Dancing a Jig

Have you ever been to a pentecostal/holiness church? You know, the ones where there's singing and clapping and everyone plays an instrument, even if it's just slapping their thigh to the beat of the music. This is a glorious moment to behold. A song starts. The choir and congregation sing. Everyone's clapping and keeping time. Someone starts dancing a high-stepping dance with fanciful footwork. The clapping people start to move around the dancing person and clap more to encourage them. Others may join in and then the music starts getting faster and faster. The clapping and dancing adjusts to the tempo of the music. Some people are swaying their hands in the air. Some doing basic steps and others much more complicated syncopations. Some are shouting out things. Occasionally, a couple of people may lock arms and dance around in a circle. Sometimes a group of people will join hands and do their high-energy, high-stepping, fanciful footwork dance together. It's amazing to behold. They look like they're having such a good time.

Last night I went to an Irish bar, with my Irish co-worker. She does Irish dance. There was this great band playing Celtic rock music. When the music started people started to clap. One or two women started jumping up and down to the music. They were joined by others who were dancing while others clapped and did fanciful footwork. There were basic steps and the good ones added all of these creative syncopations. They'd dance in circles and pairs would lock arms and spin their jig around and around. Sometimes a group of people would join hand sand do their high-energy, high-stepping, fanciful footwork dance together. They start at one tempo and then get faster and faster. Everyone looked like they were having such a good time. They had consumed copious amounts of beer.

I used to go to a Pentecostal church a long time ago.

I like beer.

Where do you think this guy is?

PS. I must learn to clap on the beat. Pentecostals clap on the and.

Shameless Plug Update: This post is kind of related to my latest on Unpacking Faith. Just in case you're interested.

Better Late than Never

I am always amazed and humbled that any of you bother to read my ramblings. I started this blog because I had lost faith in the sacredness of my personal journals. I figured, if one person was so curious about what was running back and forth in my little brain, why not share it with the world (as if anyone would care). I sent an email to a few friends and family when I started and I half expected that 1 or 2 of them would read beyond my first post. It's unbelievable that I've actually met new people who have been amazing, kind, provocative and engaged in the conversations I've initiated here. Thank you to all of you who read, though I'm not always sure why you do.

One of my favorite bloggers of all time is Heartinsanfrancisco. She is an amazing storyteller. She's has a compelling story to tell and I wait with bated breath for the next installment that peels back yet another layer to reveal the beautiful soul she is and how she got to be that way. She's adorable and funny and quite honestly, one of the wisest women I "know". I so value her perspective on life's issues and my comments wouldn't be the same without her voice. She has bestowed among me the Thinking Blogger Award, and thereby tagged me with the following meme:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

Now, since I've waited so long to actually do this, all of the untagged bloggers I would have picked have been picked. I don't have 5 now, so don't follow my example should you choose to play.

Without further ado, my picks to be Thinking Blogger Award recipients:

1. Green Apple Martini - Her Love Thursdays always remind me of what really matters in this crazy life.

2. Greens 'n Cornbread - He's a new find for me, but oh so provocative.

Check them out, will ya?

List Guy vs. Heart and Soul Guy

I've been contemplating motherhood. I go in and out of really wanting to be a mother. I attribute much of my vacillation (in this and many other matters) to my being a Gemini. I may really feel like I want something one day, and be totally repulsed by the same thing the next day. It can be quite frustrating to the person trying to figure me out. I figure if I go in and out of wanting to be a mom right now, it might not bode very well if I really do have another person for whom I must be responsible 24-7-365. I've come to a compromise: I'd probably be a better step-mother than mother.

No. Seriously. Think about it. It's really a pretty good gig. I don't mean "baby mama drama" step-parenting, but responsible step-parenting where all the adults involved are normal and, at the very least, respect each other and want what's best for the children. I'd have no stretch marks (well, no additional stretch marks) or hemorrhoids, but snuggles and someone to cheer for at baseball games. I think it could be pretty nice. Contemplating step-parenting has helped me to realize that what I say I want "on paper" and what I really want in my soul are in conflict with one another. This is a red flag for me. It's a warning sign that I'm not being honest with myself about some things. Or that I'm afraid of something.

Life's circumstances have thrown me into this independent woman role. I don't think that's a bad thing. I had a lot of growing up to do in many, many ways. Being on my own, without a parent or husband to lean on, has forced me to be responsible in areas I got away with being a slacker before. I appreciate that. I feel like I've learned how to be an adult: to take the good with the bad, to be resourceful, to get on despite disappointment, to plan and to accomplish goals. I am finally at a place where I am certain that I will be OK in this world all by myself. I don't want to be alone forever, but I don't for a second feel like my life will somehow end if I find myself without someone to share forever with. There are some really amazing pluses to living alone and being unattached. I get to indulge selfishness. It really is all about me because, well, there is nobody else to consider. I like that most days. And then, there are the other days...

I have an idea of the kind of person I'd like to share my days and nights with, but he is two. There's the "List" guy and there's the "Heart and Soul" guy. List Guy is comprised of attributes, accomplishments, achievements, demographics. I think my List Guy is a big fat lie. There are things on my list that I say I want, yet, I don't find myself drawn to the guy of the list...or maybe he's not drawn to me. The ListGuy isn't really in my world. I don't run into him in my work. He's not the friend of my friends. He's not they one who catches my eye on the Metro. It may be that I've never met a List Guy. Maybe I'm not in the right circles to meet him. Who knows? But then there's Heart and Soul Guy. Heart and Soul Guy is rough around the edges. He's naughty in ways List Guy would never consider. He's honest and doesn't put on airs. His honesty reveals things that absolutely wouldn't make the list, but somehow I don't care. He is, after all, honest.

List Guy will make the parents happy. List Guy would make dad comfortable. List Guy would get nods of approval and thumbs up from the friends. List Guy would bore me to tears, I think, after a while. List Guy makes me wonder whether he's too good to be true. List Guy makes me feel skeptical, makes me always wonder if there's something beneath the surface that I'm missing. List Guy feels like an effort to avoid ending up with Ex again. I really think that's what the list boils down to. Somehow my little brain computes that if List Guy hits all these points on paper (that just happen to be everything Ex wasn't) all will be well with the world. I never wanted Ex to be perfect. Just honest.

Heart and Soul Guy is risky but fun. He follows his passions and is not conventional. Heart and Soul Guy lives outside the box and creates his own drum beat by which to walk. Heart and Soul Guy sees my vulnerabilities. He knows what he wants in the world and goes after it. Heart and Soul Guy knows what it means to be a man. Heart and Soul Guy appreciates that I am a woman. He knows there's a difference. Heart and Soul Guy doesn't take advantage of my giving, nurturing nature. He cherishes it and makes me feel safe as I give. Heart and Soul Guy sees beyond the tough, independent facade. He knows I don't need or want to be taken care of. He's OK not taking care of me. Heart and Soul Guy connects with me on level that can't easily be put into words. He gets me. I get him. I can't make Heart and Soul Guy make sense to everyone, but I feel no need to make excuses for him. He possesses a "rightness" that I will just know when I've found it.

List Guy ignites no fire in my heart (or loins) when I think of him. He's safe. He appeals to my need for security. He appeals to the ideas of normalcy I've internalized. He's really quite cookie-cutter to be honest. List Guy doesn't have kids (hence, no baby mama drama). Heart and Soul Guy's loving fatherhood captivates me and stirs my soul. Heart and Soul Guy is very little of what is on the list, maybe a few things, but he makes me laugh. We never run out of things to talk about.

It's really quite simple, you'd think. Fuck the list.

I'm not at a place where there's room for either guy in my life, but I really find myself wondering what I'm looking for when that time comes. I know too many people living miserable lives that look great on paper. I don't want that life. I want to be true to me, not to what looks good to anyone else. And I don't want to give in to my fears. List Guy answers all of the things I'm afraid of. There's no apparent risk with him. That is so unrealistic, but it's so hard to break away from the idea that if he is just these few things...I can avoid more pain and heartache.

As much as I know I can't build a life to protect me from pain, I struggle to recognize when I'm building a fortress. Sometimes I see it immediately. Other times it takes a bit longer to see.

In my heart and soul I want to love passionately and freely. I want to be completely vulnerable. I want to connect on a spiritual level. In my heart and soul I want to laugh until I pee. I want to admire beauty and character. I want to have the time of my life. I want to taste life and see it in his eyes. I want to feel alive. I want to know palpable goodness. I want to risk letting down my guard for these things. I want to be able to risk opening myself to experience all of this, even if it means it ends in disappointment. I will have risked. I will have lived. I will have loved. It will have been good.

More March Madness

The Sweet 16 has confirmed some things for me about watching basketball:

1. I don't need to watch the game. I just need to watch the score. I have gotten just as much of a thrill from watching CBS.com's live scoreboard as I have watching the actual games. I'm such a "bottom line" person. But I don't want to know just the final score, I want to know who's down or when the come back, etc.

2. The last 4 minutes of the game are the only one's that matter. Can I tell you how many of these games have been tied with less than 4 minutes to go. It's like it all starts over and the other 36 minutes didn't count.

I have probably just disqualified myself as a true fan. I enjoy the stakes more than the game, I think.

I am more than a little excited about the game Georgetown STOLE last night. But I'll take it!!

I'll Shut Up about AI One Day...

What is this foolishness?

That would explain it, huh?

Happy Birthday, Tricie

Today is Katrice's birthday!!! Happy Birthday, Sugar. Go over there and wish her goodness. Wait! Read the rest of what I have to say about her and then go. OK? OK!

Katrice and I are friends against all odds. She grew up with my Ex. I met her and her husband, Kwesi just before they got married and for the most part, they were Ex's friends who I just saw from time to time. We were both young couples in ministry, so church and related functions caused our paths to cross from time to time. We hung out as couples a handful of times. But for the most part we only really saw one either when one of us was preaching at the other's church.

Katrice isn't much of a socialite. She exists happily among a small circle of immediate family and very few close friends. She'd rather be with the teenagers in her life than with the huddle of soccer moms who make her want to scream. So, since I am the consummate extrovert, and she the consummate introvert, it would stand to reason that we wouldn't really hit it off of friends. But that wasn't really the case.

It's almost eerie, but there has always been a bond with us that we couldn't exactly put a finger on. When we would see each other, we knew we were kindred spirits and that there was something we were supposed to do together. We never talked on the phone or hung out just the two of us, but this inkling would be renewed whenever we were together. This went on for the better part of 10 years.

During the last couple of years of my marriage we started to see each other more and declared as couples that we really needed to spend more time together. I never could have imagined then how right we were about that. I never could have imagined the reason. Until one day at Fuddrucker's.

One of the reasons I felt that we needed to hang out more was that I was beginning to drown as a pastor's wife. I felt like I was expected to be there for the world, but then there was no one for me to talk to when I needed an ear. I knew I was nearing a breaking point that afternoon the 4 of us had lunch at Fuddrucker's. The guys were chatting at the table about a problematic minister on staff at our church. Kwesi couldn't understand Ex's rationale for not disciplining him. Katrice and I walked away from the table to get dessert and the dam that had been holding back the truth that was killing me burst open. I spilled my guts to Katrice right at the cookie counter at Fuddrucker's. I told her everything that was going on in my marriage and how miserable I was and how totally helpless I felt. She had the most comforting words of assurance for me, "I've been there. You need to talk to Kwesi. You're not alone."

That was the beginning of what has come to be one of the most precious friendships of a lifetime. I love this woman like she were my flesh and blood. She has been there for me as I agonized over detail after detail of past abuse and betrayal. She's listened to me cry, complain, curse and scream. She was patient through all 4 of my cycles of trying to leave my marriage. She has given me a place to sleep many, many nights. She's fed me, prayed for me and prayed with me. She's stood right beside me while I've considered if I still believe in God. She's been patient as I've walked through the process. She's listened to my rants. She knows all of my dirt. And if I can't say this of any other soul in this universe, I can say with confidence that she has never judged me. Not once. Even when she's disagreed with me. She has been the truest of friends.

She has no idea how powerful her strength of character has been for me. She's been my rock when she didn't even know I needed her to be. She's an absolute angel and I love her to pieces.

I admire the wife and mother she is. I'm telling you, this woman needs to write a book. She and Kwesi have survived in a marriage against all odds. And believe me, it's not just holding it together for the sake of holding it together. I can spot a fake a mile away. They have loved each other well in the face of every possible obstacle. I am so proud of them. Her relationship with her kids is something to behold. To have half her patience and firmness. She's mastered striking the balance between the two. Her kids are the wonderful products of the beauty and character of their parents.

And the girl can cook! I don't mean "yeah it's pretty good, I can tolerate it" cook. I mean "bitch slap yo' mama" cook. I am always good for a hot meal when I don't feel like making it myself.


Today's her 33rd birthday. I love her. Go show her some love too.

Happy Birthday, Sis!!

On Being Thirtysomething

Last week I was contemplating writing a post, “What Being Almost 34 and Childless Means to Me”. I was really emotional (guess why?) and feeling like life was passing me by, and that I’d wasted too much time in a stupid marriage, and that now I had to pay the childless-in-a-nursing-home-all-alone-with-no-one-to-visit price for it all. I’m feeling better today, so this post has taken shape differently, thankfully.

Today Katrice and I were IMing about the feelings of coming into our own that our thirties have brought us. We’re doing simultaneous posts about our experiences with 30+, so check her post out too.

I think the most refreshing sentiment of 30ness is finally feeling comfortable in my own skin. I think I felt like a 14 year old way longer than I should have. Because of my past, I have lived a life of shame, feeling like I wasn’t good enough and “shape-shifting” (as Katrice puts it) to be acceptable to other people. I turn 34 in June and now that I have walked around in these 30 year old shoes for a while, I can say with confidence and relief that I am so glad that shit is behind me.

In my teens and early twenties I struggled with an eating disorder. I married at 25 and realized very early on that I was miserable. I felt trapped because being married to a pastor meant that so many eyes were examining my life that wouldn’t have been if the circumstances were different. I felt like I needed to be a certain way to live up to the expectations people had of me, yet I tried so hard to maintain an air of confidence and aloofness with respect to others’ opinions of me. As my marriage worsened, I internalized his infidelity. It re-opened wounds that screamed that I wasn’t good enough. I felt that I’d lost control of my life’s direction, my identity, my sexuality, my sense of self.

Today, I’m heavier and happier than I’ve ever been. I look in the mirror and am stricken by beauty, though reminded that I’d be healthier if I lost some weight. I’m learning to dress for the size I am and to appreciate the beauty and appeal of the new curves. I’ve still got it and I don’t give a damn who thinks otherwise.

I peruse my bookshelf and once again it reflects my myriad interests and passions as opposed to the one dominating topic I felt I was allowed to read about during my marriage—the church. I feel free to explore other ways of thinking. Free to appreciate perspectives that are the polar opposite of mine. I feel comfortable existing with others that are very different from me. I feel comfortable wondering if we’re really that different at all.

I feel like I own my sexuality for the first time in my life. What happens to my body is no longer anyone else’s decision. It’s mine and mine alone and I love that I know I possess that freedom. I love the freedom to choose who is a part of my life. I love the freedom to walk away, the freedom to draw near. I love the freedom to long for more or to choose to be satisfied for now. I love that rules don’t govern my life as much as that which I’ve internalized as truth. I love that I am driven by a sense of what is right for me. I love that I don’t give a shit if someone calls that relativism. I love that I trust myself to make decisions about what I believe, about what is truth. I love that I value honesty above all else. I love that it is such a central element of me.

I love that my honesty has driven some out of my life. There is no other way for me to live. I am who I am, take me or leave me. I couldn’t have said that 5 years ago. I needed to be so much more, so much better, so much “other” than who I am. I love that my honesty means that I won’t lie to you to make you feel better. I won’t let you think you’re treating me just fine when you’re not. I won’t pretend everything is OK, even if I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I love that I’m not afraid to address problems. I love that I’m not afraid to decide when I’m ready to address them.

At work, my co-workers think I’m nuts for some of the things I say to my boss. She can fire me. I’m well aware of that. But I won’t sell my honesty, my truth-to-self for this job or any job. I am an open book and I hope to continue to live that way.

There are things which, while I’m not dishonest about, I just don’t mention on this blog because I can’t at the moment. That burns me to my core because it feels so contrary to where I want to be in this moment. I hope this time passes quickly. There’s so much more of me I want to write about.

And since I’m being honest, I am very concerned that my last ova will flow out of me one day soon, without a happy little sperm-daddy to turn it into a baby. My thirties are flying by and making my head spin. I am open to alternative parenting options, but I’m afraid to raise a child alone. I am conflicted because I so enjoy the freedom that many of my friends with kids envy. But I would hate to miss out on the joy of motherhood. I have quite a few male friends with children. I enjoy observing fatherhood. It would not be ideal for me to mother without having the shared experience of admiring loving fatherhood in action.

So, while there are still things I long for and hope to be, my thirties have ushered me into an appreciation of self that has made all the shit of the past well worth it.

Thirty rocks, Ladies. Don’t be afraid. Embrace.

It's March Madenss Time

The finest season of American sports is upon us--March Madness. I love the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament better than any sporting event in the history of life. It takes me back to Cole Field House at the University of Maryland when the Terps well, sucked, but it didn't matter. They were my sucky Terps. And they still are. Fear the Turtle, I tell you . Fear. Him.

Before I was a Terp I was a Hoyas fan. I have 3 versions of my brackets. My fantasy version has Maryland and Georgetown in the finals with the Terps cutting down the nets. A girl can dream. Leave me alone. Besides, I secretly take pleasure, oddly, in those nut cases setting bonfires in the middle of Rt. 1 to the chagrin of the College Park police.

At the moment, Duke is struggling against Virginia Commonwealth (why can't they just be Virginia STATE like all the rest of the states, minus the other commonwealths?). Anyway, nothing will make me happier than a Duke upset. I despise Duke and North Carolina. I'm a Terp. This hatred is required. I won't even consider either school for law school for this very reason. Yes. It is that serious.

In other news, I went to the doctor for a follow up on my lump. He was pleased that it had gone down considerably and he assured me that it is nothing to worry about. He told me that he'd refer me to a surgeon if I wanted a second opinion. I told him I trust him. I am relieved. Thank you all for your concern and support. Those antibiotics made me sick the whole time I was on them. Yuk. My stomach still isn't completely right, but it's a small price to pay to save the tatas.

I've had a lot on my mind lately. Mainly stuff about what I'm going to do with myself when all the T's are crossed and I's dotted with respect to wrapping up my past life. I feel like I'm in a fog, but I'll write about that more in a separate post. I'll probably start with, "What Being Almost 34 and Childless Means to Me". Should be a hoot. I can't write it tonight because I already have a cold and I'm down to one roll of toilet paper. So, no crying for me tonight. I need the last roll for cold snot and potty, not cry snot and potty. Cry snot is SO much worse than cold snot. So that post will come later. After I buy the good facial tissue with lotion in it.

This Duke game is a nail biter. Tied at 70 with 3:40 left to go. DIE, Blue Devils. DIE. Even if you do screw up my brackets. It's worth it to see you go DOWN!!

Nite, all. Got basketball to watch.

Whacking Your Boss and Boredom Producing Reading

I have thoroughly entertained myself this evening with this little game. I am a sick one. Go on and play. You know you want to.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On another note, I was so pleased to come home this evening and open my blinds to sunlight!!! I feel like we're slowly emerging from the doldrums of winter. I even wore flip flops today. Partly because I'm tempting "walking pneumonia", but mostly because I needed to wear pumps today and I didn't want to be uncomfortable all day unnecessarily.

I have a rule on socks. April 1st - October 1st there shall be none. I'm pushing it this year, I know. It's going to be back in the 30s next weekend. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I went bra shopping last week. Right before being disappointed by the fact that Victoria's Secret doesn't have the next size up (read: my size) I noticed how unbalanced I looked in the mirror. Upon further examination I noticed a golf ball sized mass under my left arm that I'd never seen before. My shopping spree came to an abrupt end. I went to the doctor the next day. He is trying a course of antibiotics first in the event that it's an infection from shaving or a reaction from deodorant. If it doesn't diminish, more tests. I was supposed to call him after three days. I've got 2 days left (out of 10) on the antibiotics and I'm afraid there hasn't been much of a change. Maybe a slight change, but I'm not sure if it's really gone down, or if I've just gotten used to it. It has me pretty worried when I think about it. So I try not to think about. I know, great plan--ignore it and hope it goes away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I bought tons of produce this weekend. Spring makes me want to eat lots of fresh produce. Or maybe I'm trying to stock pile anti-carcinogenic foods.


This post is boring me to sleep. I hope it's nothing. I hope it goes away. I don't want to deal with this.

Can Somebody say, "LOSER!"? - UPDATED

I hate not having anything to write about.

Can I tell you what I did last night? I came home, heated and ate leftovers, watched Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, American Idol and SVU re-runs until I fell asleep. I have SUCH a life. Don't be jealous.

OK, I did something else too. I obsessively called and voted for my 6 AI girls like a maniac. I have a system. I try my top 2 first (Melinda and Lakisha) to make sure their lines are busy. That tells me everyone else is voting for them, so I can get around to them when the lines clear (usually around 10:15pm). Then I go and try the ones I think everyone is going to forget about since they put the powerhouses last usually (Jordin and Sabrina). I voted a hundred times for these 2. Their lines were not that busy at all. I needed to boost their numbers. I want them to stay around. Then I had a toss up with my bottom two (Gina and Stephanie), so I tried Gina first. He line stayed busy. No one was voting for Stephanie, so I padded her votes too. I did make sure I got at least one vote in for Gina. I like her. She adds variety to the ladies' vibe. I don't think there have been that many female rockers. I like her a lot, maybe more than Stephanie. But I still think Steph belongs in the Top 6. Around 10:15 I got my votes in for my diva's Melinda and Lakisha. We'll see how things go tonight.

I know you can't contain your envy of my wild and crazy single life. Stop hatin'!!

And we won't even talk about how many SVU re-runs I can watch in a night.


RESULTS UPDATE:
I may be pathetic, but America is DEAF!!!! There is NO way in HELL that Sabrina and Sundance should have gone home and left SANJAYA and HALEY in the Top 12. Are you freaking KIDDING me???? Two words: singing competition. They can't SING people. And the two that went home can BLOW. VOTE people.

2nd Post in an Hour

Can someone please explain to me why I just went into the ladies room at work to be greeted by a woman looking up at me from her "hovering" position over the toilet. Yes, ass all up in the air.

What is so hard about closing the stall door?

Sense Memory

Sense memory is a funny thing. I remember learning to evoke it in an acting class in 10th grade. Funny how a scent, a taste, a sound, a song can take you back to a time and a place with full detail and full emotion. I had a couple of such experiences this week.

February 22rd marked the 1 month anniversary of totaling my car. It was also the day I finally bought a new one. Sitting in the car dealership, writing the date over and over again on all the papers I signed brought back all the fear I felt when I knew the accident was going to happen and that there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent it.

February 23rd marked the anniversary of the death of the love of my life. I had had a crush on Sean since I was a little girl. He was 2 and a half years older (read: off limits by any reasonable parents' standards) and we went to the same church. I was finally allowed to date him officially when I turned 15. We got caught making out by the soda machine in the church basement long before then. We dated until my freshman year of college. At the beginning of freshman year I was "influenced" by the student Christian organization that my boyfriend wasn't "Christian" enough, that I was "unequally yoked", so I, like a dummy, broke up with him. It turned out to be a technical break up as we continued to see each other when he was home for breaks. We were in college in different states. I remember we had plans to get together during spring break 1993, but before he got home I got the call from his grandmother. Sean had been killed, shot in the head while he sat in his car, on the way home for spring break.

I have never cried about anyone's death. This one broke my heart. I cried on the 23rd when I realized the date. We were young and in love. I am so sure, in retrospect, that I would have married him and had his children had he lived. In September of the very same year I started dating Ex. Maybe, just maybe there's a connection. I'm still very close to his sister and brother. They treat me like family. They treated Ex like family. I'm so sure they would have been my family had Sean not been killed.

OK, this story is not so depressing. In the line of sense memory, the other day I heard Anita Baker's song, Sweet Love. It takes me back to a very funny memory. His name was Jared. He was my boyfriend in 8th grade (we were the same age, so it was allowed by the 'rents, besides my dad and his dad were Boy Scouts together). He was the flame that wouldn't die after the break-up 8th grade summer and well into college years. We weren't together, but you couldn't have told us that when we were together. (OK, I just went back and changed his name to protect his identity. He may be married to someone who may take exception to our college years.) But the memory has nothing to do with all that...just with our one particular day.

We decided one afternoon, hanging out at my house in the summer, that since all of the rest of our friends were having sex, we should too. We turned on mood music. Anita Baker. I distinctly remember the pain of our unsuccessful attempts whenever I hear the song Sweet Love. We gave up after 2 or 3 tries and decided to just go outside and ride our bikes. Ah, young love. I die laughing every time I hear that song.

Certain smells get me too. I associate them with certain people. It's usually a very good thing. The smell of Hennessy, weed and Curve for men is intoxicating. Reminds me of very, very good times.

What takes you back?