So, as promised, here is an excerpt from Riding The Wave. Just a little something to get you started.  Episodes will post Monday-Friday from August 3 through the 28th.

I am just putting the Jeep in park when it starts.  I squeeze the steering wheel with both hands because there isn’t much else for me to do.  The heat is starting down below, and spreading rapidly.  I throw my head back against the seat and wait it out. Until a couple of months ago, I didn’t know that 90 seconds could be so long.  That’s from start to finish, of course.  Amazing what the body can do. The sigh that escapes is mixed with pleasure and annoyance.  Why can’t this happen when I’m in the Jacuzzi with some jazz playing in the background, or in bed after a busy day, or hell, even in the shower first thing in the morning? Nope, I get hit in grocery stores, meetings, and parking lots. As the wave recedes, I continue to lie back and breathe deeply.  I have really got to get this under control.

Once things are over and my breathing has returned to normal, I step out of the Jeep and slam the door. I do a thorough clothes check and adjustment before heading toward the office building. And that is when I notice the man standing on the steps smoking a cigarette. He grins and moves to the side to let me pass. “I could have helped you out with that” he sneers. I don’t even speak as I charge past him and grab the door. That’s what I get for driving the Jeep without the top.

Date:  March 29

Time: 9:23 pm

Budget, reports, meetings, and headaches.  That about sums up work for the last two weeks.  No need to discuss any further.

Janice talked me in to going to see a psychic this weekend.  Yes.  A real live psychic.  I’m sorry.  She prefers to be called an advisor. 

Why do I listen to Janice?  Because she’s my best friend and I know that things will always be interesting with her.  She said she wanted to know if this year is the end of her being single.  She don’t wanna be a playa no mo’. 

A pink house, off the beaten path, is where Janice took me.  I kept hearing the banjo music from Deliverance as we traveled down the dirt road.  To be honest, the house wasn’t isolated.  It was more like a compound.  Several houses in a semi-circle.  Sort of like a cul de sac, without any surrounding neighborhood. And it appeared that no one was home at any of the homes.  Very weird.  The Advisor Lady was tall, gaunt, and wearing a muumuu.  Seriously.  The only things missing were the crystal ball and the turban.   I was grateful for the hardwood chairs instead of something upholstered because the air in that house should have come with it’s own smog warning.

As for my reading, let’s just say she couldn’t get one. She asked for my watch, turned it over for a couple of minutes and then made her great pronouncement.  Said I was on the cusp of some major life changes over the next year, but she couldn’t tell whether it was personal or professional.  Nothing about the near future either.  Like whether I should be careful making left turns next week, or the name of the person who keeps taking my lunch leftovers out of the staff fridge.  She kept telling me that my attitude was making things “foggy” for her.  WTF? And I paid her 50.00 bucks for that wealth of information.  Meanwhile, Janice is all hyped about her fairy tale second marriage- right around the time that her nest gets empty.  Go figure.

Ms. Advisor Lady did say that the only clear thing she picked up from me was that I enjoy being single.  Which is true. 

I have everything that I need and most of what I want.  I certainly can’t complain about that. 

I just wish I still had my fifty bucks.

Date:  14 March

Time:  6:00 pm

The stress at work is becoming so unbearable that I find myself snapping at any and everything.  Short fuse does not even begin to describe what is going on with me.  When I’m not doing battle with the Boys Club or wondering why some of my managers can’t seem to manage their way out of a brown paper bag, I stare out of my office window at the awesome view that is the parking garage. 

As cars wind their way out of the garage, I imagine that the drivers have the good fortune of today being their last day of work.  Ever.  Their office stuff is packed in boxes, and they are clutching airline tickets for Tahiti (or Galapagos or Fiji- the location changes depending on my mood).  They are leaving the madness behind with no regrets- their only thoughts are of the joys of living in a hut, with no phones, no faxes, no internet, no co-workers.  And then the phone rings or someone knocks on my door or the email alert chimes, and I am quickly brought back to the reality of the day.

So, I’m thinking all this stress can’t be good for me, right?  And the daydreaming isn’t helping matters.  It’s just a real waste of time. The women in my family mostly live until their late 80s to mid 90s (barring any unforeseen events like cancer and car accidents).  And I want to be amongst that number.  But that shit ain’t gonna happen if I don’t get it together. 

In my infinite wisdom and unending pursuit of self-improvement  (that is why I started this whole thing, isn’t it), I signed up for a yoga class.  Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings.  I was very excited.

Well, before I started the class, I needed to get some yoga gear (I was so not going to show up to class in sweats looking like a slacker from the 80s).   I left work an hour early on Wednesday so that I could run to the store to get “geared up” before the class later that evening.

I bought the mat, the sling to carry the mat in, a brick (seriously, what they hell do you need a brick for in yoga class), the boot cut yoga pants (slimming is necessary, even when working out) and the sexy tank top with built in bra, that holds pretty much nothing in place.  I was all set. Except I got so caught up in shopping for the class that I missed the actual class.

This morning was my chance at a do over.  Can someone tell me why yoga involves so much ass in the air?  I mean really.  I kept thinking that this was some man’s porno lite version of exercise.  Of course, this may have been an issue because I was at the back of the class- where I always immediately go- no matter what.  (And don’t believe the hype that smart kids sit at the front of the class.  I did not.  Ever.  And still I graduated magna cum laude.  I’m just saying.)  So, while I’m trying to not look up at the sea of asses, even though I really need to watch the instructor because I don’t know what I’m doing, I notice that the one male in the class is very much looking like he has died and gone to booty heaven while winking at me as a co- conspirator.  Um- does he think I’m a lesbian?  Just great. 

I did learn how to breathe properly- expand on the inhale.  Who knew?  I’ve been doing it wrong for 42 years.

You are supposed to try something out a few times before you decide you hate it, so I’m planning to get there early on Wednesday so that that I can get a spot in front.  That way I can see more of the instructor and less ass. 

I’m off to dinner and a movie with myself.  My reward for a crazy week.

Date: March 8, 2009

Time: 2:15 or 3:15 am (still a little disoriented because of the time change.  And no matter what Janice says, it’s not psychological)

OK, everyone knows how the rubber band/cussing experiment went.  By Wednesday, I had to take the damn thing off because the inside of my left wrist was so bruised.  Seriously.  The bruise is purple and green right now.  It wasn’t because I was snapping the rubber band so hard, it’s because I was snapping it so often.  Let’s just call this experiment a wash.

Work sucked this week.   I was in constant conflict with the Boys Club  (that’s what I call the other VPs at the office) over new ways to reach our target audience.   Listening to differing opinions is not a strong suite for the BC.  And yes, I sort of think of them as one.

They can’t seem to get over the fact that someone with brains and a vagina is among their ranks.  I’m in my early 40′s (they are mid-50s to late 60s), I haven’t “paid my dues” (i.e. I didn’t work my way up the company ranks, but was instead hired from outside), and I don’t have a penis.  They don’t mind the brown skin so much. That just means that they are able to check two blocks on the diversity worksheet instead of one.

As a consolation prize for my shitty week, I agreed to go to the club to celebrate Janice’s birthday.  Yeah- stupid, I know.  But it wasn’t my idea.  I quit clubbing years ago. 

Here’s what a trip to the club usually entails

•       I get hit on by old men
•       I get hit on by drunk men
•       I get hit on by old, drunk men
•       I get a drink spilled on me by an old, drunk man
•       I have the old drunk man pawing at me with a napkin in hand (but I’m sure he       would say he was just helping me clean up the spill)
•       I get rescued from the Old Man with Drink by Hottie with a Tight Body who actually looks old enough to buy me a drink 
•       I notice that, while at the counter waiting for the drink order, Mr. Hottie slips his wedding band off his finger and into his pocket.  By the time he returns, I’m gone.
•       After finding the birthday girl on the dance floor, rolling her eyes and slapping away the hands of a guy half her age, I give her the “I’m out” signal.  She nods and points to indicate that she’s right behind me, and we make a beeline for the door.

So my week ended with me being pissed off with men at work and men at clubs. 

But there’s always BOB (Battery Operated Boyfriend)- he never lets me down. 

As long as I keep him supplied with double A’s. 

Shit.  I think I’m out.

Where is that damn rubber band?  I’ll try the other wrist!

Date:  March 1, 2009

Time: 6:00 pm

I know that spring does not officially begin for another 19 days or so, but I am ready.  It’s been colder than usual this winter, and I could use some warming up.  Physically and mentally. 

Things have been pretty boring lately, so I decided to kick it up a notch.  I’ve going to give this personal improvement thing a try.  You know, become a better person, learn new stuff, and God help us, actually socialize more.

It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that my tolerance for BS is so low these days, I find that I can’t be in the presence of others for longer than 20 minutes before I’m looking for the escape hatch.  I think it’s because I’m spending too much time in the virtual world instead of the real one.

I am not even going to pretend that I have the desire or inclination to journal every day.  That is just not going to happen.  I mean really, what could be so different about each and every day?  I woke up, got dressed, hit Starbucks.  Ate a chicken sandwich at my desk for lunch while continuing to work. Whatever. 

Nope, this journal is all about my new adventures. Seriously.  I’m going to start having adventures, damn it!

To give this whole thing some weight, I decided to start with not cussing for a week.  Let’s face it, the F-Bomb is my favorite, but it can be a bit much when frequently used in casual conversation.  Starting tonight, I’m going to wear a rubber band and pop myself when ever I slip up.  Hey, I didn’t say this shit was going to be easy.  Just great!  See what just happened? I suppose I owe my self a pop of the rubber band.  I haven’t even put the darn thing on yet.  

Anyway, that’s my plan and I’m sticking to it.  Wish me luck.

Luci couldn’t believe how well the party was going.  Folks were dancing and mingling and eating everything in sight.  It looked liked things could go all night, and she was very excited by that prospect.  What a way to break in a new home. 

She was even surprised that both of her parents were still present.  They usually orbited around one another during holidays and special occasions, making sure that they didn’t spend longer than five minutes together in the same place at the same time. 

Since their divorce ten years ago (shortly before Luci’s 18^th birthday) they had hardly spoken two words to one another. Nana always said it was because they still loved each other, and just couldn’t figure out how to live together.  Luci wasn’t so sure about that, but tonight, she wasn’t concerned.  She was had just walked back into the house after lighting the Tiki lamps in the yard. The party was about to get old school.

“Hey girl-this party is slamming” Dana, Luci’s best friend called out from across the kitchen.

“I know, right? I couldn’t have pulled this off without you, Day. By the way, have you seen my mom?  I need to ask her where she put the cake knife she brought.  I can’t find it anywhere.”

“The last time I saw her, she was talking to your neighbor in the living room.”

“Thanks.  I’ll go look for her.  I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her or Dad since they got here.”

As Luci started towards the living room, she was pulled into the arms of her current beau, James. 

“Hey babe.  Your party is going really well.  But um, you might want to make the rounds.  There is a couple in the bathroom- been there for a few, and it got kind of loud.  I’m just saying.  You know how folks can get out of hand when they’ve had too much to drink.  You might want to make sure that nobody sees someone coming out with someone else’s husband or wife.  If you know what I mean.”

“Ugh!  Thanks honey.  I’ll go check it out.  In the meantime, can you look for my mom?  I need the cake knife she brought with her. 

“Sure thing, babe” James said after kissing her on the cheek. “I haven’t gotten my hug from her anyway.” With that, he headed in the direction of the living room.

As Luci made her way down the hall, she noticed that most of her guests had already trekked out to the deck and the back yard.  Good.  Then there wouldn’t be an audience when she cleared out the people having a freak fest in her house.

As she approached the bathroom door, she did indeed hear murmurings.  It sounded like whoever was in there was finishing up. She thought for a moment that she heard mild chuckling.  Luci tapped on the door lightly.

“Hey guys, look, ya’ll need to take that somewhere else.  You’re disrespecting my home and my hospitality.”

Silence.

“I’m not leaving until you come out of there.”

Luci leaned against the wall facing the door with her arms crossed.  She was planning to stand guard until the culprits were walking out the front door and getting into their cars.

Whispering behind the closed door resumed.  Luci tapped on the door again.  “Come on. Let’s go,” she said, with a little more force.

After a few seconds, she heard the clicking of the lock, and saw the door being opened, albeit, rather slowly.

She stood there speechless as her mother and father walked out of the bathroom with sheepish looks on their faces.  The fact that her mother’s skirt was still jacked up and twisted didn’t help matters any.

You would think that at my age I would know better.  Just because other folks are jumping off a bridge doesn’t mean that you have to.  God, I would hate to call my mother and tell her that she is right.  Plus, it’s too damn late.  I’m already on the table, naked from the waste down.  There’s no getting out of it now. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am.  My name is Claudia and I will be servicing you today.  Since this is your first time, the most important thing to remember is to relax.  The wax will feel really warm, and then you will feel the first tug.  I am going to start out and work my way in.  And again, just relax.”

I can never relax when someone tells me to, especially if they say it more than once.  It doesn’t work that way for me.

This mess started while having lunch with Adrienne.  We were talking about my upcoming trip to the beach, and how much I hate shaving my bikini line.  She was outraged.

“You still shave? What are you- twelve?” she asked with incredulousness plastered across her face.

“Uh, yeah.  I still shave.  Why.  What do you use?  Nair?”

“Nope.  I hate that stuff.  It makes me break out.  I get waxed. Been doing it for several years now.  I thought you knew.”

“Now why would I know about your personal grooming habits?”  I laugh, yet, I’m curious.

“Pretty much everyone gets waxed these days.  Where have you been?”  Adrienne continues to look at me as if I just got stepped off the U.S.S. Enterprise.

“So does it really hurt as bad as I think it does?”  I can always count on Adrienne to tell me the truth.

“It’s not that bad.  Do you think I would have been getting waxed for years if it hurt that bad?” 

I should have known. 

RIP!  Ok, that shit really hurt. 

“Try to relax ma’am.  I know this is your first time.  I promise you that the next time things will be much easier.”

RIP!

I wonder if she gets a lot of criers? 

RIP!

What the hell am I doing here? 

RIP!

Ok, ok.  I can get through this.  Millions of women do this every month. 

RIP!

Again, I ask, why am I here?

“So, you are about to go on vacation, eh?” 

And WHY is she talking to me?  This is not relaxing to me.  It is just making me more anxious.

“Yes” I say, through gritted teeth.

“You will love being waxed.  And your man will love it, too.”

I don’t have a man.  But she doesn’t need to know that.  And it doesn’t matter anyway because she won’t be seeing me again.

RIP!

There she goes again. 

“Would you please turn over ma’am?”

“Huh?”

“I need you to turn over and hold your boom-boom so that I can get your tail feathers.”

Are you freakin’ kidding me?! Can this get any more humiliating? 

RIP!

RIP!

RIP!

“You’re all done.  Bald as a baby.”

I am 41 years old.  I am NOT supposed to be bald as a baby down there. 

“I’ll see you in six weeks.  I guarantee that next time things will be much easier.”

She leaves me to get dressed and clear out of Room One so that her assistant can come in when I’m gone to clean up and prepare for the next victim. 

As I march to the receptionist’s desk to hand over my credit card to pay for the craziness I just experienced, Claudia, The Hair Ripper calls out “Don’t forget- your next appointment is in six weeks.  It’s already scheduled for you!” And she closes the door to Room Two. 

You have got to be kidding me.

I have always wanted a BFF.  Like Oprah and Gail.  Batman and Robin.  Ethel and Lucy.  What I got instead, was Adrienne.  The woman who had decided that it was her mission in life to get me dating, married, and mommied before all of my eggs dried up.

Adrienne was a “by the book” kind of person.  Meet the love of your life while still in high school.  Check.  Attend state university and get that degree in business.  Check.  Get married to high school sweetheart one year after college graduation.  Check.  Buy the house with the white picket fence (I’m not kidding).  Check.  Have twins within a year of moving into Picket Fence House.  Check.  Hound your BFF every year for not keeping up.  Check. 

I am more of a free spirit.  Enough with the rules and the sheep mentality.  I did the business degree, and the MBA, and spent a few years working for The Man.  I decided working for me was a lot more fun. 

Here are a few things that I believe:

•       That it is perfectly ok to live in a condo (no repair issues or yard work to contend with.    That’s what you pay all that money in association fees for.) 
•       Never getting married and not having kids (or even pets for that matter) is ok. 
•       Marriage is all about the subjugation of women (but that’s just me).
•       Best friends are the biggest meddlers on the planet.

Still, with all of these differences, Adrienne and I have been friends for a long time. She’s the youngest of seven; I’m the oldest of five.  We were born nine months apart (she’s older) so befriending and bossing me was a way to throw her weight around, since she was always being told what to do by six older sisters.  We “get” one another in a very real way.  I get that she will never stop trying to make my life a cookie cutter version of her own.  She gets that it is in my nature to go against the establishment for no apparent reason (her words, not mine). 

Which means that I am always being subjected to set-ups, blind dates, and “look who I ran into” situations.  I mean really, I know you guys remember the The Date I had just a couple of weeks ago with the Urban Narcissus. 

And I am no longer surprised at what Adrienne does.  She actually believes that the right man will change my mind about marriage and parenting.  Whatever.

That’s why it came as no surprise to have this conversation at 9:30 on a Saturday morning:

Adrienne:  Hey Girl, what are you doing?

Me:  Nothing.  Drinking some tea and trying to figure out what I am going to do with my day. 

Adrienne:  Umm.  I’m at Publix.  Why don’t you run over here and help me pick out a cake for dinner tomorrow?

Me:  What?  Help you pick out a cake for Sunday dinner?  What’s up?  Is the President coming to dinner? 

Adrienne:  Hold on. 

I hear lots of mumbling with a few words coming in, then fading out:  (on the phone with … trying to… stubborn…)

Me:  Adrienne!  What the hell is going on?  Who are you talking to?

Adrienne:  Hold on- just give me a minute.

(To the person at the store:  Finish your shopping.  It should take her about ten minutes.) 

Me:  Adrienne- who are you talking to?  What is going on?

Adrienne:  Look.  I need you to put on something cute, but casual, and meet me in the parking lot at Publix in about ten minutes.  I’ve got someone I want you to meet. 

Me:  Someone you want me to meet?  This morning?  At Publix?  What the hell?

Adrienne:  Look, he’s really cute.  I met him in the juice aisle.  He was trying to decide on the V-8 or the cranberry juice.  We started talking, and I told him about you.  And I told him that I could get you here in a few minutes so he could check you out.  Girl, he runs his own business- I knew you would like that.  He’s an accountant, so he should be good with money.  He’s got a nice body, and….  Oh shoot.  Wait.  He’s getting in line with his cart.  Now you have five minutes.

Me:  Goodbye Adrienne.  I’m not coming down to the grocery store to meet some dude.  You have really lost your mind.

Adrienne:  Girl, he is FIONE!  I am going to give him your business card.  I got his already.  You need to come see him.

Me:  Bye Adrienne.  Finish your shopping and then go back to the nuthouse.  I can’t believe they let you out.

Adrienne:  And I can’t believe you are going to miss this opportunity.  How are you ever going to get a man if you… 

Click.  

Really.  There is only so much a person can take.  And I’m not even mad.  After all, she is my best friend.

DING!

That’s my cell chiming letting me know I have a text message.  Everyone knows I write until 4.  I’ve got ten minutes to go.  And it’s not like I’m not going to check the damn thing.

Tayler:  can I go 2 the mall with sydnee

Me:   What time? 

Tayler:  idk- brb     gonna txt syd

30 seconds later…

Tayler:  6

Me:  No.  You know that’s dinnertime.  Reschedule for Saturday.  Two days away.  You can wait.

Tayler:  syd has a dance thingy 

Me:  Then I’ll take you guys on Friday afternoon.  I’ve got to get back to work.  TTYL. 

Tayler:  k   btw- what’s 4 dinner?

Me:  Chicken

Just as I put the phone down, Tayler yells from across the hall- “I don’t want chicken.  We had that last night!”

“Mama, we need to talk about sex.”

Startled by her daughter’s decree, Maria swiveled her desk chair around to face her Mini Me.

“Hey honey, that’s not how you greet your mother when you get home from school. What about, ‘Hi, Mom, how was your day?’”

Ashley dropped her backpack and walked over to give her mother a hug.

“Sorry Mama. That Chanel just mad me mad on the bus, so I told her I was going to ask you as soon as I get home.”

“Ask me what, Baby?” Knowing Ashley and her friends, it could be anything.

“Well, you remember when Aunt Lisa was pregnant and I was in the second grade and you told me where babies come from?”

“Yep- I remember.” Maria sat back. This was going to be interesting for sure.

“You told me that sex was for making babies. Well, Chanel told me that her big sister told her that you can have sex just because you feel like it. And you don’t have to married either. That’s what Chanel’s sister said.” With that, Ashley plopped to the floor and crossed her legs. She was settling in for the long haul, and Maria knew it.

Maria had given Ashley the sex talk when she was seven because Maria’s youngest sister was pregnant. There had been lots of baby buzz in the family because Lisa had had difficulties conceiving to begin with. Ashley wanted to know what the big deal was, and being a progressive parent, Maria told her about the physiology of where babies come from. She figured she had plenty of time to talk about the “other stuff” later. Guess not.

“Um, well, yeah. You see. You don’t have to be married to have sex.” Maria felt that maybe if she kept her responses short and to the point, this whole thing would be over soon.

“Why not Mama? You told me that when a husband and wife have sex that is how they make a baby. Chanel’s sister said that you can make a baby and don’t have to be married and that you can have sex because you feel like it and not because you want to make a baby. Why do people feel like having sex if they don’t want to make a baby? And Mama, Chanel said that her sister said that sex feels good! Does sex feel good Mama? It doesn’t sound like it would!

At this point, Maria knew that she was stuck. She slid to the floor and mimicked the position of her child in order to buy time. How was she going to tell her baby that if done right, sex was an awesome experience, and that she would be going back for more every chance she got? She hadn’t even planned on having this conversation with Ashley when she started dating.

“Ash- look. As you got older, I was planning to fill you in on different aspects of sex. Like how it can be a very emotional experience. And how you have to act responsibly and protect yourself. And how sex can be very confusing for a young woman. And…”

“But Mama,” Ashley abruptly interrupts. “Can you have sex when you are not married just because you feel like it, and does it really feel good? I want to tell Chanel that her sister told her a story when we get on the bus tomorrow.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“OK, Ash. Yes, you don’t have to be married to have sex. You can have sex because you feel like it, and yes, sex can feel good.”

Ashley’s face held a look of surprise. She was not happy at all about Chanel being right.

“But that is not the end of the story, Ash. There is A LOT that you need to know before having sex with ANYONE. But you are not ready for all that right now. You are still a kid. You don’t need to be thinking about sex. You will have plenty of time to worry about sex when you are an adult. And don’t forget- everything I told you about where babies come from and how they get there still holds. In a couple of years, you and I will be having many more conversations about sex. In the meantime, no more sex talk with Chanel on the bus. You want to know something- ask me, or Dad. Got that?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Maria stood up, and then pulled Ashley to her feet. She then picked up Ashley’s backpack and handed it to her.

“Here. Go in the kitchen and get a snack, and then get started on your homework. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Ok. But Mama, I have one more question about sex.”

“Yeah- what is it Ash?”

“How old do I have to be before I get to have sex?”

Marie looked at her watch. It was going to be a long evening.