Someone made reference to me as a cherry-flavored lifesaver today.

I didn't like that.

Cherry? - That's the flavor of cough medicine! Children hide under their beds at the thought of cherry. One out of eight cherry lifesavers is thrown away - and no one has ever been heard saying, "Yes! Cherry. My favorite." - It just doesn't happen. Cherry is NOT a good flavor. People don't like cherry...

So what flavor am I? Well, at first I thought I'd want to be something more exotic - like pineapple. But who am I kidding? I'm not exotic. I don't even really want to be exotic. I'm more 'everyday' than 'once in a life time'. I think I'd have to be something more earthy, more real - something you don't get sick of...

Well, I've finally become an adult. And I have to admit, I'm not altogether sure that I like it. I mean really - how fun is it to get up everyday and go to work? I feel like that's all I do now - work. And I have all this wonderful money... but what's the use, because I haven't the time to spend an ounce of it - I spend all my time earning it. Is this what I've been looking forward to all my life?

Lar and I went to a Halloween party - as a National Geographic Journalist and Photographer. We looked cute. No one really appreciates how wonderful we are. We were sitting on a couch in a corner, carrying out our somewhat reclusive life style, when someone shouted from the kitchen, "Who wants to challenge Paul in an apple-bobbing contest?" I couldn't believe it - I was standing with my hand in the air calling, "I'll do it!" The next thing you know I had passed my coat, goves, and notepad to laura - and was kneeling face to face - across a giant rubbermaid of water - from Paul Thatcher. I looked down at the tub, all the apples were bobbing up and down in some kind of mock innocence - I was appauled. What had gotten into me? Was I really going to stick my head in the tank? I pushed half of the apples over to Paul's side, put my arm across the tub as a divider, looked Paul in the eye, and said (pointing for affect), "That's your side, and this is mine - don't even think about crossing that line. Paul asked if there was a rule that said we had to go all the way to the bottom. I thought, "I sure hope not - I straightened my hair today." The ref started to count down, "5...4..." My mind was reeling. I can't lose. If Paul is going all the way to the bottom, then I'll have to too - only I'll have to be faster - but my hair. "...3." "Wait!" Everyone stops and looks. I don't have anything to say. Both hands are over my heart as I sheepishly state, "I'm a little nervous - that's all." The ref starts again, "3...2...ONE." The next thing you know I'm at the bottom of the rubbermaid with a juicy, red apple between my teeth. Victory. I pull my head out, my hair's plastered across my forehead, and I'm wet down to my knees - and there's Paul - completely dry - already taking a bite out of his prize apple. I had lunged into the tub, created some kind of self-destructive tsunami, and come out looking like a drowned rat - for what? Second place? I maintain that Paul Thatcher is a cheater.