The Lipstick Chronicles

Another C Word

By Rebecca the Bookseller aka Kathy Sweeney

Some people waive it off, as if it were nothing. Some people cringe just hearing it. Some people are vigilant - preparing defensive tactics. I'm talking, of course, about Cramps.

Cramps are a great medical mystery (please - do NOT get me started). Some people never have so much as cramp one - they breeze through life, their reproductive system sloughing itself once every lunar cycle, like clockwork, with nary a care. I hate those people. OK, maybe hate is too strong a word. But I do envy them. Envy, as in one of the Seven Deadlies.

Some people have mid-level cramps - they take the painkiller/anti-inflammatory of choice, grit their teeth for a day or so and carry on. Periodically they ask themselves - why in the hell can't someone figure this out?

Then there are the people like me. Cramps are part of an irregular, Cursed cycle that may or may not begin today, tomorrow or the next day. It may, in turn, end today, tomorrow or the next day. It's like living with a big Roulette Wheel in your body. There are days when I can't leave the house. There are hours when I can't leave my room. It sucks. Big Time. And other than the most helpful - "Let's knock you out, cut you open and take out all that stuff", there isn't much to be done. Hormone therapy? I don't think so. Fool me once, kind of thing.

Now, I understand there are advantages to taking it all out - but there are disadvantages too. Like most serious medical procedures, there are success stories and there are tragedies. My kids are too young to risk the tragedies - and yes, I know, I could get hit by a bus at any time, but that doesn't mean I'm going to choose to stand in the middle of the bus lane and take my chances, either.

Don't get me wrong - I know things could be much, much worse. I could have a fatal disease. I could be forced, in some kind of psychotic game show world, to spend every second of my life with stone idiots - or even worse - people with no discernible sense of humor. I could have a sick child, or a dying loved one. I get that. More on that in the guidelines below.

I am not even going to waste anyone's time talking about how in the name of all that is righteous it comes to pass that we are on our SIXTH generation of hard-on meds, but we still can't figure out how to stop cramps. I do need to mention, though, that the newer ED drugs have more side effects. As my daughter observed after sitting through a commercial: "Are you telling me that people are now willing to risk two of the five primary senses just for THAT?!" I told her that her grandparents' warnings of blindness and fiery damnation didn't stop any of her aunts or uncles. She just shook her head. She's young. Thank God.

Unfortunately, she's got my genes when it comes to her reproductive physiology. She knows from cramps already. And so the cycle begins again. Yeah, I know, I put it that way on purpose.

Basically, this is just a whiny blog.

Naturally, the whining about it makes me feel guilty, so I am going to try to turn this into a mitzvah - by sharing some advice to the people who share a house or a life with someone like me who suffers at the hands of mother nature.

1. If it's really bad, slide a glass of milk (have to have something in your stomach to take the pain meds) and some warm chocolate chip cookies (hell, any chocolate will do) in the door and stay the hell out of the way.

2. Ask if there is anything you can do. If you happen to be a man, and you think she has a rant coming ("YOU -- YOU go through NOTHING - if YOU had to go through this bullshit, the species would have died out CENTURIES ago") just take it and count yourself lucky there are no real weapons in the house. [Note: remove all weapons from the house.]

3. Join in if there is something to criticize (and be happy it's not you) - for example: If she says: "That stupid Mrs. Beasley up the street stopped earlier today to try to get me to sign a petition for one of her shithead projects. She's a menace." Do NOT say: "Gee, honey, what was the project?" DO say: "I KNOW! That ugly bitch needs to be slapped silly."

4. Do NOT try to one-up her. Unless you spend at least 25% of your life with an open compound fracture, you are not going to do anything but sound like a total wuss - and you'll just piss her off even more. You may have played an entire quarter of championship basketball/football/SuperMario Brothers challenge with a shattered tibia. But unless you do it once a month, every month, you have no idea what we're dealing with here.

5. Do NOT try to tell her 'It could be worse.' No shit Sherlock - funny I never thought of that, ya Dumbass. You want worse? Well, I can make that happen. Uh, sorry. See how bad an idea that is?

6. Finally - do NOT try to initate any funny business while the pain is intense. However, and tread lightly here - there is nothing better to relieve mild PMS cramps than an orgasm. But - and get this one guys - you are going to have to do the work. So if you've never paid attention before to what she likes, now is NOT the time to try something new. See #2 about the weapons. And woe to he who even THINKS about asking her to do any of those things she doesn't do. It won't matter whether you have weapons in the house or not. See that lamp on the nightstand? In the coroner's report, it will simply be referred to as 'a blunt object'.

Hmmmm. OK, I think that's enough.

Anyone on either side of this issue want to share?

Happy Talk

By Rebecca the Bookseller aka Kathy Sweeney

Today, I am declaring a moratorium on any subject that is not a happy one. If you have to ask why, then maybe you are one of the smart ones who doesn't pay attention to the news - something I am considering, by the way.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the great assignment of interviewing 23 authors. I thought it would be a cake walk. After all, I talk for a living. Plus, around here, it's normal to strike up a conversation with perfect strangers. Turns out, it's harder than it looks. I did a ton of preparation (that's what lawyers do - except we call it due diligence). Again - no problem, just time and focus. But when the time came - I was actually nervous, and believe me when I tell you, at this stage of the game, that just doesn't happen to me much. The happy part is that it went well. At least I thought so - and it was fun. It was fun to meet the authors and see them smile when they talked about their books and their characters. It was fun to see people in the audience smiling and laughing. Felt like I helped lighten things up, if only for a few minutes.

Because, people, we need to find more ways to lighten up. As a species, we are sleeping less, eating more, exercising less, and angsting more. Our levels of stress are through the roof. So today, all of us are going to help the world (okay, maybe just a couple of thousand people, but still) by sharing what makes us happy.

Plus, I am going to make a music compilation of songs that make me happy, and I'm going to carry it around.

So, here we go. Happy things first, then happy songs.

Watching Dancing With the Stars makes me happy. You see these celebs working to master something that is not in their comfort zone, and when they hit the floor, regardless of how their performance turns out, they are always full of joy. I've never watched any of these competition shows before, but my Mom got me started this season, and I'm hooked. (Plus, IYOCHFTS, hel-loh, between the costumes - or lack thereof - and the hot choreography - whew!).

Listening to my son and his friends when they forget I'm in the next room makes me happy. I never interrupt them, or bust them on the swearing (it's fabulous to hear them try out those new words). They're all taller than me now, but they still talk like boys, not men, even as their voices get deeper. I know that won't last much longer, so I savor it.

Reading good books makes me happy - I guess that one goes without saying on TLC, right?

Laughing makes me happy. In our house, and with my friends, we laugh a lot. I'll even admit that it may be a way of avoiding the sad and tragic stuff. We do support eachother in those ways too - but most of the time, we try to laugh. Laughing, it turns out, is good for you. No kidding - you can look it up.

Okay - I'm leaving the field wide open for the rest of you - what makes you happy?

Now - Songs that make me happy. They can be any kind of song - country, rock, gospel, folk, whatever. They don't even have to be about happiness. But there are some songs that cheer me up and make me smile. I'm sure you have some too, and at the end, I'll put together a compilation of TLC Happy Songs. Here are a few of mine:

I Wish by Stevie Wonder

Hot, Hot, Hot by Buster Poindexter

In the Mood- my current favorite cover is Bette Midler

Alive and Amplified by The Mooney Suzuki

Angelina/Zooma Zooma by Louis Prima

What Was I Thinkin'? by Dierks Bentley

Favorite Song of All by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir

Happy Working Song by Amy Adams from "Enchanted" (the lyrics are priceless)

I'm A Believer - currently, it's the Smash Mouth version from Shrek

Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants

I Can't Help Myself by The Four Tops

Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin or Pittsburgh's own George Benson

Okay, your turn - let's make some happy! Can I get a witness here?

UPDATE: I made a new play list with all of the songs suggested - tried to make it into an iMix, but not all of them showed up - (clueless as to why - perhaps the ones I'd already downloaded from CDs?). Any way, here is the iMix, if you'd like to check it out:
TLC Happy Mix on iTunes

My True Identity

By Rebecca the Bookseller

I think it was when the third person on Friday night of RT came up to me and ID'd me as Rebecca that I knew it was time to come out. I guess I should be surprised the secret lasted this long, but that photo up there looks so little like me, that the real surprise was that anyone actually recognized me from the TLC masthead at all.

That is me up there, and it's not a wig. I was growing my hair for Locks of Love (a good cause, btw) and I let my friends Kimmie, Jenn and Rose at the Salon put makeup on and do my hair. That dark color is my natural color, but now there is so much grey that I gave up on keeping it dark. I used to wonder why, as women got older, so many went blonde. Now I know. It's one set of highlights - designed to mask the grey - at a time.

These are more recent (and real) photos of me from the Little Night of Romance, Mystery and Suspsense that Mystery Lovers Bookshop held last Thursday, to take advantage of all the great authors in town for RT. I got to interview the authors, which was a blast - tons of good photos (thanks Steve), but I only included a couple - one of Hank Phillipi Ryan, who won an RT award for best first mystery (Brava!), and one of Patty Smiley, who came all the way from LA. They are both terrific, as people and authors. (I'm the short round person on the right, in case you didn't put that together, and if that is the case, see your eye doctor immediately).

So (you can fake the drum roll now) my real name is Mary Kathryn Reschini Sweeney - Kathy Sweeney for short, which I am. I comment here all the time. And I have to say, it's been getting confusing. I tried to comment on my own blogs to keep people from guessing it was me. As if there is a CIA Operative out there on the case. heh.

How did I get to be a blogger at TLC with real authors who are also very cool ladies? Well, it all started, as so many capers do, at Daytona Beach. I was attending my very first RT Conference on behalf of the Mystery Lovers Bookshop - which is totally real and totally fabulous, and I do sell books there.

I knew Nancy Martin because she came to my book group several years ago - the book group is real too - Women Lawyers - who meet the first Tuesday of every month for the last 14 years. I'd met Sarah - as Bubbles at the Bookshop - because I was a big fan of Barbie Unbound. I'd met Elaine and Harley the same way - at MLB and at their Festival of Mystery. Daytona was the first time we really got to sit down together, and it was a riot. Add Nancie the Gun Tart to the mix, and we were all sore from laughing by the time we went home. (Of course, having a beach decorated with half naked male models trying to play volleyball and posing for portfolio shots in the surf, complete with subtle props like swords and spears didn't hurt, but that's another story.)

They were looking for someone with a sense of humor to blog anonymously about books. I know books. I read books. I sell books. I'd been writing e-mails that looked a lot like blogs for years, and Nancy was on my mailing list. So they offered and I accepted (those are legal words, y'know) and I did my very first blog right after RT. It was one of the few that really had to do with bookselling. The rest just kind of took off. No one was more surprised than me when my Friday blogs became popular. I even had my own fans - how cool is that?

I blog on Fridays, unless Margie notifies everyone that she is going to blog, in which case, I just stay out of the way. Truthfully? She scares me.

Anyway, it's been a blast, and I'm honored to be in this company - and by that, I mean not only the authors up there - including Michele, who came on board after I did, but the entire community. I've become real friends with people I met on the blog, and as I meet more and more members of our backblog, I am continually delighted at how smart and witty - and nice - you all are.

Plus, I have to admit, many time IOCHFTS myself. See - that is classic TLC stuff. What started as a joke in the comments has now risen to Google level. That's right - go to Google and put in "IOCHFTS" and the only things that come up are TLC Blogs - that is freaking fantastic! The more we do it, the more likely it will pop up. heh. We have probably earned at least a mention on The Colbert Report, right?

Whomever is keeping track of our TLC bumper sticker list, IOCHFTS should be moved up to the #1 spot, I think.

Whew. My big secret is out. I mean, look - it's not like I'm Wonder Woman or I can set things on fire or go through walls - which would be very cool, by the way - but for a reader and someone who writes all the time, it's a pretty big damn deal.

So - ya got a secret to share? Are you one of the IOCHFTS people? Talk to us.

Oh - wait! I need a new moniker now - suggestions are welcome, particularly any with a royal title of some kind. Maybe I'll just use my real name. I'm starting to feel a little like part of a witness protection program. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Bedtime Stories

By Rebecca the Bookseller

Well, this is a very interesting month - first and foremost - a fabulous month for book lovers!

We have two (count 'em TWO) big events this month that bring authors, readers, and all book lovers together.

First up, April 17th - geez - that's next week already! As many of you know, the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention is being held here in Pittsburgh this year (and may I, on behalf of my city, apologize in advance for the choice of hotels). If you have never been to an RT Convention, let's just say most of it must be seen to be believed. Half naked young men and very large numbers of women, all prepared to party. More on that next week, as it happens.

On the 17th, since there are so many authors coming to town, our Mystery Lovers Bookshop is having a "Little Night of Romance" - among the terrific authors attending will be our very own Sarah Strohmeyer, Nancy Martin and Harley Jane Kozak - yippee! Here are the details - and if you can't be here, you can order personalized copies of any of the books. I'll be helping with the author interviews, so if you have any questions you'd like to submit, I will report back on the answers next Friday!

Little Night Of Romance, Mystery & Suspense, Too

Also on Friday, the Tarts at RT will be doing an interview which should be available online - more on that next week.

If you won't be here for RT, but still want to meet a bunch of terrific authors, we have our Annual Festival of Mystery on April 28th. This event is scheduled between Malice Domestic in D.C. and the Edgars in New York - many authors have taken to calling it the Mystery Trifecta - and it's fantastic. This is our (lucky) 13th year. More details here:

Festival of Mystery

One ticket gets you into BOTH events - such a deal, no kidding. Contact me via e-mail or when you get to town and I may be able to swing a special arrangement for our loyal TLC community.

Now, for those of you wondering why the word Bedtime is in the title of the blog (yes, Margie, I got your notes - it was only in draft form when you saw it, but thanks for the suggestions - I'm sure I can use them for some other, um, project.) I had a sleepover test this week. Now, a sleepover test sounds like something fun, but it isn't. First off, no snacks. I guess you could watch a movie, but for some reason - and I know this is small in the grand scheme, but it still bugs me - the TV remotes in hospitals only go ONE WAY. Whuh? Plus, there are very scary things on Wednesday nights - too many psychos and other creepy people. And that's just on Fox News. Kidding.

Then you have to actually wear pajamas. I don't know about you, but I usually sleep in old t-shirts. And the nightware I do own is more for, well, decorative and recreational use. I don't sleep in them. Sometimes I can't even find all the parts afterwards. But that's a blog for another day.

No matter - I had my books. How do people unwind and relax without books? How do people escape from the stressers (that's a big term with docs, in case you didn't know) of life without books? I guess I should have been aware of that, but boy, did it hit home in that clinical room with lousy lighting and all this medical equipment.

I had wires attached all over the place - my head (to make sure my brain is still in there, I think), my jaw (to see if I grind my teeth when I sleep); my ankles (to check for the jimmy legs); my neck (monitoring carotid blood pressure); my chest (for other heart and lung stuff - they tell me oxygen is really important - who knew?); and my face (I forget what those were about). Just when you think there is no more available space on your body, they snake a tube in your nose, plus another thing that has a tube for both your nose and mouth. THEN they tell you to go to sleep. Riiiiiggghhht.

I had my iPod, but there were so many wires I was afraid I'd end up strangling myself with the headphones, which is absurd, now that I think back, since there is someone watching the whole time on a camera. Did I mention it was NOT relaxing? I mean, sure, it was fun to make faces and hand gestures for a little while, and see which ones made the techs laugh the hardest, but that gets old fast. And then they expect you to relax and eventually fall asleep, since the whole purpose of the test is to see what happens when you sleep.

You know how they say a watched pot never boils? Well, an insomniac under surveillance never sleeps. Unless she has her books. Thank heaven for my books. It was like having a part of home with me. Like a comforter. I love that picture right there of the blanket that looks like a book. It's perfect imagery. So, of course once I started reading, just like at home, I eventually calmed down. I even slept. Such is the power of the books we love. I know the future is electronic, but there is nothing like the feel of a book in my hands.

So - first off, who's coming to Pittsburgh next week? We're planning a get-together - more details on that too.

Otherwise, tell us - what's your equivalent of a bedtime story?

Peeves and Other Irritants

By Rebecca the Bookseller

Oops - here it is, about 10 pm on Thursday night, and I just remembered I have to write a blog for tomorrow.

I'm not sure if TLC has ever done a blog on Pet Peeves (I searched the Posts and nothing came up, so I'm hoping this is a new subject) but I certainly have enough to fill a blog, and I'm betting the rest of you do too.

Some of my peeves are small - like the misuse of the word "literally". You hear this from TV pundits and from kids. Example: "I was literally, like, dead." No. You were not.

Then there are the people in service and retail jobs who refuse to make eye contact. Yeah, I see you, and I'm much too big for you to miss me. If you are busy, at least tell me so. Do not pretend I am not STANDING right HERE at your open register/desk/window.

Then there are the people who just refuse to admit they don't know the answer. It's okay to say you don't know. In fact, I'd rather you say: "I don't know if we carry Starbucks Frapps in a bottle." That's better than saying either: "Uh, yeah, they're somewhere over there" accompanied by a general wave, when in fact, they are no where in the store; or "No, we never had them things" when in fact, I just bought some here last week.

And while we're on that subject, I know all the marketing gurus tell the big supermarkets to put the milk in the furthest possible place so you have to wade through aisles of crap and tides of confused people to get to it. I don't care. Put it in the front. If you can fit every candy bar in the universe right there at the register, you can fit a small fridge for milk.

Before we leave the grocery - here's another one. Why do they discontinue the good stuff? I'm talking, of course, about the Oreo ice cream sandwiches (real oreos, real oreo size) and the Oreo brownies. Those things were the best - but they're gone. Instead, we've got reverse Oreos and flavored Oreos (okay, the peanutbutter ones are good). I didn't need more Oreo flavors. I just want my ice cream sandwiches back.

Then there is the laundry detergent - you can't find regular stuff to clean your clothes any more - we've got fifteen scents, and everything added from Downy to Baking Soda to - and I really don't get this one - Mr. Clean. And if you want plain old toothpaste? Give it up. Flavors, sparkles, whiteners, de-sensitizers - I don't even know what some of those chemicals would do to the kitchen floor, let alone my mouth.

Obviously, the grocery is a rich area for peeves, so I'll leave the rest to you guys.

Let's talk about parking. Not that kind, Margie - the kind where you need to find a space to leave your car so you can shop or run an errand, or whatever. I've actually seen people get out of their cars to argue over who has the right to a spot. This would really be none of my business (unless there is an old person, and then they get dibs, period.) But the people block up the entire lane while they hash it out. If you happen to be right behind them, you are totally screwed, because you can't get out. Then there are the buzzard parkers, who just stop right at the front of the lot and wait for someone to leave. They also block traffic. Arrrgh.

Okay, obviously, I could go on all night, but I'll limit it to one more. Cancelled TV shows. Look, I know most of the shows on TV are crap, but every once in a while, I get involved in one, and then - boom! It's gone. Right in the middle of a story line. Hey - if you want to cancel a show, fine - but at least air the remaining episodes! We know damn well you filmed them (this does not apply to the recent writers strike, and if that thing cost me "Private Practice", "The Unit" or "Moonlight", I am going to be pissed). If you don't want to take up precious air time - you know, for a recap or repeat of "Big Brother House #23: The Wrath of the Switched Mom", put them on a DVD and I'll pay for the damn things.

Okay, I need to take some deep, calming breaths so I can at least pretend to prepare to sleep, so I'm handing the baton off to you -- got peeves? I know you do, so let's hear 'em.

If I Ran the Presidential Debates

By Rebecca the Bookseller

Okay - let's all remember that this is not a political blog. So I'm not endorsing any of the candidates. I will say this: Dear Mr. Nader, I am old enough to remember when your work was a source of inspiration and respect. But many of the current voters? Not so much. You need to step out of this presidential race, or your legacy is going to be that you're a media-grubbing crank. Thank you.

Now - the debates. I live in Pennsylvania, and it looks like we're going to have yet another debate - and that's before the national election even begins. Come on. How many ways can they ask the same boring questions? Let's get to the real issues that matter to real people - like all of us at TLC.

I will pose several questions, and then I'm looking to all of you guys to add your own - with an intelligent, witty group like ours, I'm sure we can come up with not only a meaningful debate, but a ratings winner. One rule I set for myself - the questions must lead to a Yes or No answer. It's the only way. Otherwise, we're just going to hear the same sound bites over and over any time somebody wants to dodge the question. It'll also cut down on the time.

"But how on earth are you going to enforce that?" You may be asking yourself this question, and I did too. The answer: electroshock. The chairs will be wired. Not to, like, taser level, but enough to get their attention. The jolts will get stronger each time they are used on the same person. If someone ends up drooling at the end, well, that's a pretty damn good indicator right there.

Question 1 (let's just get it over with). "Have you ever paid anyone to have any kind of sex with you?" If the answer is Yes, then we'll have a sheriff standing by. It's still a crime, people, even though it's a dumb crime. Besides, if any of them did, they should have come clean about it last week, when it would have just been one more brick in the wall.

Question 2: "Have you ever done anything that you'd be embarrassed to have your mother find out about?" This is a trick question. If the answer is No, then they're either lying or they have one hell of a weird relationship with Mom. The answer should be Yes.

Question 3: "Did Scarlett get Rhett back?" Qualifier: one must, for the sake of all things good, ignore the abomination that was the novel/made for TV movie "Scarlett". In fact, just mentioning it is going to earn someone a shock.

Question 4: "Have you ever shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?" If the answer is Yes, and the candidate is not Johnny Cash, cue the sheriff.

Question 5: "Do you know what it's like to fall in the mud and get kicked... in the head... with an iron boot? Of course you don't, no one does. It never happens. It's a dumb question... skip it."

Question 6: "Have you ever played a complete game of Risk?" No right answer here - I'd just like to know if there is any human alive who has done it.

Question 7: "Are you wearing underwear?" (Okay, this one was Margie's question. She says anyone with the stones to go commando in a televised debate should win automatically. Not surprisingly, we differ on this particular point.)

Question 8: "Have you had sex with your spouse in the last 30 days?" This one is important. Because, most people, if they are not getting busy at home, they are doing it somewhere else. As we all know, this leads to scandals. We don't need any more of those, okay?

Question 9: "Do you think The Da Vinci Code is a great work of literature?" Okay, this is double tricky. Because face it, the overwhelming majority of people who bought or received that book could not finish it. And you can call it a cultural phenom, or a best seller, but as a book, it sucked. Big Time. This is the kind of question that really separates the wheat from the chaff.

Question 10: "If you have a fever, is the only prescription more cowbell?" Best to end on a soft ball query. The answer is obviously, Yes.

Okay, TLC, it's your turn. You don't have to limit your questions to yes or no answers, but if you want me to administer shock therapy, you need to tell me the right answer. What questions do you REALLY want to ask?

I Give You My Words

by Rebecca the Bookseller

The words in this blog have been inside me for awhile. Sometimes words, like sneezes, just have to come out.

Words are important. We use them, not just to communicate, but to express and inspire and admonish and cajole. We use them to demonstrate rage because, for many of us, violence is not an acceptable option. We use them to ask for help, and forgiveness. We use them to make promises.

Some people are content, even happy, to use few words. Some are quiet by nature, and some choose silence. Alas, I am not one of them. I am, for better or worse, someone who writes. I write because, frankly, I have to. If I don't let the words out, they boil together and build up so much steam and force that I have to release them or risk expressing myself in less civilized ways.

Most of the time, that is a wonderful thing. I make my living as a lawyer using words. My words make people laugh and help bring people together in prayer.

But there are times when my words are such a burden that I am exhausted. Then my words are heavy and sad. They keep me from laughter. They keep me alone. In a very real way, they block my light.

This is nothing new. I wrote my first family newsletter when I was about twelve years old. When the Internet made communication easy and fast, I started writing via e-mail. I was blogging before it was even a word. I didn't get much feedback, or even return e-mails, but I kept doing it.

Even though I write legal stuff all the time, it's not enough. There are way too many words that just never find their way into a Stock Purchase Agreement or an Offering Statement, no matter how interesting the client's business might be. So I write. I can't seem to help it.

Why? The best explanation I can come up with is that writing is like an addiction. I don't do it for the money - there is none. I don't do it for any kind of recognition - are you kidding me? In case you didn't know, my name isn't really Rebecca. Plus, other than the semi-regular comments from my husband (thanks honey) nobody in my entire extended family even comments here, and I can count on less than one hand the number of 'real friends' who do. It used to bother me a great deal. Then I finally figured out that they don't give a shit, and it doesn't matter any way.

Because TLC has a fantastic group of commenters - even without the people who know me in my real life. Which is really amazing. Did you know that some of us have actually become friends from this blog? It's true. And not the creepy kind of stalker friends either - the kinds of friends who talk to each other and help each other.

Once, I wrote a blog on depression, and ended up hearing from people who really needed to read those words. We were able to share our pain and our hope.

But that's the exception. A wonderful, blessed one, but an exception none the less.

I'm not the only one who writes for no payback. There are lots of us. Even the authors who blog here every week could be saving their words for the books they sell. Instead, they hand them out to you for free.

I guess what I want you to know is that, these words are gifts. Gifts from our hearts and minds and souls and energy. They are given freely. You don't have to give anything back. Sometimes, you even get some laughs thrown in as a bonus, or you get a different perspective or you learn something new. Do you understand how incredible that is? To be able to, with a click of a button, receive that kind of a gift for nothing in return? It's extraordinary, and yet we don't even think twice about it.

Today, I want you to think about it.

When I give you my words, please see them for what they are: they are pieces of me.

Real Wedding Vows

by Rebecca the Bookseller

You don't have to call me Rev, but you could. Yep - I am now licensed to perform marriages. How did I do it? About five minutes online. Free. Why did I do it? To see if I could.

So any local official who wants to go out on a limb and issue a marriage license to a gay couple, call me. I'll do the ceremony. Sure, I could lose my license. Who cares?

Until then, I decided to seek the fine wisdom of our TLC community to devise some REAL wedding vows. All that pledging of troths might have worked in the past, but it's time for change.

Let's start by taking a page from Pastor Paul Wirth of Florida, who is challenging his married flock to have sex every day for a month. Our friend Chris, who sent me the article, put it best: "Hallelujah, I have found Jesus." Pastor Wirth believes it will help lower the divorce rate. It could. Conversely, given the average age of many Florida congregations, I'd look for an equivalent spike in cardiac incidents.

Regardless, the Pastor has a good point - when we get married, we promise NOT to have sex with anyone else. But we don't promise TO have sex with each other. Some people may not care. No comment. But lots of people do.

What else is really important? Let's take a moment in the bathroom. Toothpaste, toilet seat - changing the paper - using the bath mat instead of leaving a slippery patch - these are things that should be agreed upon from the get-go.

And the kitchen. There is a silent, yet vicious, war going on about the best way to load the dishwasher. And when to take out the trash. Is it okay to keep smashing it down so that it melds so closely with the can itself that you need the jaws of life to remove the bag? Or should you take it out as soon as the contents are visible at the top edge? What about wedging the pizza box in there so that it takes up all the room? These things are critical.

Then there is the temperature tempest. Sure, when you're young, you think you can adjust. But I am here to tell you, gentlemen, when your wife approaches a certain age, you'd best stock up on warm socks and sweaters. Because when she resets that thing to 60 degrees, you had damn well keep your mitts off.

Get the idea? So let's go - what promises should really be included in the wedding vows? I'll start:

I promise not to finish the coffee/soda/milk without replacing it or at least warning you before the next morning. (Leaving half an ounce counts as finishing.)

I promise that if you get sick, and you want to be left alone, I will honor your wishes. (Alternative vow for men: I promise that I will NOT get sick every time you get sick. And I promise not to act like a toddler and moan and whine when I do get sick.)

I promise not to make fun of whatever you read, be it Playboy (for the articles) or a cheesy romance novel.

I promise to pay attention when you say: "I don't want to talk about it." This promise must be accompanied by its companion promise: I promise not to say "I don't want to talk about it" unless I really mean it.

I promise to negotiate in good faith about the bathroom and the trash, and to abide by our collective decision. Especially about the pizza boxes.

Your turn - you'll note that I left the sex vow out of it. I'm counting on the rest of you to come up with that one. heh.

The Man Purse

By Rebecca the Bookseller

If you're like me, you remember the Seinfeld episode that included the Man Purse. These days, it might not be so funny, because the man purse is no longer an anomaly.

My first man purse sighting was all the way back in 1986, when my cousin Mario came to visit from Brazil. He carried a man purse. No trying to disguise it as anything else, either. It was small, made of black leather, and it had a thin shoulder strap. At first, a couple of the local yokels made cracks about it. Mario's English wasn't superb, but he knew an attempted insult when he heard one. Instead of bristling, he just laughed. Then he gently advised, in that fabulous accent, that he preferred women, but knew some gay men at back at home if these 'necks wanted a pen pal. Priceless.

Today, the man purse is popping up everywhere. They may call them messenger bags, or packs of all shapes and sizes, or cargos, but they hold the same things that a woman's purse holds: keys, glasses, meds, kleenex, and various items designed to assist in maintaining one's personal hygiene.

And just in case you think only the freaks or geeks or any other subset are the only ones to carry them, check out Seal and Hugh Jackman. Those two are most definitely men. And those bags are definitely purses.

And it's about damn time.

Women everywhere have been the sherpas of the family for years. The entire clan hands things off - "Hey, can you stick this in your purse?". Which would be fine if all these items were tiny and weightless.

But have you taken a look at key rings lately? They look like some kind of weapon - a cross between intersecting Ninja stars and a portable knight's mace. And forget the key content - you've got to have 14 little charms or micro stuffed animals, plus a bunch of those cards that give you store discounts in return for every piece of personal information you could imagine. Plus a cute little flashlight that never worked, and a whistle, which you could never find in time to do you any good.

Then we have the hairbrushes, which should be hermetically sealed, and the cameras, and the binoculars and whatever else people decide not to leave in the car.

As a matter of fact, I'll bet if you look in your purse right now, you'll find at least one thing that's not yours. And at least one thing that is at least three months old. How many restaurant mints are in there? Ticket stubs? Parking receipts? Before you know it, the purse weighs about 40 pounds, and you've solved the mystery of why your shoulder is killing you.

Before I was a Mom, I carried gorgeous leather bags. But once you become the packhorse of the family, the leather goes into storage. First of all, leather does not do well with various liquids. It stains. And leather, needless to say, is not washable. Secondly, since many fine purses are dark in color, the bottom becomes a black hole - you can't see what's down there. Finally, they're heavy. Much heavier than a space age fabric that can go right to the washing machine if need be.

We just got back from Florida, and I'm surprised my Vera Bradley backpack didn't burst at the seams. Never mind that my kids are old enough to carry their own crap. Why should they when Mom has that bottomless backpack? It's all on me, too. I let them do it. And to be fair, they offered to carry it, and so did my husband. Couldn't do it; Mom's backpack is Mom's job. Who else would remember band-aids with the built in anti-biotic, or three different kinds of sunscreen? Not to mention the Epi-pen and the Benadryl spray and the tweezers and the extra hat and the pens and paper, and on and on and on. That's part of the Mom's job in our house.

But next year? Guess what their Dad is getting for Christmas?

WTH Happened to High School?

By Rebecca the Bookseller, Public High School Graduate

This week, my daughter, who is a sophomore in high school, has finals and papers and Power Point presentations due. She’s totally stressed out. She’s 16.

What in the hell is going on? Are we collectively raising a generation of kids who are going to be burnt out by college – never mind grad school?

In order to avoid a rant, I’m going to make this a collective effort. Accordingly, here are some things I did and did not learn in high school. Then it’ll be your turn to share.

I did not learn Advanced Calculus.

I did not learn how to write a 40-page term paper with footnotes and exhibits. Hell, I didn’t really learn that until law school.

I did not learn how to conjugate a zillion verbs in any foreign language. Seriously – did any of you learn any real language in high school? The only way to learn a language is to speak it. Donde esta la biblioteca? Does not count.

I did not learn how to present a multi-media presentation with coordinated graphics, text, animated images and a soundtrack. No, the filmstrips with the accompanying tape (beep!) do not count, even if you were in the AV Club.

I did not learn that at a private school in the next neighborhood, half the students were in some kind of therapy for eating disorders, anxiety attacks, or depression.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that these are not good things to learn.

Here is what I did learn:

I learned that when you get hit with a dodge ball, it stings, but it doesn’t last. I also learned that it was okay to have people laugh at you, because you were all going to be laughing at someone else when they got nailed.

I learned that how you behave when you lose is just as important as how you behave when you win. The quickest way to the bench at my school was to grandstand.

I learned that it’s okay to question authority – even – heaven forbid – the President of the United States – because that’s our right, and that this country was founded on the absolute necessity of civil liberties.

I learned that boys who went off to fight came back as changed men.

I learned that people can be mean as hell, but many times help can come from unexpected sources.

I learned that people have jobs –the vast majority of the kids in my high school, including me, had year-round part-time jobs by sophomore year.

I learned that if you’re driving, you have got to take responsibility for the people in your car. Otherwise, it’s your mess to clean up.

I learned that boys and girls are different. In most ways. I learned that what you think is eternal love might just be hormones, but not without a lot of crying. I learned that getting to first, second and third base are just as exciting and wonderful as heading straight home. Looking back, I shouldn’t have waited so long to take the trip the whole way around the bases, but that’s a story for another day.

Most importantly – I learned how to PLAY. I learned that drinking can be fun, but that drinking too much makes you feel like you’ve been run over by a truck. I learned that some people can get high and be fine, and that some people turn into jerks.

And I learned that the book is always better than the movie.

Those things are important too.

This obsession with ‘everybody wins’ troubles me. I mean, some schools have banned the game ‘Tag’ because the person who is ‘It’ feels bad about themselves. Are you kidding me with this shit?

And this obsession – which starts way too early – about GPA and class rank and building resumes for college apps – that scares the hell out of me. Because if kids don’t learn the off-campus stuff in high school, what’s going to happen when they leave home?

Anyway – we’re picking up our daughter after her last exam this morning and going to Florida. Where we are going to focus our collective Type A personalities on fun. And laughing. And screaming on the coasters. And just hanging out without phones or schedules or faxes or e-mails or power point presentations.

So, since I’m not here to keep talking – how about sharing what you did or didn’t learn?