Tucson - Day One - Planes

Now that I peaked your interest about the planes, I feel I can't let you down.

This is the Air Force One that carried the recently-deceased JFK back to D.C. while Johnson was being sworn in to office.

Here are some more planes.

Uh, more planes.

Well, you get the idea!

Sorry, Charmaine, that I haven't written another post.

I am in Tucson right now for the Colorado Rockies Spring Training, but I'll update you just as soon as I get home. I'm sure you can't wait to hear about the Air and Space Museum, which has a million old planes, including JFK's Air Force One.

Tomorrow we are going to a Rockies game. My goal is to get some players to autograph the hat that I bought today. Dan said to show a bunch of cleavage to increase the odds. Whatever it takes!

Aaaaagghh! I Am Being Stalked!

Celebrities are stalked by obsessed fans. Some women are stalked by ex-boyfriends or secret admirerers.

Not me. My stalker is way scarier.

It's Skeletor!

I am like one of the three little piggies (ok, stop laughing) trying to keep the big bad scary wolf out of my house. A mission, I am finding, that is much more difficult than it sounds.

I was naive (stupid). I willingly gave the wolf (Skeletor) a key to my house (my brain). When I finally realized wolves cannot be housetrained, I took back the key.


But what the little piggies knew (and I didn't), was that the wolf (Skeletor) doesn't need a key!
Nor does she need to blow the house down to get in.

The Tool Box:

Answering Machine: "I know you're not answering because you know it's me (duh). I feel so sick. If you don't hear from me by 10, check on me because I might be dead."

Doorbell: Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Ring. Ring. Knock. (Turn off the tv. Beg Sophie to be quiet). Ring. Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Knock. Sound of door opening (Crap! I forgot to lock the back door!) Skeletor leaves a note on the table for me to find which describes how cruel I am.

Note to self - lock back door.

Driveway: The wolf knows that the little piggie arrives home after picking up the littlest piggies from school at 3:30. She arrives at 3:00 and waits. Then she follows the littlest piggies into the house, knowing the main little piggie can't kick the wolf out of the house in front of the littlest piggies since they already think the little piggy is mean to the wolf.

Relatives: "Briana, this is your Uncle Michael (your very intimidating Uncle Michael who loaned you money for your first year of law school despite the fact that your sister had borrowed oodles of money and never tried to pay it back and I only call you under very extraordinary circumstances and the only thing I hear about you is the bullshit that Skeletor tells me but I don't know any better).

Me: "Um. Hi."

Michael: "Your mother sent me a bill from a credit card bank about an $11,000 cash advance that your sister charged on her credit card 3 years ago. Aren't you a lawyer? Isn't that fraud or elder abuse? Can't you take care of this?"

Me: "Well, I did. And, no, it's not fraud since Skeletor put Erin as an authorized user. But I directed them to stop calling Skeletor and only contact me in writing as permitted by the Fair Debt Collections Practices Act 3 years ago.

Michael: "Well, your mother just sent this bill to me and John. We can't pay this. Can't you help her?"

Me: "I did, 3 years ago, when I stopped the harrassing phone calls. They are only contacting her now because she let Erin send a letter to them asking for proof it was a valid debt, which is weird since she knew it was a valid debt, so it opened the door for the company to start contacting Skeletor directly again."

Michael: "You need to help her."

Me: "I did help her. But she let Erin send this letter without letting me see it. Like when she co-signed on Erin refinancing her house to get $80,000, and when she stopped paying her mortgage, they started calling Skeletor, and I stopped that, and then Erin sent Skeletor papers to sign and told her specifically to not show them to me and she signed them anyway, thereby eliminating any leverage that I had in my attempt to save her ass again. Blah blah, blah..........)

Michael: "Blah, blah, blah, on Skeletor's side, blah, blah."

The gist - he helped me pay for law school, and I won't help Skeletor.

Swoosh. 2 points - Skeletor.

UPDATE

Two days later, Skeletor said to me: "I'm gonna talk to Michael and ask him what he said to you that made you not talk to me since then."

Several more days later:

Ring, Ring.

Me: "Hello"

Michael: "Briana, this is your uncle Michael." I received a letter from your mother. She said to stay out of her life because I said something to you and you won't talk to her. And she said she can't hear and is lonely and wants to die."

Me: "Uh. Really? I don't know what you're talking about. She stopped by here twice yesterday and everything was normal."

Michael: "Well, she said to get out of her life and that she wanted to die; which is what Michael (his son) said to me right before he killed himself." (which was just a month ago and Skeletor knows that). Ok, I'll call her now."

This was a 3-pointer. I don't help her and now I make her want to die. Actually, that was out of the park! I bow to the master.

The Only Man Who Ever Broke My Heart

Richard L. Peterson

January 15, 1934 - October 6, 1981

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwCykGDEp7M

My Olympic Moment

The ladies figure skating competition in the olympics is going to start soon. Are you as excited as I am?

When I was a child, I LOVED ice skating. Not just watching - actually skating. I begged for lessons. I didn't get them for the same reason I didn't get gymnastics lessons - Skeletor wasn't interested.

She was, however, interested in piano, ballet, and irish dancing. I wasn't very good at any of them. Charmaine was great at all of them (that bitch)!

Charmaine felt bad for me. She tried her hardest to convince Skeletor to let me have ice skating lessons, or even take me to a rink to just skate - to no avail.

She was undeterred. It was winter in Connecticut. She knew it was going to snow. She took the garden hose to the front yard next to the driveway and set about pouring water. By morning, the little puddle was frozen. She brushed off the snow. And there it was.

My own personal ice skating rink.

I strapped on my skates. The rink was no more than 7" long and 5" wide. Just enough to skate forward a bit and do a little twirl. If anyone drove by, I'd try to stop really fast. I knew I had to look like a freak. But it was worth it.

Like Frosty the Snowman, the rink would soon melt. Until the next storm when, without fail, Charmaine would be out in the front yard with the garden hose.

Thanks Charmaine.

Can Reality TV Help Me?

There seems to be a consensus that I need the help of reality tv.

Not just one show - several.

My neighbor thinks I need to be on "Clean Sweep," which if you recall makes you get rid of all of the crap in your house. I agree with that assessment; but it's no longer on the air.

My sister, Charmaine, thinks I need "Super Nanny." I have to disagree with that. I don't think my kids are so bad. And what does she know? She doesn't have any kids (although those are usually the people who think they are experts)!

Brody thinks I need to be on "What Not to Wear." As much as I would like $5,000 to shop in New York, I won't, because they would make me get rid of my favorite violations - Uggs, torn up jeans, and turtlenecks in every color. Not gonna happen!

I appreciate all of their suggestions; but the only reality tv show I want to be on is "Wife Swap."
Doesn't this look like fun!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYNymvtbWw4

The Ties That Bind

A little over a week ago, I flew to Chicago to attend the viewing for my 46-year old cousin, Michael. He committed suicide.

I hadn't seen Michael or his siblings for quite a while, though I chatted with Michael on Facebook recently and had received an email from him 5 days prior. I'm not going to say we were close, though over the years, there were times when we were.

Michael went to college in Denver. I remember the night that my mother and sisters arrived home from the hospital where my father had just died at the age of 47. I don't know why, but Michael was standing outside our door. The five of us went in the house and sat in shock at what had just happened.

Fast forward 29 years later, and I am in shock again. But this time, it's Michael.

In the midst of the trauma, there was something good.

I was able to reconnect with my other cousins and meet all of their children. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but it didn't take long to find my way back to the cousins that I had once known.

Enter Mark. The youngest of that batch.

Four years apart isn't much now; but when I was 16 and he was 12, it was huge. He was a brat. A fun brat, but a brat, nonetheless! He's not a brat anymore; but he's still very fun.

He happened to have an overnight in Denver a few days after I returned (he's a pilot), so he came over for a few hours. One by one, he enchanted each of my boys. They played guitar and drums for him. He played piano. He encouraged them to do their best.

And then, just when I thought he couldn't impress them anymore, he pushed the coffee table out of the way and started teaching them how to wrestle.

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None of us could stop laughing.

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Now Mark has taken up the cause of making my family healthy. We are all under strict orders to do at least 50 push-ups and 50 sit-ups every day.

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We have a chart.

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My arms are sore!