Another birthday has come and gone, and I, for one, am relieved to see it in my rearview mirror.  I am excited, however, about the upcoming year.  Something tells me there will be ‘lotsa changes ‘ol Max…lotsa changes…’ (little Dirty Dancing reference for those of you who haven’t had your morning coffee…or vodka - whatever).

It’s time to switch things up a bit…get the ball rolling…add some new skills to the repertoire.  I suspect there will be some mighty fine blog posts as a result of said changes.  Hold on tight…it could be a bumpy ride.

My mother has agreed to make me her homemade fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy for our joint birthday dinner on Sunday (real bday Saturday…but I’ll be kickin’ it with my peeps that night - okay…that was creepy). Anyway…back to fried chicken.  We’re pretty much bombarded on a daily basis about what to eat and what not to eat.  Sunday, I’m taking a day off from the guilt.  And I’m eating ’til I have to be rolled out of the room.  No, I will not tell you which birthday it is…but stuffing myself silly with guilt-ridden food should give you an idea of how excited I am about it.  And why does it seem like my last birthday was moments ago?  When I’m in a water district meeting, time literally stops…seconds lasting for days.  But you pass thirty, and birthdays arrive at breakneck speed.  Damn you, time.  Damn you to hell.  But bless you, fried chicken.

I think I’m evolving. Last night I saw the silhouette of a roach (my most formidable nemesis) in my sheer, white bedroom curtains. Just sitting there like a prehistoric visitor, waiting for a glass of tea. And instead of emitting a high-pitched squeal, I gagged a little and walked away. This is progress, people.

Of course now I don’t know where my little friend is.  And I may be starting to freak out a bit.  Baby steps.

I need a vacation. Bad. But I don’t have the time or money to take one.

What’s a girl to do when she can’t run off to the Caribbean, or when her loving parents fail to tow her along on their Alaskan adventure? A beer at the Porch Swing just ain’t gonna cut it. I need some beauty…I need some scenic drama. Can I find that in Houston, or within 200 miles of her? Pass on the cheap, secret tips. My sanity depends on it.

As I’m sure you already know, Dr. Randy Pausch - the professor at Carnegie Mellon who gave his famous “Last Lecture” speech - recently succumbed to his battle with pancreatic cancer.

The other night, Dateline paid tribute in a special episode that highlighted their previous interviews with him, his family and friends.  They also showed clips from his amazing lecture, and, being a single woman, one excerpt screamed out at me.  They were words of advice for his two-year-old daughter.  Words he would be unable to say in person when the appropriate time came…when boys and dating became a reality.

“When it comes to men who are romantically interested in you,” he said, “just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do.”

Brilliant.