The Alchemist Within.

Do remember the moment you saw that person that made you feel electric? Do recall the raw emotion of chemistry? Do inventory of the blast, of the boom, of the expulsion of light and heat when you finally kissed? I know that for some, the occasion is few and far between, might I say even once-in-a-life-time, now for others, it is a daily occurrence. However, think of one of those magical moments with the opposite sex. You are both sitting down, perhaps introduced by someone else. Your eyes meet then turn away. You don't want to look too eager, too interested, too desperate, so you continue the illusion of casual conversation mixed with banter. Oh glorious banter! a woman's secret code,the words mean nothing and everything at the same time. You poor men just don't have a chance, because you have no idea how to decipher it. Then you send out the first of a series of beacons, the little signals to let your target know he or she has been singled out from the rest of the group. The touching of their hand after a funny joke, the stroking of the neck as you listen more intently, (now ladies this is a biggie in our arsenal) the wetting of the lips or the arching of the eyebrow is a green light. After you have put up one or more of these sign posts, the dreaded waiting starts. Will the beacon be answered? Was my message clear? Is it a deal? Bam! The serve is returned. A rally of flirtatious looks, comments, and taps begin. Your conversation is limited to only the two of you. Everyone else in the room realizes that the two of you are off the market, at least for that moment. As a shot of courage is sent through your body, the words ring out, "Can I walk you to your...?" With that said you know what comes next, the highly anticipated kiss. I get chills just writing about it. The first kiss is probably one of the best things about being a grown-up. Why is it such a big deal? The molecular make up of skin is the same for everyone. If you've kissed one person, it should be the same experience every time. Why the fireworks? I am sure that the scientific community can tells us what occurs biologically and psychologically. The changes in chemistry in our bodies or a hormonal flux...whatever the test tube tells us, I know that magic exist and it is great!

OMG

What do you say when you have had too much to drink? What have you texted under the influence? Where have you gone tipsy? We tend to say, write, and do the strange when liquor is involved. I sat with my brother the other day, watching the game on T.V. at a "fun food" restaurant. We exchanged funny anecdotes while under the persuasion of wine ourselves. I retold this little diddy that I hope will amuse you. This young man worked with a friend of mine. They had a good working relationship the kind that you actually enjoy. They would go out to lunch or have a drink after work. They talk about work but then could switch to any other topic, serious or frivolous in a bat of an eye. They were buddies, nothing romantic. Well she thought that until she went out with her girl friends to the movies, insert chick flick of choice here, and then proceeded the sport's bar next to the theater. She had a very trendy Martini in which, and I quote, "Is there any cranberry juice in this Cosmo?" A lot of vodka and on an empty stomach went to her head, really fast. The obvious solution was to order another, so she did. It is these moments when an internal alarm should go off in women. Unfortuantely, Bill Gates hasn't been able to get that little project going. I suppose Ketel One likes us alarm-free for their finacial benefit. She started talking. She went on and on about this guy at work as if he were the second coming of George Clooney. He was described as sexy and charming, irresistible eyes, with a come-hither smile. He was manly and tender hearted. Every girl at the table envisioned the perfect fantasy man. When she paused to take in the elaborate account of this Zeus in the workplace, she did what Patti Stranger warns about every week on the Millionaire Matchmaker. She went for her phone and did the unthinkable...she texted under the influence. This co-worker was going to get the message of a life-time. Drinking and texting is dangerous because the other person has no idea the sincerity of the message. Yeah, it starts out innocent with the casual "what's up?" A quick response from the intended just electrifies the situation. My friend can't help herself. She blasts back, "having gr8 time w friends n thought u wud love it." She takes her thumb off "send," and in that instant he replies with "wish I cud b ther." "No! He didn't just say that," she thinks. She recognizes she was not sober enough to make a good decision,so what happens... she makes the invite. After about ten minutes of flirting and innuendos, he commits to heading out to the bar. She emoticons and the waiting begins. She heads to the bathroom to primp, and suddenly the buzz fades. As a punch to the stomach, she just realizes, "What the f*** did I just do?" Going out to sit with her gals, she goes through every excuse to get out of there. She acts out every possible scenario in her head. What to do? Sobriety is a two way street. Thankfully, he texts back the most comforting words in the cellular universe, "c u mon. thx 4 asking. LOL." Now she just had to face him on Monday at work...OMG.

Want to Grab a Drink After Work?

Sitting in the dimly lit bar, I saw every personality known to the modern age. The men and women that surrounded me had only one prime directive to ensure a night of happiness. What type of happiness? I wasn't sure myself, because as the consumption of alcohol continued the mission was unclear. I put aside my civilian attempt to psychologically diagnose the patrons of this fine spirit establishment, and finally found my companions for the evening. An odd group of misfits that had no desires to discuss politics, religion, or current events. They had come to lay aside the burdens and frustrations of the day, and enter into the tabernacle of the young professional...the lounge. The sanctuary of the semi-affluent is where we gathered to find the serenity that the work week had viciously stolen. The state of nirvana in a glass could only be achieved with the fellowship of the under appreciated artist. We complained, discussed, vented, and over analyzed the injustices that had occurred. We had given , total body and soul, to our craft, yet discovered that our short-comings were visible and our vulnerability displayed. The years were accumulating and the expectations were falling short. It was in that moment of enlightenment that the best remedy to the unfortunate cares of the present company was a round of the agave plant's nectar. The sweet and warm sensation of this Meso-American delicacy opened the flood-gates of truth and inhibition. A volume of information was disclosed by each card-holding member. It was similar to the sessions in an addicts group. As the conversation ran its course and time slipped away, we decisively departed with our breakthroughs adorning our countenance. We could face our disillusions, phobias, and chronic quirks with all twelve steps accomplished...well until the next Happy Hour.

My Friendship Caste System

Why does it seem that people in my life get categorized? I have different degrees of friends. It is as if I subconsciously developed a caste system among my acquaintances. I do not discriminate due to social status, religious affiliation, or financial benefit. I have just come to the understanding that not all friends are created equally. There are friends that I rarely see. Life takes its toll and causes our interaction to be few and far between. However, when we do see each other, it is as though we saw each other just the other day. Time passes and we resume as if time stopped. I love these friends. They are low maintenance, always a good time, and I swell with excitement at each and every meeting. Now in contrast, I have some pals that are situational or circumstantial. I am speaking of those individuals with whom I have befriended solely because we work together, we sit next to each other at the little league games, or we are in the same exercise class. They are the apex of superficial and casual. My interaction with them is clearly marked by our common ground...literally. I wouldn't find myself associating with them outside of the designated area. If the brave soul tries to initiate some other meeting, many times it does not materialize, or we end up just talking about work, or the team, or the class. I find this to be a largely populated caste. In fact, these were my friends in high school, my Chemistry buddy, my stead-fast partner in PE or my go-to in Honors American Lit when small group assignments were given. At last, there is the die hard friend. The one person I am willing to leave my prized possessions with. The one person that I tell everything to because they know me that well, the kindred spirit that I see in thick and thin, the one I hold hands with when tears flow, the comrade in sharing deep truths and silly observations. The companion who I talk to at least three times a day like daily food servings. This friend, you love without question. Your fights or disagreements are forgiven quickly and your sacrifices for each other are badges of honor. Your support group, therapist, and informant all wrapped up in one. The expert witness of your life willing to testify to the world who you are, and how you have grown. This is my best friend. Friends are plentiful in my life, but there is only one that holds this title.