Paul asked a question on his blog, "Why do You post?" and it got me to thinking, Why do I Post? I like to write. Actually, "Like" is a HUGE understatement, I Love to write, I live to write. Writing is like breathing for me, which is how singing is for me, too, but that is not the question at hand.

I think I like to post because when I have odd, random thoughts, or ideas, or feel like I'm going to explode and there's no one else to talk to, but there's always the Elmwoodstrip. I'm not a traditional journaler. I enjoy it, and there is something about putting pen to paper and purging what's going on inside one's brain, however, I'm just not one of those people who can do it every day. It's seems to be too much resposibility. But this is different. And probably because I journal at work, A LOT! It's often not busy, and it's in times like those when the thoughts start to flow and I have to get them out and low and behold, There's the E-Strip!

It's sort of like "Old Faithful" except that it's not that old.

And that My Friends, is why *I* post!

Time to tell everyone of the play by play of the *oh so fabulous* bachelorette party for my dear, lovely friend, Miss Trisha, soon to be Mrs. Trisha. (Whoa! Was that Weird to write!) From what I remember, and despite the amount of alcohol I drank I actually remember quite a lot. It started as your nice, nice party full of women, many of whom were married and more "family". Nice people and it was fun but the party officially began when TK, Terry, Chamile, Sarah, and Tina arrived, looking dapper and dandy. Is it just me, or is TK not a walking party unto himself. I think he could be at a funeral and make it a raucus good time. Add Terry to that mix and my God! What a good time we had! When we finally got to the going out stage, and Paul and Matthew, joined us, the good times rolled right along from Frizzy's down to the Underground for a kick ass Cosmo and some fabulous dancin'. Let's not forget the group photo on the steps of the Mansion on Delaware! I can't wait to see it. Trish, could you kindly send me a copy? But I digress... And then it was back to Allen and the Old Pink.

To some up the night for me, I lost my wallet and broke a shoe and spent all of Saturday recovering, and I definitely needed to recover! I woke up Saturday and felt like Death, and Trisha has the picture to prove it! What a kick ass time!

And I can't believe I rated a Paul e-strip mention! Paul, if I haven't told you, you Rock! We need to hang out more!

More about more stuff later.

Ciao.

When I was younger, high school through college age, I had this thing about sleeping nude. Even though I was in my room, in my bed, by myself, I was embarrassed about sleeping in the nude. The only time I would sleep nude was after a night of heavy drinking in which I would come home, drink a large glass of water and eat about 4 slices of bread, then go to my room and promptly strip and go to sleep. But other than my drunken sleeps, I wouldn't dare to sleep in the nude. Then last summer in NYC, something changed. I don't know if it was the fact that it was so damnedably humid in my apartment or what, but I discovered the joy of sleeping in the nude. I still like my pajamas, don't get me wrong, but on those hot, humid nights, or those drunken stupors, there's nothing quite like getting naked!

Apparently, female soldiers can get free breast implants! And I thought the story about the bear that drank 36 cans of beer was out there! I just had to share what our tax dollars are going for. Free breast implants.

I have to get this off of my chest, and hopefully settle my stomach at the same time. Last week, one of the bank customers, a regular, asked me out. Sound flattering? Except for the fact that he's a gross old man, older than my father. He always sort of gave me the willies, but as he seemed harmless enough, I was my usual bubbly self- too many years of work at the Disney Store rubbed off. So last week he asked me out, I dodged it, replying that I'm not allowed to date customers, which isn't true, but he doesn't know that. I just didn't want to hurt his feelings. He responded with "I'm probably old enough to be your daddy." The fact that he actually used the word "daddy" creeped me out, as well as nauseated me, and everytime I thought about it all weekend, I would get that same sick feeling in my stomach. Everyone I told about it would laugh and say, "Well, did you look up his bank account and see how much money he has?" Sorry, not funny!
So, he comes into the bank this morning and I don't want to wait on him, ever again. And the girl next to me gets up and leaves her cubicle so I have to wait on him, or it will seem like I don't want to, which I don't. He asks me what I'm doing next week, I'm business like and just replied that I don't know but I'll be kept busy. And then he says something like, "I know, you can't date customers, not that you would date me anyway. But I've got the money, honey" My answer was a very frank, "I'm 26." He replies, "Yes, and your good looking. Before you know it, you'll be 62." What the Hell is that supposed to mean?! As he walks away, he says, "I'll see you next week!" I'll be diving under my desk like it's a bad sitcom! So now, I have knots in my stomach and I can't get rid of this general feeling of icki-ness. I hope it passes soon, but I doubt it.