Working for most of my life in the trucking business has given me the opportunity to deal on a personal basis with all kinds of men. Some of them are complete angels, and not put off, nor a bit threatened, by little old me--the lady driver. These are men of great competence, and secure in their station of life. They have nothing to prove, and they are instantly aware of their lesser counterparts: the insecure male.

The insecure male has a great deal to prove. He is an incessant whiner, and two-faced in all respects. You will often hear him say, "Ain't NO WOMAN gonna tell ME what to do!" Not only that, women will always be held to a higher standard. For example, a male driver can get sick, freeze his load, or run over something, and he will always be excused. Making modifications, accidentally, or on purpose, to other people's property is always a right. Chronically in competition, he will fabricate lies to rid himself of any noticable female threat.

I am now dealing with a group of insecure males. I feel sorry for them because their efforts are so painfully noticable and pathetic. One of them, whom I usually refer to in my thoughts as "idiot," has a long history of drug abuse. Whatever it is he sniffs, has surely affected his brain cells. He really believes his pretense of humility is convincing to the masses. His charade is comical. We have seen this character so high he is literally walking on the clouds, but he isn't fooling me.

I relish with even more enthusiasm my latest, most notable, 'insecure male.' This guy is truly teetering on the edge of a full blown personal disaster because his politics are about to bite him in the rear. Arrogance is the norm, and he has convinced himself he owns the rights to works not his own. He will almost always overstep boundaries. He has forgotten he is simply an employee of a much larger enterprise, of which I am very familiar. He overvalues himself, by A LOT. You will often hear him try to sugarcoat the obvious...he will usually say, "Well, I was just trying to find out." In reality, he is on a mission to find fault with little old me.

Pondering the consequences of facing down my insecure males has lead me to believe I have nothing to lose. Truth is my friend, and I can prove I have been treated with outrageous disrespect, and constantly inconvenienced. The chances of me letting them reach their goal is nill at best. My advice to them would be to simply back off before they get screwed in a manner not typical for them.

I am such a likable and laid back character. I never bother anyone; but, for some mysterious reason, these insecure males have decided to target me. I hope they know what they are getting into :-)

Always remember, if my little tirade against the "insecure male" is making you uncomfortable, it is all just "tongue in cheek."

The Cowan home, beautiful for its time,was inhabited by a Catholic family. Dad was the high school principal, mom was the neighborhood angel, the teenagers were funny, and the yard was always full of cars. My childhood playmate would sit at night on the hood of a car in his neat little shorts, and we would look up into the sky together, and wonder why we were born. He would always put up a great fight, or argument, over any subject. In our own special way we were bosses over the block. At night, we moved around freely, and our parents called for us from front porches decorated with shrubs, southern flowers, and painted swings. On 12th street, lived another huge family. Our friend Linda occupied a small shotgun house with three brothers and sisters, and a huge yard. I was safe and happy living between my childhood friends.

By the time we all started school, everyone had moved into other places. Jimmy and I were separated by a year; but Linda and I were torn by a divorce. She moved to a country school, and Jimmy started to hang with the guys. Later, the Cowan house was empty, and I started to see it as I do now: lonely, unkempt, and completely gutted.

Sometimes I go to the picture window and I look inside. I can still see the fabulous Christmas tree, the huge dining room table, and Mary at her housework. But in reality, nothing is left of the Cowan home. No one has lived on the property for at least 20 years. The house is infested with mold, and the structure is unsafe. Most of the time the grass is never mowed. The people in my neighborhood have politely suggested it be demolished. We have sent one code enforcement officer after another into the Cowan place, yet nothing is ever resolved. Several people have taken on the challenge of rebuilding what was once a great family home, only to abandon the project. Now it is nothing but a magnet for crime, and a drag on property values. Yet, the city of Chickasha does nothing.

At Linda's old house, a family moved in. This year we painted the home for the people who live there. It means a lot to us to have beauty in our neighborhood. We are disappointed by the officials who do nothing for our part of town.

The fascinating history of Chickasha, Oklahoma, is in the Westhill neighborhood. The Ross family, among many others, made their money, and raised their children, in this older area. Our family operated a small business. Linda's mom worked for Safeway just down the street. West School, only one block from our home, was highly respected. Before the apartment buildings, and duplexes, along Minnesota, we enjoyed the convenience of a small grocery store on 12th, owned by Pastor Long, a respected clergyman. The Oklahoma College for Women, and later OCLA, was attended by many of our older siblings. Many of us have graduated from that same school, now known as The University of Science and Arts of Oklahoma.

With all of this fascinating history, these family stories, and strong connections between us, it is almost horrific to suffer the disrespect of the City of Chickasha Code Enforcement. I know that everyone who owns, or has a historic and emotional attachment to the city's older neighborhoods, would like to see a more interested council. Because the University is in our neighborhood, and because our history is so complex, many eyes are upon the old Westhill neighborhood.

Maybe it is time to clean up downtown.

Frightening how many people will lie, and the lengths they will go to in order to twist facts and alter conclusions, but nothing lives longer than the truth. You can obscure the truth and hide it behind words, comments, and confusion; inevitably it lives longer than life itself. The truth is not one thing to someone, and another thing to someone else. The truth is the fact of any given situation. It is powered with physical and verbal evidence; it simply is.

Eye witness testimony has been responsible for the downfall of many an innocent victim. When the police want to convict someone for reasons beyond our understanding, then they foster the word of one who is willing to lie, fabricate, or otherwise manipulate the truth. The police will cherry pick their witnesses in order to slant a critical fact. The problem is, these liars come in all cloths, and we can never know for sure when one is willing to sell his/her soul. Most often it is someone with an otherwise failed life: an underachieving clerical worker, jailbird, or an attention seeker; sometimes, people lie for money.

Casey Anthony is simply a pathological liar. How do you get to that point? Maybe it starts with your parents, and maybe it is something she does for gain. Whatever the case, I believe we are primarily fascinated with her outrageously morbid lies. Her mouth outstages her actions somehow; it is so grossly false.

The lies the American public has recently witnessed are truly frightening in their scope and depth: Governor Arnold, Casey, her parents, Weiner....and on, and on! They are not generic, run of the mill fibs uttered from fear, or for cover. They are full blown horrific lies with severe consequences. In fact, these are the kinds of lies that ruin lives by the score.

My own life has been deeply affected by the lies told against me. I wish I could change the aspersions, the misconceptions, stereotype, and the completely false statements, cruel, and unconscionable people have wielded against my name. Maybe I still can. I am happy I have never falsely accused anyone.

In the meantime, I sit here horrified and fascinated, perplexed by the enormity of the lies around me. I wonder why, when the truth is so simple and clean, armored with its own physical evidence...the way it is. Casey Anthony, and others like her, will eventually realize the truth is never as elusive as they believe. It is in every corner of the mind...it lives forever. The evidence is undeniable. I am mystified.