WanderingAmylessly 2.0

Sitting in a pew with a 2-year-old, at a service with no nursery available, as people from the congregation are preparing to act out a three-part play, we will sing several songs from Africa that no one knows the words or tune to. He wants up in my lap. He wants down. He wants to kick the seat of the person in front of us, who keeps shooting daggers at us. He wants his stuffed bunny. He throws it on the floor and steps on it. He takes everything out of my purse. He puts my lipstick on. He sticks his fingers in my hand cream. He removes and returns every coin in my pocketbook. He says he wants to sing, or to listen to singing, but he whines during every song. I wanna go I wanna go I wanna go. It's his mantra. Over and over and over again. He wants to sit in the seat and rock back and forth, disturbing everyone down the entire row. He keeps whining for a chocolate chip muffin, the prize for being a good, quiet boy in church. And never to disappoint, "Why?" was his response

You know, it must be the day before going back to work after being gone for more than two months, many weeks spent in a mental ward, when the phrases "making sense of it all " and "what's the meaning of life" keep emerging. Right now is not the time to make sense or question meanings. It's the time to make sure that I have nylons with no runners and clean underwear and remember to put on deodorant in the morning. It's the time to make sure I take my meds properly and try to get a half hour's exercise each day. It's the time to make sure my shoes match each other and I've at least combed my hair (to subdue any "crazy lady" rumors floating around my office). But it is surely NOT the moment to contemplate life as we know it and the meaning behind it. Most days it doesn't make any sense. Most days, I just try to get through the day. It's a small goal. But baby steps feel like leaps over mountains right now. And I'm barely sh

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. Franklin D. Roosevelt

We will participate in the 2006 WalkAmerica for the March of Dimes tomorrow. It's supposed to rain. Why am I not surprised. Anyway, thank you to all those who made pledges. I raised $215. It's not the $400+ I had set as my goal, but it's a good chunk of change for a good cause. Especially because I will be trudging through the soggy April morning with a 2-year-old. Maybe I should double my fun and bring the dog, too

Nothing like a dose of stark reality to completely zap creativity. I'm going back to work on Monday. Thinking about it makes me nauseated. And completely void of anything important -- or even mildly amusing -- to write. Maybe it's like prime time tv. Everyone needs a hiatus occasionally. We'll just pretend I'm off to star in my major motion picture. While we're pretending, I'm Julia Roberts.

Nothing like a 1980s teen film to chase the blues away, at least for an hour or two. A girl from the wrong side of the tracks, a geeky new-waver who worships her, a rich high school hunk who has her eye, and John Hughes. HBO presents Pretty in Pink. Gotta love cable. I still think she made a mistake. She should've skipped the preppie and chosen the geek. I want you to know that, despite my appearance at this function, I am now, and will always be...a duck man. -- Phil "Ducky" Dale (Jon Cryer)

Welcome to My Life by Simple Plan Do you ever feel like breaking down? Do you ever feel out of place? Like somehow you just don't belong And no one understands you Do you ever wanna run away? Do you lock yourself in your room? With the radio on turned up so loud That no one hears you screaming No you don't know what it's like When nothing feels all right You don't know what it's like To be like me Do you wanna be somebody else? Are you sick of feeling so left out? Are you desperate to find something more? Before your life is over Are you stuck inside a world you hate? Are you sick of everyone around? With their big fake smiles and stupid lies While deep inside you're bleeding No you don't know what it's like When nothing feels all right You don't know what it's like To be like me To be hurt To feel lost To be left out in the dark To be kicked when you're down To feel like you've been pushed around To be on the edge of breaking down And n

After spending an hour in therapy today having all my inadequacies and fears and defectiveness paraded around and picked apart, I learned one thing. Going back to work on Monday will be painful. It is certain to cause anxiety, and I'll certainly burst into tears at some point. Many points. I think I made quick work of my therapist's entire box of tissues this morning. She said it's perfectly normal for me to have apprehension about going back. I've been gone since the end of February. My boss is no longer my boss, being replaced by someone from back East who will start the following Monday. She said it will feel like it does when one starts a new job. The first few weeks, you think "I'm stupid, I don't know anything, I'll never get the hang of this" and then before you know it, you could do the job in your sleep. I'm not convinced. I'm walking back into an office after being on "extended medical leave." Only a handful of people kn

If you have HBO, I hope you've been watching Big Love, the series about a polygamist family in Salt Lake City that still has ties to the polygamist southern Utah town and its too-close-knit clans, via one of the wives father -- who is prophet of the pro-polygamy church. Even though the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (aka, the Mormons) members started out long ago supporting the marrying of many wives, somewhere along the way (in order to get Utah's statehood), they ditched polygamy. So a fundamentalist sect (or sects) formed to carry on the tradition. I could go on and on and on and on about the LDS Church and Utah in exhausting, exasperating detail, having lived in Utah for 4.5 years. But I've been through all of it so many times, I don't have the patience for it anymore. Needless to say, when the missionaries ask my husband if he'd like to listen to what they're sharing about "The Church," he says "I already know way more than I wan

Maggie's mugging for the camera at doggie daycare during last weekend.

Friends of ours recently gave our son a toy -- the Fisher-Price Little People castle and woodsman's house, complete with Little People in the form of, conveniently enough, royalty and the woodsman. We're calling the royal man and woman King Theo and Queen Anne, after the couple who bought the set (and the dragon's been dubbed Harry, after the couple's Welsh Corgi). They're not altogether fond of children, but they've taken a liking to our little squirt, possibly because he gives them quirky lines to quote. For example: the time when my sweet little one was at the store with my husband, who asked "What did Daddy forget?" And H said, all sweet and innocent, "Daddy needs beer." It's true. I was in the loony bin, he was all alone, and he, indeed, could've used an alcoholic beverage. So H loves this castle. He gets the names mixed up and they become King Anne and Queen Theo, and he often flings Theo from the catapult. We didn't put the

Some Boston newspaper created a top 100 list of the 100 most UNsexy men. Some of these picks are nobrainers. The guy who talks for the AFLAC duck, Gilbert Godfried, was No. 1. I'm not going to argue with that one. Other UNsexies were: terror boss Osama bin Laden, movie critic Roger Ebert, no-nonsense psycho-babbler Dr. Phil, whatever-he-is-now Michael Jackson, filmmaker formerly known as Opie -- Ron Howard, and Britney Spears' freeloading husband Kevin Federline. I'm OK with all those. But No. 100 on the list was...Brad Pitt. I'm not a Brad Pitt fan. What he did to poor Jennifer, and with WHOM (that blood vial-wearing, incestuous-kissing Angelina Jolie), was horrible. But you have to admit, the boy has appeal. Except to the two MEN who wrote the list. Jealous much? Their reasoning was almost convincing. They said they heard he had bad hygiene. If you look like him, I'm not sure it matters. Ladies? Could you overlook a little musky man odor and greasy hair if they b

BTK, the convicted serial killer of 10 people in the Wichita, Kan., area from the '70s to the '90s, sits in prison. Some hope the man, aka Dennis Rader, rots in hell. But, in his manipulative, sicko way, he's suckered the prison system in my home state into believing he's a model prisoner on good behavior. They have given back some of his "privileges" including TV, reading and writing. I know that those seem basic for most prisoners. But this is a guy who wrote letters and drew explicit pictures, sending them to the media and police, taunting them about what he'd done. He also killed many women, including one young girl, after torturing them physically or sexually. Then killing them aroused him so much, he'd masturbate all over the victims or the area around them. Do we really think that this man deserves credit for good behavior? Do we want to praise him for awaking on time, not causing a ruckus, being (slyly) kind to guards and other prisoners? HE K

More of Miss Maggie and her companions at the doggie bed & breakfast...

I'm so happy that technological breakthroughs happen. You know, cures for diseases, communications tools that keep vital entities around the world connected 24/7, the ability to download ringtones for one's cell phone. For a long time, my phone crooned a melodic, computerized rendition of Brown-Eyed Girl each time someone called. On Thursday, I added a new ringtone to my collection. 99 Red Balloons by Nena, an '80s classic. Got me to thinking, I wonder if Mr. Roboto is available. How about Sister Christian? Journey's Open Arms? At $1.99 per download, I'll have to wait for a while before searching for the American Bandstand lineup from, say, 1983. For now, enjoy... nee nee nee, nee nee ne-nee, nee nee nee nee neh-neh nee ... Ninety nine red balloons Floating in the summer sky Panic bells, it's red alert There's something here from somewhere else The war machine springs to life Opens up one eager eye And focusing it on the sky The ninety nine red balloons go b

Maggie was accepted into doggie daycare! And she's proving that she's a big dog trapped in a little dog's body. She mixed it up with a Bishon Frise and ever since, she's hanging with the rough and tumble canine crew.

You can file this headline under the category of "no shit." From the Miami/Ft. Lauderdale area... Beware door-to-door free breast exam guy

My six-month-old Westie, Maggie (or maggles, maggie-may, mags, or other various variations on a theme), needs to be boarded this weekend for the first time since we got her. The tryout part: We really can't bear taking her to a kennel where they lock her in a cage for three days. She needs to run and play with other dogs and get human loving. So, she has a trial playtime today at a doggie daycare. We've had to fill out a long application. They see today whether she's an acceptable fit for their establishment. I swear it's worse than sending a kid to college. And almost as expensive (at least we get in-state tuition rates?). The worrying part: I feel like a nervous mother, waiting to see if her child scores well and impresses the judges, or whether she gets sent to detention for bad behavior. Please please please, Mags, no chewing on shoes or fingers or other dogs' various body parts. Please. The fun part: if she gets in, they post pictures throughout the day on thei

I'm going to pretend that my most frequently used e-mail site, gmail, isn't working. Because there's something very sad about checking my mail and having a big fat (0) in my inbox.

There's some sort of irony in the fact that Tom Cruise's fiancée and cradle-robbee Katie Holmes gave birth yesterday, on the same day as Brooke Shields, Cruise's postpartum nemesis. As you may recall, Cruise blabbed his big Scientology-spouting mouth a while back about how psychiatrists were quacks and that women shouldn't take anti-depressants, instead relying on some sort of natural healing when suffering from postpartum depression. Shields took issue with his babble on psycho-babble, since she wrote the book (literally) on postpartum depression after suffering from it during her first pregnancy. Let's see how Miss Katie fares with her post-pregnancy moods. I think she must've been on drugs to get involved with Cruise -- who I think is the real quack -- in the first place, much less procreate with him. And don't think he wasn't smoking something when he was doing backflips off Oprah's couch, professing his undying love and devotion (and in the word

"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds. He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.) When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown t

At what age do little boys stop kissing their mamas? Hello, goodbye, goodnight, I love you, thanks for letting me borrow the car...what? I'm befuddled. My 2-year-old angel has stopped kissing his mommy. He'll turn his cheek for a peck from me. He'll give big hugs and wipe his snotty nose on the sleeve of my shoulder. He'll follow me into the bathroom and expect to stay there. The whole time. Always. But what's the deal? He's two. I want to sweep up my sweetie in my arms and smooch his little mouth, his whole face, in fact. He's my baby. Cuts my heart like a Ginsu blade when he turns his mouth away. Even more so when he utters the phrases "stop bothering me Mommy" or "no, leave me alone." When I'm doing nothing other than sitting in the same room with him, watching him play with his array of medical vehicles and construction equipment. Is it just boys? Do they inherently know how to break the female heart? Or is it just me? Am I a repu

I get aggravated by my son's constant questioning. Why?, he asks. I'm not sure he even realizes it's a question, or if he does, he doesn't know the answer to it. A lot of things in his life can be easily explained following one of those WHYs. Because it just is. Because I said so. Because because because. I guess it just gets more intense through the years. Why to everything becomes WHY. Period. What's the point? What's the meaning of life? Why? I'm tired of asking. Because no one can give me an answer. Just because.

They're beautiful, with their colors in bloom, their greening majesty and growing pageantry. And they make me so sick I want to cut off my nose. And not even to spite my face. They are: anything that grows, blooms, turns green, involves pollen, or otherwise attacks my immune system with its mere existence, turning an otherwise gorgeous season of the year into a miserable experience. Can't wait for the time when it gets so hot, my kid's plastic toys melt in the back yard. When the grass turns a putrid brown and crisps like a kettle chip under my feet. When I can sit in an air-conditioned house, safe from any pollen-like substances that might creep in to attack. Of course, then there's mold, dust mites, upholstery and carpet fumes... There's nowhere safe. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Grab the Claritin. Supersize the box of tissues. Welcome to Spring. Welcome to the Allergen Zone.

One might wonder if a church that celebrates Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, and an array of other -isms and -ities, would celebrate Easter. We celebrated with a Spring Family Celebration. We talked about Passover, Easter, and had a "stone ritual". Something about "pushing the stone away and letting the light shine through." And in this week's "you gotta love a church that...": The service included both the Hallelujah Chorus and a song by Bob Marley.

I promise, I'll stop passing on these news headlines. But I really want to know who writes headlines for cnn.com. Because the person either needs a raise or a slap upside the head. "Olympigs" offer swine chance to shine

Conversation with a 2-year-old about the Easter Bunny: Adult: After you go to bed tonight, the Easter Bunny will come. Child: Why? A: Because it'll bring you presents in a big basket C: Why? A: Because it's Easter C: Why? A: Because it just is. C: Oh. A: So are you excited about Easter and getting presents? C: Why? A: Because it's fun to get presents. C: Why? A: Remember Christmas, when Santa came? C: No A: When you went to bed, Santa came with presents, just like the Easter Bunny will. C: Why? A: You have to go to sleep though, because it's a surprise. C: Why? A: Because it's the Easter Bunny, and you'll get presents. C: Why? A: I don't remember anymore.

I love my iPod. It's an ancient one -- someone recently called it the "archaic" version. It's a hand-me-down from my husband, who now has one that's more from the mesozoic than the paleozoic era of mp3-type players. I covet my friend Jenni's Nano, which is tiny and beautiful and has a great gadget for plugging into the formerly - known - as - a - cigarette - lighter space and listening to it through the car radio. Even a Shuffle, with its mere 1 gig capacity, would be ideal for walking the dog or jamming at the gym. But for now, I'm using my clunker. It works fine, just looks like I'm toting around a small computer. I can't imagine going back to the days of the Walkman. That thing was bigger than a shoe box. And here's a sampling of what I listened to today on a walk with my Westie. I'm Too Sexy - Right Said Fred Father Figure - George Michael Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler Obsession - Animotion Only In My Dreams - Debbie Gibson

This may be a post some will find offensive. it involves birth control. If you plan on becoming offended, please skip this post. The idea of teaching only abstinence in sex ed classes makes me sick. It isn't realistic, it's naive and it teaches ignorance. However, these days, adults have so many birth control devices and drugs from which to choose, abstinence might be an easier option. (For complete and serious info, go to http://www.plannedparenthood.com) A poster recently seen in an ob/gyn office outlined the following contraceptive choices: * Implants (the medicinal-dispensing kind, not the breast kind) * Depo-Provera (the every-three-months shot) * Progestin-only birth control pills (known as POPS; hopefully your partner won't become one) * The original Pill (original, but there are about 401 versions from various drug companies) * The IUD (two kinds: a copper one, and one I can't remember the name of but it's something like the Macarena)

I've been scoffed at when describing the mangled DQ "historic". As you might read in the other comment, my friend Jenni explained that indeed, it was historic. Right down to its authentic, original ice cream cone lighted sign out front. Now that's about all that's left. People were standing around in the destruction, not sure what to do with themselves, having lost their roofs, their walls, their livelihoods. Almost immediately after the sirens sounded the all clear, neighbors ventured from their safe places to take in others who'd been less fortunate. They called to check on each other. People who once lived here called and emailed when they heard the news reports to see what they could do to help. That's what kind of people we have here in our town. People who help each other, take care of each other, love and protect each other. We have 20,000 undergraduates here at the University, and when the storm hit right in the middle of their apartments and homes

Our town got rocked by at least one tornado last night. It came within 1/2 mile of our house, and mangled everything in its path. We were so close, too close. My husband actually saw a funnel cloud through the non-stop lightning and ran back in the house to the safety of our basement. The twisting winds and large hail demolished an historic Dairy Queen by the river. Flipped over cars all over the city (we have a car getting worked on in the shop...and I'm guessing it was exposed to the elements). A wall of a sorority house collapsed. Roof of a church ripped off. Everywhere we turn, something's ripped apart or fallen over. The University canceled classes today -- which NEVER happens. This is a time when I wish I was still reporting. I gave up my journalistic life a few years ago, but in times like these, I want to be out there reporting what I can find out. And basically being nosy. I want to be in the center of it all. When you're a reporter, it's called doing your job.

Group therapy this morning was enlightening. I'm so messed up. We did this test to discover what they call "filters". Some other people call them schemas or automatic thoughts. They asked what our top few were. All 10 were high on my list. I even said as much in class. Everyone laughed. I'm not sure whether they commiserated, or whether they were glad they aren't as messed up as I am. (and I'm sure that thought involves a filter in some way...) I thought I'd share with you all the 10 filters. Do you see them in yourselves? It's ok to see them. But when they run your life, get help. You don't have to live this way. That's why I'm in therapy. I want to ditch these negative filters forever. EMOTIONAL DEPRIVATION: This cluster gives a sense that others will not provide us with affection, attention, direction, empathy, nurturance, strength, and understanding. Beliefs include: No one makes me feel special. No one listens to me or understands me.

Beautiful Disaster By Kelly Clarkson He drowns in his dreams An exquisite extreme I know He’s as dumb as he seems And more heaven than a heart could hold And if I try to save him My whole world could cave in It just ain’t right It just ain’t right Oh when I don’t know I don’t know what he’s after But he’s so beautiful Such a beautiful disaster And if I could hold on Through the tears and the laughter Would it be beautiful? Or just a beautiful disaster His magical myth As strong as with I believe A tragedy with More damage than a soul should see And do I try to change him So hard not to blame him Hold on tight Hold on tight Oh cuz I don’t know I don’t know what he’s after But he’s so beautiful Such a beautiful disaster And if I could hold on Through the tears and the laughter Would it be beautiful? Or just a beautiful disaster I’m longing for love and the logical But he’s only happy hysterical I’m waiting for some kind of miracle Waited so long So long He’s soft to the touch But afraid

Does one celebrate one's deflowering? I suppose it depends on whether the deflowerer is still around, was a big nasty of a person, is attached to someone else, so on. And how would one go about the celebration? Streamers? Champagne? Photo and letter burning? Or would one recall the moments of the fateful night (and perhaps morning after, too...that is morning, not mourning). Was it bad? Was it good? Was it amazingly quick? Or was it just amazing. Maybe one should just let the past be the past. April 12, 1996. Thanks Michael. And go to hell.

I know. It was only two posts ago. But who the hell comes up with these? Another round of online headlines. Guffaw, if you must. Couple faked sextuplets for cash, cops say (CNN) Gay student expelled for his 'predisposition' (idiots. CNN) Star wears red shirt, no pants to ceremony (CNN...and it makes it even more funny that it's Winnie the Pooh) Louisiana parish may hire ex-FEMA director (MSNBC) Ok. I'm going to stop. I'm nearly doubled over with laughter with that last one.

My niece just went to a prom. A second-chance prom. She's (?) 24 - don't shoot me Bri, if that's not exactly right... She had a bad first prom experience in high school. So she and her man went to a prom that raised money for The Dresden Dolls, and if I were cool, I'd know who they are. Some band I think. There was alcohol there, which was a big selling point, apparently. And they took just about the coolest photo I've ever seen. Pardon, kiddo, but I stole your pic to post here. You look too fun. ***EDITED: to say that I think maybe it's not Bri in the photo but the aforementioned Dresden Dolls. I'm so confused, and again, so uncool.

Some great headlines online this a.m., read while I was sitting at the kitchen table with my hair in hot rollers, drinking my caffeine free Diet Coke just after popping my lithium and waiting for a therapy session later in the a.m. So perhaps I found them more interesting than you might... 1. Pregnant woman beaten at baby shower (CNN) 2. Man torches girlfriend at gas station (CNN) 3. Carhorn concerto raises "high"brows (CNN) 4. Can too much cleanliness harm children? (CNN...and OCD???!) 5. Utah Adventure Cures Vacation Doldrums (CNN) (huh? a man might think, hmmm, 'Be a polygamist for a day!') 6. Kenya fake plane crash causes panic (CNN) 7.'Pig Book' targets Government Pork (CNN) 8. Can I tell my lover one minute isn't enough? (MSNBC) 9. Shocking night on American Idol (MSNBC...more shocking? Lead story. GAG) 10. Fido, you've aged! Family gets dog back after 5 years (MSNBC) 11. Will Ralph Reed crap out? (salon.com) 12. Cruise buys Holmes "adult-si

My imagination? Or during the Katie love-fest on the Today show, while she was talking about leaving for CBS News, was Matt Lauer unable to control his touching of her hands? Which were in her LAP? I counted 4 times at least that he leaned over and grabbed her hand, and if one were to carry out the scenario, nearly grabbed her CROTCH. Just my secret desire to see these two hook up. Weird morning news show desires. It ain't West Wing's Donna & Josh, but it is a little amusing. ***Did I spell anything wrong? Just checking.

When do they release the Darwin Awards? Is that a yearly thing? I have a submission: VENTURA, California (AP) -- A teacher who kept a 40 mm shell on his desk as a paperweight blew off part of his hand when he apparently used the object to try to squash a bug, authorities say.

My new eyeglass frames, which are kickass and ultra cool, btw, are the "Harry Lary's Paris" brand. Apparently very popular among the vintage-fan crowd. One thing that concerns me tho. The name of the frame itself. Calamity. Wikipedia: a terrible thing that happens; causing great sorrow; disaster Bodes well? Not so much.

Dear Amy, Indicted Republican leader Tom DeLay announced late last night that he will withdraw from his race for re-election and leave Congress within months. This comes after Friday's news that a key former DeLay aide pleaded guilty to conspiracy and agreed to cooperate with the ongoing federal investigation of DeLay's money-for-influence machine. DeLay says he made his decision because he doesn't want to let Democrats make him the issue in the 2006 elections. But Tom DeLay himself has never been the issue. DeLay is a symptom of a larger disease -- a sick Republican culture of corruption that touches everyone who took his dirty money, voted for his corrupt leadership, or sat silently while their party has sold our government to the highest bidder. The corruption extends to the House, the Senate, and the Bush Administration -- and this November the accountability must reach just as wide. Democrats aren't running against Tom DeLay this year. We are running to end the Rep

A certain someone said the church I've been going to sounds like one for hippie agostics**. It's actually a church that values: • The inherent worth and dignity of every person • Justice, equity, and compassion • Acceptance encouragement to spiritual growth • A free and responsible search for truth and meaning • The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process • The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all • Respect for the interdependent web of all existence If that's being a hippie agnostic, sign me up any day. **edited to say "agNostics" since I apparently attracted an editor along the way. do I get points for spelling it right the second time? editors. useless lot.

“Big Yellow Taxi” -- Joni Mitchell They paved paradise And put up a parking lot With a pink hotel, a boutique And a swinging hot spot Don’t it always seem to go That you don’t know what you’ve got Till it’s gone They paved paradise And put up a parking lot They took all the trees Put ’em in a tree museum And they charged the people A dollar and a half just to see ’em Don’t it always seem to go That you don’t know what you’ve got Till it’s gone They paved paradise And put up a parking lot Hey farmer farmer Put away that d.d.t. now Give me spots on my apples But leave me the birds and the bees Please! Don’t it always seem to go That you don’t know what you’ve got Till it’s gone They paved paradise And put up a parking lot Late last night I heard the screen door slam And a big yellow taxi Took away my old man Don’t it always seem to go That you don’t know what you’ve got Till it’s gone They paved paradise And put up a parking lot

My family has started attending services at the local Unitarian Universalist Society. I'm not sure what my extended family will think about this. Fire and brimstone may come into play. Why, you wonder? Isn't it just a church like any other? Well, no. For instance, the "hymn" in closing at Sunday's service was Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell. When was the last time you were in church and sang Joni Mitchell. Jesus was not mentioned. Not uttered? Amen. And whoa, hold the phone, there's no belief in a triune God. No father son holy spirit. Pretty much stops with God. The sermon, however, was on social responsibility for global warming. Take a poll...I'm guessing there isn't a registered republican within 1/2 a mile. And that, in itself, would be reason enough to go. But I love the attitude. We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote: • The inherent worth and dignity of every person; • Justice,

When I gotta get a fix, I call up my dealer. She gets out her supply. I salivate as the goods slide seductively through my fingers. This weekend, I'm planning to cross the border to get the good stuff. My connections promise top quality and value prices. What a score. That is, my friend Jenni and I are going to a ... Scrapbooking Convention. (The funniest part of this whole addiction scenario is that my local Creative Memories dealer is a Mormon.)

Finally, after HOW MANY seasons, Josh and Donna on the West Wing had sex. Earlier in the week, I'd argued with someone against calling it the "fornnication" show. Because it's Josh and Donna! He loves her so much he doesn't even know it. And she worships his every word. But times have changed on the show. Their witty, speed-of-light banter is gone. I don't know why I expected any less disappointment from this. But it wasn't romantic. Or loving. Caring. Or even very silly, as one would expect from these two. We didn't even see a kiss or caress. He didn't even hold her afterwards. So I guess fornication might fit. F-ing. Doing the Deed. Getting to know in the biblical sense. Or my favorite descriptor, from someone in my life whom I'd not expect to make the statement... Doing the nasty. Next week, Leo McGarry bites the dust on the show (rest in gentle peace, John Spencer), and I'm guessing that'll destroy everyone. Hopefully enough so that

There seems to be some interest in my new hair color. If you're going to tell me it's yellow and that I should've done something else, maybe don't bother. Otherwise, for those who asked, here's the blonder me.

My kid was full-term, completely healthy, and quite frankly, a big chunk. But many parents are not so lucky. I just read that more than 1/2 a million babies a year are born underdeveloped in some way. I'm walking, as I have been for years, in the March of Dimes WalkAmerica to raise money to fight premature birth. Last year I dedicated my walk to the memory of Will, a beautiful preemie whose strength touched many and whose loss we will mourn forever. It is with celebration, though, that I share the news: his parents have Will's brother, at home with them now. Born on Christmas Day, joyfully at 35 weeks instead of Will's heartbreaking 24, he truly is a miracle. Healthy, happy and ready to offer renewed hope and inspiration for the 2006 walk. However, it is important to note that he was still born premature. When you join March of Dimes WalkAmerica, you bond together with millions of others in the fight to defeat premature birth. Today in the U.S., 1,305 babies will be born