"The Peasants, They Love Me - Pull!"

Anticipated with pleasure, experienced with discomfort, and remembered with nostalgia...

• Mel Brooks films?
• Prom night?
• Finally giving it up?
• College friends?
• Toilet bowl moments?
• Bar Mitzvahs?
• Getting busted at a sit-in with three other hippies?

Any of the above could be correct; however, the original author was describing family vacations. I can't help thinking he/she never stayed with Becky and David in Colorado Springs.

To paraphrase Tevye: If this is discomfort, may God smite me with a similar curse.

Most people I know live in a house. Becky's place is more like an intimate compound minus David Koresh and all his creepy followers. Husband and I had to leave bread crumbs in order to find our room. Our boys used bullhorns to request water in the middle of the night. Maps detailing exit routes are located in every bathroom.

In other words, this place is huge.

My youngest lost one of his baseball caps and we may as well kiss it goodbye. Effectively searching nineteen rooms is damn near impossible. Perhaps Becky will discover it next winter when she makes her annual pilgrimage to the south wing. Keep your fingers crossed.

My husband made a big mistake and tried to play hide and seek with the kids. Jackson, Becky's six year-old son, hid in a long-forgotten-about closet (something I didn't think existed) and actually fell asleep waiting for the "seeker" to arrive. Right hand to God, the kid had day-old stubble when my oldest finally found him.

Of course, paradise comes with a few problems.

Husband was outside touring the grounds and sneezed. Within seconds, the community's guard (think Luca Brasi from The Godfather) shows up with complaints of "noise issues" from "concerned neighbors" and my groom was threatened with legal action. The poor guy took Sudafed and Xanax at the same time.

Becky and David's friends were less than thrilled with my ideas about redistributing wealth in this country. One of them mumbled that socialists should be stopped at the gate.

In addition to artwork worth more than several third world nations, they also own a dog the size of a pony. Every night he eats a small cow for supper and lets off enough gas to rival an entire stadium of Chicago Bears fans. Seriously, I had to retire to the North Lawn for a breath of fresh mountain air.

Then I saw a bear and had to fight my man for the last Xanax. He won.

Tales from the Road

This is just an example of noises heard from vehicle while cruising Highway 66 and other points west:

- All verses of This Land is Your Land (rinse; repeat) at top volume

- Verbal quizzes covering states, capitals, and failed foreign policies

- Role-playing favorite scenes from Grapes of Wrath (Katie plays all characters)

Actual Quotes that Cannot Be Denied

"Are we there yet?"

"Turn off the radio. We've heard enough Whitesnake to last a lifetime."

"No more trips to Hoover Dam, okay? My bummy hurts."

"Yeah, impressive. I just wish my cell phone worked."

"Can we keep it under eighty, old man? You've got precious cargo back here."

"You smell that? Open a window, I'm dying."

"Raise your hand if you're sick of mountains!"

"Deer ass. Now there's something you don't see every day."

"I never thought I'd be so happy to see Wal-Mart."

"Mommy's cut off - no more water. Eight bathroom breaks in an hour is more than enough."

"Who wants to score some peyote?"

"Bush is right. Plenty of forest left. Plenty."

"I thought this family didn't believe in spanking."

"No more bad words, Mommy. You promised."

"Pay attention to your father before he insults me again."

"Boys! Take a breath."

"Raise your hand if you want to pretend we've seen the Grand Canyon and head back early."

"You know, in this light, you look just like Walter Matthau."

"All I want is internet access and green tea. Is that too much to ask?"

"Patriotism swells in the heart of the American bear."

The Tao of Me

Traveling is transcendental.

Old timers say modern travelers never had it so good. DVD players, air conditioning, graveled roads and Xanax all make the road a happier place. Mention you're flying 'cross country with spouse and kids? Often the response is: "Must be nice. In my day..." Blah, blah, blah.

Modern conveniences aren't without inconveniences.

Ever lose a gameboy cartridge on a crowded airplane? They're about the size of a quarter and require contortions and doggy-style positions in order to investigate every possible hiding place. Joe Traveler is already pissed there's no meal - imagine how he reacts to your ass in his face?

On the other hand, who needs airline food when Chili's sets up shop right in the terminal? HINT: If you're looking ahead at a two hour flight to St. Louis, then another two hour flight to Phoenix, followed by a two hour drive to Prescott - do not, I repeat, do not order the black bean patty. Learn from my mistake. Six hours dealing with intestinal issues is no way to begin a vacation.

Another perk when flying certain (read: dirt cheap) airlines is lining up like cattle for seats. This forces otherwise morally superior parents to assess their own value system and, almost always, come up short. Husband and I heard an announcement: "If traveling with children four and under, you may preboard and avoid contact with people who smell like mothballs and old cheese." We turned and gave our five year-olds a talk titled When Mommy and Daddy Say It's Okay, Lying Isn't a Sin. Upside: seated first; Downside: seats located on slippery slope. Enjoy the ride, folks! Guilty conscience included.

Seriously though, we're glad to be in Arizona. Sure, AZ does its own thing regarding DST and was a holdout when honoring MLK with a holiday. Personally, I could do without all the references to Barry Goldwater. Other than that, Arizona is a grand state. Here's what I like in no particular order.

Mitch, my father-in-law, is showing us a hell of a good time. His hospitality knows no bounds and we feel comfortably at home. That is, if home boasted an impressive art collection in which every female is nude and involved in some form of fondling.

Rock formations out here are awe-inspiring. Mitch has driven us to places like Jerome - a town built on the side of a mountain. Everything is perched. Really, a tragedy waiting to happen - even when not careening around corners with a madman behind the wheel. Mark my word. Someone's gonna fall one of these days. It's just a matter of time.

Sedona is full of positive vibes. Even I went easy on everyone when passing through. Red rocks everywhere, beautiful scenery, impressive city planning. I kept closing my eyes, envisioning a happy place and soaking up the good energy. Then Mitch would swerve to miss a pedestrian and I'd chew a hole in my tongue. Good times.

We're off for more family fun and togetherness. Wish us luck.

“I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose.”

Tonight we are heading off on the legendary, feared, dreaded and lampooned Family Vacation. You’re probably thinking: two kids, hell…three kids, two weeks, close quarters, all while staying within budget… are you high?

High on life, my friend. High. On. Life.

There are several reasons for this trip.

Guilt: I have been telling my father-in-law, sister, and best friend, “We’re coming to see you this summer. PROMISE!” for the past three years. By now, my brother-in-law puts more faith in Trickle-Down Economics than my word. Husband and I tried to come up with another excuse this year, but sad looks weigh heavy on our minds. I give them each two days before those sad looks mean something else, like, “You’ve depleted my energy and patience. Please leave before we run out of food as well.”

Change of Scenery: Try entertaining two kids in Podunk, Florida for two months without going insane and taking husband with you. Damn near impossible. There are only so many swimming lessons, library trips, and neighborhood walks one can take before boredom eats the brain. We’ve already been to the zoo five times. The monkeys started a rumor about me and Marlin the Manatee. A parrot even said, “Get a life!” when we walked by her cage.

Last Chance: If we have another child, our traveling will be curtailed for at least a few years. Why not live it up now while we have the chance? By “live it up”, I mean sit around my sister’s house in our underwear and complain about each other. At least we’ll be looking at mountains instead of monsoons. That’s gotta count for something.

Here’s the itinerary.

Phoenix is first, to visit my father-in-law and reassure ourselves that he’s nowhere near adult diaper-wearing years. (“At least it’s a dry heat.”) Mitch will take us to the Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam. (My oldest loves to complain that it should be Hoover Darn because cursing hurts his ears.) After wearing out our welcome, we’re off to Colorado Springs. That’s right, home of conservatives, bears, wolves – and other animals that eat their young. We can wander around the national headquarters of Focus on the Family to prove that Pasco County ain’t so scary after all. When Becky begs us to leave, we will go and bother my sister in Denver. Michele is the Outdoors Type so I’ve had to insist all mountain trips take place behind the wheel of a fortified automobile and nature walks discouraged entirely. Just yesterday she saw a coyote walking through her back yard, for the love of Pete. I probably won’t leave the house.

My husband’s bringing his laptop so when the kids fall asleep we can whip out adult entertainment and embarrass everyone. I will post pictures and commentary often to prove we have not killed each other.

Bets anyone?

Men That Matter Most on Father’s Day

Near or Far: Technically, he’s my stepfather. Ron met my mother a few months after my nineteenth birthday. By then, I had learned men could not be trusted. Too easily they’d leave without looking back, indulge in alcoholic binges, steal money from relatives and leave a family impoverished and alone.

My mother warned Ron I was difficult at times. She often had to explain her oldest daughter’s caustic humor. I swayed between cold and hostile, immune to charm or personality. My smile felt empty, promising nothing. His smile seemed warm, welcoming, and I immediately became suspicious. Who was this guy? I politely shook his hand, silently giving him a month at best.

I had no way of knowing a gift had just been given and, thankfully, with no return receipt. I had no way of knowing Ron would love my family unconditionally, talk us back from near disasters and encourage us to try again. I had no way of knowing he’d listen to anti-military tirades, then patiently explain two tours of duty in Vietnam, leaving me with a newfound respect for our country’s soldiers – and for him. I had no way of knowing he would cheer loudest the day I graduated from college and beam brightest while walking me down the aisle on my wedding day. I had no way of knowing years later he would love my children with all his heart, building a dock out back to teach them the ways of the world while feeding ducks and fish. I had no way of knowing he would challenge so many beliefs and leave me forever changed – year after year after year.

He came into our family, but we are the ones who joined him. Ron didn’t mind my brother’s distance, sister’s trepidation, or my own endless supply of doubt. He knew he’d win us over eventually. Despite carnivorous eating, NASCAR and right-wing voting habits, I couldn’t resist him. Deep down, every daughter needs a dad. No matter how self-sufficient we appear, the more love we have, the better we do. He has proven real fathers can be counted on for the long haul – year after year after year.

Technically, he’s my stepfather, but that’s not how I think of him. In every way that matters, he is most certainly my dad.

Disclaimer: I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the father-in-law, off enjoying poker or porn since his acerbic "wit" has been missing from my comments sections. Thank God for small favors. Since we will all be together later this week, I thought I’d save some room and just complain about him then. You’re welcome.

Rise Up, Rise Up: I keep blinds and shutters closed, lights off for most of the day. I get this habit from my mother. Nana used to call her “Mrs. Mole” so I guess that makes me “Ms. Mole”. In my defense, light finds its way. Besides, a semi-dark house is a cool house. When the weather outside is frightful (97 degrees and getting hotter) a cool house is also a happy house.

When my husband comes home, he always turns the lights on. Always.

Know what he does first, though? He pulls in the driveway and waits a second for our children to open the door and dance to music coming from his car. Then they run, laughing and ignoring my attempt at sternness (“Walking feet!”) to hide somewhere.

“Pretend I’m in Hawaii, Mommy!” my youngest whispers.

“Pretend I’m in California!” my oldest whispers a second later from another location.

That’s when The Man comes inside and hits the light. In my best Donna Reed impersonation, dressed in sweats instead of a skirt, I give kisses and ask about his day.

“Where are my boys?” he asks loud enough to make them giggle and then takes his time looking around. Making the fun last and last for all of us.

The boys are learning many things from their father. They learn laughter diffuses anger from imitating daddy’s funny faces; self-confidence and good sportsmanship from hockey games out back; numbers from “New World Record” where daddy throws the ball and counts how many times they catch without dropping. They’ve learned to change their voices for different characters during story time, the importance of family, and how to shake hands with grownups. The other day, our kids took turns opening the door first and it occurred to me: they’re learning how to be good men.

In so many ways, my husband shines a light on our lives and brightens up the place. My world would be too dark without him.

Happy Father’s Day.

The Following is a Public Service Announcement

Summer is here and you know what that means? Near-drownings, bug-related illnesses, shark attacks, torrential downpours, and visits to the doctor.

Co-pays plus legal molestation equals good times.

Most of our family’s doctor appointments get scheduled during winter and summer vacation because breaks shouldn’t be just about fun, g*ddamnit. Here are some lessons learned regarding physician visits with or without children:

- If you can’t pawn the kids off during visits to the dermatologist, bring along Nintendo DS games to keep them quiet. You heard me. Old CW: Videogames are just distractions for mouthbreathers. New CW: they are really a godsend. Mario Bros. can keep even unruly children quiet so doctor can peer through a magnifying glass and grumble disapprovingly at tattoos. Of course, even while distracted, children drop some gems. For example: I slipped out of my clothes and into the paper gown quickly so not to harm my children with sights of their mother in Hanes Her Way (my Victoria’s Secret days are so over). My youngest leaned in and whispered, “Mommy, don’t let them see your penis.”


- When women hit thirty-five, doctors recommend more fiber in our diets. They also recommend a baseline mammogram with which to compare old boobs someday. Many women complain that a mammogram is painful because breasts are smashed like pancakes for not-so-flattering pictures. Me? I like the rough stuff. Could do without technician groping the girls and saying, “Sorry, but I have to move them up to where they USED to be, you know, before gravity took over.” TIP: Call around before scheduling an appointment because some radiology centers throw in a breast exam. For no extra charge, another tech will demonstrate how to play with yourself and feel for lumps all at the same time. A multi-tasker’s dream! After an hour of going to first base with two middle-aged women, I also learned how to make unattractive poses in the mirror while looking for “irregularities”. That’ll get hubby in the mood, I’m sure.


- Apparently when women carry multiple high-maintenance fetuses at the same time, they….how to put this delicately….well…. things start coming out the ass. Thanks to Katie Couric, colon cancer is on everyone’s mind, so doctors often schedule a flexible sigmoidoscopy to make sure said ass is clean. If a regular anal exam sounds like fun, check this out. Prep includes not one, but TWO enemas ahead of time. TIP: Take off the orange cap before insertion. Makes for a much more pleasant experience without yelling, “Moon River!” and alerting the children. Who needs embarrassing questions like, “Mom, why are you on the floor with something in your butt?” I mean, really. What answer would satisfy such innocent curiosity? (How about, “You ruined me. From head to toe. Now bugger off and go watch Buster!”) And I love attempts at casual conversation during the procedure itself. I barely listened to the good doctor. Instead, I spelled and said the word, “Sphincter” over and over again inside my head to keep distracted. After flex sig finished, along with fun lectures like Miracles of Prune Juice, the nurse gave me a comment card. What is this? Zagat? They actually had the nerve to ask, “What can we do to improve our services?” I wrote: #1: Dim the lights and #2: Open bar.

- Here’s what they don’t mention. An added bonus to the flex sig experience is hours of gas pain afterward. TIP: Clear the house! Worse than broccoli, I’m telling you.

So there you have it. It’s not always fun and games at the doctor, people. Sometimes it’s a real pain in the ass.

Dear Diary - Final Entry

This is it. After 1990, I no longer kept a diary. (Hold your applause 'til the end.) Not sure why - too busy keeping up with Future Husband on a regular basis, trying to graduate on time, running around with naked friends - who knows? I'm glad, though. Like Jimmy Buffet says, "Yesterday is over my shoulder." So, for the last time, let's glance back for just a moment...

January 4th: “Marc’s mom called me up at Marcia and Elise’s and yelled at me because I call too late at night. They hate me. Todd came over and hung out. Left mad. Says I make him crazy.”

January 30th: “Todd and I broke up. OBVIOUS REASONS. Marc and Babette broke up. Marc needs space right now. Said he loved me again and this time I said it back. FIRST TIME EVER. TO ANYONE. Julie and I saw Maki Mandela speak. Interesting.”

February 16th: “Saw The Jesus and Mary Chain concert with Marcia. Marc met the gang. Well, he met Julie last Halloween when he told a Jewish joke and she slapped him because she thought he was anti-Semitic. Then I explained he’s Jewish, too, and she thought he was okay after that. Jeez. He met the rest of them tonight. Cathy kept singing, “Look at me, I’m Katie” instead of “Sandra Dee” from Grease. Everyone else went to Masquerade, then Mike came over and kept turning the lights on us. Marc this is Mike; Mike this is Marc. Great beginning, huh?”

March 7th: “Nightmare Day. Went to the gynecologist for the first time – Sharon came with me. Turns out I have one tough hymen. That explains a lot. World’s oldest doctor couldn’t get in and I almost told him to join the club. He explained the whole thing – with pictures and diagrams – none of the solutions sound romantic. Good thing Julie wasn't there or she’d have drawn the whole thing for everyone at the next party. I am just not normal. This confirms it.”

March 19th: “Went to Melbourne (Marc’s hometown) and met his best friends Joe and Ariana. They are nice, but quiet. They didn’t like Babette, but I think they like me. Marc said I make him float. Funny thing is, he seems to mean it. Not like others. He is really so kind to me.”

April 12th: “Marc needs a break. I cried and cried. Then Nana told me to get out of the house and quit feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted to hang around with her, but she said to get off my ‘arse’ because she didn’t want me around ‘moping’. I took her advice and went to Marcia and Elise’s and met Tim. He’s Irish and so cute – looks like a Kennedy! I told Nana she is always right. She just smiled.”

May 4th: “Tim and I are seeing each other now. At one party, Marc showed up and met him. They hung out and played quarters while I sat on the sofa ALONE. Then Marc left with a smirk on his face. Later, Tim told me he could “make me scream”. What an ego! I fell asleep while he was talking. Spent the day with Mike and Julie. Mike thinks I need to make up my mind about men and stick to it. Easier said than done.”

May 18th: “Mom and Ron got married. What a great night. Mom looked beautiful. Michele drank too much and crawled around in the bushes. Will remind “our lady” about this until she’s old and grey. Marc came and is almost like a member of the family. He and Michael already act like brothers."

June 5th: “Met Dawn, Marc’s newest chickie poo. Tim is starting ‘I love you’ noise. Predictable. Mike is the only male (outside my family) who is worthy of trust because he’s the only one who has never tried to f*ck with my head. Or the rest of me. He’s the best. Julie, Marcia, and I protested the GE power plant in Largo. Almost got arrested. Fun!”

September 7th: “Defended Mike’s honor on Channel 8 news after what will now be referred to as the “Spiderman Incident”. Lots of stuff on the news about going to war. Makes me think of Becky. They listed an address to write to soldiers so I wrote to her. Would hate for my old best friend to die or get hurt with bad blood between us. Can hardly remember what went wrong. Hope she writes back.”

October 10th: “Julie and I went to see President Bush and pretended to be supporters. Then we pulled our anti-Bush signs out and screamed at him. Got thrown out. What a rush. He’s as much a geek in real life as on television. Quit Amnesty International because, turns out, I’m for the death penalty.”

October 15th: “Becky wrote me back from Germany. She misses me, too. Doesn’t think she’ll be involved in the War for Oil. Good.”

November 10th: “Lawton Chiles won – thank God! By the way, I’m now legally able to drink a beer. Want to pierce my nose but mom says I’d have to move out. Fascist.”

December 11th: “Becky’s in Orlando where her mom lives now and invited me over. It’s like no time at all has gone by – we had a blast. She’s only twenty so we couldn’t really go out and drink. Just like old times! Then she came to Tampa and stayed with me. She met Marc and thinks he’s really nice. Surprised I found someone normal. So am I!”

December 26th: “Celebrating Cathy's birthday. Love the holidays. Getting to know Marc’s family and they’re actually really nice. Even Donna. Marc is wonderful, smart, funny, and the best friend I could ever have. I can’t picture myself loving or caring for anyone but him. I really believe he’s the one. Hope I’m right.”

B-O-O H-O-O

“I am only one. But still I am one. I cannot do everything. But still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

When my children shed tears over something ridiculous, like not being allowed to eat a fifth chocolate bar before dinner, I've often told them,

“Oh, cry over something important. Like NAFTA.”

Recently, I’ve replaced “NAFTA” with “the Downing Street Memo.” My children still look at me like I’m crazy. Eavesdropping adults (read: my dad) shake their heads and weep for the future. I feel misunderstood and superior at the same time. It’s a fun game.

Deep Throat was recently pushed out of the closet by understandably proud and possibly broke children/grandchildren. Newsweek rehashed history that, until recently, seemed like water under the gate…err…bridge. I’m glad because I learned something. For example, I had no idea it took over two years from the break-in before Nixon finally resigned. Two years. Would that happen today? Jonathan Alter’s column tackles a theoretical Watergate 2005, but what about real examples of presidential overreaching?

Which brings me back to the Downing Street Memo.

How many of us really understand what The Times of London reported on May 1st? In a nutshell: the memo details minutes taken at a meeting between Tony Blair and his cabinet regarding Saddam Hussein and Iraq more than several months before the war began. It shows that the imminent threat was not so imminent after all. Another topic was how our administration manufactured intelligence to rally public support for military action. In other words: The United States and Great Britain decided to go to war first and concocted stories most of us believed. It confirms our worst fears: We were duped.

If one of my children gave his life for reasons that turned out to be lies, I’d be livid, devastated, and shouting from the rooftops. What about parents of currently enrolled GIs? Are they awake out there?

Which leads me to my next question: Does anyone know about this?

So far, mainstream media has ignored the memo. Thanks to bloggers and progressive protestors, word is slowly leaking out. Representative Conyers is looking for signatures so he can take his petition to the president and demand answers we deserve to hear.

Today, it’d be nice if there was a Deep Throat and two legitimate reporters chatting in a parking garage somewhere, but it looks as though we’re on our own. It’s up to you and me. Visit this site and sign this petition if you’re angry that we were sold a war where people died and we still don’t know why, why, why. Let’s not wait two years to find out what really happened.

That’d be something to cry about.

Another Tampa Tragedy

A seven year old child is suspected of beating his baby sister to death and authorities are contemplating charges against him.

When the "criminal" is so young, why isn't it obvious that such violence is learned behavior? His parents' actions, or inactions, should come under investigators' scrutiny. Who taught him that beatings are the proper response to a baby's tears? How did his jealousy fester and grow without intervention? Why were parents outside in the middle of the night instead of attending to their children?

Without posing difficult, but necessary, questions to the adults in charge of this child, authorities again miss an opportunity to address real issues. This kid may be beyond our reach now, but chances are he didn't start out that way.

We Abandon Them and Wonder Why They're Pissed

Spent the weekend in West Palm Beach, enjoying northeastern accents amid an ocean breeze and palm trees. With delis like TooJay's and an abundance of ethnic diversity, the east coast of Florida is like a little slice of heaven.

As my newly married brother-in-law will tell you, though, in order to get to paradise, one often has to journey through hell. For me, hell is also known as Central Florida.

Or is it?

Yes, the communities are poor and sweltering in summertime heat. I’m always amazed at houses and trailers that seem too small for one, very large man sitting on the porch, let alone a multi-generational family of fifteen. Sure, tent revivals and evangelical-themed billboards give Jewish families or even progressive Christian types more than a few panic attacks. I found myself singing along with “Jesusland” by Ben Folds and feeling a sense of disdain and superiority over ignorance disguised as roadside fruit stands.

Then I got b*tch-slapped by the moderate who lives inside my head.

What makes me think political affiliation indicates a more evolved human being? I mean, all one has to do is watch noted-liberal Ashton Kutcher converse with the camera on Punk’d to know that ain’t always the case. Am I really so evolved if I’m scoffing at people I’ve never met? How am I different from those who have never met me yet believe they know everything they need to based on terms like “Jew Femi-Nazi”? (I know, they’re not far off, but that’s beside the point.)

I’ve never stopped in Y’all Come Back Soon-Saloon. I've never talked with people who spend their lives picking fruit and selling it to folks just driving through. What do I really know about them? What do I really know about families fed by the phosphate factories they work in all day only to be poisoned by the same factories’ pollution when they go home at night and have a glass of water?

I’d forgotten that the way unions won the south and rural counties was by moving in and living among them. That’s also how civil rights got the help and attention it deserved as well. In every successful struggle, we literally joined with them. We all got to know each other. Now, some might say familiarity breeds contempt. A friend from work used to say "knowing is loving". I tend to agree with her.

I’m not saying we should live among them to exploit concerns and make ourselves richer and more powerful. We're not Repubs, after all, and that's how they won the latest round. Democrats must get to know these rural voters again so we can help them and ourselves get this state and country back on track. We need to listen more and talk less. It's quite obvious that we're only going to save ourselves if we do it together.

What are we so afraid of anyway? For the next road trip, I've already forewarned my husband: If that saloon has Guinness, I’m in.

Dear Diary Vol. VI

I was diary-free during 1988 (the year I bleached my hair, met Future Husband and started college), but jotting in journals made a big comeback in 1989. Let’s go back to days spent with the B-52s and Ecstasy-fueled friends.

January 1st: “My New Years’ Resolutions are: 1. No more name calling and 2. No more illegal yet organic activity. Marc and I are only friends now so I’ve been seeing Brian for about a month. Julie and I are taking a break from politics even though Jim won; Dukakis lost and I’m still heartbroken about it. What is wrong with this country?”

March 2nd: “Marc told me he loved me today. I didn’t say anything back because I don’t believe in love. Wonder if he just wants to get laid. Brian and I broke up. He took me to the fair. YUCK. I like Chris. He hardly talks but is a great kisser! I thought college guys were supposed to be more mature, but they’re really not. NOT AT ALL.”

April 4th: “Cathy called me. I flipped out BIG TIME! We talked for about an hour and neither of us mentioned Louty. I think we’re gonna let that lie. Julie and I boycott companies doing business in South Africa. We go to keg parties and get signatures. It’s a way to meet guys. This one creep called me ‘flat ass’ and Julie said it’s better than ‘fat ass’. I guess she’s right.”

April 7th: “Mom met someone named Ron and he seems nice. Can men be trusted? That is the ultimate question. Meanwhile, Marc and I are no longer friends. He told me he couldn’t ‘handle it’. Mom said she doesn’t blame him and Michael said to stay away from Michele’s friends. Michele agrees. Nice family, huh?”

May 5th: “Went to a party and got totally toasted. Chris found an ugly girlfriend. The only thing he wants from her is SEX. What a jerk! He kept looking at me but I ignored him. My car didn’t start after school so I had a brainsnap and blamed Marc. Sharon called Ben who called Marc and asked him if he messed with my car. Marc told Ben to tell Sharon to tell me to “get over” him. Get over him?!”

June 5th: “Keep thinking about Marc. Get over him…who does he think he is?”

July 1st: “Saw Marc at Tampa Bay Center, but pretended not to see him.”

July 2nd: “Saw Marc AGAIN at University Square Mall. Is this a sign? He tried to smile, but I looked away. My heart was beating SO FAST!”

July 22nd: “Mom met Chris and thinks he’s anemic. She’s just not in tune with my type. She thinks MARC was a nice guy. What does she know?”

August 19th: “Michele moved to St. Petersburg today. I have my own room for the first time EVER. Mailed Marc a card telling him I miss him, but didn’t sign it.”

August 25th: “Marc called me. He said, ‘Did you send me a card?’ I told him yes and that I missed him. He didn’t say he missed me. But maybe he does.”

September 13th: “Spending every night at Julie’s because her parents are out of town. Met her friends from camp. Mike is a really nice guy even though he makes fun of me for exercising and studying so much. Marcia is a hippie obsessed with Jim Morrison and her friend Elise is very sweet. Oh, I quit smoking. Just like that. Get this: Marc is dating Babette the Dingbat. Why is every guy I know after ONE thing? I don’t get it. Dry sex* is the wave of the future. Mark my word. No mess, no problems. Chris says it leaves him unsatisfied. Too bad for him. The feeling is great and I like not waking up the next morning with an STD. Win/Win for me.”

October 3rd: “Marc and I are becoming better friends. We said we’d always have a crush on each other. Chris taught me how to do shots over the weekend. I like tequila – but not too much because I start throwing shot glasses at people! I’m boycotting tuna fish because they are catching dolphins and killing them for no reason.”

October 25th: “Marc and I had our first date one year ago. He feels guilty talking to me because he’s still with Babette the Dingbat. Then had a Halloween party and Marc and I got together. Chris came looking for me, not happy that I was off with Marc. Oh well. Now Marc feels really guilty. I told him to get over it.”

November 5th: “Saw Smokey Robinson with Mom and Ron. I was the youngest, whitest person there and knew all the songs. Ron’s a nice guy. Chris called me and wants to start over. Nice, huh? Met a guy named Todd who’s kinda cute. We’ll see.”

December 2nd: “Cathy, Julie and I went to Gainesville and FSU kicked their ass in football. We saw this old woman in Gator gear and Julie said she’d give her a quarter for the whole outfit. The woman shook my little Justy and cursed at us. Kept yelling, ‘How ‘bout them Noles?’ We were not too popular. Drove home and Julie kept the windows open. Thought Cathy was going to kill her.”

December 11th: “Met Marc in a parking lot only to hear about Babette, Babette, Babette. Left and cried all the way to Volley Club. Cathy said to forget him because why cry over one guy when there are so many to choose from? Hooked up with Todd and going out with Chris next weekend. Cathy’s right.”

December 16th: “Got stranded at a party and had to call Marc. His sister DONNA wouldn’t wake him up – it was like 5am or something so Julie got on the phone. Julie could talk anyone into anything. Marc came and got us. He’s a nice guy, I guess, even if he’s still with Babette.”

December 17th: “Called Marc and his mean sister said, ‘He’s out with his GIRLFRIEND.’ Then she hung up. Guess that family will hate me until I die."

*Webster's defines "Dry sex" thusly: Humpin' and bumpin' while completely clothed as popularized by a South Florida virgin in the late eighties/early nineties. Did not catch on. As my brother would say, "Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, are you discussing this?"