Well, I Believe

I haven't done one of these in awhile and frankly I have just been lucky and had a few really fun weeks that have made me believe, again.  So for all you fans out there... here's what I believe in today.  Blog features extended releases of "I Believe Statements"

Well, I believe in laughing so hard it hurts.

In family, in grape koolaid, and beautiful blue eyes. 

I believe that Nordstrom's truly has the best customer service and

that you can always find what you need there. 

I believe in staying in touch with friends and taking the time to call. 

I believe in butterflies and I know it isn't indigestion.

I believe in John 3:16 and Phillipians 4:13.

I believe in the power of friendships, the comfort in old ones and the energy and discovery of new ones. 

I still really believe in that breathless moment right before you kiss

and that holding hands in the most sincere form of romance. 

I believe I have been blessed. 

I believe in laughing at yourself, better yet,

laughing at yourself with a good friend that gets the joke.

I believe that men should still hold doors and

the guy that does the half stand thing when a woman leaves the table that its totally hot. 

I believe in soul mates.

I believe in Will Muschamp.

I believe Kathy is going to be a beautiful bride on Saturday. 

And I believe that despite it all, we are each made

better, stronger, more attractive, more interesting by the people who come in and out of our lives. 

Thanks for being in mine.

I Still Need to Talk About This.

If you've been wondering - yes, I went to boot camp again last night.  And do you know what happened?  It poured down rain.  I was so excited.  In the middle of my walking (instead of jogging) to a lightpost or something, it started to rain.  I was thrilled, ready to head back to the car.  Guess what?  That didn't happen.

This morning when my alarm went off... I slowly opened my eyes to greet the day.  Then I started to sit up.  But I couldn't.  The muscles in my stomach had stopped working.  So then I tried to sit up using my arms.  But I couldn't.  The muscles in my arms had stopped working.  So I rolled off the bed.  I am assuming that the thud scared the shit out of the people that live below me.  None of this is a lie.  None of this is exaggerated. 

I will live.  I don't think this boot camp will kill me, at least I hope it won't.  I hope I heal before Kathy's wedding.  I don't think she'll be pleased if I have to be wheeled or assisted up the aisle. 

And yesterday, my entry was dedicated to my friend Matthew that leads the boot camp.  I was a little bit hateful.  I blame him for my inability to move.  But you know what?  Last night he was encouraging and not that mean, he wasn't actually ever mean... just his exercises.  And he wouldn't let me stop... which was totally annoying at the time... but now its kind of appreciated.  Can you imagine actually being a nice enough person to listen to me bitch and argue with you  for an entire hour, while your running and jumping, in the rain? I assure you there is not even a single member of my family that would have endured that kind of torture.  And yet he did.

Furthermore, he solved a really big puzzle the other day. He has figured out how to get me marathon ready.  Here is his plan... put a man in a seersucker suit in front of me that I have to chase, put a man with a knife behind me that I have to run away from, and tell me to run to the building with really great air conditioning.  Are you kidding?  Matthew, you totally get me.

Kids, with this plan... I should be Prefontaine by New Years!

Editors Note:  If you don't know about me and seersucker suits, just wait awhile - I know they'll be a blog topic soon.  Just know that there is something about a man in a blue seersucker suit.  Yeah, there is just something.  Phhh..

Why I Would Never Join the Army (dedicated to Matthew Goldsby)

I promised myself I wasn't going to write about this.  I wasn't going to give Matthew Goldsby the satisfaction of knowing that he'd won.  But ladies and gentlemen as the day has worn on I find that every single one of my thoughts is focused on the fact that every single muscle in my body hurts.

Yesterday, I lost my mind and participated in a boot camp.  My chipper little mind that wants me to have a healthy heart and eliminate the food baby says "yay you... you should do this all the time".  The rest of me thinks I am an idiot. 

So my question for the cosmic void today is "Why in God's name would I need the same exercises as a soldier to be a fundraiser for the American Heart Association?"  The answer is "I DON'T"  I am trying NOT to let people die.  Soldiers kill people.  We are opposites.  I don't need a boot camp.  Actually, wait I already went to a two day boot camp for the Heart Association.  I sat in a room for two days with sandwiches and cookies ... and I listened.  I actively listened to a whole bunch of shit about cardio vascular disease.  And I wasn't sore when it was all over.

I was just in a meeting and literally got confused and said the wrong thing.  Do you know why?  Cause I was thinking about the calluses on the palms of my hands and how they hurt but that I couldn't look at them since it would hurt too much to actually turn my hand over.  Yeah, you heard me.  Even my wrists hurt.

First of all, I now hate the term "on the hop"  If anyone ever says that to me and expects me to run.  I will cut them.

Second, I don't like push ups.  If I fall face down and have to get up -someone should help me.  I should not be expected to get myself up.  Ergo, I don't need to do push ups.  To use my new favorite saying "Push Ups can blow me"

Third, Jumping Jacks seem innocent.  Matthew even called them easy.  My ass.  Jumping Jacks are evil.  They are the worst kind of evil.  They are a sneaky evil.  You think that they are all friendly with their cute name.  But today at 1:43 pm... I CAN'T MOVE MY ARMS. If what I have to say wasn't so important... I promise you I would not be typing.

Fourth, you guys know me.  What the hell was I thinking participating in an activity where RUNNING was considered the break.

Fifth, squats are assholes.

But God help me, I packed a change of clothes to go again tonight.  If anyone is available to wash my hair and dress me tomorrow - that would be great cause I am 100% sure that I will not be able to do it.

Things I Learned at Church Camp

Do you remember that book "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten"  well I think I just had one of those weekends.  Apparently all I need to know I learned at church camp.  Again, stop laughing... yes I went to church camp, and no, the camp didn't burn down. 

But I learned a lot of interesting things, I won't share my spirtual enlightenments yet... those are still marinating but here you go, these are the things I learned at church camp.

Note:  These might only be funny if you were there.

1. Grill marks on chicken are almost as important as it being cooked all the way.
2. I can cook baked beans.
3. Apparently people don't wear pigtails anymore.  Except me.
4. 7 am bootcamp is not for me. And if you participate, someone else will need to blow dry your hair later because you'll be unable to raise your arms above your shoulders.
5. That I've made some truly extraordinary friends here in Houston.  They are beautiful, giving, kind, and for some reason genuinely like me.  The gods have shined on me yet again.
6. I can fill glasses with ice like its nobody's business.  This I already knew since its the only thing my mom lets me do at Christmas dinner but it was reaffirmed this weekend. 
7. That I made some truly extraordinary new friends at church camp.  And I cannot wait to get to know them better. 
8. I love it when someone laughs so hard that they cry.  I think when you make someone laugh like that, it must be what scoring a touchdown feels like.
9. Evidently, you can say anything you want to me.  Yell at me.  Lecture me.  Anything as long as you end it with a "Sher-Bear" and I will be totally fine with it.
10. That maybe I should have saved my shower caddy from the Scottish Rite Dorm. 
11. That when bathrooms are not attached to your cabin.... and its 3 am...I really wished I was a guy. 
12. Sometimes that most rewarding times come from something that you didn't want to do in the first place.
13. Tammie Mallioux can rebut any excuse you provide to her for not doing something.  She's actually better than my mother at this.
14. Did you know there is something called a "squat thrust"?  I think it was invented by the devil.
15. The fastest way to make friends is to help in the kitchen. 
16. Potato Salad can freeze. 
17. This one is going to shock you all, but I learned that sometimes stopping and sitting by a lake with friends is better than watching a Texas football game.  I mean, come on, it was UTEP.  The score was 60-7.  Its not like I am not still a fan.I
18. I learned that the Big 5 are:  Elephants, Lions, Rhinoceraceous (sp?), Cape Buffalo and Leopard.  If you guessed Polar Bears, you would be wrong.  Additionally, you would be put in time out for frivilous answers and not really trying.  You should use that time to reflect, not do your nails.  I did not do this correctly.
19. I look totally hot when photographed with shotguns.  If I had known this before there would be a 410 in every picture of me.
20. Church camp poker can get ugly.

But the best thing I learned at church camp was that I still find singing all six verses of Amazing Grace healing.  I didn't know I needed healing, but I think we are all a little bit broken and stopping to sing Amazing Grace helps put us back together, at least for a little while.

Sherry the Duck

There is a small part of me that thinks I should be a little bit embarassed to tell this story. But when I think about it, well, frankly, its makes me laugh.

Picture it Cedar Creek Lake, a couple of weeks ago

(bonus points to whomever gets that old school TV show reference)

We've anchored the pontoon boat in a lovely cove. There is another story here about how Al Sharpton watched us from a house on shore, but I'll save that for another time or let Margaret tell it - its her story, really. Anyway, back to all the girls floating in the lake. So I've got the pool saddle on and everyone else has their life jackets in the water and using them as seats. A few girls stayed on the boat.

Some background, I had mixed grape vodka with grape koolaid in a water bottle. It might be the elixir of the gods.

Holly is on the boat and gets out the chips and french onion dip. If you know me, you know french onion dip. So I paddle over to the side of the boat. Grab hold of the side with my floatie still attached and look up expectantly at Holly.

And the next thing is why she is one of my BFFs. She carefully dips the Baked Lays Ruffles Chip in the dip... creating the perfect scoop. She carefully reaches over the side rail of the boat.

I bob up and grab the perfect chip in my mouth.

Bob, Dip and Repeat.

Let me recap... lake, sun, pool saddle, vodka drink, chips and french onion dip.

It might have been the perfect Saturday afternoon.

USA

No, this is not a patriotic blog entry. This, my friends is an ode to USA network: Home of the Law and Order and NCIS marathons. Thank you, USA programmers, for back to back episodes. Most of which I have seen many, many times. And yet, I cannot tear myself away from it. Benson and Stabler are like my closest friends. And someone please tell me that eventually DiNozzo and Ziva get it on?


My mom, she likes Lifetime. Don't get me wrong I love a 6 hour movie about a woman killing her husband that beats her while falling in love with the police man who is investigating the mysterious disappearance of said husband as much as the next girl. But it just doesn't compare to the back to back episodes of NCIS, Law and Order: SVU, Law and Order: Criminal Intent and early morning episodes of JAG.

Is there anything better than Vincent D'Nofrio at the end of Law and Order: CI... I mean seriously, that dude knows EVERYTHING. He is the Doogie Howser of the NYPD.

And I know that some of you out there are screaming, "Wait, what about the History Channel?" The History Channel can blow me. Please, the last time I watched it all it talked about was Nostradamus and the fact that the world is ending on December 21, 2012. Like I need more doom and gloom in my life. If I want to be depressed, I'll just look at my ass or the crow's feet developing around my eyes.

Consider this my notice that when I don't meet you at the park to walk, miss dinner or don’t answer your call. You can bet your sweet ass that its cause there is some kind of marathon on USA.

So, thank you, USA programmers for knowing exactly what I need and giving it to me, repeatedly.

Its Not You, Its Me...

Have you ever just wanted something really, really bad?  Not like a dress or a car. Nothing materialistic.  But have you just prayed and hoped for something.  Known that it was the right thing.  But the world and the Lord was taking his sweet time making it all happen and all come together. 

And as times goes by - you start to doubt?  Doubt yourself?  Doubt that it was really God's plan, I mean do you ever really know?  Is it the right thing?  Have I done enough?  If its God's will...shouldn't He take the lead or was I supposed to be doing a bunch of stuff, too?

And then as more time goes by, you start to wonder...did I do something wrong?  Have I made this plan vear off course?  Maybe it was just too great a thing for me.  Maybe I don't deserve such goodness.  Maybe something's wrong with me?

So I guess today you get my doubting Thomas blog... I woke up early this morning and couldn't fall back to sleep.  I was plagued with thoughts of things that I want to happen, things I've prayed about, and things I think are good and are God's will... but are just not happening fast enough.

So, I guess the question for the cosmic void out there is... once you finally accept God's plan .... how do you accept his timeline?

I Stand Corrected (dedicated to JMay and Davey)

I have literally raced home from bible study to post this.  Stop laughing, yes I was really at bible study.  And no, the church did not burn to the ground.

I have been advised that I posted information in error. In my entry entitled "Why I Love College Football" I mistaking noted Alabama vs. Arkansas as a rivalry game.  I have been advised, now multiple times, that Alabama vs. Arkansas is not actually a rivalry for either team. 

Which, when I think about it makes sense.  I mean, who gives a shit about Alabama or Arkansas.

I should have noted Alabama vs. Auburn and Arkansas vs. ???  Wait, who does Arkansas have a rivalry with???  I guess Texas.  From what I can tell they are still really pissed about losing the National Championship to Texas 40 years ago.  I mention this only from personal experience as I've found that most Arkansas fans (except the Mauldins and the Lindens) have a tendancy to dislike me.  Oh, and my Aunt Sherry.  She likes me.  But that's a confusing relationship because she really likes LSU but lives in Fayetteville.  Anyhoo, I lost my point.  The point is I have no idea who Arkansas has a rivalry with.

I guess until I can confer with my Arkansas Historical Expert, Bruce Mauldin... we'll all just have to settle for Arkansas vs. ???

Please forgive my mistake in my earlier posting.

Editors Note:  No one from Arkansas or Alabama has been able to correct Sherry's grammatical mistakes only her football ones. 

Debutantes and Taxidermists

My family is from Louisiana.  And that really ought to be enough for this post.  It really ought to explain me. 

My sister is what you might call a Major Leaguer... meaning she is up to her ass in the Junior League of Dallas.  My cousin took a class on taxidermy so he wouldn't have to pay to have animals mounted. He could just let it age in his garage and then stuff the shit himself.

So you see the paradox that is my family. Yes, I dressed up in a big white ballgown and was presented.  So was my sister.  And yes, we grew up in house where you either shoot it, stuff it or marry it.

I don't know what I have to say about all this.  I don't know what it all means. 

I just know that whiskey tastes better in Waterford, but I still pour it into that crystal glass from a plastic flask.  And I know that you don't keep guns under the bed, you keep them in a special room you have built with special cabinets that have code locked doors and counters tops that are higher than normal. 

And I know that if your kids are going to watch TV, well, they oughta reload shot gun shells while they do it.  I know that its important to learn the seasons... dove, duck, deer... not summer, spring, fall.  I know that men look crazy sexy in camo and 3 days of beard. 

And I know that women should do charity work, that we should volunteer, that we need to go to meetings to plan social events and that every woman needs at least one ballgown.

I guess that's why you can typically find me at a charity event, in a ballgown, standing outside with a bourbon and a Marlboro light.  After all, I am equal parts of my mother and my father.  I am a little bit debutante and a little bit taxidermist.

The Best Days of Summer

I believe that Carolyn Mauldin's daquiris are scary, wonderful, dangerous and my favorite part of summer. As summer comes to a close and the best parts of fall are upon us, I thought it was the right time to spend a few minutes saying thank you to wonderful days of summer. 

So thank you May, June, July and August for the following:

Wedding Showers.  The excitment of giving showers for yet another couple that has found wedded bliss while I stay single and alone.  All I am saying is... you bitches owe me.  If I ever find someone willing to marry me...y'all will be throwing parties every weekend. 

My birthday.  Thanks for the kid friendly party back home and thank you for the pool side tradition continuing in Houston.  And thank you for not making me hang out with my neighbors again, even though they brought the shots.

Saturdays by the Pool.  My complex in Houston could actually be the Hills.  I am prepared for Lauren Conrad to appear at any moment.  The people that hang out at my pool are so good looking its ridiculous.  Especially Jeff from the Fourth Floor.  He is carved out of cream cheese. He is probably barely 18 but oh so yummy.  Thank you, pool gods, for that little bit of eye candy every Saturday.

Firecrackers.  Thanks for letting me shoot off firecrackers, play with sparklers and for a night of hysterical comments from giants. 

George Strait.  He might be a little older, maybe a little slower.  But he is everybit as great as he was in my youth.  He is still a very handsome man.

So here's to a summer without a single business trip, filled with free weekends and friends.  But I will admit I missed summer hours, Friday afternoons at the Mauldin's, Carolyn's daquiris, Fabulous Football Flip Flop Friday and mostly I missed getting to be in the air conditioning all day.

Maybe I'll get used to the Houston heat during Summer and maybe I won't.  But I've lived through my first and that's something.

Be Glad You Are Not Kristin

Kristin sits next to me at work.  All other areas of Kristin's life are quite extraordinary.  But right now poor Kristin is required to be the #1 reader of this blog.  I post and then demand to be read.  She's a good sport most of the time, but lately she's been a little slow getting to my posts.

I am finding it hard to forgive her for not dropping everything and reading my entries.  Like yesterday, when she took the better part of 3 minutes to get to my blog.  Apparently, reading about heart disease and someone who needed our help was more important.

So, if you'd like to apply for the position of #1 blog reader, let me know and then give me your contact information where you can be reached immediately.  I know Kristin would appreciate it.

I am praying for rain.

I have foolishly agreed to go to bootcamp tonight with several friends.  I am earnestly praying for rain right now.  It's not that I don't want to workout.  I do.  I just don't like to do anything that requires effort.  So I am praying for rain. 

Do I strike any of you as the type of person that :

a) likes to be told what to do
b) likes to be outside during allergy season
c) likes the idea of getting up and down, up and down
d) likes to do anything at all that requires energy

Cause if you believe I am any of those things then you don't know me AT ALL.  But I will pray.  Praying can be done sitting down, inside and with very little effort.  So I am praying for rain.

Dear Baby Jesus... thank you for Mack Brown and Colt McCoy's arm.  Can you work on our secondary before OU?  Please make me a more patient person.  Please protect my mom and sister and future husband.  And please send a big storm so I don't have to do squats.  And most of all, thank you for Will Muschamp.  Amen.

Why I Love Football

I promised several of you that I wouldn't turn this blog into a platform for my fan following of the University of Texas Longhorns.  And I swear this is not about the Horns.  They might get mentioned but this is why I love college football, why September is my favorite time of year and why I still have a crush on the football coach from my middle school - Coach Cooper.

I love football for a lot of reasons and it just seems easiest to start with a list.

1. Because fourth down and inches is always exciting.  I don't care which team you are cheering for.  Whenever a team goes for it on 4th down with inches - Every single person in the stadium is riveted to the action.  Its a feeling of tension, excitment and nervous energy like no other that I know.
   
   
2. Because for the most part stadiums are named for great traditions, coaches or ideas not corporations.  Well, except Oklahoma State but T. Boone did buy the stadium - so his name should be on it.  But don't you just love names like Kyle Field,  The Swamp, The Horseshoe, Bryant-Denny, Darrell K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium, and Death Valley.
   
   
3. Because honest to goodness you never ever know what's going to happen on any given Saturday. 
   
   
4. Because there aren't playoffs.  Because you have to get it done on the field every Saturday.  And because this system isn't perfect.
   
   
5. Because you can still get sunburned on January 1 if you are the east side of the Cotton Bowl even if its 15 degrees outside.
   
   
6. Because some schools still use live animals for mascots.  Which is just plain awesome.  Ralphie the Buffalo, the tiger from LSU, Bevo, Reveille, the Tech horse... what have you.... and they are all tended by college boys that are trying to sweat out their bender from the night before.
   
   
7. The Rivalry Games.  In pro football, there isn't the absolute hatred of your opponent (except maybe the Cowboys and Eagles)... but the rivalry game in college is like no other thing in the world.  Georgia v. Florida.  Arkansas v. Alabama, Texas vs. OU, OU vs. OSU, Texas vs. A&M, THE Ohio State vs. Michigan, Army vs. Navy, USC vs. UCLA, Oregon vs. Oregon State... I can't think of anything as exciting as gearing up for those games.  God, and they have names too!  Like the Civil War, the Apple Cup, and the Red River Rivalry...
   
   
8. The hit that you hear.  You know what I mean... you might not see it, you might miss it cause its downfield but you hear it ... the crunch, the whack and then awwww sound from the collective audience.  Its one of the greatest sounds in the world.  The very best part of it though, when the kid stands up, shakes it off and gets back in the game.
   
   
9. Because the love of a college team immediately bonds you to other people.  When someone finds out that you roll tide, and they do to.  Boom.  Automatic trust.  When you see the Aggie ring, you know you like them a little better than the other guy.
   
   
10. Because, though not a player or a coach or a ref, I have gotten to be a part of it.  The conferences, stadium personnel, referrees, coaches and staff that make up the family of college football are an incredible group of people.  And for years, I got to be behind the scenes with them.  To see how the stadium looks completely empty and walk on the hollowed ground of the field. Because I've helped paint a logo on a field.  Stood next to Bevo, because I know how hard they work, how gracious they are.... college football isn't just a game to me, its about family.

So, this Saturday, whomever you root for, savor it.  Cherish each moment, each down.  Because next week will be different, next year will be different, but you'll always be true to the team.  You Sooners, You Aggies, You Ducks and Gators... You Tigers and Wolf Packs and Trojans and Irish...and you gorgeous Longhorns.

27 Levels of Compatability

Ladies and Gentleman the search for the perfect man is hard work.  I am telling you, all you married peeps... you've forgotten how hard this shit is.  Some of its great, meet the guy, get all nervous... is he going to ask for my number.... and then the various forms of rejection.  And it's awesome now ... they can stop texting, stop calling, unfriend you on facebook., close communication with you on eharmony, not reply to your wink on match.. 900 forms of technology to aid in my rejection.

But sometimes, it's just plain funny.  One rainy July 4 weekend in Galveston, while we were all trapped inside a house on the beach - I joined match. com... the boys played cards in the living room and the girls created an online marketing plan for Brand Sherry in the kitchen.  For awhile it was great, I called it shopping for a husband.  And with that came the desire to join eharmony.  And this is where it gets funny.  Maybe pathetic but I like to think of it as hysterical.  Because frankly, even now, years later... the situation I found myself in was funny.

I used to absolutely hate the first date.  Dreaded it.  So much effort.  But then my friend Marla shared with me an incredible bit of wisdom, she said, "What have you got to lose? If its good, then you met someone and if it sucks, then you've got a new funny story to tell everyone."

(insert law and order bong bong noise here)

This is that story.

On eharmony, you complete a personality profile and the online system uses that information and matches you to people.  According to the commercial, on 27 levels of compatability.  If you like what you see or vice versa, then you email each other.  One such match apparently found me appealing (which is nice). He emails. I email back.  Witty banter ensues.  He gets my number.  He calls.  Witty banter ensues. 

"Let's meet for drinks."

Meanwhile, I've reviewed his profile about a 100 times trying to find out what could be wrong, analyzing pictures, and reviewed in detail all his information with my best girl friends.  The only thing that really puzzled us was his occupation.  Entrepreneur.   I wondered... does this really mean unemployed?  However, since each time we talked and I said "how was your day?" he answered with the number of holes he played and which courses... Holly's suggestion of trust fund baby was starting to seem more realistic than unemployed.

So the first date... goes well.  Seems nice enough, good laughs, good time.  But through the whole thing is the nagging question, what the hell does he do? 

He pays the bill with a hundred dollar bill.  Pimp?

He drives a Tahoe with two sets of clubs in the back.  Golf pro?

He drinks Scotch.  Trust Fund Baby?

And then I just couldn't take it anymore.  I had to know.  So I asked.  "What the hell do you do?" 

He hesitates, and then clearly he decides to trust me.  "I keep a book."

I am so confused - he's a librabrian? And then I get it.  He is a fucking bookie.  He takes bets.  E-mother f-ing harmony thinks my perfect match... based on 27 levels of compatability... is a bookie.  How bad had I screwed up the personality profile?  What exactly makes me the match for a bookie?  For someone whose occupation is ILLEGAL?  How could I introduce him to my friends?  And what if they started betting with him and then owed him money? 

I would love to tell you that I got up and walked out.  That I summoned all the righteous indignation that I could find, drove home and changed my answers on that personality profile.  I would love to tell you that I didn't make out with him.  But I did.

What did you expect?  A man isn't defined by his occupation.  This was a Tahoe driving, 36 holes a day, cash carrying, Scotch drinking, living breathing man and he was a smoker.  He was perfect.  Perfect for that moment.  Perfect for that night.

Ovaries

So let me explain the obsession with my ovaries. My biological clock is not ticking. I swear to God its not. The idea of feeding the baby, holding the baby, changing the baby... all the shit... I am not even close to ready for that.

But here's the deal: Most of my friends are currently reproducing like they live inside the Great Wall. Its a frantic pace. I am starting to think the Plano School District might have omitted a chapter or two in Health class. Anyway, all of a sudden there are babies everywhere.

When it first started happening... the reproduction... it was fun. Oh yay! A baby. And then at parties I would be the only girl drinking, and then at parties I was the only girl without a baby.
 

In December 2007, I met a baby named Georgia. I held my best friend's little girl just hours after she was born and I kid you not - I felt it in my ovaries. Granted, I also felt a jolt to the ovaries at that place in the Shops at Legacy - Bedazzled... but that was over the baby furniture. That shit is dope.

I digress, so there I was sitting in the hospital room holding this tiny creature and she got me. Stole a piece of my soul. Cobwebs fell off my womb.

And the obsession with the aging of my ovaries began.

Then a few short months later, a man came into my life. Yep. Jackson was born.

What? You didn't actually think I met a man worthy of procreating with ME yet, did you??? My other best friend had a baby boy. And as I held him and he looked up at me, the remaining cobwebs disappeared.

(editors note: Sherry has a LOT of Best Friends, and some BFFs)

So, I warn you now that I might mention my ovaries throughout this blog. Its not that I currently want or need the responsibility for a life besides my own. Its that I fell in love with these babies.

When G and J smile at me, laugh, say a word that sounds anything like Sherry, when they nap, when they march like the dinosaurs, when they head off to their first day of school, when they laugh at each other, when their little baby bellies go up and down as they sleep... when they do any of those things... I feel it in my ovaries.

Stars in my Eyes

If you were around me at all today or possibly if your number was in my cell phone-- Then you heard about my new obsession. This blog. I have so much to say and am genuinely grateful for my friends that fed my insecurities by telling me they loved it. So before I go to bed, I needed to try to organize some thoughts.

Here's what I want to send out into the cosmic void tonight and what's been on my mind today. And my mind has been racing with all sorts of thoughts, concerns, and questions today.

Can we ever truly make the perfect decision? Isn't there always some kind of opportunity cost?

and

What do you do about the butterflies and was I the only one with butterflies? Was it even butterflies or was it indigestion?

But here's what I learned today, I have so many friends that play so many different roles in my life. But I realized that I have one friend that I can really, truly lay all the cards on the table. The one who listened and talked and was totally honest. The one who told me that what I was feeling was "hopeful but with stars in my eyes." The one who so eloquently told me "duh"... but let me prattle on about my fears.

When we were young everything was about fun, taking the dare... now I opt for truth instead cause its safer. When did I get so scared to take a leap? To take a chance? Am I so scarred from taking those leaps of faith, and falling or being disappointed or hurt...that I've lost my ability to leap? I suppose it's just too scary and I might break a bone, or break my heart or break a commitment. When did it stop being fun and start being so scary?

So tonight, I am sending this out to all of you...and that helps... but its not necessary. Its not necessary because I have Katie who is letting me be hopeful but with stars in my eyes and willing to hold both my hands if I decide to leap.

Good Grammar and Pearls

Good grammar like pearls is always appropriate.

That saying has been repeated to me almost daily my entire life by my loving mother, Sara Woodard, 8th Grade English, Renner Middle School.

As you read this, you'll see that I clearly didn't inherit her gift for knowing where the comma goes or when to use a semicolon. You see, every year except the 8th grade, my loving mother proofed my papers.

I can't bring myself to ask her to proof my blog entries. They are supposed to be stream of consciousness. Like Faulkner. I am the Faulkner of Blogs.

So, please forgive my errors, my misplaced commas and quotes. Simply love me for who I am....an exact replica of my mother with bad grammar but two sets of real pearls that I only wear for weddings and funerals.

The Barista Boyfriend

A couple theories about my barista boyfriend:

1. He is the CEO of Starbuck's son. He is starting at the ground up to learn the business.
2. He actually only works there to see me each morning. He is independently wealthy.
3. He is making my Pumpkin Spice Lattes with love this fall.
4. Those aren't the only pair of khaki pants he owns. I hope. Admittedly, the little tear on the corner of the back right pocket is super cute.

If you haven't heard, I have a crush on the barista at my Starbuck's. My doctor told me to eliminate caffeine but I can't imagine he means the coffee that my barista boyfriend serves me with such love.

I just can't quit him!

Or the array of fall specialty beverages that await me... pumpkin spice, egg nog, peppermint and gingerbread!!!

Yesterday, he posted a trivia question on the window. "Who killed John Lennon?"

Read: "Sherry I want to share a love with you like John Lennon and Yoko Ono, but I won't get gunned down or make you take f-ed up naked pictures with me"

I don't know what to do... how do you make a move on a man that you've only seen through the drive through window?

So, I am taking tips, recommendations, ideas, etc. on how to get the barista at the Starbuck's at Main and Buffalo Speedway to throw down his apron and make slow sweet love to me... then brew me up a Pumpkin Spice Latte... Venti, nonfat, no whip.

The Grapefruit

If I started a blog... this is how today's entry would start:

I opened my day eating a week old grapefruit while standing in the middle of my kitchen and looking at the latest photo album of my friend's babies. And I wondered, how much longer will my ovaries last and is one week old OK for a grapefruit?

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, or a truly ridiculous blog began with a grapefruit. But how did we get to this fateful grapefruit?

It all started with Bull Durham, but wait, I am getting ahead of myself. It started years ago, the first time I said something to a group and they laughed. My very first audience.

Fast forward a mere 32 years later and a typical night of insomnia.... when TNT presented Bull Durham. And Kevin Costner told me what he believes in.

Crash Davis

Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

You know the scene... Crash Davis makes Susan Sarandon's knees buckle by rattling off his beliefs.

So the next morning, lacking anything original, I shared this with my facebook world (aka "My Audience")... and a theme was born. For the next few weeks, I shared my beliefs with my facebook world... and they laughed.

I had a new audience.

You all loved some, hated others, agreed with most, disagreed with some, cheered for the Horns, cheered for the Sooners, laughed, cried, got Charlie Horses.... what have you.

My personal favorite was (don't worry - I'll be sharing lots of these with you):

Well, I believe in a parent's love.

Great big jewelry, a full belly laugh, and John Denver songs.

I believe in monsters under the bed and

I believe a man's hand in the small of my back is sexier than just about anywhere else.

I started thinking that I had so much to share with my audience that status updates wouldn't suffice anymore. I NEEDED A BLOG.

So, this morning, staring at my rotting grapefruit and comparing it to my unused and neglected ovaries; I became determined to share the ridiculous notions that flow so freely through my mind with my audience.

This blog won't be for the faint of heart. I will say fuck, I will say shit... I might even say something about you. But I hope that you'll find something you agree with, something you disagree with, something you love, something you hate, but mostly I hope that you find we're all a lot alike.

I'm just bitchy enough to point it out.