But I have five, so what does that say about me?

Richard Jeni once said, "I always look for a woman who has a tattoo. I see a woman with a tattoo and I'm thinking OK, here's a gal who is capable of making a decision she'll regret in the future." There's something to think about.

Last week my mom and I flew out to the desert to visit my sister and her family. We find we're more effective as a team: I've got youth on my side, Mom's got experience. Between us both, we can keep those two little boys under control...until one morning...

I was in the kitchen and my sister and brother in law were gone to work. I heard a Bang Bang Bang! "Open the door!" coming from my mom, about 30 feet away, down the hall. Apparently the youngest son, who is just about 3 years old, locked himself in the bathroom with the one dog. "OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!" I could tell she was trying to be authoritative and not show fear, but that kid didn't care either way. He was busy with the dog and all the cool stuff kids find in bathrooms - toilet paper, shampoo, toilets... Poor Mom. Poor dog. But hey, dogs have teeth, right? If it got bad in there, I would imagine survival instinct would kick in. Bang bang! "You better open this door....!" Uh oh, I think she was about to crack.

Right when I was getting ready to walk down the hall and offer my assistance (which just means I'm tall enough to reach one of the spare keys my sister keeps above each door frame in the house), the little dude opened the door, the dog ran out and all was well. We never found out what he did to the dog in there, but she smelled faintly of Oil of Olay for the rest of the day. It was the first time I ever saw my mom drink wine before 9am. Hey, it's adult grape juice. I let her go.

And then there was my big date with my oldest nephew. We went to see "The Lorax" and he was pretty pumped. He's such a good kid. He's one of those good natured, helpful kids that would give you the shirt off his back...but apparently that's where his goodwill ends, as I found out in the theatre. He may share his toys, his popcorn, let you ride his bike (if you'll fit), hell, even offer you the last piece of bubble gum...but try to get even one piece of Chocolate Covered Cookie Dough candy out of his little fingers and you'll have better luck winning the $50 million Power Ball 3 times in a row. Can you believe he waited until the lights dimmed and the movie started before he opened the box of candy? Like I wasn't going to hear/smell him eat them. And afterwards I said, "Hey, I bet that candy sure was good in there," to which he replied, "It was, especially since I didn't share!" And then he laughed at me! Oooo, ZING! He got me good. I have declared him my FAVORITE 7 year old nephew.

Annnd back to the other kid. He has some difficulty saying a strong C. My family's nickname for me is Crissy (which is strange since my name is Georgia...ha ha...but seriously...) Straight from the mouths of babes: To the 3 year old, the kid who struggles to say a hard C, my name was Titsy. Like my real first name isn't stripper-sounding enough, now I've got Titsy as a nickname. Hopefully he outgrows it, and until then I'll be wearing padded bras and heavy sweaters. The best part of being called Titsy, though, is that every time it comes up, my mom cracks up laughing like it's the first time she's heard it. That cracks ME up, and then it's just a never-ending circle of laughs.

On our last night, my sister let the oldest nephew stay up later to hang with Aunt Titsy and Grandma Lady (my family is hell on names). When he was finally being sent off to bed my mom grabbed him for a bear hug. She started saying all those cool things Grandmas say, things like Be a good boy, Watch out for those girls chasin' ya, I love you so much... and then it was MY turn. I gave him a big hug, which started off a little awkward because I grabbed him by the head (we have big heads in my family, what can I say?)... and I didn't know what to say. My mom said all the good stuff. So I was like (huuuuug!), "Uh, yeah, so uh, be good and uh...don't do drugs." And he laughed at me.

So there it was, my big shining moment in being influential in a child's life. The only thing we can do now is see if it sticks.

It's all relative.

I would imagine if you have lived to be at least 25 years of age, there has been a moment in your life when you've accidentally dropped something into a toilet. Now correct me if I'm wrong: The second it happens, the first thought you have is, "Do I really want that back?" followed up with, "I wonder if I can just flush it?" And then there's the, "What else don't I mind getting poop water on to scoop ____ out?"

Let's face it, we see a dog drink out of a toilet and while we think it's gross, we don't think much more than that. BUT...drop a cell phone or toothbrush or even tweezers in that same toilet and the main thought is "I pooped in that bowl a few hours ago!"

It's all relative.

For some reason, when the house temperature is 71 in the winter I freeze, but in the summer, 71 makes me sweat.

And here's a random thought: I think pigeons are really reincarnated Egyptians.

Here's a second random thought: I don't think Michael Jackson ever existed. I just think LaToya got sick of playing two people.

For the record: I am okay with that whole, "Everything happens for a reason," idea...

And 'off-the-record': ...I just want to know what the 'reason' is up front.

Lastly: What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Look at Magic Johnson. He's in the prime of his life.

I want to run for President, and let me tell you why...

First of all, I agree with a lot of what Mitt Romney says. Why is it such a big deal not to be concerned about the extremely poor? A family living at the poverty level still eats better than a college student who works 3 jobs. And that's just the beginning, people. I have a WHOLE campaign set up, and it goes something like this:

1. Legalize all drugs and tax the shit out of them. People won't use more or less drugs based on their legal status. Booze is legal and there are millions of people over the age of 21 who aren't raging alcoholics. Look, I'm not saying we should put drugs on sale, I'm just saying legalize them and make extra money all around. The country will get out of debt AND welfare payouts will decrease with every crackwhore overdose.

2. Sterilize everyone on social security under the age of 55, and anyone on welfare who has at least one child (man or woman). This should pretty much limit the payouts of both funds, not to mention discourage people from bumming off the system. If you want more money, keep your pants on and get a job. Oh, and if you're 'sick' enough to cash in on disability? Tough shit. If this were 1889, your 'crippled' ass would either be dead in a field or you'd have to suck it up and help plant and harvest with the rest of your family. We're bringing Darwinism back.

3. Homeless people - export them to Mexico; consider it an even trade. Gracias.

4. The pink flamingo will be the new national bird. Flamingos are fun and sassy. So will be the United States of America.

5. Secret Service will be fired. Things aren't fun to kill if there isn't a challenge.

6. Four day work weeks for everyone. You're welcome.

So this Presidential election, forget Santorum. Ignore Romney. Screw Gingrich. Write MY name into the ballot and people, we'll get this country rockin'!

Even in your darkest moments you'll think of something that will crack you up.

I realized how true this was when I called my mom last weekend, furious because I found cigarette burn marks on the linoleum floor in my upstairs bathroom (my husband smokes; I do not). Her response? “How can you be sure it was him? I think you should have a talk with the dog, not only because she has picked up smoking but because now she’s being careless.”

I had to laugh. In the most technical sense, my mom was right. While I was certain it was him, I really couldn’t prove it. Needless to say, my mother saved his life that day. It would have been an awkward situation if she didn’t.

“My daughter is only 33 and already a widow.”
“That’s too bad, please tell her I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, she’s fine, she’s a widow by choice.”

Speaking of choices (I’m brushing up on my topic-transitioning skills), I was watching Lock-Up the other night. For those of you unfamiliar, it is a documentary-type show filmed inside prisons all across the country. They interview the convicts and guards. It’s a lot like Survivor, but shot in jail and no one wins in the end. This particular night it was a Lock-Up marathon. I was in my glory. I judged the shit out of those prisoners…yeah, even the non-violent drug dealers who had to share cells with serial killers. No sympathy coming from THIS couch. Deal with it, you big babies, you got some 13 year old hooked on crack. Yeah, I hope you get killed in your sleep. Call it a life lesson, courtesy of Greg “The Strangler” Johnson.

Anyway…out of everything I learned from watching fifteen Lock-Ups in a row (among other things: don’t be a snitch, find a gang to join and you can make a shank out of a bed spring and medical tape), those guys are RIPPED. But not in a body builder kind of way; more like a gymnast-slave kind of way. The kind of muscle tone and strength you only get by doing pull-ups with your fingertips on a windowsill and a million squats a day in your cell, because you’re stuck in it for 23 out of 24 hours. It’s terrifying, when you think about it. A few of those guys will be released some day and when they are, they will have the strength of 25 retards and the weapon-making skills of MacGyver. Whoever thought prison was a good idea is…well, is probably dead by now. But you know what I mean.

What I don’t understand is women’s prison. On one side, you’ve got the guys and they’re all jacked with their muscles and whatnot, and then you have the women – fat and beastly. How does THAT happen? Especially when the repetitive gripe of inmates everywhere is how awful the food is. Then what the hell are those women eating? (please…this is a child-friendly blog, keep your head out of the gutter) Don’t tell me the food is horrendous and not fit for humans, but have the end shot be some cow’s size 48 ass waddling down the dimly lit corroder, back to her cell. I ain’t buying it. And while we’re at it: She needs a hair cut and a dye job. Even the men stay "pretty" in prison and they have more reason NOT to look good than a woman (can anyone tell me who dropped the soap?)

Overall, I'd have to say prison looks like it sucks. The only upside is that you don't have to worry about what to wear every day. I'd be down with that. But generally, I think I'll avoid it if I can. If I need to 'take care of business' that badly, I think a freak accident will do the trick (less paperwork that way).

So on that note, I'm done for the year. Thanks for helping me wrap up my second full year of blogging, I definitely had more fun writing this than you had reading it. But I do appreciate your eyes.

Anyhooties, have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! (I just assume no Jewish people read this blog…it’s not kosher). I'll catch ya on the flip side.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. (RIP, Steve Jobs)

In memory of Steve Jobs, here's the commencement address he gave at Stanford University in 2005. I thought it made for a pretty solid blog; definitely better than I could write:

I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?

It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.

And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.

I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Thank you all very much.

I want my own talk show.

And if I had one, I'd give out some really awesome tidbits on life. In fact, my talk show would be called, "My Facts of Life." No, wait. "My Rules of Life." Yeah, that's what I would call it. So let me give you some sneak previews of my talk show.


My Rules of Life:

1. If you commit suicide, leave a letter. Or a note. Leave something. Let's face it, if you're going to be a selfish dick and kill yourself, the least you can do is leave some final words for the poor bastards who will miss your sorry ass.

2. If you are a stay-at-home mom, you have voluntarily given up your right to bitch. I'm serious. If you have chosen to clean, do laundry and chase ugly kids around all day, no one wants to hear you bitch about doing laundry, cleaning and chasing ugly kids around all day. I have a job. I have unexpected bullshit that pops up during the day, and I reserve the right to gripe about those things. I don't give a shit that now you miss watching The View ever since its time slot changed to 11am and Johnny Jr still naps at 9am. That's not a real problem. Lose the kids and get a job. And if you're some low life who had kids just to get on welfare?? Double Shut Up.

3. I saw a book in the bookstore the other day entitled, "Beating Dyslexia." Seriously? Because assuming you have dyslexia and can get past the title....I don't buy it. Literally OR figuratively. Unless you get a friend to read it to you, but that's unrealistic because people with dyslexia don't have friends. I know this for a fact. Ask Russell Crow. I think he's dyslexic and after that phone throwing incident, I'm pretty sure he doesn't have friends.

4. PETA can kiss my ass with their, "Oh, you're so mean when you kill cows!" "Ew, it's so cruel the way you keep chickens in cages and then slaughter them!" comments. Get over yourselves. Have you ever watched National Geographic? Have you ever witnessed a pack of wild dogs take down a gazelle? They rip its guts out. Most times, they start eating it while it's still alive. My point, Vegans, is this: Humans are just like Nature; Simply put, we're just more organized.

So there's your preview. My talk show is going to be A-W-E-S-O-M-E. I can't dance, I won't give away free shit and there won't be a cool Mexican midget sidekick. I refuse to endorse books or Politicians, and quite frankly, I'll probably be unshowered and drunk when we tape. I don't know about you, but I can't wait.

F-ck the Weather Channel.

That's right, I said it. It is a bold statement made by a bold woman, one who sits on her front porch with a glass of wine and her dog off its leash. Hold me back, I'm breaking at least two laws right now. Was that a fart? Make it three (air pollution). That's how I roll. Suck it.

I do not understand why black people movies are such a big, freakin' deal. I mean, I get it, there aren't a whole lot out there (The Color Purple, Roots, How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Gorillas in the Mist...ha ha, come on, that's a JOKE), but still... why the big deal? I can't think of any Mexican movies, and those people should be el gripe-o...ing. Okay, that's a lie. There is one movie that comes to mind and it stars Jennifer Lopez as the main character. Here's the catch: she's not even Mexican - she's a Puerto Rican! That is like white people trying to pass Colin Farrell off as an Italian dude and plugging him into The Godfather. COME ON! I guess my point is...uh...I don't have one. I've got some wine buzz action happening.

I need to get a new toothbrush. I thought I read somewhere that you are supposed to get a new toothbrush every three months. Does anyone really do that? Hang on, I take that back. For anyone who does that...you need a hobby or a pet or a girlfriend. If you can keep track of how long it's been since your last 'new' toothbrush, stop. Immediately. Do something crazy: Park in a handicapped spot. Don't put your shopping cart in the 'cart corral.' You know those "Take a Penny, Leave a Penny" cups? Take a penny...hell, take several pennies and don't use them for your purchase. Be a badass.

I got a new job at work. I'm pretty excited about it, except that now my desk is being moved so I can sit with my "new team." The downside to that is, my new team is on the "People of Wal-Mart" floor of the company. Great. I'll be surrounded by nothing but mouth breathers and people who wear corduroy shirts, people who brag about getting Lawrence Olivier's autograph like, a million years ago. I cannot wait.

And my last (buzzed) thought of the day is this: Art. It's stupid. And people who go to school for it, or for art "history" are equally stupid. Just because you think a painting of a distorted mule eating glass, sitting on a purple box is 'artsy' and 'stimulating' doesn't mean you are smarter or "deeper" than me. All it means is that you are a delusional douchebag with more student loans and a crappier job. You can shove Picasso up your nose. He isn't meaningful or expressive. He made more money dead! That right there says it all! If you do anything and are poor in life BUT make ka-gillions after you die, then you are not doing it right. Example: Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Jimi Hendrix...People who didn't do it right.

And that is exactly why I am pretty sure I will be a world-famous, kagillionaire writer before I die. Print this blog out. It will happen. Maybe. Most likely.

I need a refill.