I am exhausted. I can no longer think. All I can do is lay here and listen to the nothing. There is no longer a cacophony of thought or intellectual band creative battle raging. Just emptiness. No radio is blaring, no CD is spinning. Nothing but ambient white noise that I barely register. It was a long and arduous birth, almost as long as the pregnancy itself. But it's over. I've finally accomplished what I have struggled through decades of mental infertility to achieve. I have given birth. There was no resounding slap and no howls of indignation as my child crawled from my womb. Children such as these do not cry. It was carried away silently while I collapsed in a heap. It never made a sound. I awoke here in this place, alone and wrapped in blessed silence. I don't even know if my child was born unharmed. It could have been stillborn for all I know, but I won't know this for quite some time. All I can do now is hope and pray that the pain and anguish were worth it. That the years of struggle, discomfort and suffering paid off. It took a couple of days before I was able to embrace my child. I needed the rest. We'd traveled together for so so long, I needed the distance. Is it even possible to develop post part-em depression when you finish writing a book? It sounds ridiculous to compare such a life altering event as childbirth to writing the words “The End” but the are the same. Only a few minor differences actually separate them. You struggle for what feels like an eternity watching this “thing” grow inside you. It gets bigger and bigger as time pases while your ass does its best to keep pace with that growth since its practically impossible to write on a treadmill. It brings you moments of joy when it kicks as it nears its time and frustrates you to the point of nausea when it refuses to progress. It drags you and your emotions on a nightmare of a roller coaster as parts of your self get absorbed into its psyche. And then one day the dam bursts on your imagination and you feel the irresistible urge to push. So you do. And you keep pushing and pushing, screaming in frustration the entire time until it breaks free and you collapse in a sweat soaked heap. At least with a human pregnancy this process only takes nine months and the end result is fairly predictable since you're only left with two choices; boy or girl. But with a child of words, the process can take years. And at the end of that long tunnel, there is no simple choice between pink or blue. The possibilities are infinite. Your newborn doesn't cry or whine but it speaks volumes nonetheless. It doesn't poop or spit up or beg for food but it needs and it grows just the same. I thought when this process was over I could lay here in this peace and quiet and let my mind relax but that is not the case. I'm a new single mother and the journey is just beginning. There will be a million decisions that must be made in nurturing this new life, each with the potential to shape or destroy my offspring. My selfish inner self keeps yelling out “Now do you remember why you didn't have kids?” My child will grow up much faster than a human child but it will face the same challenges. As I spend my days transcribing it, I will forming it into a viable being. I'll show it off to my friends like any ridiculously proud mom and eagerly await their input. Some will coo and say its beautiful, terrific, spectacular! Others will laugh and tease me and say I should have been pickier about the dad. And some will smile and congratulate me and then say snidely behind my back “What does she think she's going to do with that?” Being a mom is tough and I'll have to protect myself and my child as it takes its first steps into this hostile world. Its toddler-hood will fly by as it first attempts to walk and then run. I will pour all of my knowledge and experience into it during rewrites as I shape this new being. All the while wondering if I'm doing the right thing. It will be defiant and fussy at times and I will have to assert my will over it. But eventually it will pass into adolescence and begin to pull away. It will begin to become a social animal. It will meet new people who want to be a part of its life and it will be my job to weed out who will and who will not be involved; publishers, editors, artists, agents, professionals, critics (well there's no keeping them out). Who knows who might become an influence as I struggle to give it a name, a cover, an identity. Eventually, like all growing children, it will become a teenager and that's when things get really scary. It will struggle to break away and fly on its own. And I will have to allow it. It will try this and that as it determines its own destiny. It will be subject tot he whims of fashion and trends as it struggles to find its audience. It will meet all manner of people and I will walk the floors at night worrying about it. Will it meet the right person and make a beautiful life for itself complete with children (aka sequels)? That's every parents dream for their child. But it could just as easily meet some dickhead who just want to squeeze what he can get out of it; use it and lose it. Will my child end up with such a douche bag and start wearing gnarly book covers? Will it end up running with a bad crowd? Will it meet some low-life publisher and end up as soft core housewife porn or a coffee table book for boring parties? Will it end up sitting in a rack at the local Starbucks next to the Ethiopian blend? Even after it reaches adulthood and, God willing, begins to sell, I will still worry. It is after all my baby. The more I think about it the scarier it gets. Why in God's name did I ever think I could do this. With my luck I will make the worst parenting mistakes ever and end up pushing my book at a booth between the slap chopper demonstrations and the irregular perfume counter at the county fair. I can't think about this anymore. I'm going back to bed to listen to the white noise of the t.v. One thing I do know for sure” For book two, I'm ditching the pencils for a laptop. Its gonna be PC-Section all the way.

There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that caffeine is addictive and dangerous. There have cetainly been enough studies done over the years to prove its harmful effects; heart problems, sleep disorders, high blood pressure, cancer, etc. In keeping with the trend of all things wonderful and pleasurable in our modern day world, we can all be assured that caffeine will eventually kill us all in the most horrible of ways. Despite these dire warnings, I still have to wonder if caffeine isn’t a product of divine inspiration. Those of us who worship daily at the local Starbucks can certainly attest to the fact that life and everything about it positively SUCKS until after that first cup of coffee in the morning. It certainly puts a spiritual spin on my commute as the cappuccino rushes through my brain and lights up my synapses into a near euphoric, or dare I say, orgasmic state. This morning as I sat in bumper to bumper street traffic, sipping my mocha latte and chasing away the demons in my mind that repeatedly whisper “drive-bys are simply retroactive birth control”, I passed by my local psychic who, for the third time in a year, had a sign outside of her door that read “Under New Management – Special Introductory Price”. Now when I first saw this sign months ago, I had no clue what to make of it. My infinitely sarcastic mind could only laugh and say “betcha didn’t see that one coming!” But since I was firmly entrenched in my philosophical coffee coma and inching along at an exasperating 5 miles an hour, I had time to ponder the circumstances that would lead to such cosmic contradiction.

I started with the metaphysically ridiculous habit some of us have of reading the daily horoscopes. Despite the disclaimer that their predictions are purely for entertainment, we read them with wanton expectation every morning hoping that some miracle is going to occur that will send prince charming to our door, shower us with riches or make all our dreams come true. More often than not, it reads something like “Mars is in Uranus which will cause you to most likely experience conflicts that will test your ability to cope.” Translation: “your boss didn’t get laid last night, is in a nasty mood and is going to put his foot up your ass before noon.” Hey, the planets don’t lie. Now those people who swear by these little peccadilloes of predetermination will instantaneously put themselves into a miserable mood in preparation for a positively horrible day and subconsciously do everything they can to help it come true. The more enlightened and learned connoisseurs’ of astrology will simply get a second opinion. We tempt fate and switch to the Chinese horoscopes just to verify what the standard westernized hippie version has to say, often with completely contradictory results. Suddenly you have a choice of how your day is going to go, which stresses you out even more than if you just would have bent over and taken that first prediction with a smile. So what’s an open minded person to do in such an instance? Why, switch over to the numerology page of course! It’s a bit more complicated to get information out of but it’s sure to bring about some compromise of the previous two. And if those options fail to clear up your mental miasma, you can always delve into the truly down and dirty and get a tarot reading of all things lustful and dire.

Given the obvious ease with which we humble humans are willing to migrate our belief systems in search of a positive outcome, it’s no surprise that a psychic would have to adapt to meet the needs of her consumers. As I pass the dirty yellow banner with the absurd red declaration of a spiritual discount, I conclude that such cosmic confusion is what this poor working woman is trying to resolve. Perhaps the recession has caused an upsurge in inter-spiritual contact making it necessary to give time to the Hindus, the Muslims, the Buddhists, the Pagans, and any one of a million variations of them all. Thus the phrase “Under New Management” would seem to indicate a change in carrier for the Almighty switchboard. Sort of like migrating your i-Phone from AT&T to Verizon, there must be an “app” for that and this woman seems to have found it. For an instant, I ponder the results of stopping in for a quick reading while traffic thins out. Perhaps I’d get a better response from Vishnu than Jehovah or perhaps Buddha would have something more positive for me to look forward to today. Oh who the hell am I kidding, this woman is about as psychic as a road apple. The whack job lunatic with the sign on his neck at McDonalds could give me better advice an all it would cost me is a Happy Meal!

And despite my momentary lapse of complete sanity, due to my outrageously expensive Starbucks caffeine buzz, I realize that I am still an educated human being of considerable intelligence and common sense. The light turns green and by some miracle of God, traffic lightens up and I speed away from this cosmic charlatan, confident that I will defy the fortune telling freak show Gods today because, despite the absence of a candlelit dinner and a movie, I can still tell when I’m about to be screwed.

Tis the night before Christmas

I said with a smirk

Not a thing makes me happy

Cause I’m stuck at work.



My coworkers and I

Looking pissed off and grim

Were working like slaves

Cause the boss locked us in



The stockings were hung

On the oven with care

In the hopes that my

Underpaid ass would be there



The children were all tucked in

Thanks to my mom

Thanks God for bored Grandparents

They are ‘da Bomb!



And me in my high heels

And coffee on tap

Had just settled in

To take some more crap



After 14 straight hours

Of nagging phone calls

We heard a disaster

Right out in the hall



Away to the glass doors

We flew in a minute

Ran out in the hallway

To see who was in it



The moonlight reflected

On broken sharp glass

And my scrooge of a boss

Was laid out on her ass



She was covered in cheese balls

And red Maneschewitz

Her salmon gift basked

Was tore up and shredded



Crackers and caviar

Splattered the wall

Cause the Salvation Army

Had paid her a call



In a shiny red suit

With his kettle and bell

A Jolly old Santa

Cried out with a yell



She’d tried to shove past him

All snobbish and crass

Tripped over his tripod

And fell on her ass



He reached out to help her

That frigid old shrew

When she slapped him away

And screamed out “I’ll Sue!”





Do you see that Menorah

She screeched like a witch

And he said with a grin

“It ain’t Hannukah Bitch!”



“Tis the season of Christmas

Good tidings and more

For helping the needy

The sick and the poor”



“I help them out plenty”

She spat in the gloom

“Just send them on over

I’ll rent them a room.”



“You can send them in buses

In cars or in coaches

I’ll give them a place

They can share with the roaches”



Poor old Santa went white

The same shade as his beard

He simply could not believe

What he’d heard



“That’s revolting” he said

As she shrugged off the cheese

Then she did something awful

And he sank to his knees



We stood there in horror

At the end of the hall

While she used her Prada’s

On his Jingle Balls



As he lay there in pain

Writhing hard on the floor

She picked up her fish

And walked straight for the door



When what to our wondering eyes

Did appear

But a bear of a man

In Armani snow gear



His jewelry was tasteful

Manly and well done

And the gold on his fingers

Didn’t clash with his gun



He saw the poor fat man

And said “What the heck”

Head turning on shoulders

Cause he had No Neck!



He then drew a bead

On her pointy old head

Squeezed off a few rounds

And shot the bitch dead



As he passed by the carcass

That lovely old Mick

He hissed through his lips

“No one fucks with St. Nick”

Looking out at the cold, gray morning through the windshield of my ride, I see the things I usually see each day; people rushing here and there like ants on crack stopping to get breakfast, go to the store, get gas, run mini errands and still try to get to work on time. Now I love cold, gray mornings and foggy, misty starts to my day so these things don’t bother me as much as they would if it were hot and muggy as summer can be. I happily cruise on in to my local Starbucks where I expect to see the homeless man that us usually there each day. The one who quietly sits with his cup hoping someone will buy him a meal that day and wishing everyone a good morning and good day. I try to give him something each time if I remember to put cash in my wallet instead of skating on plastic. I make the turn already savoring the taste of a hot white mocha latte warming my body as it runs down my throat. The anticipation of such a soothing experience is almost as good as the drink itself. And then it happens…………..he isn’t there. Someone whom I have never seen before has taken his place. He is ranting at someone in a parked car. I can’t hear what he is saying but he is obviously upset. He’s not old or dirty just rumpled and obviously homeless. He wanders around with a radio yelling and conversing with everyone and no one, all the while begging for money to buy a cup. I park a couple of spots away and try to think of a way to get around him but I have no choice but to walk by. In the space of the three seconds it takes me to pass him by, his entire life story laid before me with one sentence. He is one of the many people facing unemployment who can’t get a job in this economy. I was one of them for 8 months and by the grace of God I managed to find another job before my benefits ran out so I can sympathize with him. But his fate is what mine could have been and that frightens me more than this middle aged, well groomed, angry man in need of a caffeine boost. As I stand in line, I wonder if that is what I would have been reduced to; standing in front of my local Starbucks wearing old torn shorts and a camouflage backpack carrying everything I own, yelling and selling to an imaginary board room while Johnny B Good plays on my $20 boom box as I beg for cappucino. Begging for a latte or a frappucino….maybe. But I was a child of the 60’s so Chuck Berry is a little dated for me. I would probably have been shouting out to Lynard Skynard or Led Zeppelin. Oh hell, I probably would have gone for the jugular, straight to yuppie hell and cranked out Aerosmith. Even with my favorite music urging me on, the thought of being a homeless coffee junkie is frightening. Is that what our society has devolved into? Is this the result of a drug culture gone mad? Even our homeless yuppies are foregoing food for a fix… of anything!

When I was a child, we took pity on our homeless and invited them to spend a thanksgiving dinner at our table. Just one act of kindness that we were able to give once a year to let them know that they are not forgotten nor are they unwelcome in our society. That someone out there cared. Back then being unemployed and homeless was not the norm. It was a cruel exception to the human condition and was deserving of compassion. But in these troubled times, it has become the norm. Traffic is half of what it used to be and getting around is much easier but the lost and troubled are walking and talking everywhere. How long will it be before it isn’t just Middle America that is suffering? How long before the mighty magnates of the new era are brought low? Will we one day see Al Gore at the bottom of an offramp with a rechargeable solar powered sign begging for a job in the private sector? Would you throw a dollar to Donald Trump if he were playing a guitar and begging for change on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City? What would we do if we encountered Oprah Winfrey and the Kardashians outside of their plastic surgeon’s offices bearing signs that said “will work for Liposuction”? Would there be an ounce of compassion left in our souls should we encounter Warren Buffett, Martha Stewart or Bernie Madoff at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving?

Losing everything is not that distance a threat these days. With Obamanomic manipulated socialism underway, over 90% of us are walking the poverty tightrope just barely surviving week to week. The equity that was Middle Class America is being siphoned off quicker than the oil in the Gulf of Mexico. Would someone be compassionate enough to help me should I fall? Am I even worthy of that compassion? I hope so. I hope that what small things I often do for the less fortunate; the dollar here and there, the old clothes that I can no longer wear, the change that I don’t need, the extra food that I won’t eat that I gladly give them, haven’t gone cosmically unnoticed. I suppose if I wanted to continue in God’s good graces I couldn’t turn my back on the formerly wealthy simply because they had once lived better than I. Warren would be worth a week's worth of dinners considering that he is charging around a million for 1/2 hour of appetizers and some investing advice these days. Martha would definitely be worth some meal time if only for the decorating tips she could give. I may keep feeding her long enough to do a whole renovation. I might throw “The Donald” a couple of Benjamins but only if he performed without the hair piece. It’s unlikely he would fall quite that far given his vast skills as an orator. I’m sure someone in a human resources department somewhere could employ him to walk into people’s offices and say “You’re Fired!”. Bernie on the other hand would be a challenge. I think I would be bound to do the Christian thing and invite him to a family meal of caviar, salmon and/or prime rib with crème brulee for desert, but then feed him Manwich on .99¢ plain wrap buns while the rest of us ate. Hey, there has to be cosmic justice somewhere. But Al Gore can kiss my ass for starting this whole global warming panic. Let him eat grass with the rest of the cattle and keep contributing to green house gases with his speeches.

In the light of day, when the sun is shining and the world is moving ever forward, we consider our goals and dreams and ponder "what if...?" What if I quit and start my own business? What if I say hi to that cute guy in the Starbucks today? What if I win the lottery? What if I go back to school? We let our imaginations soar and hearts take flight and we ask "what if?" with all the expectation of hope we can experience.

But it's not sunny outside or even daylight. It's 2:30 in the morning and the world is pitch black. I'm cocooned in my blankets to keep off the night chill. I rub my hands along the cool cotton sheets in an effort to lull myself back to sleep. But I can't because my mind keeps asking "what if?" I don't want to ponder this question in the dead of night. There's no sun to give me hope. There's no hustle and bustle to keep my mind moving ever forward with possibilities. There is only darkness, the quiet little beeping of a thousand preset electronic gizmos that must run continuously. Outside these blankets there is only cold, still air. In this space at this time "what if?" is ominous. "What if?" becomes the manifestation of my regrets and my fears. What if I had payed closer attention to the recruiter at school sold me a bill of goods? What if I try to open my business and fail? What if I say hi to the cute guy at Starbucks and he looks at me with disgust? What if I never escape my job that I hate? Sometimes, it gets even more ominous than this. I struggle to redirect my mind and force it into a pleasant dream state. I flood my mind with fantasies and sexual imagery. Anything to stop the oncoming introspection but it's to no avail. I don't want to relive the pains of the past that I know "what if?" will bring. What if I had been a better wife? What if I had stayed pregnant? What if I had actively gone looking for Mr. Right instead of settling? What if I'm not meant to have a family of my own? What if I am being punished for how I have wasted my life? What if I am just doomed to be alone forever? My mind swirls like a television set flying through channels because someone is sitting on the remote. The life I want. The life I have. The life that is so far outside of my reach. My fanatasies. My dreams. All of it fighting for supremacy in my exhausted mind.

But then "what if" throws a question that silences everything and makes me consider the truth of my life. What if you had refused to take the job you hate? I would never have met the wonderful friends that I know and love even though they are leaving me for parts unknown and I am saddened by the distance. What if you hadn't moved back home after your relationship ended? I reach out and caress the thick fur of my sleeping cat who instantly begins to purr with love. The answer to what if: I would have been broke and alone and he would have died. I would've missed the opportunity to rescue him from the streets, share his life, and enjoy the wonderful companion that he has become. What if you had left home and moved away like all of your friends? I would not have been there when my mother's breast cancer had arrived or when she was shaking and crying with grief at the loss of her dearest friend. What if I had made different decisions in life than the ones I had? Maybe I would have been rich and powerful and thin....but I would not have loved the people that I love. I would not have enjoyed the moments that I have enjoyed. I would have missed a lot of pain but more importantly I would have missed joy.

The answer to "What if" is simply this: it doesn't matter what if because it never happened. What matters is not "what if" but "what next". Regret belongs in the past and not in the present. Bury it deep in your heart with the most painful of experiences and lock the door. Fear is a product of the night and when you are alone it can be powerful and daunting. I think we live in fear because we fear living. That is not life. That is death. I don't want to die so I must live beyond fear. And so I will wake tomorrow and not ask "what if?". I will not face the day in fear. I will ask "what next".

I think I can finally sleep now.

We live in an age of modern miracles. Miracles that have surpassed the expectations of those only a generation before us. Our phones are so smart they can run our agendas like a tiny private secretary. Computers are interactive to the point where you don't even need fingers to use one. In fact, everything in our lives can be preset and programmed to go on and off at will. We can even pause our electronic gadgets so that we can multitask without missing a beat or an episode of Lost (Yes, Teresa Huang was totally awesome!).

But this age of modern miracles has consequences that we don't stop to consider. We can instantaneously transmit our thoughts and actions throughout the world (often with incredibly embarrassing results because they are entirely out of context). We upload our actions for public viewing without a second thought (until the police come knocking on our doors and suddenly YouTube becomes evidence). We digitize our most private moments thinking it will be fun to watch as foreplay. We don't consider that 5 million other people including your parents, your boss, your friends, and your pastor who all downloaded them thanks to your bitter ex-boyfriend, are thinking the same thing while simultaneously laughing at the cellulite on your ass.

If we would all stop to consider the consequences of technology, perhaps we would use it with more restraint. Technology is a wonderful thing. It is a testament to the creativity and limitless abilities of mankind across the globe. But we behave like a gaggle of idiots the minute we get our hands on it. And although we like to blame children for its misuse I firmly believe that it is adults who have set the example for their wreckless behavior. We send conflicting signals of appropriate behavior that literally short circuit young minds. Adults are a case study in contradictions and young people just can't cope. Ever heard a group of teenagers describe their parents to each other? Pull out a thesaurus and look up "weird."

Parents protest loudly how innoculations, caffeine loaded sodas and energy drinks cause autism and ADD in their children, then drag them into Starbucks for 10-pump mocha cappucinos before dropping them off at school. We march for freedom of speech and fight against censorship and then complain that our children are being exposed to pornography, drugs and violence in media. Our popular actors and singers make porn tapes left and right then sell them on the internet or make careers out of their bad judgement while we we prosecute teens for sexting.

Now I am a firm believer in progress, freedom of speech, and technology. I don't believe in censorship of any kind. I also firmly believe that people, especially parents, have an obligation to consider the ramifications of these freedoms and we are all required to practice and pass on the appropriate use of them. I was throughly blessed with a mother who exposed me to everything and restricted me from nothing but who also was at my side to discuss and explain what I was exposed to and its place in society. I was never left to my own devices to make what I would of violence on tv or sexual content. She always explained the difference between fantasy and reality. I always had her ear and could ask anything I wanted. She worked very hard and had a career that often took her out on the road. But no matter what, she made time for me even if it was on the phone. She never shirked her duties as a parent and I thank her for that every day of my life. But I was one of the lucky ones.

As a society, we need to practice and teach responsibility. The prevailing attitude of "Do as I say, not as I do" is laughable as an excuse for our behavior and our indulgences. Maybe if more parents would communicate with their children about the consequences and possible dangers of misuse of the marvels of our society, more of them would grow up making sound, informed decisions instead of acting impulsively and paying eternally. And if an adult screws up and does something stupid or careless, instead of lying or dimissing your child, admit that you screwed up and shouldn't have done it. Then don't do it again and make sure that your child knows you won't be doing it again. We can survive in a free world and maintain our sense of morality and enlightenment if we just stop and think. And if you absolutely find it impossible to do so, simply set your smartphone, i-Pad, or computer to send you friendly little reminders to pause and consider your actions before you pick up that joint, send that e-mail or text, or hit the "record" button.

As a nation, we have forgotten that when when weilded by a skilled master, politics can be the most powerful weapon of change for the world today. It can start and end wars without firing a single shot, alter the bounderies, cultures, and consciousness of an entire country, and change global environments. But when practiced by Dickheads, it can confuse and confound the most worldly and educated among us. It becomes a dance of dimwittedness performed with such audacity that it would score a perfect 10 in the Moron Olympics. And nowhere does this performance get more muddied than in the mind of the average working class citizen (provided he or she has at least the minimum number of life sustaining brain cells firing).

This miasma quickly turns to a chunky sludge when politics is examined from the perspective of those individuals who are lovingly referred to as "Intellectually Challenged" by the politically correct fanatics of the world. They are known to me and my followers simply as the Head-In-The-Ass-Brigade. For any of you "challenged" individuals who have actually made it this far in reading my blog, I offer you this definition of politics to ease your pain and confusion:

"Politics can be summed up as a simmering stew of masterful speeches composed of meaningless hot air spiced with brown-nosing, payoffs, and ego-fueled sexual commerce practiced by wrinkly, unattractive old farts that couldn't get laid on coupon day at the Chicken Ranch."

There are at this moment about 50,000 Brigade members who are having an epiphany which will temporarily stunt their brain activity. But don't despair, they'll be rebooted in time for the 2010 elections.

Honestly folks, politics wouldn't be any fun without the Head-In-The-Ass-Brigade. Luckily for us they are spread far and wide and their membership transcends all class levels and economic conditions. We can find them on every corner and we can always count on them to turn any political debate or election into a free-for-all of ignorance. They are the Lou Costello to our Bud Abbott, the Sarah Palin to our John McCain, the Penn Gillette to our Teller. That last one could go either way since one of them refuses to speak but still manages to say some of the dumbest things while the other one won't shut up and makes the dumbest things sound perfectly logical. The Brigades' ability to astound us with the most hairbrained, imbecilic takes on political issues drives us to work towards significant future goals for our planet; like genetic testing, designer babies and cloning. They are directly responsible for our continuous efforts to evolve as a species. If it weren't for them, we would all be right wing conservatives placing our fates firmly and blindly in the Lord above as we watch televangelists host the end of the world.

I firmly believe that sometime somewhere in the galaxy, God went on a bender and dropped the ball. Because when that happened, these assholes started to breed uncontrollably, thus creating the intense need for hippies, agnostics, and Liberals. I also firmly believe that when he gets back he is going to slap a hazardous warning on this world that says "Do Not Land - Stupidity in Progress. Watch for new worlds coming to a galaxy near you!"