Everyone hates you when you're happy.
I am a freaking ray of sunshine. I am a smiley, giggly happy go lucky lady. I want to see the best in people; even in people who aren't anywhere near their best. But you know, some people just aren't happy until they're unhappy. It is amazing to watch negativity spread like a virus. As I am immune to most strains I feel it is my scientific duty to explore it's effects on others. A task I believe should come with hazard pay.
One of the world's deadliest outbreaks of negativity must be the First World Worker Commute- both going to and coming home from work. Whether in a car, subway or on a bike the viral strains vary but the symptoms are the same. Aggression, impatience and projection. These symptoms have many side effects. Which include but are not limited to huffing a sigh of irritability, honking horns, loud complaining, tirade Facebook status updates and general gloominess. These symptoms and oh so many more are highly contagious; infecting others with a negativity sore. And let's be honest, nobody likes viral puss.
The negativity epidemic is nothing new but the way we infect and combat the symptoms is changing. The virus literally travels virally through internet connections and smart phones, infecting people originally immune to one another's discord. We share the good but revel in the bad. Tragedy and pain a mainstay in our shared information and the blatant disregard for the feelings of others (including strangers) becoming common practice. Your virus effects others, you should be taking precautions.
There's a woman at work who's mad because she's usually Miss Sunshine and I stole her thunder, or I guess I gave her thunder. And though her infection is minor, if left untreated it could spread to her sunny side. Which would be a shame. I feel like those who've managed to stay positive, especially in this business, should help create an antidote, not submit to the negative infection. It's a sad turn of events for a woman who's come so far fighting against this plague. I think she has forgotten that every little ray of sunshine helps; even if you aren't the brightest. Negativity can be a debilitating disease without hope. People suffering with it will wonder what your angle is. Why are you being so kind, so optimistic, so generous? And I say I am taking Vitamin Glee and Oil of Original to fight off my Negativity infection, though I wish there was more I could prescribe.
The Metro this morning had an end of summer recipe. Whoa your horses! END of Summer? I do not agree. So, I huffed and puffed and stomped and spit. Then I looked at my calendar and it's the day after the Labour Day weekend- the unofficial end of summer. Goodbye white shoes. I can't believe it's flown by so fast. I remember being 10 and cursing the summer for being so long and boring! When would I see my friends again? Now, as a grown up, I can see my friends whenever I want to- if I have the time. But that doesn't mean it isn't better in the warm sunlight of summer with so many more options available for fun. These sunny months I worked my first full time gig in 5 years. Monopolizing 5 days of my week -every week; which wore me out for the weekend. Not a great way to spend such a rock-awesome summer. Les Sigh. That being said I was hyper-conscience of spending time doing fun things in the great outdoors, charging my Vitamin D battery for the long- and what they say will be cold winter. What were my fav parts you ask? Well, let me tell you:
Celebrating 1 year of marriage to my Hubby and the Commissioner. I am so glad he's been so patient and so helpful with all things house related- like painting and dishes. Keep it up. Also now that it is on record you will be legally responsible to maintain these chores. Sorry, I don't make up the rules.
Yellow toe nails. Candy corn toenails. Both of which were my great idea. But when applied to my fingertips was an after night shoot disaster. My super yellow purse that I got for Valentine's Day looks even better with my summer sun kissed skin. Yellow! It worked for me.
I still fit my shorts from last year. So I didn't need to buy anything but 2 jean skirts and 4 assorted tee-shirts in this summer's hottest colours. I always have a go-to outfit. And this year it was a jean skirt and summer peach top. Oh! I also got a new watch, my last one was 11 years old. And for the first time I ordered clothing from the internet and it really fit and looked good. I think I might be getting the hang of this inter-web thingy.
I watched over 60 sunrises while eating cold cereal often with fiber supplements. Some sunrises started as night and drifted into mornings. And those mornings I've never been happier to see the sun.
Coors light iced tea was invented and I love it. As well I tried 6 new micro-breweries plus a sake distillery and a a few home brews- Thanks to Tambourine. There was also lots of delicious food on patios, including Mexican, Cuban and Continental. Drunken brunches with Hubby, Tambourine & Damber. Plus there were beers for the first time in years with my NewMomma-friend.
Clearing out a tonne of beads and findings as well as paper crafts and stationary was a great way to refocus me on what I really love. I learned 5 new chords on Baby Belle. My sight reading is getting faster. My writing is getting better. So says I. I took up drawing. I am not good at it but I started. These artistic endeavours are starting to gain momentum.
Entertainment-wise this summer had rollercoasters, ice skating, acrobats, fishing, the drive in, the beach, tight flying formations, 3D movies, a first edition print from 1923:) by Anna Jameson about exploring Toronto in the winter. I watched Annie- I haven't seen it in 20 years. Then wore my locket for 3 weeks straight and sang Baby to myself, until a work colleague asked me to stop. Oh yeah! I almost forgot the Olympics. That was cool.
So, while suffering from my last official summer sunburn, my pale skin glowing a mean red, the vitamin E gel stinging my eyes. I couldn't help but think about all the smiles and sunshine I was lucky enough to enjoy this condensed season. The greatest thing about the weather change is that it's the perfect opportunity to be thankful for the good parts and look back fondly and while also seeing that there are many new adventures yet to unfold. So Metro have I got one for you; two parts sunshine, one parts Melicious and just a dash of fun, the perfect recipe for the end of summer.
P.S. Fall if you're reading this you do not officially begin until Sept 22. So, don't think you're on the clock early.
Dude! That's my daughter you're teaching! Urgh Girl, you drive me crazy. No- legit- you're driving me crazy. As a digital society I think we've forgotten how we affect the world around us. Influence is a very important word. Everything is influenced by something. Where you live influences what you wear. The weather, economy and social climate these are all factors. The kennel club's best in show rating influences next year's popular dog breed. Movies, music and social icons influence life and style. Anyone who knows me knows I am a woman of class. Emphasis on lass. Some might even go so far as call me a prude and I wouldn't argue. I tend to take the high road when approaching delicate situations. My influences include my Momma, G'Ma Far, Marilyn Monroe, BFF and Rita Hayworth. These are all ladies of mystery and dignity. Perhaps they didn't always make the best choices but even when things got crazy, they live or lived life with pride, humility and bravery.
But where are we now? On a daily basis I am surprised with the disinterest and disrespect we have. The blatant disregard, thinking only of ourselves, and not about the influence we have on others and the little eyes watching us. The public people influencing our young'uns are starting to raise some serious concerns. What kind of influence are they getting wasted and starting Shore-line fights? Or cheating on their significant other in the Twilight to lengthen their career. Or attacking each other with messy public divorces and cruel Suri-eal custody battles that amount to a greedy grabbing of dollars and no sense. With zero ramifications their actions are running rampant and highly publicized in our media. Easily influencing the teen-angst 'FB Like me's' begging for 50 thumbs up, while in the same post admitting it's for selfish silly reasons. These same teens hoping to be plucked from their 'meaningless' lives and thrust into the prying public eye for taking a photo of their dog sleeping. Starting each data day with hope that it will be the day they rule the viral world. They are under the influence of those drunken examples and being led astray.
Adulation without achievement. Where's the dignity in that? Social status without talent or virtue. When I was growing up we celebrated people for accomplishing something. For raising awareness. For making a difference. For creating something beautiful. It is my hope that with all the influence we have, we will start influencing change. We can use our influence for good. Changing how our 'Like me' teens see us and how they want to see themselves. I am ready to be treated with dignity, bravery and humility. Who wouldn't like to be under this influence?
Ladies and Gentlemen, this story is a 3 part grade 5 nightmare. As you know I am a dramatic individual. I always have been. I probably always will be...Though I may mellow out in my old age, but genetically speaking I don't see that happening.
Part the First: Toilet Snakes
I grew up in a small town. Where most of the houses aren't built on sewer systems but utilize septic tanks. So, one day when I read in our local weekly free press filled with local events that a snake had found it's way into a septic tank and in it's search for air swam through the plumbing and coiled itself in the toilet bowl; waiting for an unsuspecting victim to answer the call of nature. Now at this time in my life urban legend and undisputed rumours we're as good as truth; especially if they were printed in the local gossip rag. It was years until I could go to the bathroom with the lights off. I mean, literally until Hubby sat me down and explained that a snake couldn't get into our condo building through the pipes and sewer system. And though I believe him, it seems extremely possible- especially since the sewers are open concept.
Part the second: Over-Reaction time
In grade 5 gym class our school didn't have dedicated change rooms, lockers or cubbies; so we changed in the washroom. Leaving our clothes there; unprotected from the grade 6 bullies, susceptible to all types of shenanigans. After one particularly grueling session of king's court, I was the 3rd girl to arrive in the washroom. Walking in the onesie stall I had stowed my clothes in, my eyes beheld to -my terror- a dark, coiled shape in the toilet! Reacting on impulse I flushed it immediately. Saving my classmates from the wrath of the dreaded toilet snake! I realize as the bowl boa was halfway down, it's no snake; it's a purple sock. Letting out a peel of 5th grade laughter, I spill out of the stall and regale my female classmates with the exaggerated interpretation of the moments before. Giving the sock venomous fangs and a thirst for blood. They didn't laugh.
Part the Third: Ramifications
After my nightmare had almost come true I quickly blocked out the traumatic experience. Skipping down the hallway, I didn't even give the incident a second thought. Until...walking into my silent classroom. One of the dreaded Jennifers was whisper-sobbing to my 5'1 burly bearded teacher. Mrs Popuvichu; not actually her name. I never could spell it. Heretofore known as Poppi. Poppi's dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction: "Would you step into the hallway please?" Shocked that I could possibly be in trouble for something. Running through all my outstanding offenses...coming up blank. Hanging my head and dragging my feet out into the hallway to a toe tapping Poppi.
"It has come to my attention that you put Jennifer's sock in the toilet and flushed it." Poppi accused me.
"I didn't put it in the toilet, I thought it was a snake so I flushed it." I defended myself. Poppi, disregarded my story and continued.
"Do you realize now that she only has one sock, how would you feel if you only had one sock?" I shrugged. "Perhaps you should only have one sock. Give your left sock to Jennifer. You must learn to take responsibility for your actions." Starring at Poppi I couldn't help but think how hairy her chin was, but also why would she punish me for trying to protect the girls in my class from a toilet snake? I bent down and removed my indoor shoe to take off my sock. Wearing one solo sock for the rest of the day. Sitting through our afternoon math and clock modules starring at Jennifer's mis-matched socks, I couldn't help but think; is this what I get for being a hero? On my walk home, I tried to figure out a way of explaining this to my Momma, I was dismayed. Upon walking through my front door, she was there to greet me, the diligent Poppi had already informed her for me. After a lengthy conversation about respecting other people's property, it was finally my turn to explain. I had done it for the greater good, to protect the girls of 5C from untold horrors- including snake bites to the bum and if all I lost in doing so was a sock it was a risk I would take again. I think it took some convincing but my Momma understood that my intentions were good, even if the outcome was not. And how mad could she be, really? It was just a sock.
As I mentioned dramatics have always been a part of my personality. And even though I have yet to encounter another toilet snake or purple sock I know I would do the right thing. And just in case being a hero goes awry, I'll try to be prepared with an extra pair of socks:) so no one has to bare the shame of a one sock walk again.
I love my Puppa-Roo. I mean love love her. Even the days when I don't like her, I still love her. It's easy. She snuggles sweetly and is completely dependent on my whims to survive. Somedays she gets overachieving über-momma, somedays not so much. My Sushi Goose? She's another story. I know she at least likes me-most of the time- despite what BFF says. And that when she wants lovin' she gets it from me; as long as there's a Claritin nearby. It's easy to love a fluffy kitty who wants to purr with me occassionaly. Then there's my Momma; easiest person to love ever. Her sense of humour and unwavering support keeps her in the top 3 of easiest things to love. #4 being ice cream sandwiches and #5 swimming pools. The rest of us seem to make it so hard for each other.
Somedays you hate the people you're supposed love the most. Okay, okay, hate is a strong word. And I don't hate them; I hate animal cruelty, thong undies and smog. I just really, really don't like the way we treat the people we say we love. These are the people who are supposed to know you best and sadly the ones who let us down the hardest. These people know our weaknesses and stories from our past. They know the mistakes we've made. But those same loved ones are the worst people to us, and we are to the worst right back.
For example I am meanest to my Hubby, not often, but he takes the brunt of a bad day or my wrath if I'm hangry. By marrying me he made a decision: I agree to this level of mean and I don't mind dealing with her temperament. But sometimes I'm not easy to love. I get soo snappy until he looses his mind and snaps back, then I cry. But I love him. I love-love him. I laugh harder with him than anyone else. He's one of the funniest people I know and I hang out with a lot of comedians. Sometimes I am hard on my Bro who doesn't always deserve it, but needs to hear it anyways. I get frustrated with my Papa B who knows the only person he can change is himself. I know he knows this, because he taught me. All we can do Papa B is hold out hope that our change inspires change in others.
I wanna love these people everyday, why do I have to fight so hard for it? But that's on me. If I apply the philosophy of my daily practice to loved ones I should be thanking the sun for peeking through, instead of cursing the rain clouds. But it's easier said than done. Each one of these people acts as though there will be more time, time for forgiveness, ease and love but always saving it for later. I'll tell you what there isn't a lot of- time. Instead of fighting so hard we could be spending all this wasted time together. Celebrating how we've all managed to get this far. And for the most part without an epic fail. We are so lucky to get this time to spend together. But we're not going to take advantage of it are we? We're gonna to hide behind our snappy remarks and our old grudges and stubborn personality traits. I know that I can get over my hurt feelings and frustration, but I am scared that by then the cat will be in the cradle with the silver spoon and it will be too late. By all accounts I think it's time I say 'I'm sorry. Things haven't always been easy, and Roddammit, you make me crazy but I love you anyways' was that so hard to say? I want to tell you now, because you deserve to hear it.
Love is an easy thing to give. All you need to love someone is the courage and will to do so. While forgiveness is something those closet to you may have the most trouble asking for. Loved ones be loved, even though I wonder why sometimes we make it so hard. Sigh. Life and love would be so much easier if we had furry tails and our only worry was 'when do we eat?'
Unless you've been living under a rock the last month you've probably heard about the strange behaviour of one particular 'merican fast food chain. And I say strange because it's not something I would associate with chicken. You say chicken, I say fingers. You say gay marriage, I say chicken burger... nope one of those things is not like the other.
Having grown up in an artistic community, I know about the fabulous gays. And going to a theatre school meant I knew most of my classmates were gay before they wanted to tell anybody. But I love them and not because they're gay, but because they're wicked. On the religious front, growing up amongst the United Christian folk, I was taught that everyone is equal and deserves love, no matter what. A puppy murderer, a Disney villain and me: we all deserve love. The greatest of these gifts is love. I guess the problem I have is, didn't anyone tell this "Christian" restaurant that it's not nice to be bigots?
In a time when there is so much prejudice, why would a self-proclaimed community leader want to lead anyone astray? Who gave chicken the divine right to pick who to love? Or marry? Or even who can get married? What's love got to do with a marinated filet, other than being a typically dry dinner choice at a convention centre wedding, obviously. Let's try this again: you say gay marriage, I say "hells ya!". Now, that's more like it.
I know it's hard to be judged, but why should a dick-head chicken place have any opinion about marriage - gay, straight or otherwise? My Momma taught me that people who don't like you, aren't worth your time. Chick-fil-A obviously has their priorities bocked. Considering more than 50% of marriages end in divorce, why would we think that gay marriage could make those numbers different? Plus, if anyone knows how to throw a great wedding it's the gays. I mean, look at how many top shelf planners they have! In the end, I think if Chick-fil-A had their way, we'd all be fat, stupid, judgemental, narrow minded morons. But wait! They already are. As for me, I will dance the chicken dance at any celebration of love and marriage, as long as there's a vegetarian option.
I jumped out of bed with a smile on my face
Took a big stretch and yelled 'Hello' to my day
Then Hubby said 'shh' cuz I'd all but forgot
He was up late protecting Gotham from a Bot
So I crept to the kitchen to make up some brekkie
When Jilly Bean let out a squeaking 'yep-yeppy'
So I tickled her armpits, took her for a walk
And saw all the vomit people left on my block
I was full of a rhyme, a rhythm and step
So I trotted to work- it's Fri-Yay don't forget.
While sitting aboard a stop and start bus
I saw that a baby was making a fuss
Thinking to myself about what that might mean
I missed my own stop and was stuck in between
Walking back from the north I caught my toe on the curb
And would you believe it could actually get worse?
Spilling my drink down the front of my shirt
Too far to go home and too close to work
So I hummed and I hawed and I wished for a stick
Of orange Tide clean liquid to vanish it quick
Alas I had nothing not even a Kleenex
That's when I saw wardrobe who offered a fix
She gave me an oversized shirt made for a man
But it was clean so I wore it, thanked her and then
Across from my boss I tripped once again
This time I fell, oh the pain I was in.
When I finally got my work Friday to start
My glad Friday feeling was gone from my heart
Sometime around lunch, way deep down in my soul
I knew no matter what I was on a roll
So I rolled along with it and momentum grew
And before I knew it, you know what I knew
The weekend was coming and could not be stopped
By a spill or a trip or a fall on the rocks
So hurry up weekend I might not survive
This Friday is long and I'm barely alive
Long weekend I want to eat hot dogs and swim
So I decided to twirl on a marvelous whim
It was not a good plan I must agree
Because I fell once again on my same old sore knee:)
The moral I guess is that sometimes life sucks
But if you're happy and know it then who gives a... duck?
Happy Fri-yay!
Judges, Teachers and fellow students: today I would like to talk to you about speeches. There was a time not so long ago when everyone your age participated in public speaking. An oral presentation of information to a classroom of your peers. With a great topic, strong talking points and your fingers crossed; you might move forward to represent your class. Present to the school and then represent your school at regionals. As anyone who watches Glee knows, regionals are pretty much what you work for each season. I didn't dare imagine a level above regionals, could there be nationals? Internationals? Publicly broadcast like the National Spelling Bee...what a dream come true. For a talker like me anyway it's still a dream. In my memory there were 3 major speaking moments.
First grade 5 when my topic was Unicorns. A topic close to my heart and one that filled my imagination. My childhood bedroom covered in the beautiful white beasts. Dreams of mystical proportion always included me riding off into the rainbow lit evening, champion of the day. At this point in my speech writing life I was unsure of what was allowed to be talked about. So instead of filling my 2.5 mins of cue cards with all this passion I felt, it was jammed with facts and history. Things that I didn't relate to. Things that I didn't know how to inspire others with. The speech I was so excited about transformed into cold mythology. My first lesson in speech writing: be passionate about your topic if you want others to be inspired.
The second was grade 8, when my topic was my family. My family's quirks, quips and catastrophes. I knew this topic forwards-backwards and thoroughly. My speech creating imagery of a quiet family life displayed in strange vignettes. Talk of soup cans and multiple sneezes making my classmates laugh. When it came time for my class to vote on who would represent them in the school finals; my teacher read off our names and the topics of our speeches. Having a last name in the middle of the alphabet, I waited for my name to be called. The thunderous applause- which is how popularity was measured- ensured that I would represent the class. And I did almost my best, but I was nervous and got off track, losing myself. It's a good thing I knew so much about my topic and could Hansel and Gretel myself back to the breadcrumb path. Knowledge truly is power.
Thirdly I remember the monologue I choose as my audition piece for theatre school. A comedic rant about not being in love with a man who loved me. At the time Hubby was still far off and my idea of love mirrored that of the heroine. But this was not a speech I wrote, it was not in my rhythm, it wasn't even in my own dialect...she was southern and I don't drawl. Drool perhaps but not drawl. For me to make this speech believable I needed to believe it myself. Build a backstory; be that southern lady, love the words and figure out their meaning. A playwright doesn't just use words. The play is carefully crafted and designed to pull certain heartstrings or hit certain funny bones. It's important to use their words as they wrote them. Speaking in their pattern and striking those same notes. A play is like a song, but instead of notes it's language.
With all my experience in speaking and writing and spinning yarns. There are simple rules: Know your subject, know yourself & believe in what you're saying. I wish that I could have learned that my voice was a strong one earlier in my childhood, I would've loved to go to the National Speak off. Would they accept a mature student like me? Probably not, if there's anything I learned from Glee it's that after 6 years in high school people start to wonder why you're still there.
I am a 30+ year old. It took me 3/4 of a year to become alright with that. Getting older and becoming the person I never thought I'd be old enough to be; for example a Mme, changes things. I don't mean that in the dramatic I am getting old way. But at 23 I was convinced that I would never actually be mature. Twenty-three Whoa! was quite frankly a crazy and strange age. I didn't know who I was or who I really wanted to become. The only thing I knew was who I didn't want to be, which didn't help. I knew I didn't want to be alone. And I really didn't want to be scared anymore. I was very nervous. Nervous to have an opinion. Nervous to be myself. To say what I thought, and have an actual full blown personality and all the great and awful things that go along with it. Which brings me to where I am now. Seven years after I was so scared. I am not nearly as scared. But now I have friends who are going through those 23 year old things. And I see their fears, which scares me all over again. But Baby, regardless of the things that scare you, you are who you are... And it would take a lot of time, effort and therapy to change those things.
Dear 23 year old:
My biggest concern; the way you cover yourself up. Painting yourself with thick layers of synthetic skin, protecting you from the world outside. I know you're scared. I can see it in the measured way you talk. The ruler leaning against your phrasing. Taking the wind out of your sails. You deserve more from yourself, and it makes me sad that you don't think so. If you, a beautiful 23 year old don't feel love for yourself at the prime of your life, when you are the most beautiful, natural and lovely creature, what hope is there for the rest of the world? Including the 30+year old woman that I am now. Dear 23 year old, you are so amazing that watching you become a brave and idealistic soul is inspiring the people around you. Please understand that all the best people you know got their hearts broken by people who pretended to love them. That you're not perfect, and nobody expects that from you, except you. You are better than the way people treat you. Your high school friends won't be your only friends forever, and soon you'll get to choose a whole new clique, people who will be your family because they love you, not just because they live in the same school district. But being a grown up will be really hard for the few first years. Kitty says: Hang in there baby.
When I was your age, I was crazy. I couldn't get a grip on the idea of becoming a "member of society". Paying taxes and doing things like cleaning my own apartment. I lived with roommates; which teaches you how to suffer in silence. Grin and bearing dirty dishes and uncleaned washrooms. Girls are not easy to understand at the best of times. Twenty-somethings are even worse. With the climatic apex of living on their own and trying to be grown ups before they really understand who they are...Can I even tell you. I hated myself, I didn't need anybody's help, I covered myself with laquer and expected people to see past it. But you don't need to hide to be seen. You are beautiful and I know you can hear me. Please know when a 30+ says it's going to get easier, that it will. It doesn't stay crazy for much longer. Dear 23, you are young and beautiful, things get better and we will welcome you at our 30+ table because you help us to feel like we're helping:) And Sister Sledge, we are family, because you chose me.
May is a month full of special days, especially Birthdays. And if you count backwards it's all those not-yet-parents celebrating Labour Day that are making May babies, heads up on that. I realized that May is My BFF's and Toronto celebrating over 100 years and Freud and Tina Fey celebrating their Bdays- which coincedentally would be the best/worst party ever. This year May is also the Diamond Jubilee; an extremely rare occasion- celebrating the 60 year reign of an 86 year old Queen. Known for having her head on our recently discontinued penny. But those aren't unbirthdays.
Is today your unbirthday? Odds are it is. What have you got planned? Today, I felt like celebrating. Like singing a song in a British accent, wearing a top hat, serving tea to a rabbit and a mouse then dancing in a solo high kick line. An oxymoron, I know, but I've been having trouble finding qualified high kicking applicants to fill those high flying shoes:). I realized that starting this blog was an excuse to celebrate 5 days a week. Well, maybe not excuse; perhaps catalyst is a better word. Every morning I go to my happy place (my laptop), open the spigot (my brain) and pour out a daily dose of mental floss (garble). I put my happy into this, for you. But what really amazes me- once I started writing and thinking happy- it was easier to actually be happy. I mean really happy. And seriously who could be unhappy on their unbirthday? Not this gal.*insert sassy finger shake.
My parents have always encouraged me to follow my heart. But it is only recently I have truly started to become myself. My Hubby is a huge advocate of living each day the way that feels best. And whether that means sitting in a dark room feeling sorry for yourself or whether it means standing on a rooftop and hallooing the world- you should do it. I realized this weekend that I am finally being the unbirthday celebrator I should have been before I started worrying. I started to worry a lot in my post high school years. I would worry about money, time, work, love, my varicose veins, losing at Jenga*insert long and complex list of irrational worries here. I didn't know how to help myself and thought I could just go around being whomever everybody wanted me to be. In the last 3 months though, Ho-oh, I am suddenly not so concerned with worrying anymore. I have realized that I can't totally control those around me. And that's okay- no one loves being controlled. So, on this my Unbirthday I would like to extend an invitation to: Join my Kick line, get a tambourine or play the spoons, but for Kevin's sake (Costner-that is)- Celebrate! The sun is shining and the air is sweet. You only have 364 more unbirthdays this year; what are you waiting for?
And though I didn't invite the Commissioner to this very merry unbirthday, I know he crashes all my parties. Just to ensure that things don't get out of hand, and that people are having the correct amount of fun. So if you see the Commish, tell him to stroke his burly mustache and smile, cuz it's only life and the party's just beginning:)
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