Living Italian

The second time I was considered to be a teen run away, I was actually placed in another home for two weeks by the Police for suspected child abuse.

My father had gotten very angry at me for not taking out the trash one day and found me sitting in the family room with my feet up on the coffee table watching the Simpson's, much as I'm doing right this very second. He tucked the toe of his boot under my knee and shoved hard. Some would say he had kicked me. At the time, I said he had kicked me. He honestly didn't. Then he picked me up off of the couch by my ponytail. He then threw me to the floor by it, not intending for me to land on the rock mantle of the fireplace, but indeed that is where I collapsed.

My knee was swollen the following day. I sat in my English class massaging it during the teachers lecture. The girl that sat next to me in class asked me what was wrong. I'd never talked to her before other than asking her once what the teacher had said about hyperbolas for my notes. For some odd reason I decided to tell her everything. I even embellished a bit to make the story more interesting. The next thing I knew, I was being rushed to Tirzah Tolman's house that day after school and the Police had taken a full report on everything.

It was only a week before my 17th birthday when all of this happened. Without planning, without warning, I was suddenly thrust into another home, all because I told the Police that I didn't want to leave home. They took it as a sign that I was afraid of my parents. When I told them my Father didn't hurt me, that I had been stupid and kicked a post the day before trying to show off my martial arts training, they didn't believe me. My leg had been fully extended before I made contact with the post and I felt a pain screaming through my leg, radiating out from my knee like thousands of needles covered in acid and fire. That night when my father pushed my legs off of the coffee table with the toe of his boot, he had no idea that I was already in severe pain. I had done it to myself. The Police thought I was singing the familiar tune of a tumble down the stairs when I told them all about it. I was looked at by them like a kid that had told a story of walking into a door handle with his eye.

Tirzah's family was amazing. She had two sisters that just adored me right off the bat. Both of her parents were teachers and were under the same impression as the Police. I decided just to not talk about what had happened. I was tired of people looking at me with sympathy like I was a pathetic child afraid of the world and all it had to offer. I finally just shut up about it all together and stopped trying to defend my family.

I was given a list of chores. The bathroom downstairs was my responsibility to clean twice a week from top to bottom and spot clean every day. I would sweep the floor in the kitchen on the even days, and on the odd days I would vacuum the living room. Tirzah and I traded off for these chores, while her two little sisters, still in grade school, had the simple chores of cleaning their rooms, clearing off the dinner table, and sweeping the front porch daily. Everyone in the family pitched in. We even gathered each night to read a passage of the Bible. For the first time in two years, I felt like I was a part of something, like I was a part of a family.

When my birthday came, every member in the family had gifts for me. Tirzah gave me a beautiful purse / backpack in black faux leather. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. Her sister Rebecca gave me a candle. It was a Cinnamon Apple candle to be more precise. To this day a Cinnamon Apple candle reminds me of that birthday and of Tirzah's family. I was there such a short time and truly grew to love every one of them.

The Police came by only a few days later and told me that they were sending me home. Their investigation had turned up no results. They told the Tolman family that I had "made everything up" and I needed to go home. They actually apologized to the Tolman's, telling them that it was a shame they had to put up with me for so long over something that I had clearly made up. Tirzah never spoke to me again - but for two weeks, I didn't just have a sister, but three sisters and a real family.

I often think about Tirzah and wonder where she is. I hope her sisters lived up to their brilliant potential. I wish Tirzah all the good things life has to offer. She was such a kind girl to take in a relative stranger when she thought I was in trouble. May she never loose that divine spark and the desire to help others. She, and her entire family, were wonderful.

No Beauty Here

The following definitions were taken directly from dictionary.com today. After you've had the chance to go through them, I'll explain to you why I do not see myself as pretty.

pretty adj. prettier, prettiest
1). Pleasing or attractive in a graceful or delicate way.
2). Very bad; terrible: in a pretty predicament.
3). Considerable in size or extent: a pretty fortune.
4). Ostensibly or superficially attractive but lacking substance or conviction: full of pretty phrases.
5). To a fair degree; moderately: a pretty good student.


First of all, the girls that were referred to as pretty when I was in school fit one or more of the definitions on a daily basis. I, however, never really conformed to any of these definitions. Shall I explain?



1). Pleasing or attractive in a graceful or delicate way.

First of all, I'm far from graceful. I've been told by many people that I was the clumsiest person they had ever met. Graceful is defined as showing grace of movement. I dont think you can call someone who trips going UP the stairs a very graceful person. I trip over my own feet, whether I have shoe laces dangling on or not. I'm also pretty much a tomboy.

Second, I'm not exactly delicate. I admit, I may have a few delicate features, but I am not delicate. Delicate is defined as frail in constitution or health. I'm actually about as healthy as a horse, and not at all frail in construction! If you're looking for another definition, we could always go with easily broken or damaged. I'm neither of these things. If you've read any of my previous blogs, you know this about me already. I'm actually extremely durable, and have learned to NOT break or damage easily. Actually, rather than a porcelain sculpture, I'm more like a rubber ball. I bounce back pretty quickly! The dictionary.com site goes on to say that the word can also be defined as marked by sensitivity of discrimination. Also not me. I'm numb to being discriminated against. It's happened too often. Requiring tactful treatment? FAR from me Treat me like one of the guys and I'm as happy as I can be.



2). Very bad; terrible: in a pretty predicament

I believe this one to be pretty self explanatory. I don't believe that anyone here can say that I'm very bad (unless you know me better than I thought). But I'm certainly not terrible!



3). Considerable in size or extent: a pretty fortune

I think this one is also pretty self explanatory. I'm not a very big girl. I mean, I'm only a whole 5'6" tall and the shortest person in my family. I'm fairly small about the middle, have basically no chest to think about, and (the way I see it) I dont have a bubble butt, so there is nothing about me that is of a considerable size or extent.



4). Ostensibly or superficially attractive but lacking substance or conviction: full of pretty phrases.

I would like to think that I'm far from superficial. I believe I DO contain both substance and conviction. In fact, I have so much substance that I cant seem to fit it all into the one book I wrote! I instead have had to start another one. Conviction is defined as a fixed or strong belief. Conviction? Ask anyone who knows me well and they can tell you just how much conviction I have.



5). To a fair degree; moderately: a pretty good student.

I have to say that this one probably gets to me the most. I've worked very hard to not be "moderate" at anything. I'm a pretty tuff cookie. If I say I'm going to do something, I do it! If I am going to try to do something, Im not going to give up on it until I get it right. I'm a borderline perfectionist. There is not an option for me to do things to a "fair" degree. It's all or none.


So here it is. These are the reasons I don't see myself as pretty. I see the overall term as more of an insult than a compliment. Now if you said I was beautiful .....


beautiful adj.
adj 1: delighting the senses or exciting intellectual or emotional admiration; "a beautiful child"; "beautiful country"; "a beautiful painting"; "a beautiful theory"; "a beautiful party" 2: aesthetically pleasing 3: (of weather) highly enjoyable; "what a beautiful day."



In my own eyes, the only beauty I possess is in the creativity I exude. No, I see no beauty when I look in the mirror. What I see is much more precious to me than that. I see my creative side, the happiness I feel, the smile that so many people find contagious, and my everlasting zest for life. I see that I am unique. That's more important to me. I may never see myself as a "beauty"... but I will appreciate what I see anyway, because what I see is personality.


HOWEVER - To have my face cradled in the hands of a handsome man who looks deep into my eyes, staring straight into my soul, tell me with honest and sincere intention that I'm beautiful... well, there's no greater compliment on the face of the Earth.

First Date

I've had a lot of first dates in my history, most of which didn't make it to a second date. It's hard to find a stable, drama free guy.


One guy ended up seeing me for a while, constantly charming me, flirting, teasing, dancing and dining. When finally after many months we took it to the next level he made a disastrous comment immediately after kissing me.


"I think you like me more than I like you," he said calmly. He was cool - no, strike that. He was cold. The whole thing had been a game for him. When I laughed at him, it really blew him away. He didn't know how to take it. He thought I was angry at him. Had I been angry, there would have been no doubt - I would have torn his head off. It upset him greatly that I wasn't actually angry at him I think. I laugh it off as one of the all time biggest relationship failures.


I once had a man propose to me on a first date. With my history of first dates, I knew he had a screw loose and played it off as a joke. I gave him an easy way out that way, and yet he didn't take it. He insisted that he was serious. He claimed that I was the "perfect woman" and he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. At the conclusion of that date, I gave the wrong address and walked a full three blocks home from where I had told him I lived.

Another first date once took me to a buffet style dinner where he proceeded to gorge himself in the most ungentlemanly fashion imaginable. By the end of the date, there was a full meal splayed down the front of his shirt. At that point I had already learned my lesson about meeting somewhere rather than riding together.

In High School, one of the popular boys asked me out on a date one night. I had been working at Wendy's in Roy, Utah at the time and he had apparently admired me from afar. He didn't know that I didn't fit the mold of what his family deemed a proper girl to him (mainly due to my religion unfortunately) and we had a glorious time anyway. We played miniature golf, watched an old Disney movie with a group of people where I fell asleep, and then he drove me home. I kissed him on the cheek before I got out of the car, and floated on air all the way to bed. The next day at school, he wouldn't even say hello to me. Someone had told him about my religion. He never spoke to me again.

I've had first dates that would go down in the record books as being some of the most horrible. One openly gawked at a passing woman with a large chest. One tried to slip a drug into my iced tea. One actually tried to put a drop of acid in his mouth and then kiss me without my knowing about it. He almost didn't survive the night.

I've had some very nice first dates as well. One guy showed up with a dozen red roses and a pencil drawing he did of me from a photo. It was sweet and romantic - and I eventually married him. Another took me dancing, also a very romantic move. Unfortunately he didn't really know how to dance and ended up sending me home with bruised feet. We were together for 2 years. Yet another took me to a beautiful restaurant in Beverly Hills called Vibrato and got a seat reserved right near the Jazz band where we dined on incredible steaks accompanied by dirty martini's, just the way I like it.

With all of these First Dates under my belt, one would think I would be an expert in the field - but there are those who have still taken me by surprise.

One first date in particular stands out in my mind above all others for some reason... A noisy restaurant isn't exactly the best place for a first date, but the food was good and the view was spectacular. Afterward we decided to go for a stroll. Walking along the beach in the dark, 10:00 at night just talking with someone I hardly knew turned out to be a wonderful night and an evening to remember. It's the little things I remember most; the sand between my toes, the ocean waves lapping at the shore, talking about surfing, going to Hawaii, being burried in the sand, odd family members and just life in general made that night the most successful first date in my history. There was nobody stomping on my feet or a Jazz band to shout over. There weren't any buffet lines, hidden drugs, sneaky idiots or marriage proposals. It was what I had always wanted - a NORMAL first date with a wonderful person.

There are many events that have happened in my life that I can swear I will never forget for as long as I live. I've forgotten most of the horrible first dates, and I remember most of the good ones. There are those that will live in infamy within the recesses of my mind though that will always make me smile, just with the mere thought of them. And as you all know, I do love to share my fond memories.

New Orleans Jazz Festival

The only chance I ever had to go to New Orleans, I jumped at it. Bill and I boarded a plane and headed there for the New Orleans Jazz Festival in the year 2003. What a trip that was!

We stayed in an adorable little Bed and Breakfast in the French Quarter. The room had vaulted ceilings and was just across the street from Richard and Gloria. Several friends of Bill's went, and with the large group we had, fun was sure to come naturally. Within no time at all, I was proven right.

Bill and Phil got along the best. It was almost as if the two were separated at birth. They had all the same taste and I adored them both. They could make an entire room of strangers crack up with laughter as long as the people within it were intelligent enough to understand the rich and brilliant humor the two were graced with. That entire trip was spent with me nearly in stitches.

One night at dinner, Bill and I accompanied Phil and his girlfriend, whom I adored. For privacy reasons, I won't list her name. We were sat at a tiny table and ended up with a horrible waitress. When she brought us refills on our waters, she refused to pick up the empty glasses. When Phil's girlfriend ordered two entrees with the purpose of having left overs the next day, the waitress refused to take the order saying "That's too much food, you'll never eat it all."

Phil's girlfriend was an outspoken and opinionated woman. The first time I ever met her, she just about bit off the head of a waitress that asked what my age was instead of asking for my ID when I ordered a glass of wine. That's a story for another day - but my point was that she didn't take crap from anyone. She spoke her mind and there was never a mystery as to what she was thinking. That's one of the many reasons I adored her. She was the polar opposite to Gloria.

Our server very nearly dumped my food in my lap and Bill had to catch it. She slammed plates on the table and slapped her hands together in frustration each time we asked for something. By the end of the meal, there were around 16 glasses on the very tiny table and tons of empty plates. The waitress refused to bring a container for the leftovers. She left us at a dirty table for more than 30 minutes before we were able to flag her down and ask for a check. When we finally got it and the credit card was put inside the black book, it took another 15 minutes before it was picked up.

The bill turned out to be $99.98 with tax and everything. She didn't even get a two cent tip. "Someone" wrote "Worst Service in New Orleans" on the top of the bill.

The Jazz Festival was amazing. Walking from stage to stage, I got a chance to see Joe Cocker, John Cleary, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Dr. John and many other big names I loved the moment I heard them for the first time.

When Joe Cocker took the stage that afternoon, the sun was blazing outside and people were everywhere. Joe Cocker looked like a speck on the stage from as far back in the grassy field as we were sitting. He started off with some of his most popular songs, and the crowd really got into it. "You Are So Beautiful To Me" was a huge hit. People everywhere were singing along and swaying. When he sang "You Can Leave Your Hat On" were dancing even in the heat. "Don't You Love Me Anymore" brought a few tears from some emotional drinkers. Many were drunk or were drinking, some were a combination of both. Occasionally the wafting smell of marijuana could be smelled among the people and joints were freely passed to total strangers. Believe me, I didn't partake. It's not my thing.

His final song on stage that night was "Have a Little Faith in Me" and the massive, excited and exuberant crowd suddenly hushed. It seemed as though the entire night hinged on this moment. He lead up to it slowly, knowing exactly what everyone was waiting for, and at that precise moment - Joe Cocker nailed that famous scream of his in that particular song. The audience went crazy, screaming like there was a fire on stage. Joe Cocker certainly was on fire. It was, by far, one of the greatest live performances I have ever been to.

Though the entire trip was far more than simply a memorable trip, the most memorable occasion was Bills Birthday. Before dinner and after the myriad of concerts, we were walking to the cab pick up point when I took a tumble. My ankle twisted under me and I limped for a good 5 minutes before I managed to shake it off. I swallowed the pain, slipped into my black sequined sling-back heels Bill bought for me in November of 2002 and we all went to dinner.

My ankle throbbed under the table until I wanted to cry. Never once did I complain because I didn't want to take focus away from Bill's birthday. The meal came out in around 7 courses. The spread became a feast, and for as long as I live I'll never forget the soft-shelled crab set before me. It scared me at first, since I'd never seen one - but I'm always willing to try anything once. I still love the taste of soft shelled crab, and it always brings back the memory ofBrigtsen's Restaurant.

Frank Brigsten turned out to be a friend of Bill and Phil's. That night, we were treated like royalty. By the end of the meal, I was so full that the pain in my waist was far greater than the pain in my ankle.

My trip to New Orleans was filled with fantastic food, the worst waitress in the history of food service, amazing concerts and friends that I'll never forget - though I'm almost positive some have forgotten me.

There's one though that never has - Thanks, Bill.

Lost in Prague

For many, many years I had a terrible sense of direction. I would get lost walking from my house to the bus stop. It didn't help that the house was situated at an odd angle on the corner of a 5 way intersection. I wouldn't know my North from the West if my life had depended on it. I knew how to get home and how to get to school, but for all else, I depended on others around me. In the middle of the night, in a foreign country where English was barely spoken, I had a rude wake-up-call at 23 years old and to this day I have a hard time realizing how lucky I am to be alive.

Bill and I had gone to Germany for Stefan and Barbara's wedding. It was the first time I had been back to Germany since we moved away in 1982. I hadn't remembered anything about the beautiful Country in which I was born except for the briefest of flashes during that moment I found myself reminiscing over my life with my grandfather while stuck in that layer between death and life. Even then it was too limited to really know anything about where I had been born. All I could tell anyone was that I was born in Kaiserslautern.

I had dreamed of going back to Germany for many years. For my 16th birthday my parents bought a VHS tape about tourism in Germany and took me to the only German restaurant in Ogden. It was a birthday worth remembering. So when I found out that there was a chance to go see where I was born, I jumped at it, eager to see the world.

We flew into New York City with the aspirations of seeing a Broadway show with some other people who were also headed to the wedding over seas. I couldn't believe it - this trip was going to give me two of my greatest dreams! Next to Germany, my other top item on my 'bucket list' was to go to a Broadway show!

Unfortunately things happen and my dreams of seeing the show were dashed upon the rocks like a ship lost in a storm. With Richard and Gloria, things often "came up" at the last minute, so that trip we never made it to Broadway. We had a quiet dinner in a restaurant with a 2 hour wait for a table. All I kept thinking was that we could have spent that 2 hours at Broadway, Damn the meal. The next day we were boarding a flight to Germany though, so I didn't let it dampen my spirits.

We flew into Frankfurt on a 14 hour flight with me stuck in a broken seat that wouldn't recline. Gloria's snide condescension drove me up the proverbial wall. I'd never truly liked her very much anyway, but I had always been good at being 'pleasant' to her in social situations. I grabbed out my ear buds and popped them in when the movie started with the intention of drowning her out. My in-flight head set didn't work right for the movie though, and by the time we got there I was so bored with word search puzzles that I never wanted to see another for as long as I lived and it was all I could do to restrain myself from knocking Gloria unconscious - but we were THERE. We had made it to Germany!

My nerves were a bit frayed at this point from lack of sleep and the occasional condescending blast from Gloria. Society cant pin that many people into a cramped space with screaming kids and falling hat boxes without expecting those who know one another to be cranky with one another. We're constricted by social graces to be kind to strangers, but with people we know, we can be our cranky selves. By the time we loaded up in the rented diesel station wagon, the four of us were snapping like bears in the salmon run. We were each out for blood and we knew it.

Even the ever-patient Richard grew testy. I was ready to claw Gloria's eyes out with just one more snide comment about how I was too young to know about this or that, or that I didn't know about a particular social grace because I didn't "grow up with money" as she put it. I couldn't help but think to myself that she most likely didn't either. Due to the way she spoke to those around her, I guessed that I had more class, dignity and grace in my little finger nail than she possessed in her entire body. There were certain things I'd never understand according to her because she was a nurse and I wasn't. There was something about Gloria that I truly despised. Later on I discovered what the underlying reason was for her condescension and knew that I was justified in my dislike of the woman. I'll save that story for another day.

Gloria had been rude each time she thought even for a second that it couldn't be overheard by the men. I wasn't the type of person to complain, so when some of her remarks were overheard inside the car, Bill started to realize there was something going on. He knew me well and could tell when I didn't like someone, but he didn't say anything to me about it. He thought it was all in my mind, most likely. She proved that it wasn't all in my mind, Gloria really did NOT like me. She made that trip almost unbearable for me, but vindicated me at the same time.

We drove from Frankfurt through East Germany and straight in to Prague, only getting lost once or twice on the way. We got there late at night and settled in to a Bed and Breakfast where we would be staying for the next few days. Before even 10 minutes passed, we were settled into bed for the night, exhausted from the long journey. Each of us felt as though we either had a plane or a car growing out of our buts.

The next day we found ourselves wandering Prague. We visited the famous sights, took tours of castles far removed from the city and purchased typical "tourist" items like watercolor paintings of the famous clock tower. We watched the fire eaters and sword jugglers on the Charles bridge, we peered in awe at the blue glass in the shop windows along every street. The church was stunning. Prague was one of the most beautiful cities I'd ever seen in my life. By the time we stopped into the bar for a quick meal though, we were starving and tensions were high once more.

We drank fresh Pilsner beer, marveling at the massive difference between that and what we get in the States. With the beer, lips became loose and we all began to have words. Gloria had pushed me to the limit, and when Bill said something to me, I took in a negative way. Honestly I don't even remember what he said, but tempers were flared and I was more frustrated than I let on.

Without warning, I snapped. I walked out of the bar leaving the three of them sitting there. Gloria huffed behind me, complained about my being so immature because of my age, and sighed in complete impatience and ignorance.

Bill thought I would be right back. My own stubborn pride refused to allow me. I stayed outside for a few minutes, but Bill came out and I couldn't handle a discussion right then. He strode out with purpose and told me that he wanted to talk to me. He didn't sound happy and I really didn't want to start screaming at him in the middle of the crowded street. I walked away into the crowd and didn't look back.

If I were to guess, I would estimate the time was around 5 in the evening. I was hungry and angry, a dangerous combination for a redhead. Had anyone messed with me right then, they would have had the fight of a lifetime on their hands. I didn't stop walking. I walked past familiar shop windows, my face steaming. I practically sped across the Charles Bridge, striding with purpose past the stunt performers and street dancers. I blazed past the musicians with open guitar cases. When I passed the station, I dug into my pockets. I had no money so I couldn't take the train anywhere - I just kept walking. By the time the sun went down, I strongly wished I hadn't left my jacket at the table. It had been hours since I walked away from the table and my hunger was getting the better of me. I told myself to remember the Saltine crackers, and I just kept walking.

Dark, shady cars filled with dark, shady faces slowed down to look at me. Taxi's offered me a ride, but with no currency there wasn't much I could do. I ignored the young men making eyes at me. When the three men carrying hand guns down the middle of the road with the large, scary guy carrying an assault rifle walked past me, I refused to make eye contact. Prague turned out to be a little frightening at night.

I tried to tell myself that I was going the right direction, but I wasn't really sure. Some of the streets I wandered down started to look familiar, like I had seen them once or twice before. I walked past the Prague clock tower at least three times. I walked back across the Charles bridge no less than three times, too.

The smiling faces of the flame throwers became the grimacing mugs of tattooed fire eaters as the sun set. The sword jugglers became the night's assassins, out for my blood. The shops with the lovely blue glasses were suddenly dark and empty recesses filled with sinister shadows. Around every turn I found something waiting to swallow me into this strange world.

When finally I found the main street leading out of Prague, it was nearing 11 at night. I was all alone on the streets of a foreign country where I didn't even speak the polite words like please and thank you in the native tongue. Even if someone were to attack me, I couldn't beg for my life properly. Not that I would do something like that. I couldn't cry out for help. I didn't know the streets, so I couldn't even run away. I had no allies. I was stranded and alone in the dark night of a dangerous land.

In the year 2003 the Czech Republic had some of the highest crime rates for several of the surrounding nations. When the sun goes down in Prague, girls get kidnapped and sold as sex slaves. I couldn't believe as I wandered the frightening streets of Prague at midnight that I had once again put myself into that position.

I was certain that by now Bill had gotten Gloria and Richard to agree to look for me. I was lost, cold, alone and frightened. I was hungry and tired. But I knew that since I was finally on the main road, it was only another 2 hour walk back to the Bed and Breakfast just outside of town. I could see a possible shortcut in front of me to cut about an hour off of my travel. The scariest part would be having to walk parallel to the railroad tracks, trying to avoid eye contact with the street bums. I was no stranger to that tactic, so I decided to go for it.

The industrial section of Prague spewed black smoke into the air, making the dark night even darker, enveloping the stars in a thick soot that settled on everthing around me. Flames spat into the air from the chimneys, allowing brief glimpses of my surroundings. I stumbled once and fell on my hands and knees. When I stood up to dust myself off, I looked to see what it was I had stumbled over. There behind me was a leg poking out from under a blanket. It was cold to the touch, like ice. The blanket wasn't wrapped around the body at all, but rather just tossed on top. I wondered if the body was even alive. The chimney vomited more flames and black soot, and under one corner of the blanket I saw the face.

His eyes were dark, hollow shells. He stared off into nothing, vacantly resting on a pile of broken wood and shattered bricks. Even staring straight into his face I couldn't tell if he was alive or not, but I strongly assumed he wasn't.

I bolted. I ran for all I was worth, tearing up the ground beneath me with each foot fall. I clinched my teeth together to avoid screaming. Bones were littered here and there; I couldn't help but wonder if they were human or not. The chimney kept belching out black, ominous clouds over bright flashes of evil flames. The world had never seemed so dark.

I shivered, partially from cold but mostly from fear. I stumbled my way down the tracks. Dogs howled and barked in the distance and I suddenly had flashes in my mind of running from a pack of German Shepherds as they tracked me down and ate me for trespassing. I splashed through an open sewer and up the side of the embankment, scrambling and clawing at the hill side for something to pull myself up. The dogs sounded closer with every second. I grappled my way over the chain link fence and fell in a heap on the other side.

An hour later, I realized I was damn lucky I made it all the way back.

Bill was rightfully angry at me when he found me at 3:30 in the morning snuggled up in bed after a hot shower, sound asleep, I don't remember what was said or for how long he said it, but looking back on that frightening night, I'm sure I deserved every moment of it. What I had done was incredibly impulsive and ridiculously dangerous. I don't know exactly what I was thinking that day, if I was thinking at all.

I had been so scared and cold that night wandering around in a strange city thousands of miles from home that I didn't care how long he yelled at me, I was just happy to be back.

Until now I never told a soul about the train yard of Prague. Not even Bill.

 

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A Quick Thanks

This is just a quick thanks to the people reading my blogs in places such as:

558 United States

61 Canada

50 United Kingdom

30 Japan

16 Australia

9 Germany

9 Saudi Arabia

8 Singapore

2 Switzerland

1 Czech Republic

The countries listed above are listed in the order of the most amount of viewers to the least. The numbers indicate how many viewers I've had from each country so far this month.


Just thought I'd share.


THANK YOU!!