The one number I called back and got nothing. It's a local number. I'm stumped. The next was Tara's sister Jamie's cell. So I called them back on the land line. I had promised Tara I'd go spend the night. So I figured she wanted to make plans. She started calling just after noon. I guess she doesn't realize when you're on a 3rd shift schedule, that's like early into my sleep time. As it was, it was 4:30 p.m. before I got up for good.

We talked, she wanted to go out. Like to the bars and have her fun their. I had to decline. I know it irritated her. I could hear it. There were so many reasons I said no. 1) I am on meds. Depression meds that I was warned to NOT miz alcohol with. She said she thought I was done with my meds. I never told her I was taking anti-depressants.... I still didn't. 2) After being off work from that surgery on my arm, my paycheck barely cleared 100 bucks. Needless to say after we paid bills, we are broke. B-R-O-K-E. To which she informed me I didn;t need much monies. I have ZERO! None that I can afford to spend. And then she offered to buy. I HATE, repeat, HATE being in dedt to anyone for anything. Especially friends. And lastly, I'm not the bar fly type. Once in a blue moon, it's great to go cut loose. I've already had more than my fair share of blue moons for the year and it's only April... so she told me she was gonna call Renee and we hung up.

This is where my friendships usually die off. They wanna party. And while partying for some is where it's at... for me, it's where it's not. I don't like to get shit faced, falling down drunk. I don't care to go to the bar often. Don't get me wrong. I don't mind drinking. I just am quite careful to limit my festivities. I come from a long line of addicts. My whole family, both sides, are full of alcoholics. As are Shawn's. We grew up watching it all our lives. I refuse to put myself in a position to fall prey to substance abuse. Shawn won't even touch alcohol. Not so much as a sip. And neither of us does drugs of any kind except the occasional asprin or anti-biotic.

And I have been thinking about family a LOT today.About growing up. About my heritage. I grew up wishing I were black or hispanic. I know it sounds crazy. But they have such rich cultures. I am a mutt. From what I know, I am German, jewish, Irish and French-Canadian. My family never talked much about culture. We didn't have any history to go with our families on either side. I know it exists. I just know nothing of it. It's sad for me, really.

So I made a mental note to self to study up on my cultures. To start asking my Mom and Dad what traditions they had. What they know. I have always, for as long as I can remember, had a romance for family history. For culture. It's what gets my gears ticking.

BUT, I DO have lots of memories of things that meant the world to me. Things I hope and pray my heart never forgets. Like our yearly family trip to Bliss Park back home every 4th of July. Mom and Dad would pile all 4 of us kids into whatever vehicle we had, load down the trunk with BBQ supplies and entertainments. And that was the one time of year, no matter what was going on, that we, as a family put all differences aside and cut loose. And to be quite honest... those 4th of July memories are the only happy memories I have os my family as a whole, before my Momma left. Kind of sad, no?

And then, there's the Bologna Man. A mistery to us as children. For years, we would be sat down at a table while Dad made us kids Bologna sanwhiches, always with butter and miracle whip. Crust cut off for my sisters, left alone for myself and my brother. They would always be smashed down. Flat as a pancake. And a huge bite would be missing from each. My Dad would be singing these words... "Aye-yeye-yeye-yeye... I am the spanish bandito". And when we questioned our missing patches of sandwhich, he swore to us he didn't so it, that the Bologna Man had struck again. And we believed it. We would watch every time to see him steal in and bite into our lunches. he remained uncaught.

I know now, it was my Dad, of course. Even now, my Dad still puts butter on bologna when he makes them. We all eat crust now though. And he still manages to smash down the sandwhiches, tho I still don't understand it. But I long ago gave up trying to understand Daddy. But my heart leaps with joy on that rare occasion, even at the age of 26, when Daddy fixes me bologna for lunch and the Bologna Man sneaks in after all these years to get his bite. I just smile at Dad knowing and curse the damned Bologna Man. He still dons his look of innocence. But I get a wink and a smirk.

It is in those very moments that I know all is right with the world.

And I know that should God bless Shawn and I with a baby or two... that damned Bologna Man will resurface to taunt my child for years to follow.

God Bless the Bologna Man.... My hero.

Latest Read: Gone for Good by Harlan Coben

In The CD Player: She Hates Me by Puddles od Mud

Mood: Sentimental and hungry for Bologna.

Quiz of the Day:

Balanced. You accept your emotions as normal and
are not overly happy nor depressed. You are
emotionally balanced and should find peace in
the way you deal with life situations. Your
emotions are normal and well understood. You
see the light in the dark.