I figured out what I want to be!

I'm often (no exaggerating) asked if I'm Brazilian, Samoan, Mexican, Spanish, Argentinian, Persian, Native American, Eastern Indian, and any other ethnicity that has brown skin. I'm a white chick. Totally. It's been such an ongoing thing that Susan and I thought about doing a calendar of all the different women I appear to be for a joke. Being asked "what are you" is like being in a cast asked how you broke your arm. Same conversation, same reaction over and over again. Many of you reading this blog have been there to witness a conversation probably very much like the following.

Stranger: Excuse me, we were over at our table and couldn't help wondering what ethnicity you are. You're so dark with those light eyes.

Me: I'm a total white chick with a tiny drop of native American somewhere way down the line. Stranger: Really? I would have guessed (insert brown people here) because of (insert any one of my apparently dadgum exotic features here).

Me: Really.

Stranger: That's just crazy! You really look like you're (whatever they think)! Are you sure you don't have something else.

Me: Totally.

Stranger: Well, I'll bet your Daddy looked at the mailman twice! (or some other lame joke)

Me: I look like my Dad. No denying.

Years and years of questioning my ethnicity have caused me to look for a good answer. I was thinking if I had a cool answer, it would end the conversation. The other night, I was watching No Reservations (travel and food show) where they were in French Polynesia. I realized that if I, when asked, told curious strangers that I was French Polynesian they'd buy it and I wouldn't have to go through the whole thing. Who around here really knows what a person from there looks like exactly. If I say French Polynesian, it leaves it open to different choices of islands. If the stranger wants more specifics about my genealogy I can say I don't know. They'll leave happy and satisfied that they were able to spot a special something about me and I'll leave happy that I've fooled them.

Plop a pot of flowers upside down on my head and I'd fit in on almost any island. Bonjour!

This could be my family reunion for all anyone knows!

If you're out with me and "the question" comes--go with it! French Polynesian. I love it!

I'm going to buy this t-shirt to wear all summer when I'm super tan and my background gets super sketchy even with those who know my parents! You know I'm not kidding.

A Dieu!

The Squirrels of Bad Manor

I don't know who owns and lives in Bad Manor, but I think they're geniuses. Look at what they do on their balcony. Fun with Squirrels!

Found at http://www.ustream.tv/badmanors Who ever you are--I love you!!!

Dirty Hairdo Friday

There are other blogs that do Frugal Friday or Fun Friday, but not me. I don't even have time to wash my hair on a Friday! I mean, if you're going out Saturday it's going to be washed then. That makes it clean for church on Sunday too! Even beauty needs to be planned, as you well know. And by "you" I mean "most of you".

It's Friday, my hair is 2 days dirty and this is how I wore it for day 3, today, Friday, April 1.

I'd been wearing it curly for two days, but the waves had gone frizzy on me overnight. Well..over two nights actually. I had about two minutes to make this hair-do happen. So here's what I did. I straightened the bangs which get washed the night before as part of my face washing routine. I keep shampoo by the sink just for that. I added some product called Surf to the bottom skaggy, frizzy part. It's supposed to make your hair look as if it got wavy and clumped up from the salt water and breeze happening beachside. I did not even have time to spray some powder shampoo in there so you can just see the white hair beginning to show at the roots of my part. Like spring, they sprout forth and reveal rebirth of my old age, then I kill them with dye. There were all these fly away hairs on the section I'd pulled back so I grabbed this stuff that Jim, my hair guy, gave me a few years ago. It's like putty. He told me when he gave it to me that if you put on too much it would make you cry to Momma. I figured a wee bit of that could hold down a few fly aways. I'm growing the bangs out which is why they look long and crazy. I was running late to work, but still took time to take this important picture. Like those other fashion bloggers (wearing dirty hair is a fashion, right?) I knew you'd be disappointed if you didn't know how I had managed to make my unclean hair presentable with my tshirt and flip flops I wore to work today.

Fascinating writing, isn't it? How many days dirty will it be next Friday? What will it's style be next Friday? A pony tail, a bun? Or will she have the guts to wear it down?? I'll be at a church camp from Thursday night through Sunday, so it could be interesting. Don't you think for a minute I'll forget about YOU and your needs though.

What the hell Wednesday

When I had this week's "What the hell?" moment I was looking at funny mugshots. You see, friends, even thugs get their hair done. They do not wake up with that "gonna knife you" look all together. It takes time, energy and some tattoo ink to make that happen. I thought about what my mug shot would look like if I were in the middle of doing my hair when the coppers busted down the door to take me away. I would probably be as ashamed at my appearance in the mugshot as I would be of a crime. And that mugshot would surely be on some website of funny mugshots. My hair is nearly all white. Far more salt than pepper. Personally, I prefer the hair color God started me out with, and thanks to modern chemical processes, I can have that color too! Keeping that color up reguires me to dye my hair a lot. Dark brown against white shows quickly! The process ain't pretty either, people. I have this hideous t-shirt that I wear everytime I dye. You can imagine how lovely it is. J.B. says that the way I look with the dye is not as bad as that ugly old t-shirt. When the slimy dye is in my hair, I tie it all up directly on top of my hair like a sumo's topknot.

Honestly, it looks like this dude is getting his hair dyed Clairol's Grey Matter Dark Brown #4 instead of being honored in a sumo topknot ceremony (which he is). Only difference in my look and the one he's got is the clean shirt. Well, there's usually dye on top of my ears too. Beauty treatments are never cheap, easy, pretty in process nor comfortable. Just sayin'.

Here are some mugshots of criminals who seemed to have been mid-hair appointment when they were taken in to police custody. The cops had them right where they wanted them--in the barber's chair under a cape sitting still so the braids were straight. They moved in and the thugs are off the streets. Plus we get some seriously unfortunately funny pictures.

This first guy looks sad and embarassed. He knows he's going to jail, knows his hair is FUNNY looking and knows we know. For his sake, as well as all the others, I hope there's someone in the holding tank who knows hair!

Now this dude, he knows he looks funny. Seems to be in on the joke. I like this guy because I see a sense of humor in him. An attitude of "Oh well...what are ya gonna do?" comes through, doesn't it? It's as if the camera man made a crack like, "I'm sure you're thrilled to have this mugshot," just before clicking the button. And the dude got the joke! Bless him.

This next one was precisely half way through his braiding when he was taken into custody and home slice does not think it's funny. You would NOT want to crack a joke about his hair. He knows the cops timed this on purpose and he is extremely angry about it all. It would have to mess with you "street creds" to have something like this out there on the internet. No matter how many tattoos are on your neck, you're going to look like a dork if you're mid hair process--whatever that process is!

New Schedule

Friends often tell me that they're disappointed that I don't blog more. As a piece of art the Fouches gave me states, "It's the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time." Some of my stories are funny and friends love hearing them. The good ones are long and involved usually. I don't have the time to type it all out giving the story the animation and description it deserves. I considered vlogging those stories; however, sitting making a recording and loading it to the blog is not a fun after work activity. It's the kind of thing I help people with at work.

Let's talk about that for a minute. It just hit me how funny it is that I love my job because technology is a passion. On the other hand, sitting and enjoying online activities outside of work has lost its appeal for me because I'm there all day. I'm not into Facebook like the rest of the world. Interesting how that's turned out for me. They always say do something you love. I did and I still love it. When it's what you get to do, then you look for other ways to have fun when not at work. Friends used to tell me that I should've gone into party planning or event organizing. Perish the thought that I would have done so then not enjoyed entertaining in my personal life. Can you imagine? I digress.

I do not like disappointing friends, or anyone else for that matter. I had an idea that is once again based on other blogs I read. From here forward there will be "What the hell? Wednesdays". I can write about something I've seen or read that made me think, "What the hell?" I've written to you before about the girls who believe that others want to know what they're wearing and why. One such blogger has a "What I Wore Wednesday". To think that people care enough about your outfits, where they came from and why you put them together is a funny thought. (then again I write a blog believing that others enjoy reading my thoughts. then yet again, people tell me they DO.) Many Fridays, I am tired and it's always a day we can wear jeans and a tshirt to work. Due to those factors, many Fridays are dirty hair days. From here forward I will have "How I wore my dirty hair Fridays" on the Fridays when my hair actually is dirty and it is a Friday. This way you can have some tips from me to you, dear reader, about how to cleverly disquise your dirty hair. You're welcome.

I love this painting!

Cool, huh?

The Wear on my Jewelry Parallels Wear on my Body

Y'all! Two of my favorite pieces of jewelry are falling apart. Just like me. A bracelet I bought in Acapulco at the age of 19 and which has been worn dang near every day since has a big ol' dent in it. Made me nervous before today, but especially nervous since today. My body has dings and wrinkles and so does my bracelet. I'm afraid it will break.

There's a moonstone ring I wear nearly every day. I bought it when I was 28. It's 17 years old and things are dropping off of it. Things are dropping on me too. I won't give you a picture of those things, but you know!

Here's the ring as it should look--with stacked silver balls on the side.

I looked down today to realize that the balls had fallen off the other side! If I can find the stack I'll have them soldered back on. If I can't then the ring is unbalanced and weird.Check it. Unbalanced ring. Sad.

If you happen to find a stack of 5 sterling balls all together in your home, card or yard, please save them and let me know. Since I can't afford to solder this body back together, I might as well keep my jewelry in shape!

Pictures from our Little Cabin

Look closely. The sign on this one says "Crazy Eddy Rd".

Since we live in Crazytown, we didn't bother going down that road.

Our cabin's name: Ponderosa.
The cutest firepit ever that was never used. The winds were so high that all those pine needles and pine cones on ground would've been lit up quickly! Pump house with fishing poles and other stuff to the right and the only other cabin is off to the left.

Isn't the porch great? We saw all this when we drove up and new it would all be okay.

A view from our porch

Left view from our porch. This is not Crazy Eddy Rd., but is the Road to Crazy Eddy Rd.

And now we venture inside the cabin...

Melissa is reading us the posted cabin rules. As if! We did find that the desk was full of games. Thought that was a nice touch. Please notice the cute decorations and the weinie/marshmallow roasting sticks hanging by the door.
99% of the decorations were perfect. And then there was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. It was a Native American baby hanging on the wall holding a dream catcher. In spite of his name is, "He Who Hangs on Wall", I had to place him in the bureau drawer. And this was not my bedroom, but Michelle's. I couldn't have her waking in the night to see that thing AND "Crazy Horse" Staring back at her. Dang.

There was a cot folded up beneath He Who Hangs on Wall. He has it placed there in case he comes to life he'll have something to hop down on.

This is Michelle's room--with Julie's clothes and my pillow on it. We got out of there quick after spying baby creepy crawl.

Julie and I shared the room shown below. Melissa slept on the couch. What a trooper she is.

Here are the girls unpacking the kitchen. We've just dumped our bags. Still a bit stressed.

Feeling better now. Food being eaten, beverages being consumed. Ah!
Even the bathroom was so cute! Look at the door and the light fixture.

We were so pleased.

Outside the bathroom door, up above were some cute "sporty" things that I hear some people use for activity in the out of doors. I know nothing of such things.

This was taken Saturday morning. The camera was sitting on top of TV.

Look at that glow on Julie's face.

She is in love with the idea of shopping all day!

After shopping all day in the high, cold wind, we were cold to the bone so we lit the little wood stove fireplace and turned the heater on high. You can see the snacks are ready. The TV cainet is stocked with movies! We watched Chicago and some of us even dozed before dinner.

This was taken the day we left.

Cabin Fever

Melissa, Michelle, Julie and I rented a cabin in Mineola. We were on a Canton shopping trip this past weekend. My time had come. As the old lady announced to her husband at the lunch table we shared with them, "You sat with a virgin!" Friends, I was the virgin. I'd never been to Canton. We'd been planning this trip for a long time. Michelle had the idea and made our cabin dreams come true! Pictures and discussion of the cabin, as well as shopping adventures, will follow. But let's talk about the trip, shall we? We shall.

Pretend you own a cabin. The cabin is absolutely great. It really is. It's cute, in a serene location just perfect for a little get away. You advertise your precious little cabin on the Internet and get business. Let me tell you where you mess up. You give directions that get you to the street (not the house) where your personal home is, but not to the cabin that is around the corner, down the highway, through two gates, past the big barn, through another gate just before "Crazy Eddy Road", through four wheelin' country of two big fields. It was the craziest thing I've ever seen. Well...one of the craziest. I did party a lot in the 80's.

We began in one car. Packed all our girlie bags and food and games and rain boots and snacks into one car and realized we needed two cars. No problem! We downloaded Heytell, an app that turns your phone into walkie-talkies. Michelle and I were in my car. I had two ear infections (God bless that magic elixir of a steroid shot the night before) and was on pain pills, so Michelle drove. Thanks to Google on my iPhone, we got a hold of some cool CB lingo to impress Julie and Melissa, our "back door". (Back door in cool trucker language means the car in the rear. Aren't those truckers so clever? I thought back door was slang for something else. 80's again, I'm sure.)

Traffic was only bad on 635 around Mesquite and Garland. Well, sure. Who doesn't want to get out there to those two beautiful cities? Duh. We have Mapquest directions. My job was to check off the steps of directions we'd completed using a purple pen. We laughed at first because it was so silly. "Merge on to 635 W," CHECK and "Slight right onto service road 899," CHECK And by "service road 899, they meant that little ramp that gets you from the exit to the actual service road. Weirdest robot directions either. I became frustrated, and as is my custom, pulled in some technology. I worked that GPS to verifiy and translate whatever the heck that Mapquest robot talk was trying to communicate. We would Heytell the back door if anything changed. And man, did it ever change.

People, you reach a point in certain areas where technology can't help you. You can't get an app of the stars when you're camping, let's say, because there is not a signal out there. We lose the cell signal just as sun sets. PEEEEERFECT. And by perfect I mean worst time ever. This is when those tiny country road signs and my purple pen checks telling us which roads we'd been on become so very important. No signal = no GPS + no communication via phone or Heytell. This is where the truckers have an advantage. I'll bet their CB radios would've worked way out there! Dang it.

We are a bit stressed, however it's under control. Michelle and I are navigating carefully, paying very close attention to the Mapquest directions. We quickly discover we cannot rely on the Mapquest directions. Mapquest measures half a block as 2.1 miles. That's right. It said to stay on a certain little country road for 2.1 miles, but it should have said, "turn left, then make immediate right onto the highway you really want." Thankfully, Michelle saw the sign as we whizzed past it trying to get up the road our 2.1 miles. Here began a pattern-Michelle could read dang near every sign, which were all on my side of the road. Strangely, I could barely make them out. We're the same beautiful age, so I just thought she ate her carrots which I cannot because of the band. (I can make anything that lap band's fault!) Later, as we pull up to the cabin we are told I have a headlight out on the passenger side. Dang it!

By now all four of us are tired, disconnected, feeling lost due to distrust of our directions and anxious. What's funny is that when we were still about 30 minute away, we all four seemed to decide that we should surely be there by now even though we had no idea really where it was or how far we'd come or had to go. I've thought about this strange occurence. I attribute this phenomenon to the number of turns we took. It was FAR too many turns onto too many winding country roads for us to not be sitting at that little, darling cabin! Where is the cabin?

FINALLY, we see the final street name to be checked off the list and turn onto it. There are only four houses on the little road, then it T's at another road. Tiny road, but we don't see cabins and don't see a sign saying Beaver Creek Cabins. Michelle thinks that maybe we should call the cabin proprietor and ask if we're in the right place. I say that it's a very short street and there are only four houses, has to be one of the four, let's look closely at the house numbers. Well, only one of the flipping mailboxes has a number, and it is not the right one. LOSING it now and the phone rings. Julie has bonused a piney woods phone tower signal and calls to see if we have any idea where we are. I assured her we hadn't just randomly chosen some tiny, dark road to turn on and that this was the road which freaking' Mapquest told us was our destination. I then abruptly hung up the phone, feeling that my and Michelle's intelligence were being insulted. Little did I know that Julie and Melissa were feeling even more insecure since they'd nearly been run over by a long haul truck and they did NOT have the magic of Mapquest. I have since apologized for my behavior. Michelle notices a porch light on at one of the four houses, so we pull up in front of this house. Everything is dirt, as it is in the Kountry country. Picture pine trees, free dogs and many dead skunks. Lots of skunk mating currently going on in the less developed areas, people. If any of them are left alive there is anyway. Maybe the skunks who can't get laid in mating season just commit suicide. I digress...

Michelle says it's time to call. I call. The lady wonders if we're in her yard...she'll look out the window and see. Then she starts chatting me up. All I want to know, lady, is one thing. Is we or ain't we smelling the skunks in your front yard. I did politely ask finally, oh yes I did. It was true. By luck, brains, one headlight and determination, we'd found her personal residence, but not the cabin. She and her husband would get in the truck and take us down there. We were so relieved to have someone taking care of us now besides stupid robot Mapquest. AH, we'd be having dinner in a matter of minutes. NOT.

We follow their truck through her gated yard, go down the tiny country road two houses, turn onto the highway go about 1/2 a mile, go through two gates, past the big barn, through another gate just before "Crazy Eddy Road", through four wheelin' country of two big fields and three miles later we're at the cabin. Now, how on God's green earth did this woman expect us to EVER find this cabin? I'm not kidding you people, it was behind a house through gates and far back through fields to this tiny cabin. Key on the desk inside the door. Like we'd just pull up and park. We never will understand it. It's almost like you have to really want to give them your money. OH! there was a sign on the gate off the highway. It was tiny and not lit at all, but did exist. Once you pull in that gate, there's house with 5 dogs chasing and barking. You have to make it beyond that house to drive behind yonder barn to drive past Crazy Eddy Road then the fields. You have to want to be there.

And so began our adventure.

YearbookYourself.Com

FUN!

1978 Sara

Your local newscaster

197o Sara

Ya Dig?

The 80's were boring--I have too many pictures that look like those on the website. :)

Another good weekend

Saturday I went up to Julie's in Ardmore. We had dinner with the lovely Frankye. Julie made us a wonderful ham dinner with a spinach salad that was exactly what Frankye loves! She was a happy woman with that salad. Julie always cooks up some yumminess. Thank you, friend. The thing to know about Ms. Frankye is that she is a District Supt. of the Methodist Church and she was there with me on my Walk to Emmaus. God worked through her and Julie both to bring me back to Him. They'd have to kill my dog for a bad reason for me to not like them! Ms. Frankye had to preach and speak at 3 services and a breakfast the next day so she took it home. Julie and I sat around the chiminea for hours upon hours.

MollyLolly paced (see below) as Julie and I talked. It was a clear night for stars. Technology was with us! I quickly downloaded a map of the stars and we got busy identifying. That was about all the science we were ready for, so the conversation changed to our little lives. God was with us too! Julie and I decided we would pray for each other for one month and journal during that time. I'm excited to see what God is going to do about this. Right there under the stars, we joined hands and prayed about it. It's so fantastic to have friends to pray with!

Sunday morning, Julie and I got up to go hear Frankye speak. What I love most about Frankye is her spirit. It does remind me of my daddy and my mimi. They all have the same feel to me. If you knew either one of them, or both, you know what I mean. Quiet, wise, strong, happy and down to earth. And if they speak, you listen.

Man! She can speak too! My standards for preachers is HIGH and I love listening to Frankye. The benchmark is Dr. Charles Isbell. I know Daddy would've respected her message and her speaking style. It was beautiful to hear her. Her message was based on a Psalm and had to do with a real relationship with Christ--Not a casual, convenient one, but the real deal. God is not playing with us. :) There are believers, church goers and true Christians who walk closely with Him throughout every day. To build that relationship takes some sit down time with God. It takes walking and talking closely to Him and believeing His word. She said that we have those who are our lovers, but Christ is the lover of our souls. How great is that?

Frankye is the one on the right

Next weekend...girls' weekend in Canton. We have a cabin and we are READY with food and fantastic attitudes. We are...

I swear, officer, I don't know how that got there!

Get This! A woman with whom I work told me a most interesting story yesterday. For the sake of privacy we will call her FiFi. I'm going with FiFi, because I can. So here's the deal...a relative of Fifi dies and leaves their truck to Fifi's cousin. After having the truck for a while, Fifi's cousin no longer wants it. He sells it to Fifi and her husband to give to their daughter, a high school student. Fifi and her husband go get the truck (I think it was from out of state) and their daughter now has wheels.

Not long after getting the truck, Fifi receives a phone call from her uncle. Uncle seems a bit embarassed but soon gets to the point. Cousin phoned Uncle asking that he call Fifi to warn her. Cousin had a hidden stash of marijuana he'd hid in the truck then, as stoners often do, had forgotten was there! The high school student has been driving around with pot in her car! High schools regularly have drug dogs visit to sniff out drugs and booze in the parking lot and rest of the campus. Fifi said that if her daughter had been busted, she, like most parents, wouldn't have bought her daughter's line, "I don't know how that got in there!"
Fifi and her family crawled all over that truck looking for this hidden bag of weed. Cousin Cheech had some skills, because they couldn't find it. Fifi went to her school's police officer and asked if it would be possible to take the truck up to the police station and ask that one of their trained dogs could sniff it out. Officer Helpful had a better idea. He went to a website and searched for the truck model in a database. Voila! Up pops a list of hiding spots druggies use to hide their stuff in that particular model and make of truck. WHO KNEW?! This truck had four possible places. Sure enough, Cheech's bag of weed was sitting in one of them.

Fifi and her husband had the truck detailed to remove the smell. She took the opportunity of having a bag of weed to do something she'd not yet been able to--it's not what you're thinking. She showed it to her kids and let them smell it and know what it looks like. Great opening for a discussion. Officer Helpful told her to flush the weed when she found it. Fifi says she did.

Last weekend was fun

Saturday I had a Table Warming Party for a new table I'd purchased. Never heard of one of those? Me either. I figured that needing friends around my new table was a wonderful reason to have a party. I cooked and prepared food all day Saturday. Later, I'll take and post pictures of the welcome penant banner and a new wreath I'd made for the event. My sister will be impressed with the craftiness.

Precisely two minutes before the party started, I knocked over my beautiful turquoise egg lamp that I'd waited so long to own. The bottom was busted looking like something had hatched out of it. I propped that thing up making it look like an abstract hatched egg. There are no pictures. I was busy! Sunday, when I was cleaning up the house before leaving for church I realized I have a nice, wooden lamp that has never been used. Voila, back in business.

The party was fun. After everyone mingled and ate, the music started thumping. We moved that new table aside, rolled up the rug and commenced to shakin' our groove thangs. At that point, the guys went (and by went I mean bolted) out to the porch to visit whilst we girls were inside dancing. When everyone is getting to do what they want at a party--that's a good party.

Here's all the girls...

And some of the guys...

Whatever it is JB is hearing in this one, I'm not sure he's believing it.

I hope everyone there had as good a time as I did.

Sunday, JB came in and pointed out to me that we have our first bloom in the yard! It's a butter and eggs daffodil. What's wild about that is that Kate had been telling me about butter and eggs daffodils just the night before.

I didn't realize they were named that, much less that there were any in the yard.

I really like this bulletin board which is right outside my office at my home campus.

Only the Best

My special Valentine's Day date was, once again, my friend Susan. I found our being single is not to be pitied. I learned it is a truth while watching CBS Sunday Morning. This program has been on Sunday mornings since I can remember, and it's a magazine type show. LOVE it. They did a story this week on marriage and how it's not as popular a choice in our times. We knew that though. Studies show that the happiest people are not those who are simply in a marriage, it's those who are blessed with a happy marriage. This was followed closely by single women.

"Married people who are in good marriages are about as happy as you can get, followed by never-married single women 50 years and older who have discovered that, in fact, there are lots of pleasures in singlehood."

Stephanie Coontz, the author of a new book about the evolution of women in society.

They interviewed a woman, Ms. Scandurra, who lives a life similar to mine. Here's an excerpt...

When asked if married people are indeed happier, Coontz said, "Married people who are in good marriages are about as happy as you can get, followed by never-married single women 50 years and older who have discovered that, in fact, there are lots of pleasures in singlehood."
Jane Scandurra is one of them. A successful marketing executive, she owns her home, has her own boat, and a big circle of friends: Everything, it would seem, except a husband.
"The reasons you get married are no longer what they used to be," Scandurra said. "You used to get married in the past, you know, to have sex [because] no one had sex before marriage. You didn't have kids unless you were married. Now, people are having kids outside of marriage. And also, you know, women used to get married for financial security, because they didn't have any other way to sustain themselves. That's all gone."
Scandurra is co-producer of "Single," a documentary about the growing legion of the unmarried.
"I could very easily have gotten married, plenty of times," she said. "But I probably would have been a divorce statistic.
"I feel like I just didn't make a mistake."

From http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2011/02/13/sunday/main20031693.shtml?tag=cbsnewsTwoColUpperPromoArea

Like Scandurra, I could've married and been divorced like so many others, but I'm waiting for the life that so many of my friends have--that happy married life. One step higher up on life's happyometer. It's either that or I have to be 50 or older to reach singledom nirvana. Not sure what to hope for now--single and over the hill or over the hill and happily in love. It seems they both work! Hope your happyometer is high today!