SO YA NEED AN UPDATE, DO YA?

I have friends with blogs that haven’t been updated for more than a year. I can understand it, as some days life seems to flash by, but I always feel a bit sad when I see those pages. It’s like coming across a crumpled picture in a burnt out house. You wonder what ever happened to those faces but have to live with not knowing.

It just sometimes you’re so busy doing other things that you simply don’t take the time to do create another glorious story about me. I think it would be easier if I found myself more interesting, but I don’t, which is why I’m always trying to learn new skills and seek the new, exciting and off beat. But I’m taking a moment to check in because I know there are friends, especially those spread across the US and UK whose contact would be limited to a postcard from my next wild holiday (we’re off to the Dracula tour of Transylvania in July) or a Christmas card.

So for those of you who have been wondering, here’s what I’ve been up to…

Celebrating Chelsea--2007 FA Cup Winners!
Yup, it was close and we didn’t win the Champions League for the UEFA cup (won by Sevilla, but congrats to Liverpool for making the finals) or the Premiership title, (ManU had the points, what can I say) but it does mean for the third year in a row, the cup will reside at Chelsea’s home, Stamford Bridge. So I’d like to thank all of you who said we’d never beat ManU again, for the comedians who make jokes like, “I bumped into the television while Chelsea was playing, and Drogba fell over” and a special thanks to Arsenal who in a trade for Ashley Cole, took Gallas (the whinging pain in the ass) off our hands. Now everyone sing a rousing chorus:

“Blue is the colour, football is the game
We're all together, and winning is our aim
So cheer us on through the sun and rain
'cause Chelsea, Chelsea is our name


Wall of Voodoo
I’m not very good with heights. I generally find myself backing away from railings and staying in the middle of very high terraces or balconies, but having come to the belief that life is too short to be ruled by fear, I decided to go indoor rock climbing with Colleen and Aly at Go Vertical, the largest indoor rock climbing center on the east coast. And therein lay my secondary fear, that even if my life depended upon it, I wouldn’t have the upper body strength to pull myself up from a cliff. Well it turns out I was wrong, okay, half wrong. I’m still not a big fan of heights, but once I put on the harness and faced that wall head on, I found I was able to climb much higher than I thought. And, had I not looked down, and done a couple of yoga stretches I may just have made that last 10 feet to the top. What I didn’t realize is the practice was less a matter of upper body strength, but grip strength and the ability to plot out the best toe holds helps…...alot. Sure, I had to sacrifice a perfect manicure (replete with two coats of Lincoln Park After Dark) in order to climb, but it was a mall sacrifice for such a rush. After three hours of climbing and learning some basics on belaying (that’s being the person at the bottom who is secured to the rope of the climber and saves your sorry ass from crashing to the padded floor) I was exhausted, but exhilarated enough to enjoy a celebratory lunch, with Mimosas, to toast the prowess of our collective She Beasts within.

No one Here Gets Out Alive

Even when you know death is inevitable, it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Within the span of two weeks we lost our nephew Matthew at age 14, my buddy Colleen lost her nephew and a dear friend of mine G, lost his mother. While the death of Collen’s nephew came as a shock, a car accident took his life, both G and I were dealing with illnesses for which we hoped for miracles, but knew were probably terminal; cancer and heart disease. Matt had suffered heart attacks from an early age and had “clinically” died several times. He’d been waiting for a heart transplant and when that didn’t materialize, had to make due with an artificial heart in the interim. Although modern medicine was able to sustain his life, the waiting left him in such a weakened state that his systems began shutting down. Towards the end, he said he wasn’t afraid to die. In a way, that’s incredibly comforting and I admire that kid for having that kind of strength, mostly for the family he was leaving. I’d like to think I could leave here peacefully with the dignity he had, but as a person who’s doing all I can to extend and maintain a health life, I can’t help feeling when the angel of death finally knocks on my door, I’ll try and kick his ass and when pinned to the mat on the 9 count still ask, “Best two outta three?”


Here comes the Sun

Here comes the summer and I’ve been getting ready for it. While working out is a regular thing, I had been recently been laying a base of instant tan courtesy of a spray booth at Hollywood Tans. But when some yob broke the glass door of the only Instant tanning booth in the salon and the owner didn't rush to fix it, I had to take drastic action. I thought I’d reach for my normal fix of tan in a can, but for some reason, it didn’t want to adhere to my calves, and in the middle of a walk, I looked down to view legs that looked as if they had a serious case of orange impetigo. I pulled out a bottle of Kiehl’s sunless tanner that had worked wonders on my face and after applying two days in a row, had perfectly tanned gams that looked so good (and toned) they didn’t look like mine. Soon after, I slathered my entire body and by the time I wore a halter dress the next day, I looked the sun kissed picture of health (despite feeling like crap from my allergies) and a dapper older man in a gorgeous boater was trying to chat me up. Trust me, admiration from a true gent is a big step up from my usual coterie of admirers which consists almost entirely of retirees (read, dirty old men) in Kangols, Fred Durst wannabees who misguidedly think I’m impressed by board shorts and tattoos and the mentally challenged, who seek me out because having a Mum who taught Special Ed for 30 years, implants some sonar thing allowing them to sense when I’m near.

Writers Write, Always!
Finally I’ve managed to squirrel away time to write my great American novel. I have worked on things over the years only to stop, but 34 pages into this story, based in Philadelphia, I think I may actually get there. Or course, once I’m nearly done, I’ll need to edit and am fielding any offers from those of you who want to read and critique what I’m vaguely referring to as Chick Lit with a supernatural theme. Those of you who know my passions, will know the subject. I thought I might need a little help with the sex scenes, I mean what gothic romance doesn’t have em, but I’m more of a leave ‘em at the bedroom door than a erotica writer with a working knowledge of at least two dozen synonyms for “John Thomas” and “love pocket”. If I’m ever to get it published, I may have to get more graphic, but I want passion and romance, and too many descriptions of body fluids associated with bumping uglies simply remind me that I need to change the sheets when I do mid-week laundry. And who needs that in escapism fiction?