This might make me sound terrible....

I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant, non-judgemental kind of person to know. Wait, let me qualify that. I have very clear ideas of what I like and dislike for myself and those most close to me. However, I won't turn my back on someone or not socialize with someone just because they chose that path. Make sense?

For instance, I don't believe in getting tattoos. For me. But I don't care if someone else has one. I don't like "my" men to have earrings. I find that very unattractive But I don't care if a guy I'm not interested in has an earring. Or two. I have gay friends, straight friends, old friends, young friends, pretty friends, ugly friends, smart friends, dim friends, and friends of various religions. I generally just let people be as they are.

So, BF tells me that there's a couple he knows who wants to hang out with us. That's cool by me. This girl likes to talk about her sex life a little too much, but I can tolerate that occasionally. I've not met her botfriend, though. BF says he's a little "out there," so I'm warned.

I finally meet the guy and....goodness gracious me, that fella has more hardware in his face than an astromech droid. I found myself almost unable to focus on what he was saying. I was so absolutely repelled by it that the subsequent humming in my head blocked out normal thought.

Which explains why, when I looked at his girlfriend, I couldn't stop thoughts of, "You have sex with THAT?!" Unfathomable.

Yeah, yeah, I know....different strokes and all. I just was completely unprepared for the profound revulsion I felt. That's never happened to me before. Especially over something that I considered as trivial as physical appearance.

So, it delivered no small amount of guilt, too. Am I really so narrow-minded, at the core of it all? I never considered myself as such and would rather not do so now!

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

Lookie what I have in my office:



The Fishbowl Wars are over! No more threats of window markers and taped up photos of blinds. No more idiots tapping on the glass or Nosey Nellies watching us work.

We are triumphant!

"A little less conversation, a little more action please...."

And with that, my business trip next week gets more interesting.

No, it's not what you think. I'm not getting "a little more action please." I am going to see the King. Yessirree, this rock chick is headed to Graceland.

I'm headed to Mississippi by way of Memphis, with 5 colleagues. For one of them, it'll be her third "pilgrimage" to Elvis's home. For another, it's her first and she plans to do it up right! The rest of us are along for the ride.

So, the place has gotten lousy with merchandising and licensing agreements gone bananas (fried? in a sandwich?). I go prepared to embrace the tourist within. Maybe I can find Elvis guitar picks for my son. Maybe some kitchy purse for my daughter, made out of blue suede. My mom's birthday is coming, so I see Elvis-isms in her future, too. I'll just spread the tourist joy to everyone!

I have to admit, I look forward to seeing Elvis's final resting place. There's something almost alluring to me about gravesites. If I ever make it to Hollywood for a vacation, you can bet I'll be on each one of those creepy graveyard tours. If I couldn't meet these people in life, then it's something to stand where they have finally found peace. Well....what peace you can find with kitchy tourists coming to see where you eternally slumber.... Sorry, but I'll be one of them!

Now, I also have every intention of heading out with one colleague for the Civil Rights Tour or Blues Music Tour. Somehow, I think the level of kitch in those experiences will pale in comparison to the King's licensing machine.

Wish me luck!