out meth head find me and kill me out here. i have a deep seated fear of the country. growing up a city girl you get me out there and i'm one step away from a full fledged panic attack. low and behold a car is coming down this deserted country road and being the good city girl i am i pretend to ignore it, line up my shot and keep one eye on the mother. the car slows and my heart picks up a beat. then i notice its a cop and my heart picks up another beat. because if anything scares me more than the country, its a cop. especially a country cop. so here i am. standing behind a VW rabbit, Nikon camera in my hand with dereks $1000 long lens, black leather boots, black leather jacket and a bad attitude. conflicting image im sure. so the cop ever so cautiously and slowly exits his vehicle and i pin him down with my best "im not a meth head, dont rush me, and you better stay where you are" stare and say "do we have a problem?" (now, this goes against everything chris has tried to teach me about how to talk to a police officer. for some reason the whole sir, officer, bs goes right out my head) . . 
officers replies "what are you doing?"
me (looks at camera and back at him) "taking a picture"
officer "do you have a flat? are you broke down?"
me: no. i'm taking a picture. (holds camera up) of that rainbow.
officer: oh. so you dont need any help?
me: nope. i'm good.
(at this point i'm really resisting the urge to add "i just thought it would give me something to do while my batch cooks on my dash, the fumes were KILLING me!")
officer: ok then. well i hope your picture comes out ok.
he seems confused.

me" well. thanks for stopping"

off he goes. it was was bizarre. i snapped a few shots and got the hell outta there. the country is creepy. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011


bessie is my car. and this post is about bessie.
now i know i'm one of those people, who gets attached to inanimate objects. a trait i've very obviously passed on to my children (yeah, you should see the number of rubbermaid storage bins in my basement), but yesterday, i was able to justify why i'm so attached to this car. this is the story of bessie.

on a humid 90+ degree saturday in July of 2000 i woke up and decided it was time to buy a "new" car. what makes this noteworthy is i was 7 months pregnant with my third child. now after you hear this next bit, you will wonder how i could have ever ended up divorcing a saint such as Steve. because when i informed him he needed to load up the two kids into our van, and that we were going to Kelly's to trade it in all he said was ok. now I saw the look in his eye. the one that says "i dont know why you are doing this, and i want to ask you. but i fear you and those pregnancy hormones so i'm going to just do what you say but so you know, i do think you have lost your mind". yes, his eyes said that. so i did what any sane pregnant woman does. i scream (while crying) "I'M 30 FUCKING YEARS OLD DRIVNG A FOREST GREEN PONTIAC TRANSPORT THAT LOOKS LIKE A SPACESHIP MATED WITH A BOX AND I'M NOT DOING IT ANY MORE!"
so 5 hours, 1 new loan, 2 sobbing sweaty hungry children later: mommy has a 2 door purple pontiac grand sport and the children's beloved van stays behind at Kellys. (it took years for them to forgive me for parting with that van). this is how bessie came to me.

6 months after the birth of child three, we added a third vehicle to our garage. a 1997 Mercury Villager mini van.

i did not give up bessie. at the time i was selling pampered chef to bring income into the household and i used bessie to travel to my shows.  bessie and i rocked out to ballads of love on those sometimes long drives home. bessie and i blasted barney songs while driving the kids to preschool. bessie got left behind when we went on our last family vacation. the mini van was required for that long trek to the coast, and when we got back, things had changed.

 the nostalgic songs of love became cries. 

once upon a time i was falling in love, 
now i'm only falling apart, 
theres nothing i can do, 
a total eclipse of the heart .  . . .

I found you standing there
When I was seventeen
Now I'm thirty-two
And I can't remember what I'd seen in you
I made a promise
Said it everyday
Now I'm reading romance novels
And I'm dreaming of yesterday 

The songs got angrier.

No matter how hard I try
You’re never satisfied
This is not a home
I think I’m better off alone
You always disappear
Even when you’re here
This is not my home
I think I’m better off alone

fast forward a few months and bessie, the kids and i are on our own. im driving down highway 30 in new haven, having just dropped off my bankruptcy papers. i'm losing my house. my husband lives in an apartment and i'm having an anxiety attack so bad i have to pull off the road. i cant breathe. i know its just another anxiety attack, i cant breathe. i'm losing my house, i'm losing my house, i'm losing my house. i've left my husband, my kids are so small.  my baby is 15 months old. i have no job. i have no education. and i've left my husband and i'm losing my house. i love my house. my kids love their house. oh my god. bessie waits until i can drive again.

months later: bessie and i are screaming PINK out the windows: 

hey hey man
whats your problem,
i see your trying to hurt me bad
dont know what your up against. 
maybe you should re consider
come up with another plan
cause you know i'm not that kinda girl
to lay there and let you come first

i'm a few years into this thing, i'm doing it. i'm surviving. i've been hurt. i've been broken. ive been through hell. but i'm getting there. bessie and me. we are going places. i've got a job. i'm doing ok. thats the best of it. i'm doing ok. we are doing ok.

bessie gets flooded. the water is almost up to the radio. the fucking apartment complex has a flash flood zone in front of my apartment. someone forgot to tell me this. the insurance company wants to scrap bessie. but shes paid for so i lie about the depth of the water. i spend all day using a wet vac to get the water out, by myself. always by myself. everything. everything. everything.  i have to cut the carpets, pull out her padding. she smells. the smell never goes away. parts start to rust. the gear shift sticks. i wd40 the hell out of that car. the transmission develops a grinding noise that 8 years later is also still there. she runs. we keep on going.

hate me
hate me today
hate me tomorrow
hate me for all the things I didnt do for you

.  . . . these lyrics come through my speakers and every bit of forward slams me to the ground. i'm on my way to a client meeting and once again i'm on the side of the road. i cant see for the tears. i have snot running down my chin. i'm sobbing. from the depth of my soul. for the first time (but certainly not the last) i mourn the end of my marriage. its like my husband, my best friend, wrote this song for me:

And with a sad heart i say bye to you and wave.
kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that i have made.
and like a baby boy i never was a man.
until i saw your blue eyes cry and i held your face in my hands.
and then i fell down yelling "make it go away!',
just make her smile and come back and shine, just like it used to be . .
 and then she whispers "how could you do this, to me?"


life moves on. you recover. you laugh. you cry. you fall. you get up. and all along the way, i'm singing in my car. i'm singing love songs. and angry songs. and bitter songs. and songs about divorce. and songs about meeting someone new. 3 days grace vents my rage. liz phair becomes my voice. divorce song. fuck and run. johnny feelgood. polyester bride. white chocolate space egg is always on play, over and over. Digger. dear god digger.

little digger, don't be shy
You saw your mother with another guy
You think you'll tell her that she's one of a kind, you say
My Mother is mine

You put your trucks up on the bed next to him
So he can get a better look at them, you say
This ones my favorite one, this one you can't have
I got it from my Dad, you say
I got it from my Dad.

so. today i'm having one of those rare moments when its bessie and i. its been 9 years and 6 months since i decided i could no longer be married. since i decided i needed to do this myself. and bessie and i have been singing a lot more happy songs the last few years. she's taken on more tears, but more smiles.  bessie is a bit worn. not much works. she drives. and the radio still kicks ass. bessie and i, with her windows randomly going up and down. the the wipers shutting off on their own. the windows fogging up. we are having a dance party. lady gaga. LMFAO

Party rock is in the house tonight.
everybody just have a good time.  . ..

 is making us shake our booties. and bessie IS shaking her booty. it may SEEM like an alignment problem but i think its really from all the grooving we've done. she can tear it up off a light. her get up and go is still there. her seats fit perfectly to my form, shes held me for so many years. through the sadness and pain. through the laughs and hilarity that come from girls nights out. shes absorbed spilled drinks. taken the dropped ashes. shes carted kids, been smeared with melted crayons. beat up, knocked down. and expected to hold up with very little care and minimal maintenance. shes strong and solid. rough but comfortable. she's got grit and she's still going. maybe thats why i love her so much. i see my foot resting on that special spot on the door, the wheel dropped low between my knees and we amble on down the road and i realize.

 i love her because not only has she been there for me. she is me.