Dear President Bush..from my daughter

my daughter doesn't know I read it..

Dear President Bush;

I'm sorry you're going out of office soon. I hope you spend a good amount of time with your two daughters and your wife. I heard that alot of retired presidents go to Camp David. Is that true? I do wish that you hadn't sent the troops ot Iraq. I know a person who just came home from the war. He became deaf in one ear, had a brain tumor and had to get surgery. Luckily he's ok and got the whole tumor out! I wish you would have brought the troops back. And you could of lowered the debt and done something about it! Have you seen the US Debt Clock????

$9,398,289,961,417.45!!!!!!!

Come on George do something!!

p.s Can you send me some pictures? And how did you know my address last time when I didn't even put it on the letter? Do you know where every single person is?

Love,
insert my daughter's name

him..wherever him may be..

dont use me
it was you who chose
me and there were

no
blinds, not even
fancy white cotton blend
sheers
draping my heart
so
your darkness
found sunlight
while reaching deeper
inside with
what only
could be a kiss
with you
secrets gone
that ah was a
y2G reserve
forgot that bottle was
there
i am an addict
to the chase
tasting the
air in my mouth
you see me
running
straight into
love
that's a brick wall
and even i know that.
okay baby.
let's go home
then
his hand surrounding
mine.
and the rain
begins to
fall.

argentine tango..the first eight steps..let a man lead damnit!

I am not the world's greatest dancer.. while I can remain in step with the rythmn, with awe I have always watched those that glide, spin and turn with ease and precision.
So I signed up for an argentine tango class with a good friend, because a partner was required. He and I got there just as the class was starting, neither of sure of what to wear, walked in with normal gym gear, although something had told me to bring heels too.
Inside the studio the average age of the men was I would guess 65..Lots of belted pants and shiny shoes..Plenty of smiles as well, and a few whose first, second or third language wasn't English.
The women were younger mid twenties to fifties and all the space left in the room was by the big windows facing third street.
The teacher began by explaining the history of the tango, then specifically the Argentine Tango.

"is about feeling. and following the lead of your partner. The beauty is watching the woman's movements trail almost effortlessly behind the man's as if in one body."

We worked with our partner then we traded partners, and worked on our first eight steps . I changed into my heels, concentrated on my posture and stared not at my feet, but into the eyes of my partner(s) trying to listen to the music and feel where the music was going.
When my friend ( who is 26) and I left he said to me.

." All of the older women let me lead, the younger chicks, no matter how forcefully I tried to slow them down..still wanted to control the pace of the dance.."

I started laughing because my 85 year old partner,after I stepped on his foot the third time took me by the shoulders and said in a thick Austrian accent..

" It's ok. When you make a mistake, don't stop. trust me. Wait and let me get us back with the music. Because you make mistake, I can fix it, so if you just trust me it still is beautiful dance. ok? ok."

No Boston isn't anymore racist than your city.

I grew up there. Bostonians are blunt. About everything. If you haven't noticed that, bring up the following names.

Johnny Damon(aka traitor of the imth degree)

Bill Laimbeer

Eli Manning

ARod

Bill Buckner (ugh!)

Kobe Bryant

George Steinbrenner

The art of being tactful is a learned trait..that many Bostonians never care to acquire. The flip side is you will be hard pressed to find a more loyal or passionate friend or lover than someone born in the state we call Massachusetts. After all, for eighty six years we filled the Green Monster.

Patient.

"Just tell me I'm the one.."

Yes, I am an addict to all things Carrie Bradshaw. Mostly because I am the honey brown Boston to Los Angeles version. I have my Big. Whom I have written off more times than the 04 Red Sox. I know that unlike the movie, our ending will not have me strutting in a Elie Saab gown with the Citgo sign flashing in the background. He never has and never will fall into place..how much easier it would be to dismiss if he were born in the Bronx instead of Southie, if he didn't have those eyes, those damn eyes that say alot more than he can ever bring himself to say.

I am over him as much as Carrie was ever over Big.

"I'll cry and sob and wail and it will hurt forever, but I'll get over you. You will be an old man with a bucket of regret wondering why you let the best love walk out of your life.."

I tell him..via text.

He responds weeks later after game six.

"Go Celtics".

Is marriage only bearable in cotton - poly?

monochromatic sweaters. matching sweatpants. split ends and butterfly clips. Fanny packs stuffed with band aids with Fred Flinstone on them. Visors. Stride rite looking shoes. And sex three times a week.
Is that what marriage is? I steal quick glances of them in the park pushing strollers and swings, once hip women,peeking out from ankle length skirts and Birkenstocks. Their pre married souls cry out silently with that glazed over soccer mom smile.."

"DONT DO IT!"

What about dates, and conversations and sex on the dinner table with the school bus pulling up?
What about sex period? Where does SHE die? To fashion? To excitement? To 6 week trims?
Or is marriage only bearable in cotton- poly? Once gone, is it possible for the wife to reclaim...
her inner vamp tramp???
Or does eternal love consist of quick kisses on the forehead, bedtime at ten and an endless carpool lane?
Routine = nothing good.
unless you are an accountant. And I suck in math.
That also might be why I'm still single.