A really big thank you to EVERYONE who showed up and made Glee Spin such a hit. Didn’t we have so much fun? Here’s today’s playlist, and all of the songs are available on iTunes as single tracks if you didn’t win a free CD.
Pre Spin/Warm Up:
Safety Dance
Bad Romance
Defying Gravity
Class:
Somebody to Love
Bust Your Windows
Like a Prayer
Halo/Walking on Sunshine
Gives You Hell
Dream on
My Life Would Suck Without You
Sweet Caroline
It’s My Life/Confessions
Last Name
Jump
Hate On Me
4 Minutes
Poker Face
Don’t Stop Believin’
Stretch:
Home
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Glee and exercise!
What I love about Glee is that it offers all of us hope.
As a person who lost over 100 Pounds, against the odds of what experts tell us is possible, it's shows like this that keep me excited about life. From Artie's wheelchair to Kurt's tumultuous coming out process with his dad, each week this show makes me feel it. I try to hold it back, but each week it pours out a little harder than before.
I laugh, too at Jane Lynch's evil Sue Sylvester and I'm touched by her relationship with her mentally handicapped sister proving that no one is all bad. I love Rachel Berry, played by Lea Michelle, because I was SO her in high school, determined to leave my mark as a nerd with a purpose and worth...beyond just being a theater geek. I took all the "Will Schuster's" in my life back then for granted, but his character is the teacher we all needed in high school--the one who believed in us, even when he didn't really have any reason to believe.
Last week, when Finn's Cory Monteith showed up to save Kurt in Gaga Red, it was the most visceral emotional reaction I've had to the show yet. As you know, I'm all about standing up even when it's not popular, telling the truth and speaking up against the oppressed (because I'm very wonderful and honorable and liberal) and to see the cool kid do that was really special. I jumped out of my seat full of tears wanting it to never end, this show that stands up for the freaks and geeks, so to speak.
And then there's the music, never too "Today" and never too "yesterday" and always with a hint of Broadway. That the first season featured both of the leads from the original cast of Wicked is not a fucking coincidence, People. Bathhouse attendance has virtually vanished on Tuesday nights. And each week, America watches this queer little show, validating the creativity of a very gay man--Ryan Murphy who makes it all happen.
But mostly, I watch for Mercedes, whom I idolize.
I hope you'll join me in the morning by paying tribute to my favorite show at Glee Spin, a one time only event I designed for other Gleeks who'd like to Safety Dance in their bike! (The poster has the wrong date, which makes me feel like I've been splashed with blue soda) but it's Sunday May 30th at Train West Hollywood.
XOXO,
Seanny
As a person who lost over 100 Pounds, against the odds of what experts tell us is possible, it's shows like this that keep me excited about life. From Artie's wheelchair to Kurt's tumultuous coming out process with his dad, each week this show makes me feel it. I try to hold it back, but each week it pours out a little harder than before.
I laugh, too at Jane Lynch's evil Sue Sylvester and I'm touched by her relationship with her mentally handicapped sister proving that no one is all bad. I love Rachel Berry, played by Lea Michelle, because I was SO her in high school, determined to leave my mark as a nerd with a purpose and worth...beyond just being a theater geek. I took all the "Will Schuster's" in my life back then for granted, but his character is the teacher we all needed in high school--the one who believed in us, even when he didn't really have any reason to believe.
Last week, when Finn's Cory Monteith showed up to save Kurt in Gaga Red, it was the most visceral emotional reaction I've had to the show yet. As you know, I'm all about standing up even when it's not popular, telling the truth and speaking up against the oppressed (because I'm very wonderful and honorable and liberal) and to see the cool kid do that was really special. I jumped out of my seat full of tears wanting it to never end, this show that stands up for the freaks and geeks, so to speak.
And then there's the music, never too "Today" and never too "yesterday" and always with a hint of Broadway. That the first season featured both of the leads from the original cast of Wicked is not a fucking coincidence, People. Bathhouse attendance has virtually vanished on Tuesday nights. And each week, America watches this queer little show, validating the creativity of a very gay man--Ryan Murphy who makes it all happen.
But mostly, I watch for Mercedes, whom I idolize.
I hope you'll join me in the morning by paying tribute to my favorite show at Glee Spin, a one time only event I designed for other Gleeks who'd like to Safety Dance in their bike! (The poster has the wrong date, which makes me feel like I've been splashed with blue soda) but it's Sunday May 30th at Train West Hollywood.
XOXO,
Seanny
Thursday, May 27, 2010
McDonalds
Do you remember the first time you had McDonalds?
My emotions the first time I had it were different than what they are now. What was once so fun--ordering a Happy meal with extra cheese, BBQ Sauce for a side of chicken McNuggets, a milkshake with Strawberries (I thought they were real strawberries) and Chocolate swirls, is nothing short of a disaster now.
From the moment I walk in, I see the faces of the impoverished, the people who've moved past their zoftig teen years into an obese, cocoon of sexual limitation. Heavy breathers who think that smart investing comes from super-sizing. This is my former tribe, and I am no longer like them, as long as I get grilled chicken, no bun, a bottled water, and yogurt.
But the smell reminds me that this is unhealthy, this protein delight I'm going to get. I won't punish myself by not having the energy of a carb. I order fries and a Big Mac. And Ranch. But I'm only telling you that.
I eat that Big Mac around the edges so that sauce isn't squirting out. Not because of the mess, but because I want every last drop in my mouth, not my tray. I eat my fries before that even, so I don't have to share with my brother. But I am alone. He's not even here. And I am eating in my car, because I can't stand sitting with the people, who I'm not so sure I'm not the same as. A big, toothless group of me, but they aren't hiding.
I look across at the kids in the playground with Ronald McDonald on the side. None of them are playing. They're all eating. They're like me then. And I want to go save them, but my milkshake will melt.
My emotions the first time I had it were different than what they are now. What was once so fun--ordering a Happy meal with extra cheese, BBQ Sauce for a side of chicken McNuggets, a milkshake with Strawberries (I thought they were real strawberries) and Chocolate swirls, is nothing short of a disaster now.
From the moment I walk in, I see the faces of the impoverished, the people who've moved past their zoftig teen years into an obese, cocoon of sexual limitation. Heavy breathers who think that smart investing comes from super-sizing. This is my former tribe, and I am no longer like them, as long as I get grilled chicken, no bun, a bottled water, and yogurt.
But the smell reminds me that this is unhealthy, this protein delight I'm going to get. I won't punish myself by not having the energy of a carb. I order fries and a Big Mac. And Ranch. But I'm only telling you that.
I eat that Big Mac around the edges so that sauce isn't squirting out. Not because of the mess, but because I want every last drop in my mouth, not my tray. I eat my fries before that even, so I don't have to share with my brother. But I am alone. He's not even here. And I am eating in my car, because I can't stand sitting with the people, who I'm not so sure I'm not the same as. A big, toothless group of me, but they aren't hiding.
I look across at the kids in the playground with Ronald McDonald on the side. None of them are playing. They're all eating. They're like me then. And I want to go save them, but my milkshake will melt.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Mania of a Pound Lost
It's amazing how painful the compliment, "Wow, you're looking great!" can be for a person who has lost weight.
You wouldn't understand, but I'll try to explain.
As a fat person I have hated myself. Fucking loathed my skin from the inside out. I have cut my mouth, bit my tongue, poured Tapatio onto chips...all to punish myself for overeating. I have made the sweaty hog of myself pay 100 times over with sleeping pills, lost friendships, scabs picked at into scars in visible places. But still, there was a shred of scared little boy inside, who did right by other people, tried my best for a few fleeting seconds everyday, and who brought smiles to faces, sometimes babies, even. And that fat person is who I was in the beginning before I told myself to hurt in the name of sloth.
That person is not who you see today, but he sits quietly, underneath my medium tee, and when you notice that it's gone down from an XXL cotton blend, it hurts him. It thrills him, too. Because "Wow, you're looking great!" implies I didn't used to look very great, that I wasn't ok. And the thing is, I know that. But when you affirm my hatred, it hurts worse than when I just wondered what you thought. Now I can blame my low self-esteem on you.
But it was a compliment. The problem is, New Guy isn't used to compliments. He's just learning how to use the access card to the parking lot. And your compliment becomes nothing short of addictive to him. At some point, I'll get to my goal, and you'll stop noticing. Now I have no reason to live, because I look just like you: Normal, functional, deserving.
And the guy inside is jealous. And your acceptance of me is no longer sexy. It's just average, like a handful of trail mix. I want the M & M's. I want to hurt so hard again that the only way out is crisis intervention, and I want you to notice so I can remind myself how hard I worked, that I am capable, and that I'm like you, but more mysterious.
But most of all, I don't want you to forget that little boy. He means more to me than your compliment, and that's saying something.
You wouldn't understand, but I'll try to explain.
As a fat person I have hated myself. Fucking loathed my skin from the inside out. I have cut my mouth, bit my tongue, poured Tapatio onto chips...all to punish myself for overeating. I have made the sweaty hog of myself pay 100 times over with sleeping pills, lost friendships, scabs picked at into scars in visible places. But still, there was a shred of scared little boy inside, who did right by other people, tried my best for a few fleeting seconds everyday, and who brought smiles to faces, sometimes babies, even. And that fat person is who I was in the beginning before I told myself to hurt in the name of sloth.
That person is not who you see today, but he sits quietly, underneath my medium tee, and when you notice that it's gone down from an XXL cotton blend, it hurts him. It thrills him, too. Because "Wow, you're looking great!" implies I didn't used to look very great, that I wasn't ok. And the thing is, I know that. But when you affirm my hatred, it hurts worse than when I just wondered what you thought. Now I can blame my low self-esteem on you.
But it was a compliment. The problem is, New Guy isn't used to compliments. He's just learning how to use the access card to the parking lot. And your compliment becomes nothing short of addictive to him. At some point, I'll get to my goal, and you'll stop noticing. Now I have no reason to live, because I look just like you: Normal, functional, deserving.
And the guy inside is jealous. And your acceptance of me is no longer sexy. It's just average, like a handful of trail mix. I want the M & M's. I want to hurt so hard again that the only way out is crisis intervention, and I want you to notice so I can remind myself how hard I worked, that I am capable, and that I'm like you, but more mysterious.
But most of all, I don't want you to forget that little boy. He means more to me than your compliment, and that's saying something.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Clock
"Tell me about a clock you've looked at a Lot. Go. Ten Minutes." Page 155.
My face is getting slightly more wrinkled. My hair line is slowly moving upward. My hair has firecrackers of gray that snap and crackle out of my temples, like the chipmunk from Caddyshack, bouncing up and out blurring the lines between danger and distinguished.
My arms were fat-free in 2007, but they felt like butter at the time. 11% Body fat was too high back then. A scale was my clock, my odometer, my wallet, and my grocery cart.
I look at my face now, my whole head, really and I think of how bad I've looked, how good I've looked, and how great I could look, and the staring at this clock, takes less time, luckily for my heart. Like an insomniac who stares at the digital all night long, worried about being tired in the morning, that's how I was back then, when I was closer to perfect.
Now I'm far from perfect. I have my good days and my bad days. I have days when the jeans fit, and days when I have to wear the 32's and it's kinda ok. It's not ideal, but when I was ideal I was frantic. That's the problem with clocks. Clocks let us know how little we have, not how much, because unlike money, you can't invest time and multiply it. Time is fleeting. Skin wrinkles. Hair washes away, spiraling down the sink, changing into the color of your sweatpants.
And the more time you spend staring at the hourglass, the less time you have to enjoy what remains.
My face is getting slightly more wrinkled. My hair line is slowly moving upward. My hair has firecrackers of gray that snap and crackle out of my temples, like the chipmunk from Caddyshack, bouncing up and out blurring the lines between danger and distinguished.
My arms were fat-free in 2007, but they felt like butter at the time. 11% Body fat was too high back then. A scale was my clock, my odometer, my wallet, and my grocery cart.
I look at my face now, my whole head, really and I think of how bad I've looked, how good I've looked, and how great I could look, and the staring at this clock, takes less time, luckily for my heart. Like an insomniac who stares at the digital all night long, worried about being tired in the morning, that's how I was back then, when I was closer to perfect.
Now I'm far from perfect. I have my good days and my bad days. I have days when the jeans fit, and days when I have to wear the 32's and it's kinda ok. It's not ideal, but when I was ideal I was frantic. That's the problem with clocks. Clocks let us know how little we have, not how much, because unlike money, you can't invest time and multiply it. Time is fleeting. Skin wrinkles. Hair washes away, spiraling down the sink, changing into the color of your sweatpants.
And the more time you spend staring at the hourglass, the less time you have to enjoy what remains.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Time for the Betty White Party!
It's time for the eldest SNL host (88 years young!) and our favorite lady to take the stage. And I'm hosting a party!
Hetherington History Timeline Part 2
If you missed this post yesterday, there's a link to catch up. Here's the next 10 years.
April 1, 1990-
See first WWE Wrestlemania live on Pay Per View. It's the Ultimate challenge as Warrior takes on Hogan.
June 1990-
During last day of sixth grade, accidentally fart in class earning the moniker "Sean the Ripper" for the next 2 years.
April 2003-
Play Sailor number 2 in Folsom High School Production of South Pacific. Look pretty Queer.
June 2003-May 1995
Fall in love with RG, who is a year older than me, dating my best friend, Ashley and who is probably certifiably insane. Begin practicing bulimia. Ultimately get fatter.
June 1996
Graduate high school never having been named Prom Queen.
July 1996
Begin media career at 17 as an intern for Captain Bob's Country drive Home on 105.1 KNCI radio.
February 1997
Impeached as Student Government Public Relations officer at American River College. Resign Amicably.
April 1997
Via an online contest, win a phone call and autographed jacket from one Miss Reba Nell McEntire Blackstock. Tape conversation and play for parents where she encourages me to go to Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee. Leak tape to KNCI and earn free dinner. Eat a lot. Am 70 pounds overweight.
August 1997
Begin College at Belmont. Discover roommate is about to come out as gay person. Freak out. Move in with French guy.
September 1998
Welcome back bulimia.
September 1999
Fall down face-first as cheerleader for Nashville Predators on national television.
May 2000
Become first Hetherington to graduate college.
June 2000
Move to LA as member of NBC Page Program. 100 pounds overweight.
April 1, 1990-
See first WWE Wrestlemania live on Pay Per View. It's the Ultimate challenge as Warrior takes on Hogan.
June 1990-
During last day of sixth grade, accidentally fart in class earning the moniker "Sean the Ripper" for the next 2 years.
April 2003-
Play Sailor number 2 in Folsom High School Production of South Pacific. Look pretty Queer.
June 2003-May 1995
Fall in love with RG, who is a year older than me, dating my best friend, Ashley and who is probably certifiably insane. Begin practicing bulimia. Ultimately get fatter.
June 1996
Graduate high school never having been named Prom Queen.
July 1996
Begin media career at 17 as an intern for Captain Bob's Country drive Home on 105.1 KNCI radio.
February 1997
Impeached as Student Government Public Relations officer at American River College. Resign Amicably.
April 1997
Via an online contest, win a phone call and autographed jacket from one Miss Reba Nell McEntire Blackstock. Tape conversation and play for parents where she encourages me to go to Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee. Leak tape to KNCI and earn free dinner. Eat a lot. Am 70 pounds overweight.
August 1997
Begin College at Belmont. Discover roommate is about to come out as gay person. Freak out. Move in with French guy.
September 1998
Welcome back bulimia.
September 1999
Fall down face-first as cheerleader for Nashville Predators on national television.
May 2000
Become first Hetherington to graduate college.
June 2000
Move to LA as member of NBC Page Program. 100 pounds overweight.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Ro
The Celebrity
I feel most connected
to is Rosie O.
How can one person
be so rich, so happy, so loved
and also so sad
She lives raw and here
bold honesty to a fault
unexpected dramz
The food is big sweet
The pain is numb now like laughs
gratification
i just want to be
normal but famous and rich
healthy and change lives
too much to ask life?
It was my second choice
after the thing every
one already has
unconditional red love
robbed of peace me and Rosie O.
I feel most connected
to is Rosie O.
How can one person
be so rich, so happy, so loved
and also so sad
She lives raw and here
bold honesty to a fault
unexpected dramz
The food is big sweet
The pain is numb now like laughs
gratification
i just want to be
normal but famous and rich
healthy and change lives
too much to ask life?
It was my second choice
after the thing every
one already has
unconditional red love
robbed of peace me and Rosie O.
Hetherington History Timeline Part 1
For our new fans, here is a timeline of how the first 11 years went 1978-1989.
October 19, 1978-
Born in Sacramento California, Sean Hetherington
No middle name, mother cried upon birth due to gender surprise, was supposed to be named Shannon.
November 1985
Food Issues begin. Grandma dies.
1978-1987-
Lived in Greenhaven a suburb of Sacramento. Moved to Folsom to get brother away from 80's style vandalism gang, and to try to get him on a basketball team (he was the only white guy in Greenhaven).
October 1985
Parents take me to see Bill Cosby in Lake Tahoe. Hooked. On. Comedy.
March 1987
See Wrestlemania 3 in the window of a Circuit City at the Florin Mall. Begin lifetime fandom
1988
Fourth grade, begin to be chosen last to play all recess games. Caught with a boner during reading. Begin experimenting with adding cheese and bologna to every meal. Parents complain to teacher when I read Are you There God It's Me Margaret and I say, "I'm Never Marrying a girl who bleeds!" Am overweight by 50 pounds.
1989
Discover the diva trifecta: Janet Jackson, Paula Abdul, and Taylor Dayne. Begin buying wrestling posters for wall to masturbate to. Blare "Tell it To My Heart" in the background so no one is suspicious.
October 19, 1978-
Born in Sacramento California, Sean Hetherington
No middle name, mother cried upon birth due to gender surprise, was supposed to be named Shannon.
November 1985
Food Issues begin. Grandma dies.
1978-1987-
Lived in Greenhaven a suburb of Sacramento. Moved to Folsom to get brother away from 80's style vandalism gang, and to try to get him on a basketball team (he was the only white guy in Greenhaven).
October 1985
Parents take me to see Bill Cosby in Lake Tahoe. Hooked. On. Comedy.
March 1987
See Wrestlemania 3 in the window of a Circuit City at the Florin Mall. Begin lifetime fandom
1988
Fourth grade, begin to be chosen last to play all recess games. Caught with a boner during reading. Begin experimenting with adding cheese and bologna to every meal. Parents complain to teacher when I read Are you There God It's Me Margaret and I say, "I'm Never Marrying a girl who bleeds!" Am overweight by 50 pounds.
1989
Discover the diva trifecta: Janet Jackson, Paula Abdul, and Taylor Dayne. Begin buying wrestling posters for wall to masturbate to. Blare "Tell it To My Heart" in the background so no one is suspicious.
Monday, May 3, 2010
What I'll Miss When I die
I am so tired right now that I could fall asleep in maybe three to five minutes and it would be nothing. That's rare for me, because it usually takes me twenty to thirty minutes to really get into that place where I don't remember when I stopped looking at the clock, when my thoughts turned to the not so real and my breathing is deeper than I'm comfortable sharing with neighbors, coworkers, roommates. To stop thinking about Chipotle. Sometimes, I count their chips instead of sheep as they slowly sail into an indoor pool of guacamole.
I'm tired from a really fun weekend, mostly, that caught up with me today and rendered me useless. My avatar would have been a slug (but a super thin one!) and I would have been slithering around hardwood floors pretending I knew what I was talking about, shaking hands with new people, the things I'm usually present for.
I don't want to be writing right now, but I am working really hard everyday on the proposal for this book about my weight loss that I've promised myself to start shopping to agents and publishing folk before summer--and as such I'm trying really hard to write everyday, even when it's not on topic and not good. Blogging feels like accountability tonight, so I'm sharing it with you. Indulge me.
I love the book Old Friend From Far Away, which gives writers jumping off points for memoir. Each topic is for a 10 minute writing exercise, and you can't change grammar errors or backspace. Gotta be raw. I've done almost all of them...let's try one tonight.
Page 14
Tell me what you'll miss when you die
What I'll miss when I die is the sense of community. I love the connection between people and living things, as hokey as that sounds. In my life so far, I've gotten to share experiences with some of the most amazing people. TV Producers, weight loss survivors, lesbians, drag queens, transgendered Earthlings, African American barbers, little people, giants, the mentally ill and all points in between. I've laughed and been laughed at by the funniest people on Earth. I'm convinced I've met them all--from up-and-coming comedians to alcoholic uncles. I've been able to connect with people who thought they were all alone, and I did too, but then we realized we were the same and we weren't alone, and we were able to create a community even if for just a split second in line at the grocery store.
I'll miss the scanning of tickets at live events and movies. That's the greatest feeling of all. You're walking up to someone in a vest, who's feeding off your excitement, and they validate you by ripping an $89 piece of paper in half and pointing to you to walk down that ramp. And you walk and you see that row F is less than 10 rows back, and it's amazing. I'll miss looking behind me at the full room, and realizing that all of these people are like me somehow--curious, passionate, excited, wonderous in a faggy way about whatever it is we're there to see. A lipsyncher in a circus, grapplers in tights, a scripted commentary on feminism, live magic and joketelling and we are all one there to be entertained--and the first step was getting our ticket stamped and we will never forget this moment.
I'll miss my doggies and whether it's Ralph and Cricket or the next set after they're gone, I know they'll be safe without me because my friends and family will want them to be taken care of and to remember me.
I'll miss problem solving. I'll miss not knowing the answer and then figuring it out. I'll miss that moment when you come out of pain, physical or emotional, and you know you worked hard to make it stop. I'll miss the bank account and the credit report going from zero to a lot because I figured out how to breathe life into money. I'll miss hearing of someone's misfortune and knowing that by just listening I'm helping them work it out.
I'll miss pizza. Extra pepperoni pizza with cheese in the crust. I'll miss Red Velvet Cake from the Magic Castle. I'll miss Blue Velvet cupcakes from Milk. I'll miss Chocolate Soy Milk and Yoplait Whips. I'll miss the Lemon Raspberry Pancake from the Griddle with extra butter. I'll miss my mom's Chicken Salad sandwiches because it's not as sweet as the kind at Koo Koo Roo, and hers has bacon bits in it. I'll miss the Whopper and the Whopper Junior. I'll miss the Van De Kamp wholegrain waffle with Better n Peanut Butter Spread and Blueberry preserves. And I'll miss trying to convince myself that it's low cal.
I'll miss books. I'll miss telling friends about my favorites. I'll miss my Kindle most of all, Scarecrow and how books in the public domain are free on it. I'll miss staying up too late and telling myself that I can sleep when I'm dead...
Oops...thats 10 minutes. Gotta go.
I'm tired from a really fun weekend, mostly, that caught up with me today and rendered me useless. My avatar would have been a slug (but a super thin one!) and I would have been slithering around hardwood floors pretending I knew what I was talking about, shaking hands with new people, the things I'm usually present for.
I don't want to be writing right now, but I am working really hard everyday on the proposal for this book about my weight loss that I've promised myself to start shopping to agents and publishing folk before summer--and as such I'm trying really hard to write everyday, even when it's not on topic and not good. Blogging feels like accountability tonight, so I'm sharing it with you. Indulge me.
I love the book Old Friend From Far Away, which gives writers jumping off points for memoir. Each topic is for a 10 minute writing exercise, and you can't change grammar errors or backspace. Gotta be raw. I've done almost all of them...let's try one tonight.
Page 14
Tell me what you'll miss when you die
What I'll miss when I die is the sense of community. I love the connection between people and living things, as hokey as that sounds. In my life so far, I've gotten to share experiences with some of the most amazing people. TV Producers, weight loss survivors, lesbians, drag queens, transgendered Earthlings, African American barbers, little people, giants, the mentally ill and all points in between. I've laughed and been laughed at by the funniest people on Earth. I'm convinced I've met them all--from up-and-coming comedians to alcoholic uncles. I've been able to connect with people who thought they were all alone, and I did too, but then we realized we were the same and we weren't alone, and we were able to create a community even if for just a split second in line at the grocery store.
I'll miss the scanning of tickets at live events and movies. That's the greatest feeling of all. You're walking up to someone in a vest, who's feeding off your excitement, and they validate you by ripping an $89 piece of paper in half and pointing to you to walk down that ramp. And you walk and you see that row F is less than 10 rows back, and it's amazing. I'll miss looking behind me at the full room, and realizing that all of these people are like me somehow--curious, passionate, excited, wonderous in a faggy way about whatever it is we're there to see. A lipsyncher in a circus, grapplers in tights, a scripted commentary on feminism, live magic and joketelling and we are all one there to be entertained--and the first step was getting our ticket stamped and we will never forget this moment.
I'll miss my doggies and whether it's Ralph and Cricket or the next set after they're gone, I know they'll be safe without me because my friends and family will want them to be taken care of and to remember me.
I'll miss problem solving. I'll miss not knowing the answer and then figuring it out. I'll miss that moment when you come out of pain, physical or emotional, and you know you worked hard to make it stop. I'll miss the bank account and the credit report going from zero to a lot because I figured out how to breathe life into money. I'll miss hearing of someone's misfortune and knowing that by just listening I'm helping them work it out.
I'll miss pizza. Extra pepperoni pizza with cheese in the crust. I'll miss Red Velvet Cake from the Magic Castle. I'll miss Blue Velvet cupcakes from Milk. I'll miss Chocolate Soy Milk and Yoplait Whips. I'll miss the Lemon Raspberry Pancake from the Griddle with extra butter. I'll miss my mom's Chicken Salad sandwiches because it's not as sweet as the kind at Koo Koo Roo, and hers has bacon bits in it. I'll miss the Whopper and the Whopper Junior. I'll miss the Van De Kamp wholegrain waffle with Better n Peanut Butter Spread and Blueberry preserves. And I'll miss trying to convince myself that it's low cal.
I'll miss books. I'll miss telling friends about my favorites. I'll miss my Kindle most of all, Scarecrow and how books in the public domain are free on it. I'll miss staying up too late and telling myself that I can sleep when I'm dead...
Oops...thats 10 minutes. Gotta go.
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