“You should write something tonight…for your friends…” she says. I’m in sweats, sitting on my bed in the dark with the laptop humming from a perch on a pillow. The TV is locked on to the History channel, I know I’m half way to Neverland already and it just isn’t going to happen, but I tell her I’ll try, exchange a few loving words and hang up. Minutes later the laptop is on the floor atop a pile of knitting books and I’m in my go-to-sleep position on my right side with my arm jammed between my pillows.

Drifting off her words bounced around my head along side animated fat drop shadow bubble font images of the words “peace”, “friendship” and “connections”.

When I was in London two years ago I found myself reconnected with someone I’d been in third grade with in Anchorage. I remarked at how small the world was.

A few weeks ago, a friend was in a car accident; the same friend who made the request of me last night. Last week when she found herself still sore, she inquired about my massage goddess and I pointed her to the website for the business. The world proved itself smaller still, since the owner of the practice and my friend had worked together fifteen years prior.

Oddly enough, I also knew the man though my WAKA team during the summer of ‘05. He was on the team along with Ebeth, who I stayed with in London. Hm.

The point is - if I have one - that time changes some things, but it will never change our need to reconnect with our past. To be reminded of how far we’ve come, to reintroduce us to our dreams, to remind us what we felt like when we were young and too naive to let our hearts close up, or to bring us awareness and the reminder to be present *today* and right now via the crack of a wet towel to a big bare mental bootie — it all serves the same purpose and presents the same lessons.

1) While you’re so busy with your rush rush rush self imposed completely unnecessary drama, don’t forget to live.
2) We are all connected.
3) If we are open to what the universe puts in front of us, a great adventure will almost certainly follow.

I think I might need to attach electrodes to myself and program a device to deliver 1.21 gigawatts of electricity a few times a day just do I don’t forget the lessons…again.

What ever happened to peace, love and understanding? Or at least being thoughtful, polite and considerate?

Half a dozen grocery carts strewn around a parking lot in an affluent area of town are symbolic of a greater issue: being an asshole is contagious and we haven’t been inoculated.

Leading by example lives on in a gross expanse beyond the urchins that fall from our collective uteri and breaks through the walls of our florescent days. Hell, just look at Al Gore and his bright green interwebs. An Oscar later, the world wakes up to find frog colored glasses strapped on their heads.

Everywhere we go and with everything we do, this simple assholearrific fact has me teetering on the edge of any religion and the core of them all where “do unto others” is the chorus regardless of how it’s interpreted and who said it. Jesus, Buddha, the Dali Lama, Confucius, Allah, Brahman, whatever. It’s all the same.

Don’t be an asshole.

But we are. We’re assholes. We’ve been reprogrammed since the societal high bar crashed to the ground and the collective death rattle of our moral compass went spinning out of control. We’re too far from home to worry if our parents see us doing something we know is wrong (though I’d guess the view isn’t shabby from the after life). We’re not just lazy and inconsiderate in grocery store parking lots - we’re irresponsible with the environment, we’re negligent with the emotions of others, we’re flat out ugly in traffic, and we sure as hell haven’t earned the special treatment we all seem to think we’re entitled to.

So here’s my request. Put the cart back. Say thank you. Smile. Don’t run the red light. Put the seat down. Let that guy merge. Don’t be a jerk to your waitperson. Remember that not everyone harnesses the ability to read your mind.

Find the good, and push it out…infect everyone you meet.

“Girl, walk away. The only kind of game it’s ok to play that early in a relationship is Scrabble” I said, and she laughed so hard she snorted and we ate bag of cookies and agreed that everything does happen for a reason.

(originally posted 12.4.2004)

Men, listen up and consider this an appendage to my PSA posted last year - if you’re going to wear a hat, wear it properly. Not backwards, not crooked. Got it?

Oh, and if you’re in ATL wearing a Yankees hat, Dave says to fuck off. (!!!)

She used to say “a lady should be able to place her hand in her purse and retrieve the desired item without having to look.”

I still try to obey this rule.

Fact: Hands down the best florist in Atlanta (ahem, boys, the date is creeping up, get your lady friend something nice): Foxgloves and Ivy on St. Charles next to Belly in The Highlands.

Fact: If you can see your pee, you’re probably not drinking enough water and you are under hydrated. It *is* possible to over hydrate, so be sure you’re also replenishing your electrolytes. If you have a brain injury like my brother, though, it’s a whole different ball game. (I’ll let him explain this via comments)

Fact: Behavior at an intersection with flashing red and/or yellow lights seems to be a cause for confusion among Atlanta residents - like the thousands of you that passed through the intersection of 10th and Peachtree yesterday morning. There are instructions to help you along: RtFM.

Question: why do women with who run with ponytails seem to do everything possible to make it swing back and forth, tempting me to pull over and chase after them with the pruning sheers I keep next to the drivers seat in the Jeep? Don’t ask why they’re there, just answer the question.

In a post some time ago, we discussed fashion no-no’s. Those things you silly boys do that make me go to my bad place…you remember, don’t you?

This came under debate last night as one of the girls has a new man who recently showed up to his first meet-and-greet with “the gang” wearing an earring with a bead (one earring, not two), a ring on his pinkie and a ring on his index finger. All were silver, all looked as though they’d been purchased from a street vendor for a bargain price of Bless his heart.