Caution...too much clicking on myspace leads to this...

Your Heart Is Purple

For you, love is about establishing and developing a deep connection. If it's true love, it brings you more wisdom and inner strength. Your flirting style: Sincere Your lucky first date: An afternoon at a tea house Your dream lover: Is both thoughtful and expressive What you bring to relationships: Understanding

What Color Heart Do You Have?

I have been living in Washington DC for nearly two years now and it never really occurred to me that I have not been back to Indiana since moving out here. I have made one day trips for Christmas or other special occasions, but never because I wanted too. Well, I want too.

I've thought some about it and I realized that I really miss the Hoosier State. At first I thought that I just missed the people like my cool as hell former boss Judith, my ex-best friend Andrea(we're friends now), and even an ex David, who despite a ridiculous relationship and the passing "X" number of years has turned out to be a bizarre life coach to me in recent years. What I miss is my former life, I miss the simplicity of making a quick dash to the grocery store or the ability to drive through the streets without having dodge taxicabs. I miss people like Chester and Jeremy who are the kind of friends that just want to sit, have a beer and chat about how fun this or that was. I feel like I'm a character in a Lifetime Movie and have to go home to get in touch with who I am.

Now I feel like I need to give DC a "shout-out". I do love DC and even as I eagerly await my journey this week, I know that the likely hood of me ever living in Indiana again is pretty slim...but I can sure sit at Yogi's and have a $2.00 beer

I'll take pics for all you IU Fans.

One Fun Sunday...

I am not a big fan of crowds at all and for the most part have successfully avoided events like Taste of Arlington in the past. However, since Alberto was leaving for two weeks (PA then South Africa), we said hell with it, and headed toward the metro.

It was a blast. Perhaps its because the girl at the beer truck screwed up and didn't check off our first two drinks or maybe because P.F. Changs had a stand, either way we had a great time. So, to Alberto, Michael, Andrew, Charlie, and Rudi...holla!

Below are some pictures from the event. Enjoy.

The hardest thing I've ever done...

There's a Hole in My Sidewalk
by Potia Nelson

Chapter One
I walk down a street and there's a big hole. I don't see it and fall into it. It's dark and hopeless and it takes me a long time to find my way out. It's not my fault !

Chapter Two
I walk down the same street. There's a big hole and I can see it, but I still fall in. It's dark and hopeless and it takes me a long time to get out. It's still not my fault.

Chapter Three
I walk down a street. There's a big hole. I can see it, but I still fall in. It's become a habit. But I keep my eyes open and get out immediately. It is my fault.

Chapter Four
I walk down a street. There's a big hole. And I walk around it.

Chapter Five
I walk down a different street.

A friend sent me this poem earlier today. At first I thought of it like every other"pep-talk" e-mail that is circulated, but then I read it. It's pretty amazing in that it illustrates that as complicated as we make life out to be, in the end it is amazing how simple it is.

I said good-bye to Stephen today, one of the hardest things I have ever done. Stephen is a great guy that I got to know over the past six months. During that period I learned a great deal about myself and the world around me and for that I cannot be more grateful. I wish him the best in his life, love, and career.

So the hard part, Chapter 5, walking down a different street....

Hmmmm...

There is not really much that I can add here except that I thought that V.P. Cheney had straighted out the Iraqi Parliament a week or so ago. I mean, hell, he scared the shit out of me, and he was thousands of miles a way. Perhaps he should take a couple of these boys out on a "Texas Style" hunting trip...that should do the trick.