The "bad guy" in Waldo is really pissing me off!

For those of you who don't live near K.C., the latest news in my 'hood is the serial rapist. I'm really mad about it. And so are all my girlfriends who live around here. Last fall, he raped two women in their homes. I never saw anything about it in the news. I only knew from my friend, Suzanne B., because the attacks took place within blocks of her home.

Now, he's at it again. Most recently, he forced his way into the home of a woman who was letting her dogs outside. A few hours later, he was waiting inside a 53 year old woman's home when she returned from work. Can you even imagine? The police have released a composite sketch. The women attacked agree that he is over 6 feet tall, weighs about 250, has acne scars on his cheeks, has bad breath (no, I'm not kidding), and smells like exhaust. Come on, KCPD. Shouldn't the "smelling like exhaust" part be a huge clue?

The Waldo library offered a free self-defense class today at noon. Various classes will be held throughout the week. The KCMO Police Department is holding two public meetings

at Broadway United Methodist Church ~ 406 West 74^th next week to inform people about safety following the recent assaults in the Waldo area. The Keystone Coffeehouse on Monday, Feb 1 at 6:30 pm AND The Keystone or Fellowship Hall on Thursday, Feb 4 at 6:30 pm.

In the meantime, I'm so mad at this guy, I could spit nails. I don't worry about myself as much as I do my friends who live closer to the neighborhoods he's been striking. It's infuriating to me that these women have started carrying mace with them inside their houses, sleeping (or trying to) with all their lights on, and are afraid to enter their own homes. It's infuriating to me that this guy watches his victims, becomes familiar with their routines and attacks them.

And it will continue to infuriate me until they catch him.

Until then, keep your eyes and ears open, be aware of your surroundings, look out for your single female neighbors and pray they catch this guy soon.

Sorry there's nothing funny in my post this time, but all I can think about lately is all the ugliness this man has caused. Keep your fingers crossed--I want him off the streets soon.

We all do.

It almost doesn't hurt at all!!!

Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through my root-canal whininess. Good thing I never tried to have a baby. I would've sunk my teeth into my coach's hand faster than you can say "epidural." That probably doesn't make sense. What do I know? I've never been pregnant, nor have I been in a labor room very long. They kicked my teary-eyed self out of my sister's delivery five minutes into her screaming "Get it OUT!!!!! GET IT OUT NOW!!!!!" which, I'm guessing, was pretty much a blessing. God, does it hurt to watch someone you love in pain.

Anyhoo . . . .

. . . regarding the root canal--'tis finished. Ta-Da!!! And it only hurts when I chew. Or say certain sentences like "I need more wine to wash these pain meds down."

Now, for the exciting, albeit somewhat pathetic, part. Here's what's keeping me going--Dick and I are going to watch my favorite KC Curling team (currently, but not permanently, known as) the Old Yellers, tomorrow night at Pepsi MidWest at 7:15. What could be more fun?! Go Jeff D., Ed W., Carl M., Mike A., and . . . am I missing anybody? To you, Gentlemen, I respectfully say "Wicky, Wacky, Woo." (Guess who's been studying her Curling glossary? Maybe that's what you should call yourselves.)

50 Days until I'm 50

Seems like something should happen today, what with the juxtaposition of 50 and 50. I'll let you know.

Something interesting DID happen last night, something that could have easily been avoided had I not sent a flurry of confusing e-mails about what night I was hosting Book Club. As a result, half the group showed up, and I wasn't even home.

Consequently, while my friend Pam and I were enjoying a poetry reading by two fine writers, Jo McDougal and Steve Paul, my friends Lois and Dee showed up at Chez Daniels, books in hand. Dick invited them in to check their calendars and try to figure out what happened. Our always-cluttered place, even more cluttered than usual, of course. My poor mother, Our Lady of Immaculate Housekeeping was, I'm sure, looking down on me and shaking her head with disapproval. (Sorry, Mom, but if you think my place is bad, you should see Jacquie's.)

Oh, and it gets even better. When Lois got up to leave, Dick saw something in her chair and went to retrieve it, thinking it was her cell-phone. "You forgot something," he said, before realizing it was one of my wayward black socks, you know the kind-- always shimmying out of the load of laundry you carry upstairs. What a graceful note to end on.

So book club is next Tuesday. I've got a lot of cooking, cleaning, wine-buying and kissing up to do. Wish me luck.

P.S. This just in--Thursday at 3, possible tooth extraction, likely root canal. The fun is just beginning . . . . .

49 Days Until I'm 50 but that's not really what this is about

Here's something that makes me feel old--I bought my very first I-thing--an I-Touch. Last night my husband Dick and tried to download I-Tunes which is ALLEGEDLY the first thing you have to do.

No such luck. We both suck at technical stuff. (And mechanical stuff. And math stuff. And lawn stuff. And reading maps. But we're really good at finding quality wine on sale, helping each other out and cracking each other up, so it all works out.)

Seriously, can you believe that there is no other I-thing in Chez Daniels? Or that my husband is the last remaining person besides my 78 year-old dad who doesn't have a cell phone? Truthfully, I love that about Dick. He is who he is, and he neither apologizes for or worries about what he doesn't know. He doesn't care that every time he borrows my phone, he has to ask how to use it.

Maybe HE should be my role model on aging gracefully or whatever you call it when men age without freaking out about it.

49 days. And counting

Two things about getting older

While reading the Kansas City Star (which I still love, I don't care what anyone says), I ran across two things about aging. One was Robert Butler's review of David Lindsay-Abaire's "Kimberly Akimbo," now playing at the Metropolitan Ensemble Theatre. Kimberly suffers from progeria, "a disease that accelerates the aging process, leaving kids with the bodies of senior citizens." Think Benjamin Button but backwards. Butler writes that Kimberly is "acutely aware that she's approaching the end of her life. Most kids with progeria never make it out of their teens."

I, who very rarely go to plays, may have to go see this. The elasticity of time is curious to me. I've had days when five minutes felt like five hours, and vice versa. You probably have too. The play may help remind me that my clock is ticking faster. That fact , as people who get on my nerves say about various ideas, "is neither good nor bad, it just is." They're usually right but that saying bugs me, especially if the one proselytizing to project Zen-like serenity has been known to shake the vending machine violently when their Fritos are hung up in A8. (That is dangerous by the way. And noisy. So don't do it, OK? I can't afford to lose any of my five followers. Plus I know who you are and I like you.)

The second, and cheerier piece, I saw in the Star is that Stephen Walker's documentary "Young at Heart" is on PBS tonight at 9 CST. It's about a group of people deep into their Second Act of life--I don't like the terms "senior citizens" or "elderly. Anyway, they form a chorus and perform songs by Coldplay and the Clash. I saw it a couple of years ago and absolutely loved it. Especially the African-American woman who works so hard to memorize the Pointer Sisters' "I know we can make it. I know darn well we can work it out. Oh yes we can, I know we can can. Yes we can can, why can't we?" My friend Pam K. loved it too. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. Very tender and inspiring.

So, about getting older, here's what I think--"I know we can make it. I know darn well we can work it out. Oh, yes we can. I know we can can. Yes we can can, why can't we?"

P.S. Thanks for reading. Also, sorry about the error in my use of the word "effected" yesterday. I'm usually so much better about that. Thanks to the reader who brought it to my attention.

65 days until I'm 50

Turning 50 sounds like a big deal, like some milestone one should love or hate, but I don't feel one way or the other. What's wrong with me?  Am I in denial, or has it simply not hit me yet? 

I have no idea what to expect.

I've seen other people turn 50, and it's like watching people dance. Some look great doing it. You can tell they're having fun. They've got some moves and, to be honest,  you're a little envious.  Others try too hard. Some are graceful and quietly beautiful and, again, you're a little envious.  And some, God love them, are having the time of their lives, clueless and carefree about how they appear to the rest of us. After all, it's their 50th birthday--they've earned the right to do whatever they want. 

So tell me, what's in store?