Dad, I have a few things I need to get off my chest.

I was thinking the other day about all of the responsibility that you took on when you married Mom. You were the the same age as my oldest son is now, and you married a woman with two children. Two children who needed you very badly in their lives.

I can only imagine how scary and overwhelming that must have been for you. I look at the wedding pictures of you and Mom and I see a kid. But you were a kid who was willing to step in and take the place of my father; a man I've never met. Even though I was only five at the time, I remember how excited I was that I could call you "Daddy" after the wedding. I'd practiced all kinds of names in my head; eventually the name evolved into "Dad".

I remember when Mom wanted you to be the one to spank me for something that I'd done wrong, and then she went to the store. She knew that being punished by you would hurt me worse than anything she could ever do. When we were alone, you told me you didn't want to spank me, that you wanted to just discuss the situation, and that we were to keep that our little secret. You were willing to keep your end of the bargain when Mom came home and asked, but like George Washington, I couldn't tell a lie. I got that spanking anyway. The important thing was that I received a good lesson in parenting. Thank you. My kids thank you too.

I also thank you for bringing the most wonderful woman into my life. Your Aunt. She was my safety net, and though not related by blood, she stood by me through thick and thin. When I hear the song, "You Raise Me Up", I think of her even though I know it's supposed to be a song about God. She made me feel that I was a good person, and had value. She gave me complete unconditional love, something I'd not experienced before. Thank you for giving me a lifeline.

I remember when "we" adopted sis when I was nine. I felt like it was the end of something special that I had all of my own. Up until then, I was your little girl. I remember not wanting to come from school that day. I think I dawdled for at least a half an hour before coming home to see my new sister. Now I realize that was the best day of my life. I can't imagine my life without sis. Thank you for giving me my sister; my best friend.

Dad, I've never felt that I was anything less than your daughter. I don't know if you understand the magnitude of that statement. I know that we don't see eye-to-eye on religious and political issues, yet I know that you still love me. Thank you.

So Dad, I'll be thinking about these things when we go around the table at Thanksgiving and say the things we're grateful for. Even if I don't say it.

I was sitting not too far from hubby and his 'other' best friend (the guy best friend) while they were playing Halo 2 yesterday. About 20 minutes into the game, I hear hubby whispering several strings of swear words. I thought it was funny that he was whispering (huh? why whispering?) the swear words, but even funnier was the story that it reminded me of.

One of my friends went to a wedding a few years ago and saw that a primo wedding viewing seat was available. She had no idea at the time why the seat was available, especially just moments before the wedding started, but happily took it.

Suddenly reason for the vacant seat was crystal clear. The person sitting next to the vacant seat had Tourettes Syndrome. The kind that makes you swear. To her horror, the guy starts dropping loud F bombs, S bombs and pretty much every other bomb you can think of. My friend is a really nice person and didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she stayed in her seat.

My friend told me that as soon as the wedding started, the bomb shower turned from loud swearing to whispers. I don't know why, but picturing my friend sitting there listening to an onslaught of whispered swearing while watching a bride walk down the aisle just cracks me up.

So, there's your advice for the day. If you must swear at weddings, please whisper.

The cable guy came out yesterday to install a new cable box that includes TiVo. ::GEEK ALERT:: It also records in HDTV and you can record two different programs at the same time, unlike the TiVo box we currently have. ::END GEEK ALERT:: BJ was so excited about this new addition to our family that he decided to take the afternoon off so he could be here for the cable guy. I casually mentioned that since I telecommute three days a week, I could easily schedule the event for a day that I was home. I was quickly reminded that TV's and A/V gadgets in general are his gig. OK then.

My one request was that we keep our current TiVo box for my guilty pleasures, such as reality TV, CourtTV, anything that involves plastic surgery, and of course, anything that might include my celebrity boyfriend(s). BJ frowns on some of my viewing choices, so this is a way to keep abreast of the current events (fake or fiction) yet continue to be on that pedistal (fake or fiction) that he has me on.

BJ stopped the cable guy when he started to disconnect the existing TiVo, telling him that the existing Tivo was for "my wife to record her trash TV". He further offered that I specifically asked him not to look in my TiVo recordings once I got my own box. BJ told me that the look on cable guy's face indicated that he thought hubby was referring to porn, and was kind of giving him the eyebrow. You know that look. It's part of the guy code for "Wow, your wife is into that? You lucky dog!" All that was missing was the 'wink, wink'- 'nudge, nudge'.

BJ quickly set the record straight and let him know that the 'trash' TV he was talking about was Dr. Phil and Oprah, to which the guy just nodded his head and said, "Oh, gotcha", almost in a consoling sort of way. Of course, this is hubby's version.

Dr. Phil? I think we need to schedule a show....

I'm often asked, "RisibleGirl, don't you get tired of eating cheese?"

To that I answer, "NO!"

(ok, nobody has ever asked me that. I just know that it's at the top of the list of life's mysteries)

I thought I was going to have a really funny story to tell about my commute this morning. Instead, it turned into a lesson in sensitivity. Sometimes I need those reminders.There is a woman who rides my train that is a buffoon. I know, you're probably thinking that I haven't learned that sensitivity lesson very well. Well, she's not the one who taught me that lesson. Once I'm finished with my story, you'll know why I STILL think she's a buffoon.

This woman happens to ride the same car as me, gets on and off the same stop as me, and annoys me every Tuesday and Thursday (the days I go into the office.) She is in everybody's business, and very loud about it. For instance, someone mentioned that she was going to apply for a new job. The buffoon said (*LOUDLY*... I have to reiterate that in case my point wasn't clear), "Wow, $25.00 an hour. That's WAY more than you make now."

I would have been mortified if I were this woman.I know that I could take a different car, but this car is convenient. I can usually tune her out. Not today though.This particular car is the front car of the train. One of the managers (that's my assumption based on the fact that the conductor calls him "boss" and sometimes he holds impromptu staff meetings) and his secretary of the Department of Transportation (DOT) also ride in this particular car. They get on at the stop after mine and usually sit at the same table, a table that is across from the buffoon's typical seat.

This morning an African American (yes, using this additional adjective is important to the story) woman was sitting at the DOT employee's table, and had her bags sitting on the chair next to her. One of the rules about riding the train is that you must always make room for all passengers. Luggage racks are above the seats to store your belongings and you are advised that you are to use those, rather than the seats, as your personal storage area.

The DOT employees boarded the train and the manager asked the woman if he can sit in the seat where her bags are sitting. She said "No, my bags are here" and offered no further explanation. Suddenly the game on my PDA didn't seem nearly as interesting anymore. I wanted to see how this would play out.

Apparently the DOT manager didn't have a mouth from which to speak because the buffoon said LOUDLY, "There is a luggage rack above your head for your bags. Put them up there."

The passenger then said, "I don't want to put my things up there. I have valuables in my bag and they are going to stay right where they are." At that point, the DOT manager quietly (note: quietly) said to the passenger, "that's ok" and moved to another car.

Buffoon: That's against the rules. You are supposed to move your bags.
Passenger reiterates: I'm NOT moving my bags. They're staying right here. Leave me alone.
Buffoon: You don't know who you were messing with. The person who wanted to sit next to you could kick you off the train immediately.
Me: (thinking) Wow, I have a feeling this will make for a great blog entry.

In came the security guard who also happens to be an Africa American woman.

Buffoon: Go have a talk with your 'sister' (I'm NOT lying... she really did say that.)
Security Guard: Just because we're both black does NOT mean she's my sister
Me: Completely mortified at what just occurred, yet not really surprised that the buffoon would say such a stupid thing.

The security guard walked over to the passenger and said something quietly to her. I'm assuming she's telling her to move her bag because there are still two more stops.

Passenger: Don't come up on me all sideways like that. I'm trying to study for my test. I am NOT moving my bags. Just leave me alone.The security guard then told her it's ok, and to just study. Then she walked away.

Personally, I thought that was the right thing to do. The whole thing didn't need to escalate to that degree. Thankfully, the buffoon shut her yapper.

Here comes the part where I learn the lesson in sensitivity.Up until that point I was thinking that the passenger was just being stubborn and I thought she should have moved her belongings. I did not think, however, that such a big deal should have been made of the situation. Yeah, I'm talking to you BUFFOON LADY.

Twenty minutes or so had passed and the security guard came back to our car with the handbook and calmly showed the passenger the section in the rule book pertaining to this situation. The passenger then went on to explain that normally she does follow this rule, but she has a big test this morning that will greatly impact her grade. She went on to tell the security guard why it was so important that she pass this class, and that when she is under this much stress she is forgetful. She explained that she was going to have to rush off the train to make it to her class on time, then said that she was afraid that if her bag was up in the luggage rack, she'd forget it.The items in the bag were for a family member that she had to help out after she takes this class.

As she continued explaining the situation, I started thinking to myself that I rush to judgment too quickly. I made a judgment that she was being stubborn and that there was nothing more to her story. I judged her because I get annoyed at people who think they "own" all of the seats around them and do not leave room for other people to sit by them. I never think about the reasons why they might be doing this.I'm going to try to be more sensitive about this from now on. This was a good lesson.