For years, I’ve had this post trying to work itself out in my head. Today I decided “I am going to write that damn post.”

See, it all started in the grocery store.

On the same night, in the same grocery store I heard two conversations that, when taken together, made me laugh.

The first was a young woman wondering what some man saw in a woman who was older and the second was an older woman wondering the same about what some (presumably other) man saw in some (presumably other) younger woman.

I think we can all figure out the allure of youth. But about the older women?

All you twenty-somethings? You know all those things you wish you were?

We are.

You know how you wish you knew what your career was going to be? How you wish you were comfortable in your own body? How you wish someone would notice that you’re not just beautiful? You know how you wish your financial situation would settle out? You know how you wish that you knew how to manage various situations at work and at home? You know how you wish you knew how to make a dinner that makes people melt into a puddle? And that you had all the equipment you needed to do so? You know how you wish you were the one in charge at work? That you could afford those fabulous, fabulous shoes? You know how you wish that you would stop reacting to every little thing that anyone says to you? You know how you wish that you had more confidence in your opinions and in your abilities? You know how you wish you knew, really knew, who you are?

We are. We do. We can.

There is a lot to be said for youth. I love being 45 but there are days when I’d give Dustmop and Barky-Dog (and, possibly, my netbook AND my Nook) for my 23-year-old body back. Even if I diet and exercise for hours a day, I’m never going to have that. I can look pretty fucking good, (if I do all that, which I don’t) but I’m never going to look 23. I wouldn’t even consider trying to compete for attention with a 23-year-old. If the person wants young, there is nothing I can do about it

On the other hand, as an exceptionally smart butch woman told me, there are advantages to dating older women.

We’re confident. I do not mean cocky masquerading as confidence. Confidence comes from feeling good about who you are and before you can do THAT, you have to know who you are. Confidence means that we aren’t going to freak the fuck out if you want to watch football with your friends. It means that every woman who comes along isn’t a potential rival. It means that we relax.

Being confident and comfortable in one’s own skin also translates into much better sex. It’s pretty hard to get to orgasm if you’re worried that you look weird or that you smell funny or whatever. By the time you’re in your 40s you know that everyone looks weird when they’re having sex and sometimes things don’t smell like roses. We don’t care. We also know our own bodies and how to give ourselves pleasure, therefore we can tell you what works for us. We are more willing to try things because we care far less about what our partner might be thinking.

We’re fun to date (or be married to) because we’ll try things. By “try things” I mean, like, we’ll go rollerblading even if we’ve never been or we’ll go to a concert of someone we’ve never heard of or we’ll play basketball with someone’s children because we are long past the phase of “how will I look when I do that?” and “what will they think of me?” I’ll play basketball with rugrats even though I suck because it’s fun. (I do, however, draw the line at bowling. I just hate it.) [Okay, rollerblading probably isn’t the best example. I have the balance of a banana and I am scared witless of breaking a hip {I KNOW. Shut UP.} so no rollerblading for me. But you get the idea.]

To quote the previously-mentioned friend (because I *never* say this word), older women “have their shit together.”

Generally speaking, you don’t see older women flashing their breasts on Girls Gone Wild. Even those of us who have had implants, and whose breasts look freaking fabulous, have better sense than that. (No, I have not had implants.) Generally speaking, we don’t have the drama that seems to be permanently attached to younger women’s lives. We pay our bills, we clean our house, we attend to the business of our lives, so we have far less daily-life drama.

We do not care what our mothers think.

I’m not going to lie to you, young women. There are times when all of the above is true. There are times when none of it is. However, we know that we’re going to get back to our equilibrium. Whatever upset is going on isn’t permanent and we’re going to be okay. I found out on Wednesday that I was out of a job. It was upsetting and I spent the day being pathetic, but I *know* it will turn out okay because I have options. And skills. And experience. So, I’ll get a new job. I’ll be back to center soon.

Enjoy being young. It’s a wonderful time of your life. Wear short skirts or blue hair, my young femmes. My young butches, wear your skater clothes or your board shorts. Either of you: those pajamas in public? Must be a thing of the past, the second you graduate from college. Do impulsive, impetuous things so you have good stories to tell when you’re older. Have fun. Work hard, but don’t always work. Don’t get to be 40 and look back on your life and wish you’d had more fun.

I was a Wild Child. I did things I do not recommend that you do. I make jokes that if I could have MAJORED in weed, women & whisky, I’d have graduated summa cum laude. I drank, I did some drugs, I went out at least 3 nights a week. I tended bar and flirted with everyone. I had ill-advised sex. I made scenes. I *caused* scenes. I called off work because I was still too high to think about slinging Big Gulps all day. I bet boys I could drink more shots than they could. [For the curious: most of the time, yes.] I made impromptu trips to hither and yon in an AMC Concord with a soup-can as a muffler. [I told you – I come from a long line of moonshine-runnin’ rednecks. That was a family member’s idea of a car repair. The funny thing? I didn’t even notice for MONTHS.]

So my young friends, do stuff. Have things to look back and laugh about. [For the records, those are often not the things you THINK you’ll be laughing at! I was horrified by the soup-can muffler at the time, once I figured it out, but now? OMG. Really?] Make mistakes now. They are easier to shake off.

But …..

Don’t fear getting older – anticipate it! You have a lot to look forward to. Being a grown up is fabulous, even on days when you don’t think you even remember how to spell the word fabulous.

I promise.

Today I found out that I am unemployed. Lovely timing, right? I mean, I’ve sort of had a feeling that this would be coming. There have been a lot of changes at my company and one of my coworkers and I have felt like they were planning to do some downsizing. There was one too many of us in this market and while I did well, for the most part, my coworker just did better.

Like anyone who finds herself unemployed, I’ve had an emotional day. I called and cried on the phone to my dad. I talked to my BFF and my sister. I’ve watched hours of television. I’m allowing myself a day of feeling pathetic and whiny.

The interesting thing, is that what I am NOT doing is hearing the Ogre in My Head. You know the one? The one that says “You can’t do anything right” and “You really are the family fuck up, aren’t you?” and “You are worthless.” Well, okay. I HAVE heard OMH but I have immediately dismissed it. So that’s something, right?

Tomorrow I have to go to my dad’s because I just couldn’t go today. And I’ll come home and find out about unemployment and start looking for a job. I think there are a few things. Maybe I’ll get a job as a fund raiser and maybe I’ll do something else.

Like the Secretary of State.

I wrote not that long ago about how I wanted a calmer life. (Didn’t I? I can’t remember for sure if I wrote that or if I have just been thinking it.) Anyway, this doesn’t contribute to the calm, does it? I know what I have to do and I’ll do it. I’ll get busy and find a job and try to use the time I have wisely. Because once I’m back in the world of nonprofits, there won’t be too much down time and my poor dogs are going to have to get used to being home alone for 10 hours a day.

This is rambling but it is also all the news that is news.

Across the twitterverse and blogosphere, I have been reading about how people “don’t do Valentine’s Day”. Well, why not?

Admittedly, I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I would be mad as hell at someone who bought me $100 roses (because a) they cost $40 last week and b) I don’t like roses and you oughta KNOW that, motherfucker.) I also don’t want to go out to dinner on the weekends around Valentine’s Day or on Valentine’s Day proper. Those “special menus” mean we are going to overpay for mediocre food and wait on line far too long for the privilege. And the server will be too busy to bring me another diet Coke, which is just going to annoy me. I also think that most Valentine’s Day cards are hokey (but if someone made me one? That would be SO cool because it’s unexpected) and if you’re gonna buy me candy, it better be GOOD candy, not conversation hearts or stupid stuff that comes in a heart-shaped box. I mean, really. Who I am is not going to go out the window because it’s Valentine’s Day.

The most common reasons not to celebrate Valentine’s Day are: it’s too commercial and “I try to show my love every day.”

Okay, number one: Christmas is too commercial, too. (I mean, hello? Christmas stuff up in stores BEFORE HALLOWEEN??) I don’t see too many people passing up on Christmas. Even those who don’t celebrate what Christmas is actually about but whose sole purpose of celebrating Christmas is the gifts. I mean. How much more commercial can you get? Oh, wait. They rarely admit it’s for the presents. It’s all about “family.” Right.

Now, on to those who say “I try to show my love every day.”

The operative word there is “try.” Because let’s face it. Even with the best intentions, that doesn’t happen. I was married not so long ago, I remember. You want to show love every day but guess what happens? Life happens. The laundry needs to get done, the children need picking up from school and ferried to karate, the car needs fixing, you have to work late, someone gets sick and life just happens.

Of course your beloved knows you love her. Is it so wrong, though, to set aside a day to really focus on it? To say “okay, this is the day that we celebrate US?” Because celebrations are meant to be special occasions, not every day events. We celebrate lots of things in the country, why not celebrate our relationships and our love?

I’m not saying you have to be all conventional and wear slutty lingerie, go out to dinner, send roses and candy. You can, if that’s the thing that works for you, but maybe what works best for you is to stay home and have fried chicken and French fries. Maybe it’s about having a specific time set to acknowledge that, yes, this person is very special to you.

[An aside, I have 2 favorite dinners: medium rare steak with mashed potatoes and pizza, buffalo wings and Velveeta macaroni and cheese. Both with a side of whisky!]

The problem, from what I’m told, is that someone always gets in “trouble” because they don’t meet the other person’s expectations for a “perfect” Valentine’s day. No Valentine’s Day is going to be perfect, so let’s throw that out the window.

I have another thought: how about we, collectively, stop expecting our partners to read our freaking minds and just say what we want?

Like, on the level of a Big Deal Thing, I would love to go on vacation every year at this time. It’s not only Valentine’s Day but my birthday is 3 days later, so I would love to go somewhere warm and lounge on a beach. Or go somewhere cold and snowy and not so far away from home and just hang out in a cabin in the woods somewhere for a week, with nothing to do but chill. And you know. That One Thing.

I would LOVE for someone cook me dinner (because I can’t grill a good medium rare steak to save my ASS) and watch a chick movie with me, which she would normally bellyache about. I’ll make dessert! (Okay, that *is* pretty typical Valentine’s Day stuff, I KNOW, but it works for me. Yours might be something TOTALLY different. If that’s the case, do that.)

The secret is to decide together what you’re going to do, not expect huge surprises that are going to amaze and delight. They almost never do because your partner is not a mind reader

And as for presents, I say the same thing I always say: pay attention to your partner. If you “show your love every day” then presumably you listen to her and you know what she wants. I have been blogging for nearly 10 years. Some of those years I was married. In other years, I had an SO. None of them ever read my blogs and if they had, their gift-giving would have been so much easier. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been saying, “If someone wants me to know they love me, then get my truck detailed?” or “don’t bring me roses! Buy me happy flowers!” I mean. I’m not hard to figure out. I will TELL you what to do, if you listen. I’m guessing that your sweetheart is the same way.

Man. I got all tangential, didn’t I?

If you don’t like Valentine’s Day and nothing I am going to say is going to sway you, then fine. I think you’re missing out.

You are beautiful. You are not too thin, too fat, too short, too tall, too black, too white, too anything. You are beautiful.

You are beautiful because you are. I know that there are cultural standards of beauty that most of us don’t meet. Almost none of us, actually. But don’t let the media, don’t let anyone else, define beauty for you.

YOU. Are. Beautiful.

A woman is not beautiful because she is “perfect.” There is no such thing as perfection A woman is not beautiful because she can bear children. A woman is not beautiful because she is young. A woman is not beautiful only if her jeans size is a single digit. .A woman is not beautiful only if she is never angry or never scared or never needy. Experiencing emotions is beautiful.

What makes a woman beautiful is … her essence. What makes you beautiful is the bit that is only you. That no one else has, not in exactly the same way. It is the light in your eyes when you’re happy, the sweetness of your smile when you love, the laugh when something strikes you as funny. What makes you beautiful is the way you care for others, whether that’s making them biscuits or vacuuming out their car.

Own your beauty. Revel in it. Don’t make it dependent on anyone else, don’t look to anyone else for confirmation. Know your beauty. Know your intrinsic worth, because there is truth to the old saying “pretty is as pretty does.”

My femme sisters, you are beautiful. My straight girls, you are beautiful. And my butches? You are beautiful, too. Beauty and masculinity are NOT mutually exclusive, not in a butch. You hold the magic of a beautiful soul wrapped up in a masculine body. And that, my butches, is beautiful.

You are beautiful.

I thought about this recently because I’m nearly 45 freaking years old and, as cliché as it sounds (and you know how I feel about being a cliché!), I would like to Meet Someone. The Someone. The one I’m going to have a relationship with, make my life with, I want to be Mrs. Someone.

What I also want is a healthy relationship, not just A Relationship. I’ve been thinking about that conversation, and some I’ve had with other exes –such as Ex-Girlfriend D and Ex-Partner P and Ex-Girlfriend L2. And what Ex-Girlfriend J said bothered her were pretty much the same things that D, P and L2 said. 20 years later.

That, my friends, is not good. (Aside: every time I say something like “not good”, I think of my twitter friend JNotha who always uses #nobueno in her tweets. Which cracks me up for some reason.)

What were the Barbara’s Ex Club chief complaints? I won’t talk about my feelings, I don’t talk to them if the subject is difficult for me, and I make excuses for things.

Okay, I didn’t talk to them about my feelings and I did avoid the subject if it was difficult. As for the making excuses part, I was just explaining. Because I’d been taught my whole life that what I felt was irrelevant and if I wanted someone to care about how I felt, I better have a damned good reason. Do you KNOW how long it’s been since I’ve lived with my parents? 1985. Why is it my dad’s voice that’s still in my head? Especially as my dad has sobered up and he isn’t that guy anymore. Anyway.

I have spent the last few months, post-L2, just having all the feelings I’d been ignoring. All of them. Some of them? Pretty heinous. At the same time, I’ve been looking at what people have said, with a very honest eye, and looking at what is true, what I can change and what is just their sour grapes. When PJ and I split, it didn’t feel like a “break up.” It felt like a divorce. We were as married as the law allows. Which is to say, not at all legally. But to us? We were married. Ending that, though it needed to happen, was hard. I don’t want to go through that again. Breaking up with some chick I’ve been dating for a few weeks or months might make me cry a bit, but it wouldn’t deeply wound me, like the ending of me and PJ.

[For those of you who know the whole sordid story, NO. I am not saying the break up was my fault. But the relationship might have had a different outcome all together if I’d been different. Or it would have ended far sooner, saving me that grief. I have to take ownership of what I CAN so that I can do something different in the future. That’s all.]

I love a good makeover show. What I need isn’t a new wardrobe and a new hair cut (though, hello? What Not to Wear? I wear yoga pants every day! Come and get me, please!) What I needed was a Relationship Makeover and to do THAT, we had to have an Emotional Makeover. I think it’s been going well, but you have to test it out with an actual human. You can’t have a relationship with yourself.

I started out this Relationship Makeover Beta Test by choosing a different kind of woman. Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t suddenly start dating femmes. No, This Woman is a butch as they come. {insert happy sigh here} What makes her different is how we interact.

She listens to me. She knows more about me in the time we’ve been talking, which is only a few weeks, than the last two women I dated – one for 10 months, one who I was dating for about 8 months but whom I’ve known for 15 years. She knows because she not only asks me questions about me, she listens to the answers. And she remembers them. She is interested in who I am. Isn’t that something? It should be standard-issue relationship skills, but it isn’t.

I’ve been trying out doing things differently with her. Like *telling* her things. Such as: you hurt my feelings. Or just saying I can’t do something – and why – without feeling like I have to justify it. And guess what? I have not spontaneously combusted. Who knew?

I have just been exactly who I am. No First Date Best Behavior. (Probably largely due to the fact that we haven’t *had* a first date yet!) I decided, “You know what, Barbara? If you want something different, you have to DO something different!” and so I am.

I’m about to get all woo woo here, so please feel free to skip ahead a couple of paragraphs, if you don’t like woo woo. I have often said that I can’t feel safe in a relationship with someone unless she is strong enough to handle my personality. I mean, I think they wrote “Hell in High Heels” and “Hard to Handle” specifically about me. Really. I’m not sure WHY I feel like this, why I need someone who can be “in charge” but I do. From what I can tell, thus far, This Woman? Totally can manage the Hell in High Heels that is me.

Having the Getting to Know You part of this relationship from a distance also means we can’t do what I’ve normally done which is base the ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP on sexual chemistry. I mean, sexual chemistry is VITAL, don’t get me wrong, but if we don’t have emotional chemistry, then it’ll never work. And it only took me 45 years (and more than 1000 words) to get to the truly important thing: I need emotional chemistry as much as I need sexual chemistry.

Thus ends the woo woo portion of our show.

So, I like her. A lot. At some point, with any luck soon, we will meet live and in person and see if the In-Person Chemistry lives up to the Virtual Chemistry. I certainly hope it does. This Woman? Has DEFINITE Girlfriend Potential.

Of course, it’s too soon to know where This Woman and I are headed. I mean, it’s been not even three weeks. We live 10 hours apart. (Isn’t Twitter wonderful? That’s where we met.) There is a lot we don’t know about each other. What I can tell you is that, thus far, the Relationship Makeover Beta Test has been successful.

That is what I really needed to know. I need to keep testing out my theories and trying new things and I think I will. You know, as I haven’t spontaneously combusted and all.

I left her a comment and decided I’d write the longer version in my own post. Here it is:

I hope that all of you a have at least a passing knowledge of queer history and you know that back pre-Stonewall (and, hell, even after Stonewall for a while), police would raid gay bars and hassle the queers. Mostly the drag queens and the butches. They had to be wearing at least three pieces of clothing of the “appropriate” gender. If they weren’t they’d get arrested. They got arrested, anyway, and worse. If you don’t know anything about this, then please read Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg and The Persistent Desire by Joan Nestle. You need to. Really.

The Stonewall Riots that began the queer rights movement? Began because of drag queens and butches. Straight up, old-school, suit-and-tie-wearing butches. None of this metrosexual crap. Butch. And let’s not forget the drag queens. [Which is why it ticks me off beyond belief when people say they don’t want the butches and the drag queens at gay pride stuff because we wouldn’t even HAVE gay pride stuff without the butches and the drag queens.]

I came out in 1987. In Michigan. In 1988, my girlfriend and I moved to Grand Rapids, MI. I loved to dance and she loved to drink, so went to a bar called Club 67 on the weekends fairly frequently.

People think those bar raids were long gone by then, but it’s not true. Oh, not for the “3 pieces of women’s clothing” thing, but drugs. Drugs that were, at least once that I know of FOR SURE, planted by cops as an excuse to arrest a butch. Not kidding. Anyway, one time, I was at a bar being raided and freaking because a) it was my first time in a bar that got raided (but it wouldn’t be my last) and b) I went to a Catholic college – getting arrested might have caused me problems.

What happened when these raids happened was that the police came in – in full fucking riot gear – and sealed off all entrances and exits. They sometimes made you line up – like you were in grade school – and sometimes they didn’t. If they lined you up, they were going to check IDs, looking for underage people, no doubt. If they lined you up, you knew there was going to be ugliness. Some butch was going to get arrested. Some butch with a loud mouth, who was sick of the harassment, was probably going to get assaulted. And the femmes? Well, it never happened to me, but I’ve heard about the femmes who got arrested. I’m grateful that I wasn’t one of them. I can’t even type the words about what happened to one woman I knew. It’s not my story to tell and I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m sure you can figure it out.

So, we were getting raided. I was freaking out. My girlfriend had gone out to the car for something, so she wasn’t even in the damned bar and she had better sense than to TRY to get in. I mean, even to get me, she shouldn’t have tried to get in. It was dangerous. Not only was she a butch, she was Mexican. That was a whole other layer of trouble for her.

I have no idea what I did to catch their attention, but these three older, very old school butches, surrounded me, and pushed me to the back of a crowd of butches. They told me to sit down on a chair that was back in the corner, behind the pool tables, and they gathered the rest of their friends to stand in front of me so that if the police didn’t make us all line up, then maybe they wouldn’t see me. All of those butches in that bar, at least 50 of them, keeping me safe from the police. There were too many people in Club 67 that night and the police didn’t make us line up and they never saw me. I cried the entire time, I’m not ashamed to tell you. I was 21 and scared witless.

I’ll never forget those butches. After that, whenever I’d go to that bar, I’d see one of them and they’d wink at me and say something sweet and I’d always send over a pitcher of beer. I fell in love with every last one of them that day. So when someone asks me why I like butches, I tell them this. I learned what it felt like to be cared for and loved at the hands of about 50 strangers.

And let me tell you something else, young lesbians. When you carry on about how you “don’t get” butches and “If you wanted a man, you’d get a man” you are showing your ignorance, along with your ass.

Day 6 is your favorite superhero and why.

See? THESE are the sort of things that generally prevent me from doing these challenges. Because really? My favorite superhero? There aren’t that many female superheroes and, honestly? The female villains are far more interesting that the boring-ass superheroes. Moving on …

According to Merriam-Webster a superhero is: a fictional hero having extraordinary or superhuman powers; also: an exceptionally skillful or successful person.

I’ll tell you who my favorite superhero is.

My friend, Diana.

Diana is an amazing woman. I’ll start by telling you the usual stuff: she’s smart, she’s funny, she’s warm and loving. She’s creative, a good friend, and a good wife. I’ve seen her parent her son and I can attest that she is a good mom. Her son is testimony to that – he’s turning out to be an amazing young man. Matches his Mama.

She can throw a good party, too.

Diana hasn’t had the “perfect” life. She’s had challenges. She has had to overcome some pretty significant challenges in her life. She’s been a single mom, until very recently. She has worked hard to build her business so that she could support her son on her own, when she was a single mom.

There are things about which Diana is passionate and I love to see her get all fired up when she talks about them. I love how she can go to a conference and come home with more work to do than she had at her JOB because she wanted to volunteer for this and for that … and she did it all. She’s committed.

Some of the reasons why Diana is a superhero are also not mine to share. However, I can tell you she is strong and courageous. She doesn’t hide from her problems, she faces them head on and DEALS with them. And when she can’t deal with them, she does a VERY courageous thing: she asks for help.

Diana doesn’t just accept the way things are. She makes them the way she wants them. Some things, she can’t change. Such as the federal marriage laws or the ones on her own home state. I should say “she can’t change IMMEDIATELY” because I believe that it will change and in my lifetime. In the meantime, Diana got married anyway.

She and Li did not exchange traditionally American-religious vows. However, at their reception, I said in my toast that I can think of no other couple who I can fully believe that those vows are true: that they will love, honor and cherish one another. And it’s true.

Diana, darling, if you’re reading: YOU are my superhero.

Who’s your real-life superhero?

Day 5 of the 30-day challenge is a picture of a place where you have been.

For many reasons, The Heidelberg Project has stayed with me. I saw it the first time in about 1998, but then went a year or so ago.

To be brief, it’s an art installation on what many consider to be a not-desirable area of Detroit. There are all kinds of political statements, but those are too difficult to capture in photos that are legible, with the camera I had when I went so I decided to show you the beautiful pictures instead. The beautiful pictures, and one of this house. I have no idea why the house struck me, but it did. So here you are.

If you want to see more of my Heidelberg Project pictures, go here

Day 4 of the 30-day challenge is all about A habit that you wish you didn’t have, or something that you are looking forward to.

An aside: People always used to ask you in job interviews, “what’s your weakness?” As if anyone is going to tell the truth. I always said, “Godiva Dark Chocolate.” Which got a laugh. I did eventually get around to telling them the truth: I will be late every damned day and I don’t do anything that requires thought before 10 am. I never schedule anything that requires me to actively participate before 10 am. Before that, I’m answering email, filing stuff (because I always worked for nonprofits which never had enough admin staff so I had to do it myself AND I hate clutter) and other assorted necessary, but non-thought-requiring, activities. [on the plus side, I was good enough at my job that I got hired anyway.]

Now, back on topic.

I’m a procrastinator. Which is why I frequently HAVE to do laundry because I have not one stitch of clean clothing left. Or why I have to go to Meijer at 11:00 on a Sunday night because I’m out of milk for my Cheerios the next day. I used to be more organized, when I had someone else to deal with, but when it’s just me? I. Am. A. Slacker.

It is also why it cost $800 to fix my truck recently … because I ignored my “check engine” light …. FOR A FREAKING YEAR …. and had to not only get a new oxygen sensor but some other thing that I could have avoided if I’d gotten the damned oxygen sensor. Lessons learned. Well … on this topic, maybe not. I *hate* dealing with car problems. I really do. I need someone to do this for me. NEED.

Which is also why this post was supposed to be up yesterday and even though it was all but finished, I’m just getting around to it today.

Anyway. There you have it. My fatal flaw.

This was supposed to be an either/or post, but I think I’ll do both. So what am I looking forward to? A few things actually! One of them I can’t tell you, yet, because … it involves someone else and activities best not mentioned in a blog that my family might read. So, we’ll skip that one.

This summer, I’m going kayaking with my family. Maybe twice – once in June and once in August. I love kayaking and last year I couldn’t go because of the Mystery Illness that left me too exhausted to do anything more than watch TV, so this year, I’m going! It’s been YEARS since I kayaked. The last time I did was before the boys – so pre-2004. Or maybe it was in 2004. I don’t know – a long time.

I’m planning a trip with my friend Melody in the fall. Maybe to Savannah, GA. That’s the plan right now. I’ve never been there and it looks fabulous! Although … she doesn’t know it yet, but she is going to San Francisco for work in October and I may try to talk her into letting go along with her on that trip, instead. But that might not be too fun for HER, so we’ll see.

In about a year, my nephew’s high school band is going to Disney World and I’m looking forward to going there too. Last time we went was when my niece was the only one in band, so Lucky was the Celebrity Child: 2 grandparents and Aunt Barbie to totally spoil him. I’m looking forward to doing the same with Macy this time.

What are YOU looking forward to? AND, if you’re inclined … tell me what’s YOUR worst habit. Make me feel better about mine, will ya?

For the love of GOD people, please leave comments. Here, I mean. Don’t tweet me! Leave them here. (Shameless comment begging will continue until you get in the habit. Or til I get sick of doing it.)

Day 3: A Picture of you and your friends.

This is harder than you might think. I *have* friends, of course. But most of my friends are not friends with one another. And the group pictures I DO have are either old or I hate them, so that won’t work. So, what to do? I looked through my photos and decided that I had a few pictures of me with various of my friends, even though not a whole group of people. So, I’m using those.

First we have a picture of me and my lovely, BFF. This picture was taken when I went to visit her in 2009. She thinks this picture is hilarious. She LOVES to tell people that her friends got me drunk and I fell asleep on her kitchen floor. I did NOT, for the record, pass out. I FELL ASLEEP.

This next picture is of my friend Mel and our friend Jen. This was also 2009. I went to visit Mel and went to ATL Pride. Well, I went to a little bit of it. You can’t really tell in this picture but I was sick as a dog. I had bronchitis and, though I wasn’t contagious anymore, I felt like hell.

Finally, this is me and my friend Andrea. I have no idea why I like this picture of me, but I do. It’s actually one of my favorite pictures of me. We are at a Western Michigan University football game. It was surprisingly fun.