OK, so here's the thing...

I am very ashamed of myself.

I have no self-control.

But, you see, Davy Jones died, and I had to talk to someone and all the people who would care, were on Facebook. It's not a good excuse. I admit. And, I'm not blaming Davy. The timing of his sudden death wasn't his fault and I'm sure if he'd been given a choice, would have delayed his passing at all costs.

So, I signed back in. As I explained before, it was so easy there was hardly a point in deactivating in the first place. Sitting alone at the Gosport bus station, I put in my e mail address and password, within seconds I was back. Almost as fast, I received an e mail welcoming my return. The intention was to log on quickly, contact those fellow Monkees fans, who I knew would be joining me in shock and sadness, then vanish again before too many people noticed. It didn't quite happen as planned.

I could deactivate again, but really, what's the point when all you have to do is snap your fingers and go right back to where you were? It's just silly.

But, I didn't come here to talk about Facebook. I want to talk about Davy Jones and why his death sideswiped my life knocking me completely off course for a moment. I know, I didn't know him personally, as many will be quick to point out. But, that still doesn't lessen the effect he Michael, Micky and Peter had on my life.

The year was 1985. I was 11. Chubby, frizzy-haired book worm who as you can imagine, wasn't the most popular kid in class. Summers were spent in lonesome roaming around an empty house. My dad and step-mom at work, my younger brother at daycare, being that I was considered too young to look after both of us. I was always left a list of chores I would put a half-assed effort into, before turning on the television and zoning in to whatever nonsense Nickelodeon had to offer. (Turkey TV anyone? You Can't Do That on Television? More on those at another time) It was easy to pass several hours, before I'd hear the familiar sound of the keys unlocking the door, meaning the parents were home and I could look forward to being yelled at regarding the chores I didn't do properly or at all. That was the whole of my life. Then one day, something magical happened.

The moment is so significant, I can even tell you it was on a Monday. Around 9ish in the morning. I turned on the TV, and there were some people I'd never seen before. The show looked old, which didn't matter so much to me as I grew up watching shows that were popular long before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye. ''My Three Sons''. ''Donna Reed'', ''The Little Rascles'', to name a few. Before my mother died, she made sure I was exposed to these shows and thanks to Ted Turner, I was given every opportunity to enjoy them. Little did I know, she was grooming me to become a pop culture spewing machine, as were she and her sister, Melissa.

Only a few minutes into the show, I was in love. I still remember the first episode I saw. It was ''Monkees in a Ghost Town'' The one where the Monkeemobile breaks down and they are chased around by mobster and locked up waiting for The Big Man. And Lon Chaney was a guest star. It was zany and madcap fun. Just what every 11 year old wants in a half hour television program. I was hooked. The Monkees were now appointment viewing. I woke up every morning just in time to watch and swoon over one Mr. Davy Jones. No one could work a tambourine like he did. I was well aware the show was actually produced 20 years before I'd discovered it, but to me it was brand new and he was so dreamy. And British. I had a thing for the accent, what can I say. Still do. He was defined it terms of ''The cute one'' The pretty face. Micky was the quick-witted, Michael the moody sarcastic, Peter, of course, the fool. And it worked brilliantly. I would excitedly tell my dad all about the ''new show'' I'd discovered. He was polite at first when he explained it wasn't new at all, and then became just downright annoyed when I would go on and on, saying, ''I saw the show when it was originally on. Been there. Done that.'' He wasn't keen to relive his childhood vicariously through me.

I begged for greatest hits cassettes and played them non stop. While other kids my age were loving Madonna and Bon Jovi, I was going in reverse. That's not to say I didn't enjoy modern music. I was what you would call back then a ''Duranie'', meaning I was a fan of Duran Duran. But, so did a lot of other boys and girls. When school started again, I was the only one who had ''I heart The Monkees'' written in black ink on my binder. The Monkees were mine and mine alone. Kind of like a secret hiding place. When my world would become too much for me to handle, I had them as an escape. Then, the resurgence of ''Monkee Mania'' hit again. Suddenly, my secret was exposed. They were in magazines again. Touring, giving interviews, (minus Michael) television appearances. (Anyone else remember Davy Jones on ''My Two Dads''?) I wanted to scream at all the girls in my school, ''I found them first!'' But, I hadn't. Not really. Not even close.

Over the years, I learned the truth about my beloved band/TV show. They were a carefully created fabrication from the mind of Don Kirshner. (also responsible for The Archies ''Sugar Sugar'') Only two of them actually played instruments (Michael and Peter) Micky and Davy were actors hired to look like they knew what they were doing. I soon learned of the turmoil behind the scenes. The four of them actually wanted to have a little bit of say so in the creative direction of the show and music to which Kirshner was firmly against. He basically instructed them to act as his puppets. One of my favorite stories involves Michael Nesmith punching a wall next to Don and then telling him, ''Next time that will be your fucking face.'' I was shocked, this was not the mild-mannered, wool-hat wearing character from the show. But, I guess that was the whole point as to why he was unhappy. Peter wasn't really a fool. Actually, he was very smart and an accomplished guitarist and folk singer. But, learning all about how much they didn't want to just grin and bear it, also tainted my unrelenting love for what they created. Like when I found out how much David Cassidey HATED playing Keith Partridge and went to extreme measures to be released of his contract. Because, you see, I loved The Partridge Family, (still do) and now I felt really bad for it. It's like when someone gives you the graphic details of a particularly gruesome surgery. You're glad it happened, but you really didn't need to know all about it, and now that's all you think about. Not the good that came out of it, but the horror of how it happened.

One thing has never changed. My love for The Monkees. To me, they were a real band. So, they didn't write all their songs or play all the instruments all the time. Their heart was in the right place and that's what meant so much to me. And as time wore on, my tastes changed and Micky became my stand out favorite. I can't explain how it happened, but his songs are the ones I played the most. He was more jazzy and soulful. I dig that. Davy was the showtunes kind of guy. Not that he wasn't revolutionary in his own way. His dance was so awesome, Axl Rose made a career of doing an imitation, (whether he meant to or not, I don't know).

When I heard Davy Jones had died, somewhere inside, that 11 year old's heart broke. He'd been a part of my life, without knowing, for so many years, it's hard to imagine a world were he no longer exists. I hope he knows how much he meant to several generations of kids who sat, glued to their TVs following the antics of four fabulous guys. And now, he's in that special place of heaven where all the great entertainers go, and it's a non-stop, good time, gig. At least that's what I would like to believe. Somewhere, Davy Jones is still giving his adorable smile. Somewhere, Davy Jones lives forever.

Hello, it's me again...

Sigh. Nearly a week since I've deactivated. So far, it's been strange. When I see an article online I would like to share or discuss, I have to keep it to myself. No longer can I hit that little blue ''f'' and post it to me wall for all to see. When I'm watching videos on YouTube, same thing. It's all for me and me alone. I can tell people who I regularly see face to face or have some other means of contact, which is good because it encourages actual conversations. I'm missing out on things, I know. Important things are happening in my friend's lives, and I'm none the wiser unless they make the effort to let me know.

At first, the break was liberating. I was no longer obligated to sign in. I had time to anything I wanted. Which, turns out to be, not a whole hell of a lot. I work. I come home, still turning on the computer, but now it's seemed to have lost it's purpose. I forgot how to use the internet without facebook somewhere, lurking in the background. Always beckoning me to, come reason through thousands of statuses, read dozens of articles and posts. Play games. Watch videos. I have to actually go looking for things to amuse myself. I was hoping the time I was saving, could be spent writing, but I've been at work a lot this week, which leads to a lack of creative brain functioning. But, hopefully soon.

As for any news in my life. Nothing significant to report. The Oscar's are tonight. You'll be watching. I'll be sleeping. I'm rooting for George Clooney. I saw the Descendants. His was a performance worthy of an award. I'm not just biased, I promise. Had they recognized Ryan Gosling, which is a crime he was nominated for nothing, considering his performances in ''Drive'', ''Crazy, Stupid, Love'' and ''The Ides of March'', were some of the best I'd seen in years, I'd have a serious delima on my hands. But, again. Not biased.

Also, I've made an appointment for Rizzo to be ''fixed'' It's a routine operation. I'll have her back at the end of the day. She's going to be fine. These are all things I'm being told and keep repeating to myself. Doesn't stop me from being a nervous wreck. March 5th I have to take my baby in. Prayers and good thoughts are encouraged. Mostly for me.

Do I miss facebook? Yes. But mostly the people. The feeling of being constantly connected to several hundred individual lives all at one time. It's actually kind of lonely, but I think that's what's wrong with it as a whole. People use it to replace actual contact. Why should you call or write someone when you already know everything going on with them? Why should you hang out when that not only involves getting dressed and leaving the house, but also, you can just post something on their wall? It's not quite to the extreme where people are eliminating all contact, but we aren't heading in a good direction guys.

Do I want to come back. Yes. And, no. At this very moment, I'm so tempted just to say, ''To heck with it.'' and come running back. But, there is a huge part of me that wants to see this through. Mainly, to prove to myself, I.can.quit.at.any.time. As Lesley Gore once said, ''You don't own me.''I'm hoping I'll come back, like seeing an old lover again, after you've gone on with your life. No one expected you would. Everyone said you wouldn't make it after the break-up. But now, you can see that person and not feel the compulsion to throw yourselves at their feet and beg them to take you back. Calling and leaving hysteric voice mails. Pleas of how, ''things will be different this time'' Drive by their house late at night to see what they're doing and who they're with. No, this time, it will be on my terms. I've moved on. I am my own person. I can take or leave you. Facebook, that is.

But, if I being honest. It is a little lonely without it.

I hope you are all enjoying your lives and everyone is happy and taken care of! I hope to hear from some of you soon! Let me know how you are.

Just have a listen...

Kicking the habit in the taco!

Day one. No facebook.

It's weird. I woke up this morning, turned on the computer, and did not automatically sign into facebook. Of course, I'd already reminded myself, that no matter what, I was strictly forbidden from doing so. And, I'm alright. No body tremors, or breaking into a cold sweat, or hysterical sobbing, begging just. one. more. time. Not that these drastic withdrawal symptoms were at all expected, but you never know when breaking an addiction.

But, it's fine. And while we're being honest, I'll tell you the main reason I'm going to succeed, is the fact my husband has absolutely no faith in me seeing it through. I'll show him, by god. Even if it kills me. Which it won't. It never does.

I will tell you though, it was a lot harder to deactivate than I'd originally thought, and I'm not just talking about the last minute anxiety of ''Wait! What are you doing? Don't do it!'' I had finally mustered up the gumption to just do it. Hit the button. Then, I couldn't find the damn button. After finding it, I held my finger over the mouse for a moment before clicking. ''Do you really want to do this?'' I asked myself. And even though I said facebook was doing my head in, I started making a mental list of all the things I would miss. (Also, it doesn't help that on the deactivation page, facebook tries one last time to lure you back, by showing you a select pictures of a few friends with the caption, ''If you deactivate your account, 'so and so' will miss you.'' Awwww.) ''Just click.'' I urged myself. And so, I pressed my finger down. I was expecting a feeling of relief, like the hands that had been strangling me, finally released their grip and I could breathe again. But no. I got some message about how I wasn't allowed to deactivate, as I was the sole developer of some app and it needed me to stay. To my recollection, I'd never created an app. Come to find though, I had. And by the time I'd found it and deleted it, I'd gone through the deactivation process 14 times. Each time, seeing new pictures of people facebook was promising would be lost without me. My resolve chipping away. It was suggested by a friend that I not totally deactivate, but just leave it unattended for a while. But, that's too easy. I could just sign back in. This way, I'm completely absent. A virtual memory.

However, I did find it a little disheartening, just how easy it is to reactivate your account. I was hoping there would be something difficult. Like a jousting dual, or climbing the top of a mountain and finding a rare jewel and present it to Mark Zuckerberg to prove your worthiness and gain access back into his kingdom. Or maybe eating a goats testicle. I don't know. A little blood loss. Something that would give me pause before jumping right back in. But, no. It's as simple as just signing back in. So, at the end of the day, I'm going to have to rely on my self-control to keep me away. Those of you who know me well, can attest the the fact, my will is paper thin and easily torn right through. But, I can do it. If I don't, then Terry will be proven right, and we can't have that now, can we?

I think I'm going to be blogging a lot though. So, be prepared.

And expect to hear from me again. Very soon. x

Just trying something

Some of you have expressed concern that with my Facebook gone, I won't be able to update you on Rizzo and post 45 pictures a week. I'm going to see if it will work here...

Hey, guys! Over here!

If you've been on facebook today, you know that I'm taking a break during Lent. I've written a long, involved note as to why, so I won't bore you with the details here.

I believe this will give me a good opportunity to write this blog, as well as other things I'm working on. I keep saying I will. Then I don't. I'm too easily distracted, as I've explained many times before.

But, here it is. The old blog. I've dusted her off, and cranked her up and she is ready to go! Instead of silly status updates, you will get full thoughts and updates. And if you follow me on here, you can comment and we can still discuss things.

It will be like I never left. Facebook without all the brain crunching status updates. Ahhh, bliss.

Of course, I'll miss it. And I'm sure it will feel very strange. As if something is missing. But, I'm hoping to fill it up with so much other more productive stuff, it won't be bad for long.

I just need this. For me. You all mean a lot to me. Every single one of you. Even people I never talk to, just silently hover around your life, like a ghost. It's all going to be for the best.

I hope you find you like it here, and are nice and comfy. I will be bringing you updates all the time.

And I'm not leaving. I'm always here. Just, not there.

Much love to you all!

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!

One of the most frustrating things about being a writer, is not being able to write.

You're busy. With work, family, friends, whatever else you find that pulls you away from actually being able to sit yourself down in front of the computer and just let your words flow like a river stream.

And when you finally get time, nothing happens. There is no stream flowing. You're brain is now experiencing a drought. The inside of your head looks like a dry, cracked, empty desert. No sign of fertile life. Nothing but tumbleweed and the whistling wind.

Sometimes, I fear that not being prolific, makes me less of a writer. That the fact my fingers don't float over the keyboard as my creativity pours out, means I don't have enough talent.

Motivation is the fuel that drives ambition. Fear leaves it empty.

And for years, that's what I've been running on. Blind, crippling fear. It doesn't get you very far. Basically, it only gives you enough power to coast.

Oscar Wilde said, ''To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist. That is all''

I'm afraid, until this point, I've been doing the latter. This is what I need to change.

I have so many ideas. So many it would blow your mind. But, getting them out, well, that's the hard part.

My thoughts run around like unruly children on a playground. Getting them all organized and in a straight line, is next to damn near impossible. Especially once you've lost all control.

And that is what I'm struggling with. I feel like the future, at least the one I want, is locked up tight and I have to somehow figure out how to pick the lock. Or find the key. Or the magic words.

I just want to feel capable and worthy.

I just want to believe in myself.

No excuses

I can update this from my phone. Now I have no damn good excuse not to write here regularly.

Other than that, I have nothing else to say. This was really just a test. I'm within reaching distance of the actual laptop.

Releasing the demons Part 1

Two posts in a week! One right after another, no less! What a treat!

It occurred to me, you might care to know a little bit more about the person, whose thoughts you are currently reading. You know, on a deeper level. What makes me tick? What motivates and defines me?

It's hard to know where to start. I'm a mixed bag of deflated ambition, anxieties, and neurosis. All of which are holding me back.

So, I'm beginning a series of posts where I just put it all out there. Somewhere along the line, I hope in yanking at that thread, I can finally unravel my blanket of disappointment and failure I've kept my tucked in.

Some might think I'm being too personal. Sharing too much. But, if I ever truly want to become a writer. I can no longer hold back. It's got to be all or nothing.

I lost my mother suddenly when I was eight. This is the first in a series of events in which my world was flipped upside down. Before that, all I wanted to be was Dorothy Hamill. Or married to Rick Springfield. My mom, knowing only one was remotely possible, signed me up for ice skating lessons. Every Saturday morning, I would put on my shiny little outfit with pink, purple, white and green stripes, which I thought looked like candy, and begin to realize my dream.

I don't remember if I were any good but I remember loving every minute. The first lesson they teach you, is how to fall. Which, looking back, is a great metaphor. Because it's inevitable. You're balancing your body weight on two thin blades on very slippery ice. If you don't know what you're doing, you are going to fall. As I mentioned before, you have have sharp blades on your feet and if you fall the wrong way, don't think they won't slice the ever loving shit out of whatever part of your body in which they come in contact. So, they make sure you fall the right way. Minimizing the damage. Preparing yourself. You can apply it to most anything you tackle in life. It's perfectly fine to make elaborate leaps and jumps as long as you know, when you fall, how to get right back up again keep going on with the planned routine.

I would go so far as to say that's the most valuable lesson I took away. Years later, I went ice skating with my 6th grade class, and not once would I let go of the wall. At six, I'd been so fearless, but as the years passed, I lost any confidence I had in what little ability I gained.

Sadly, my figure skating career was not meant to be. I was not going to be the next Dorothy Hamill. For one, I had very naturally curly hair and would never achieve her perfect bowl cut. And two, when my mom died, I went to live with my dad, who didn't so much care about continuing with silly fantasy. In losing my mom, I'd lost my biggest supporter. My number one fan. My motivation. Who's to know, if she'd lived, whether or not I'd have followed it through. Still, it was my first little spark, and it was extinguished before it ever really got to burn.

I still think about it though. In my daydreams, I'll hear a song, and in my head, I'm slicing across the ice with razor sharp precision, to my own little Olympic medal winning routine.

I want to go back in time and find that little girl. Borrow her blind, raw, untainted enthusiasm. Back then, it never dawn on me that I wouldn't make it as a figure skater. I want to get that and apply it to something else. I won't kid myself. The figure skating thing is never going to happen. But, that doesn't mean something else won't.

I'm not destined to fail.

I have to remember that.

But first, I have got to master the fall.

Promises, promises...knew you'd never keep

2011.

Kind of a bust.

I can't really think of anything I did, substantial enough to earn my place on planet Earth. This is disappointing for a number of reasons. One being the fact I know I'm capable of more. Somewhere inside, underneath my layers of insecurity, procrastination, the ability to get distracted and lose my place, crippling fear and just plain old laziness, there is a person who could be marching her way through life like there were no tomorrow. I've always felt I was destined for greatness, if I could just get my shit together, so to speak.

I am my own worst enemy.

Truer words have never been spoken.

I put things off. I can take over the world later. First I have to waste 6 hours playing Sims Social. Watching reruns of shows I can recite word for word. It amazes me how anyone gets a damn thing accomplished with all the distractions we have now days. But, maybe it's just me.

I blinked and 2011 was gone. Time moves way too quickly, I have to find someway of either stopping it completely, like in that Twilight Zone, where the guy finds a stopwatch (was it a stopwatch?) which gives him the ability to freeze time. All I remember from the episode, is that he uses this trick to rob a bank, but then as he'd carrying out bags of cash, carelessly drops the stopwatch, breaking it, leaving is frozen in time, except him. Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea after all. Perhaps, I could just discipline myself and use time more wisely for the next 364 days.

It won't be easy. It's going to take a complete personality overhaul. Which isn't a bad thing. Just seems impossible. I'm nearly 40. Is it too late for me to reinvent myself into someone spectacular? I'm an old dog. Apparently, you can't teach us new tricks. But, I'm ready and willing to learn if anyone has any advice or pointers.

2012 has to be the year of reinvention. I'm going to get in shape this year. I'm going to get somewhere with my writing. I'm going to be nicer. Cry and moan less. Believe in myself. Figure it all out. Or at least get closer to the solution.

Which is why I'm starting this page. At least once a week, I'm going to write what's going on in my life. Thoughts. Plans. Actions. I've tried this before and it didn't work, but it's now or never. Besides, if you are to believe loads of people who swear they know what they're talking about, we are doomed and on the eve of destruction.

But whether or not the world is shattered to pieces by an earthquake or blown to oblivion by an asteroid, I'm not going without leaving my mark.

Years ago, I said I wasn't going to make New Year's Resolutions. A resolution is commitment you make with yourself to either begin some good habits or break some bad ones. Commitments are easily broken, especially if you make them with yourself, because you have only yourself to answer to, and as I said before, ''I am my own worst enemy'' and when I say I want to stop going to the gym, and start eating chocolate again, who am I to disagree with myself? Somewhere, I have to find self-control. Which is going to take me basically developing a split personality. One of a no mercy drill sergeant. I need to kick my own ass. Which is why I'm not going to make a ''resolution''. I'm changing it to a ''New Year's Revolution'' I'm engaging in a war with myself and I will be fighting battles on a daily basis. That takes something with a little more gusto than just a damn resolution. My entire life is paved with commitments and promises I've made to myself to be one way or another. Normally, they don't make it through the day before they're broken to pieces and sadly forgotten.

Not this year. Not this girl. I'm going to have it my way. Cue Frank Sinatra. Or Sid Vicious. Which ever version you prefer. And stay tuned for greatness.