Hello Japan!

Based on my stat counter plugged into my blog profile, it looks as though I'm becoming something of an odd phenominon in Japan. I am not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but since I used to work for a Japanese company, I must somehow assume it's related.

I'll never forget working at that company. Most of the people in the office were Japanese with the exception of a french woman married to a Japanese man and who spoke 5 languages fluently, and my immediate boss, who was Gaijin like me.

When I applied for the job, right off the bat I got along with the woman who would turn out to be my boss. She valued the opinion of the french woman highly though. The french woman, an adorable gal by the name of Aurelie, could read people by their shoes. Imagine that - I wonder where I got the idea from a few years later. She took one look at the lovely little black peep-toe sling backs I had on and knew right off the bat that she liked me. I got the job.

My boss turned out to be one of the neatest people I ever worked for. She was funny and brilliant, though she rarely gave herself the credit she deserved. She took me under her wing and taught me anything I could absorb. Other than a brief period of being burned out and growing lazy because of it, I worked very hard for her. That one period of growing lazy eventually was realized though, and by then it was too late. I had screwed things up royally.

I did work hard though. I learned not only my job, but parts of the Japanese language. I would ask someone for a new word every day. They would teach me and I would practice all day long. I would write it on a sticky note and tack it to the edge of my computer screen. Before long, I had my numbers 1-10 memorized and many of the polite words needed to greet others any time of the day. I didn't tell anyone, but I was getting to where I could understand it more than I could speak it. Even now I can pick up on a conversation and know exactly what is being talked about, even if it's not exactly what is being said.

I made decent money and was proud. For the first time in my life, I could afford my own place (albeit with a roommate) and I fully supported myself. I didn't have to rely or depend on anyone but myself. It was a feeling of liberation. I owed that all to the wonderful Japanese company I so dearly loved working for.

Eventually I moved up from being the phone receptionist and took over the National Sales when my boss Michele went out on maternity leave. I would travel from coast to coast, doing dealer visits, product training and trade shows. I very much enjoyed it, but while I was working for the company I met Pete. He and I started to get more serious, and eventually I couldn't see spending that much time traveling anymore, no matter how much I loved it.

When the job offer came in for me to make nearly double what I was making for the Japanese company, I couldn't afford not to take it. Unfortunately, the job didn't work out and I was let go within the first 30 days of employment. Certainly my old company wouldn't take me back and I didn't blame them a bit. There I was, having moved in with Pete 2 days before, and suddenly going from making TONS of money to not having a job at all.

I learned a valuable lesson about loyalty from that brief bit of history. The Japanese people and company are highly loyal and honerable. I wasn't loyal to them in return, and I missed out on something really great. Though I do get paid better NOW than I got paid in 2006 working for them, I miss the culture of the place. I miss the language lessons, the traveling, the kindness, respect and loyalty they all showed to me. I miss Mr. Katayama coming over from Japan for his visits and always wanting to sit next to me at the dinner meetings. I miss Mr. Nishikawa and his kind words. I miss Mrs. Kawano and her angelic face, her sugary voice. I miss Aurelie and her lovely french accent. Most of all I miss Michele. She really was a great boss.

I aspire to be like Michele with the way I run my crew now. She shared a few lessons with me that I'll not easily forget. I adored her and her quirky personality. She had a lovely smile that would light up the room as soon as she shared it. She only had a couple of employees and I have 12 now, but the fact remains that she taught me how to run things.

Probably my favorite story though of working for the Japanese company happened when Michele was out on leave. Nobody was in the office when I returned from lunch and I was left pondering the vacant offices around the hexigon building. I made my way over to my office and sat down. Still wondering where everyone was, I stood up again and poked my head out of the door. Just then Mrs. Kawano came scampering in like a little mouse from the warehouse out back.

"Amanda-san! Amanda-san, ah, we need your help!"

First of all, calling ANY female by name with the added 'san' at the end is a term of extreme respect. I was called Amanda-san by almost everyone in the office, with the exception of the company president and the American born Japanese guy, Mr. Ikeda, who had the office next to mine.

Mr. Ikeda, Mrs. Nakamura and Mr. Masaki were all waiting for me in the warehouse. Mrs. Kawano lead the way to a closed door in the back. When she opened the heavy wooden door on the groaning hinges, it opened into a pitch black room with a vague, distant light shining somewhere in the depths.

As I stepped inside the room, my eyes adjusted to three different lights, shining at white pieces of paper all the way against the back wall of the room. I walked over, slowly.

"Mrs. Kawano," I asked, "What is this?"

"We, ah, need your help. We have brown eye," she said, pointing at her own eyes with an extended finger. Her freshly manicured hand smelled like kiwi melon. "You," she said, pointing at me, "have blue eye." Still confused over everything except what color our eyes were, I arched one eyebrow and scrunched the other to look closer at her. What was I missing? She continued, pointing to the lights on the back wall. "Ah, what color is light?"

"Huh?"

"What color is, ah, light?"

"Which one?" There were three lights shining on white pieces of paper against the back wall. Which one of the three was she talking about? As far as I could tell, all three were slightly different shades of color.

"Any," she said.

"Well," I started slowly. Mr. Masaki looked at me, holding one of the lights up and waiting. Mr. Ikeda and Mrs. Nakamura almost appeared to be holding their breath. "That one Mr. Masaki is holding looks slightly more blue, and Mr. Ikeda's looks like a normal white color. But Mrs. Nakamura's light looks a little yellow."

"AAAHHH!!" Mrs. Kawano exclaimed. "Thank you Amanda-san! So we, ah, all have same eyes!"

"Mrs. Kawano, what are you talking about?" She had clearly established already that my eyes were blue and hers were brown. How could that be related to her statement saying we had the same eyes?

"All of us have, ah, brown eye. We didn't know, ah, if you would see Mr. Masaki's light as, ah, more blue than the other," she paused, "because you have, ah, blue eye."

I pondered over this odd hypothesis they had collectively come up with for the rest of the afternoon and failed by the end of the day to make sense of the whole thing.

I still chuckle to myself over that day. She, as well as the other occupants of the office, were convinced that we all saw colors differently depending on the color of our eyes. It was a strange, funny moment, but one that lives on in my memory with fondness and a good hearted giggle.

Happy Birthday!

First, I want to say Happy Birthday to Cindy from Victorville. I don't want to blast it out to the world, but at the same time I wanted her to know that I knew and thought about her today.

It just so happens her birthday falls on the same day as someone else I once knew.

As many of my friends and readers know, Pete was a big part of my life for several years. I didn't do anything that didn't somehow relate directly to or about Pete. Well, today is Pete's birthday, and in a moment of clarity and peace, my way of celebrating a wonderful 3 years of my life is to celebrate Pete on his day.

I've not seen or heard from Pete in over a year now. I don't know if he still lives in the old house or drives the same car, and though I wish him well, these are details I care very little about. I don't know if he or his family read my blogs. That's not what this is about. This is about a part of my life that will always be a part of my history, through all the good and bad. This isn't a 'last ditch' effort to get his attention or the attention of his family or friends. This is just simply what it is - remembering Pete and the years we spent together.

The day I had the date with my ex at the Donald Trump Country Club and I wore nothing but lingerie and a trench coat, I took the long way around the Palos Verdes Peninsula. As I pulled up to a stop light, I couldn't help but notice a couple of very nice Harley Davidson motorcycles in front of me a few car lengths ahead. On them sat two fairly young, fairly good looking men from what I could tell under the heavy leathers and black helmets. I knew the two lane road ahead merged into one around the land slide area in about a mile, so if I wanted to get adventurous and flirt with two guys on motorcycles, I had to step on it and get around the cars in front of me. Luckily, one of the guys looked like he hadn't been riding for very long and both were taking it easy.

I dropped the top on my Miata while I sat there waiting for the light to change. As soon as it did I goosed the gas when the cars in front of me moved. Within a half a mile I managed to scoot around the other cars and catch up to the bikes. I had to drive a bit more like a maniac than usual, but I had taken racing classes at Willow Springs the year before. I knew my car very well and could handle it like a pro. When I got next to the bikes, I slowed down. I smiled at the guy in the rear, and then scooted up a bit and smiled at the one in the front. It worked.

(The stretch of road known as the

Portuguese Bend Land Slide area)

I goosed it a bit and shot on past them both before the lanes merged. Driving at least 20 miles an hour over the 35 mph speed limit, I took turns and dips at such a rate of speed my car threatened to leave the road like a car chase scene in a movie filmed on the streets of San Francisco. I had barely cleared the treacherous area when one of the bikes pulled up beside me.

"Don't make us chase you," the lead rider shouted to me through the open top of my car. "Pull over."

I drove about another 100 yards before I found the perfect spot to pull off. It was at the entrance to a gated community, and as I pulled in the security guard in the booth out front looked at me funny. The two motorcycles pulled in beside me.

"Hi," the lead rider said to me. "I'm Bryan."

"Amanda," I replied. "Nice to meet you."

"This is my buddy Pete," he introduced the guy on the other side of him. Pete nodded in my direction. "You'd never know it from the bikes, but we're cops."

Oh great, I thought. Now I'm gonna hear it. I was driving like a maniac.

"Great," I said. My mouth let fly with the words I had been thinking. "Now you're going to give me a ration of $hit for the way I was driving." I grimaced. My eyes have always been my best physical feature, and to ease the coming lecture, I removed my sun glasses at that moment. It worked.

"No," he said, "not at all." he smiled. "Actually we were pretty impressed. Usually girls cant handle cars that well." Somewhere deep inside a part of me burst out laughing at the idiotic comment as I thought about Danika Patrick. "So how about giving me your phone number," he said point blank.

Skip to a scene of me prancing about in lingerie in the middle of the dark night on the cliffs of Palos Verdes... (see previous blogs for the story here - titled Trump This).

(Bryan's bike)

The next day Bryan met me over by my apartment in Gardena. Yes, this is Bryan I'm talking about, not Pete. From my place we hoped on his bike and rode off over the same road on which we first met.

Within the hour he had decided that he was hungry. Bryan and I went back to his house where he cooked two plain chicken breasts on the grill. While he was outside, Pete came in and we struck up a conversation.

Give that a week and a second date with Bryan before the two had a long, sit down conversation about me.

So there it is, the sordid details about how I met Pete.

(Pete's bike with Pete)

I once heard the story that he had asked me out when he pulled me over. He told me that he couldn't ask for my number because it wasn't professional. He then stated clearly and calmly that he just happened to be getting off work in an hour and that he might just happen to go by the Starbucks at Sepulveda and Vermont. If I happened to be there, he might just happen to sit down and talk with me for a minute. But it was a big might. Then, he handed me back my drivers license and walked away. He didn't even give me the ticket for driving 95 on the freeway.

The story goes that he walked into Starbucks, saw me sitting at the table and walked up with a very serious look on his face. Standing before me, he slapped his hand on the table and bellowed "NOW," and he dropped his voice as he sat down with me, "can I have your phone number?"

I ask you - which story is better, the true or the false?

Anyway - Happy Birthday Pete and Cindy.

Many happy returns of the day.

My 4 Most Embarrassing Moments

Yesterday I posted a story about a time when I scared the pants off of someone... Well, turn about is fair play, as they say - is it not? As a moment of lapsed sanity and against my better judgement, I'm going to tell you all about a time or two that life got the better of me and had me eating Humble Pie.

In life, we all have the moments when we see an attractive man or woman who's attention we want to get. More often than we would care to admit, we've tripped or done something incredibly embarrassing and left the object of our attention doubled over in laughter. Honestly, that happens to me about 80% of the time I try to get a man's attention. It's no wonder I'm so shy - I know I'll do something stupid.






One of the most horrifying moments I've ever lived through was at Universal Studios CA when I was just a kid. Mom and I were waiting to get on the tram ride through the back lot (back before the entire park changed into nothing but lame 3D shows seen from standard theater seats and City Walk didn't exist). She saw this great, realistic statue of Frankenstein. I remember the statue towered over my dad. Today's translation in my memory would be around 7' tall. Its hands were as big as John Wayne's. If the statue was real, it could have palmed a basketball like an apple. The statue scared me a bit, but I had no idea why. I was around 8 or 9 I believe.


Mom asked me to stand next to Frankenstein for a photo. She pulled out her camera, played with the focus for a minute, and aimed at me. It's a good thing the camera strap was around her neck, because suddenly she screamed and dropped the camera. She reached forward and snatched me by the wrist, yanking hard, just about the time I saw a big green hand come to a rest on my shoulder. I screamed and looked up at Frankenstein, who looked straight down at me, smiling. The "statue" was no statue!


I screamed and ran into my mothers arms. Instinctively we ran a few steps away like a mother bear and her cub running from a panther. Then my mother turned around, ready to do some damage - again, like a mother bear. My heart pounded and her 'be warned' "wooo hoo hoo hoo..." that began incredibly high pitched died out slowly at a normal octave. She shoved me behind her and I watched from under her elbow.


Suddenly she burst out laughing. All of this had taken place in somewhere between 1 and 2 seconds. I think somewhere in the beginning I screamed as loudly as I ever have.


Frankenstein felt terrible. He told my mother he was sorry where nobody else could hear him (characters aren't supposed to speak) and he tried to shake my hand. Still terrified beyond belief, I remained hidden behind Mom. She coached me out and I shook his hand. I tried to dash back behind her again, but she wouldn't hear of it.


"It's just a man in makeup," she said to me, as if she never yelled or panicked along side me. "I still want a picture."



I turned and looked up. As my eyes scanned from their natural view level of his belt buckle, I took in every inch of the massive towering tree trunk before me. My eyes grew wide, I'm sure. He reached out to take my hand so he could walk me back to the original posing point, and I screamed again. Finally he made a very smart move and squatted down. He still towered over me, but he was no longer taller than any human I'd ever seen in my life. I grew a little braver and hugged Frankenstein when he gestured, and everything was ok.


Somewhere in a box buried in the back of a closet in a large house in Northern Utah, there's a 3 inch novelty button with a picture of Frankenstein and myself inside.








Back when AOL chat rooms were all the rage, I used to get into the rooms all the time. One girl in particular had a signature that she used every time she signed out of a chat room. She would say her goodbyes and then put in the following text:


3...
2...
1...
POOF!


Just like that, she would be gone. She would sign out for the night and that was that. One day I decided to mimic this idea. I wasn't having a lot of fun online that day and decided to go play with Cookie instead. I hit the 3 and then the ellipses and pressed enter. I hit the 2 and entered the ellipses. I hit the 1 and then the ellipses. When the time came, rather than type in pooF, I ended up typing "poop" and pressing enter before I noticed my mistake. The very busy chat room fell silent. Not a single line crossed the screen. I typed in "oops" and pressed enter.


The chat room erupted in uncontrollable laughter. Every line filled with LOL or ROTF or the sparsely used ROTFLMAO. I laughed until I hurt. To this day, if I'm having a bad day, all I have to do is think about that one idiotic moment and how I made people all over the world laugh, and I can't help but at least chuckle to myself. It never gets old.








While I was living in Arizona, all of my friends in the neighborhood apartment complex had decided to have a BBQ at the pool one day. I was late coming home from work because my employee evaluation went better than expected. I had been given a raise and asked to stay late in order to receive an appreciation award. (I still believe it was the creepy old guy trying to get into my pants).


When I got home, I jumped into my swimming suit and grabbed my things to run to the pool with. I gathered my cigarettes, lighter, towel and sunblock, bundled them all up inside my towel, and took off. I couldn't help but notice that my very good looking neighbor down the way was standing out on his half circle upstairs balcony smoking a cigarette. I strategically pulled my lighter close to the edge of the towel so that I could drop it at the precise moment I chose.


I took off for the pool, jogging down the sidewalk. I didn't exactly have the figure of the Bay Watch babes, having just bounced back from starvation, but I still wanted to get his attention. Boy, did I manage that!


At the precise moment I wanted to drop my lighter, only about 10 paces before his balcony, I nearly lost my footing. The lighter slipped loose and flew through the air. It bounced off his patio just inches from his fingers and landed in the grass far off to the right. I wasn't concerned with getting to the BBQ anymore. I just wanted to get out of sight. I knew without looking that the handsome neighbor was looking right at me, wondering what I was doing. I jogged out into the grass to retrieve my lighter from where it landed.


About a yard before I reached the lighter, my foot slipped in the wet grass and everything I had went flying through the air. I landed on my backside and slid through the grass as easily as if it were a slip and slide. Cigarettes rained all around me, my towel ended up in the bushes, and my sunblock opened on its way south. When it landed, a stream of lotion came squirting out with force, shot through the air, and landed in an arc over my head and streaming through my hair.


I was facing away from the balcony, and even the lotion gluing my hair around my ears couldn't stop the sound of laughter coming from behind me, but it didn't sound like it was coming from the balcony.



"I was having such a horrible day," he said from just a few feet behind me. "Not to make light of the grass stains on your swim suit, but my day just got a whole lot better." He gave me a hand and helped to gather my things. He asked if I was ok, and my shy side over reacted. I reached up to push my hair back behind my ear and felt the ooze of lotion between my fingers. Nearly retching with the embarrassment and shame, I hung my head, told him thanks for helping me, and ran straight back home. I figured the BBQ would still be going after dark. The grass stains on my bikini bottom and legs were NOT something I wanted to try explaining at a BBQ.








Last July I had a call to open a roof access at work. Just as I came around the corner to meet the A.C. repair guy and guide him to the stairs, my eyes locked with a GORGEOUS man I'd never seen before. He looked to me like Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid. He was riding up the escalator right in my direction. Still harboring some 'shy' side to me, I looked away and waited for the AC guy to show up. Then I looked back at Prince Eric - he was carrying a repair bag. Prince Eric WAS the AC guy.


Knowing my face was already red from being caught staring at him, I turned and told him over my shoulder "This way, Sir," and kept on going. I hit the door at almost a trot, leaving him panting up behind me. I headed straight for the stairs and bounded up two at a time. He stayed right behind me. At 6'2" he wasn't exactly short legged. He had no troubles.


Suddenly I took a false step. I felt myself starting to fall backwards and knew I would end up breaking my neck and landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps. My first thought should have been "Oh, I hope we have good workers comp," but in all reality, my only thought was "I knew I was going to do something stupid in front of Prince Charming." It was too late to fight the fall, I was half way down.


Arms reached out from nowhere and caught me around the waist. He set me back on my feet and just like that I continued climbing the stairs - as mindless as a robot or as steadily as a slinky in reverse. I made certain it wasn't obvious that my face was now purple from being embarrassed and my heart was once more thumping between my ears, threatening to give me away. I couldn't wait to get him up to the roof hatch and say good bye.


It didn't dawn on me until 10 minutes after I let him on the roof that I hadn't even bothered to say thanks. I snuck back to the stairs and half way up the ladder to the roof hatch. I attached a note to a step that simply said "Thanks for catching me on the stairs," and then climbed back down and split. I wouldn't show my face until I knew he wasn't around anymore.


We all do it, we just don't all admit to it.


Now it's your turn. What's YOUR most embarrassing moments?

Just 2 Good Scares

In my job there are often times that I have to protect areas that are off limits to most people. There are doors leading to back areas and hidden hallways that the kids like to explore. They traverse the hidden stairwells and find dark corners for doing dark deeds. In the are where I work, the parents see my employees as free babysitters. When their kids get into trouble, they would honestly not have to hear about it. That leaves me without a lot of leverage in most cases. I have to use what I have to thoroughly shock the kids into not repeating their offenses. In most cases, this means scaring them. Because of the pranks my brother and I would pull on one another as kids, this has been my field of expertise for a long time.


I had talked to, fussed at and down right yelled at a couple of kids practically all night last October 1st. I was getting tired of having to deal with this regular group of blatant trouble makers. When I heard them mention something about heading down one particular dark and secluded hallway, I decided to beat them to the punch line and really get their attention.


I raced through the back corridors and down a hidden staircase. I dashed to the hallway they had been talking about and ducked around the door. I stood there and listened. I held my breath, waiting for them to come around the corner. I heard nothing, but I knew patience was the key. I waited and waited and waited. And waited.


Just about the time I was going to give up, I heard voices walking down the hallway. It sounded like two guys and a girl. That matched the group I was waiting for. They came very close to where I was perched, waiting.


"I don't see the bathroom," the female voice said plainly. It was obvious they had no idea I was there, just waiting for them.


"It's down there," one of the male voices said. I knew he was pointing in the opposite direction from where I was hiding. The ladies room was at the end of the opposite hallway.


"Ah! Thanks!" I could tell from her footsteps that she was continuing down the hallway.


The whispering started then. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was obviously two males. Exchanges went back and forth, a full conversation at a whispered level. I stood patiently as still as a statue, waiting for the second they walked around the corner. I wouldn't need to shout or yell or scream. Just the mere fact I had beaten them there would be enough. I had it all planned out in my head. As soon as they walked around the corner, I would merely tell them "I don't think so, you're not to come back here again. If you do, it's trespassing and you'll be arrested for it." I was going to say it as calmly as possible, though I was starting to feel a little amped to say the least, knowing I was that close to catching them red handed. The whispering grew slightly louder and I knew they were coming closer.


"What about over here," the husky voice whispered to the other. It sounded older than a teen, but it was whispered.


"Yeah," the other responded. He sounded much younger. "That's the perfect spot." They whispered a bit more and came closer to my hiding place. "Let me check it out," he continued, barely around the corner from where I stood. I told myself not to pounce on the kid when he rounded the corner and gently cleared my throat without a sound.


I saw the shoe first, or the tip of it anyway. I opened my mouth to speak.




"I don't think so," I said as calmly as a murderer in a 1980's horror film. I had rehearsed so much that once the words started to flow out, I couldn't seem to stop until I ended my first sentence - but by then it was too late. I had already succeeded in making a 40-something year old man scream like a little girl and bring his wife running out of the bathroom, still trying to fasten her pants. The other man stood in the hallway, howling with laughter, doubled over at the waist and holding his rotund stomach with both hands. I half expected him to sprout a long white beard and Santa costume.


My victim in the mean time was gasping for air, clutching the wall for dear life.


"Oh," he gasped, "my," he took another breath, "Hell," he managed to shake out. "You scared the $hit out of me!"


I was apologizing profusely, spewing the word 'sorry' as often as I could in a single minute. As soon as he composed himself enough to stand on his own without threat of a heart seizure, I started to laugh uncontrollably out of complete embarrassment. Still saying I was sorry, I was greeted by them telling me that it was OK and there was nothing to worry about. Laughing with all three of them, we walked out of the hall together. I was consistently apologizing, but paused long enough to ask what they were doing in the back corridor. I explained my situation and they were more than willing to tell me their reasons.


"I wanted to scare my wife," he admitted sheepishly. Walking beside me, his wife froze.


"What?!" Shocked, she glared at her husband. Both men paused to wait for her, and I did as well. "Then you deserve what you got!"


The friend that had been with them hadn't stopped chuckling the entire time. Now he roared with laughter again.


I was too embarrassed to tell anyone at work what I had done for a couple of weeks. When finally I did, it was after shift on another weekend night. I was out back in what was once the smoking area with my shift partner and one of the guys that had just started shift, briefing. By the end of my story, they were all chuckling at me as I acted out each person's reactions, darting to and fro, mimicking each emotion down to the confused wife running out of the bathroom with toilet paper in her hand.


Durring the telling of my tale, several times I heard the familiar squeak of the back doors leading to an "off limits" staircase. Each time I would pause my story and take off running for the back doors, wanting desperately to stop the little intruders. Each time I came flying around the corner hollering.


"THIS is NOT an entrance. You need to go around!" Each time I was successful in scaring the pants off of the kids and each time, they went around to another official entrance. Then I would return to my position at the head of the table and continue to tell my coworkers the rest of the story.


I had just finished telling the story when I heard the door squeak again. Once more I flew on silent wings to the corner and bolted straight at the doors. I didn't get out anything but "Hey!" when a high pitched squeal pierced the night air. He screamed without shame, eyes as wide as a saucer, truly scared beyond belief. A rather rotund janitor named Peter had been going back inside after having a smoke break. To this day I'll never forget the octave he reached while still retaining his stature as a 5'7" 300 lb. History Teacher moonlighting as a janitor.


"What the Hell, Amanda?!" He breathed, grabbed the wall and his heart, one in each hand, and gasped. "I mean, What the Hell?! It's not even Halloween yet!" I howled with laughter, clutching my stomach and bending at the waist like the last victim's friend. Breathless, I tried to explain to Peter what was so funny. I couldn't seem to force the words out of my mouth, so I walked bent over at the waist towards my coworkers and beckoned Peter to follow. Tears streamed down my face and dripped on the concrete as I walked. Peter followed, bewildered.


"What the Hell is she laughing at," Peter asked the other guys. At realizing who the high pitched scream had come from and knowing he didn't hear the story, the other two instantly burst into laughter, failing to tell Peter the story. He sat there for a good five minutes before we could get out the gist of the tale. By the time we did, he was smiling at me like I had sprouted a monkey's tail from my forehead.


I still jump around corners every now and then trying to scare the kids, but I certainly make sure they're kids first. Where would I have been if the Big Guy had a heart attack?!

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!!

Soaring Hopes

I have a fear of commitment.
That sounds like quite an odd statement for someone who has been married, but keep in mind I've been married twice and divorced twice.

(Photo taken in 2002
on Catalina Island)

I've finally committed to something; several things in fact.
I committed myself to taking care of my cat. That should be obvious by my other posts.
I'm committed to taking care of myself. Odd statement, yes - but it's not something I've always been committed to.
I'm committed to my job and my boss. Where would I be without them? I certainly wouldn't be able to take care of myself!


But I'm also committed to you, my readers. I'm writing EVERY DAY because I know you're there, you're listening and you're reading. I'm committed to sharing with you for as long as I have stories to share.





I stumbled across some blogger by the name of Pioneer Woman earlier this morning. While it seems the rest of the world had already discovered this amazing person, aparently I'm a little late to the game.


It all started when I discovered a comment on my latest blog signed "PW". Try as I might, I couldn't come up with anyone I knew who had the innitials of PW. My friend Vicki asked if there was a possibility that it was this infamous blogger, one of the most successful bloggers of our time. Since I didn't know the person at all, I decided that there was no way it could have been them. Whomever left the comment with the innitials PW was someone I had known well enough to tell a shortened version of my Kidnap story to - and there aren't many of those. Still, I had stumbled onto an amazing blog and spent hours reading various things.


Pioneer Woman blogs about daily life, her kids, and living out in the country. They heard cattle, have many horses, and the King of the Ranch is a bassett hound named Charlie. Pioneer Woman blogs about recipes, home schooling, trips and vacations, photography and Home and Garden. She has give-aways, sponsors and contests. But she also has a wonderful love story that completely swept me away for hours on end. I'm still not done reading it. She has the "Happy Ending" we all search for and deserve.


This remarkable woman has boosted my hopes about as much as seeing how many of you are DAILY readers of my blogs these days. My hopes are soaring high, knowing that each time I tell a story, there's someone, somewhere out there who wants to be an audience. Maybe I don't have as many people reading my stories as the Pioneer Woman does, but with hope and continued commitment, we can get there.


Thanks, to everyone, for your comments and support.

Florida Nightmare Part 3 - the final Chapter

This blog has been removed.

If you're interested in reading the original first hand account of the kidnapping, please check out the published book.  All proceeds from the book go toward helping to fight human trafficking.

Find the book here:
Detailed Pieces of a Shattered Dream

Thank you.