Long distance drunk dialing expert

Voicemail from my sister Saturday night from my cousin's wedding reception (kindly add the sound effect of my mother giggling in the background):

Tiffany: "Colleeeeeeen. This is your sister...and your mom. We are having a blast together. And we really want to talk to you because we love you. P.S. your mom is a HOTTIE...her body is banging and she looks great so answer your phone and talk to us. Bye, love you. Call us back. We're so over you. I'm OVER you. Haaaaaa. Your mom's over you. That's bad - that's hardcore if your own mom's over you. If you don't call us back, she'll be over you for the rest of your life. Bye, sister."

I cannot WAIT until she has kids...

My driveway is full of boxes, I can't find my hairdryer, I'm going to bed and I'm NEVER doing this again!

I like to talk trash about my ex-husband because...I can. One thing I will say about him, though, is that he is physically the strongest person I have ever known. He bench presses over 400 pounds and he could single-handedly move all my belongings out of his house, by himself, with one hand. Oh, wait, he didn't, though, because I HAD TO HELP.

He's staying with me during his two-week break from Iraq in order to move, pack and ship all his belongings out of his house then sell it (Open House is Sunday - stop by for cookies). The plan was to have me rent a U-Haul truck, then he would help me move the rest of our son's belongings out, the cherry entertainment center I bought last year, the 54" big screen tv I traded my laptop for, and any furniture, books, etc. that I still wanted.

Because I felt guilty when we were going through our divorce a couple of years ago, I let him keep everything except for a couch and my son's bedroom furniture. He kept two houses, 100% of his retirement, the dog, and all the STUFF. He makes three times more than I do. Does it piss me off sometimes that I never even talked to a lawyer? Yep. Did it REALLY piss me off today? Apparently.

Move #47 was a meltdown waiting to happen. He didn't think we should risk moving the tv OR the entertainment stand ourselves because they would most likely end up damaged. I whined, complained about giving him the best years of my life with nothing to show after 17 years, etc. and he told me to quit being such a selfish, greedy bitch. I politely told him, "Fuck you, prick. I don't want anything of yours. I'm loading up all this shit and I'm taking it to Goodwill, motherfucker!" (I never swore when we first met..and I know he really hates it, so I turn on the fountain of "fucks" when I get mad at him).

There really should be some sort of law against people of Irish descent marrying. We yelled, threw things, broke dishes, I cried and resisted the urge to run him over...ahhhh, just like the good ole days.

Famous last words

All of my relationships end in these three words:


"YOU NEED THERAPY!"


Pffft. That's why I have a blog.

Dander packrat

Me: (face-flushed, mini-rant mode): My damn tenants...they smoked - in MY house - then vacuumed up the butts. And? They never bothered to change the air filters - not once in EIGHT MONTHS - the fur, dirt and crap was at least five inches thick. Disgusting pigs.

Ex: You changed the air filters in my house while you were living here, right?

Me (sporting a blank look from the Fall 2005 Collection): Uh...I'm sure I wanted to...where do they go, again?

Thank goodness he didn't have the foresight to get a deposit from me.

Explosive Dinner Theatre

Ingredients:
- one pro-Bush, Conservative, Right-Wing, macho military man
- one bleeding heart liberal
- one teen revolutionary/socialist

Preheat kitchen to 97 degrees Fahrenheit. Marinate soldier in bleeding heart liberal for two hours until eyes bulge and veins throb. Sprinkle generously with Che Guevara-t-shirt wearing teen.

Bring to a boil, then simmer indefinitely.

Who's ready for seconds?!

Gingko Biloba moments

These are two arguments I used to have regularly with my ex (do NOT take your camera out drinking if you're married - ever):

"You SAID you had to go to work but you went to Bowling Green with your 'friend' M (put an extra snide emphasis on the word 'friend'), stayed up drinking all night and came back with a camera-load of film of you drinking with a group of guys! This is not the way married women should act."

"Of course I threw all your clothes outside...I don't care who the hell he is, you shouldn't have a business card from Eric Hipple that says, 'thanks for a great night'" (hey, he used to be a quarterback for the Detroit Lions and he was in a hole-in-the-wall bar in Higgin's Lake, helping us carry out our friend who was busy throwing up).

[Wait: I see a pattern]

I think there should be a statute of limitations for an argument. Fight about it, slam doors, knock each other out, have make-up sex, then GET OVER IT!

Apaches, Chinooks, Blackhawks, oh my!

A few others have written about Hurricane Katrina in much more depth and more eloquently than I, so while I'm amazed at the depths of this tragedy on many levels, I want to focus on one aspect: the mind-boggling ineptitude of the U.S. government regarding air support.

I try to avoid politics here because I realize there are two sides to every issue (and I really hate conflict). While I don't always agree with Michael Moore, I wondered, too, about the U.S. Army helicopters sitting idly here this week on the military base I work. An excerpt from his letter to the president:

Friday, September 2nd, 2005

Dear Mr. Bush: Any idea where all our helicopters are? It's Day 5 of Hurricane Katrina and thousands remain stranded in New Orleans and need to be airlifted. Where on earth could you have misplaced all our military choppers? Do you need help finding them? I once lost my car in a Sears parking lot. Man, was that a drag.

The Home of Army Aviation is located in Southeastern Alabama, about 300 miles east of New Orleans - less than three hours by air. To prepare for Hurricanes Ivan and Dennis, helicopters were evacuated to Georgia for safety within a day's notice (phew - thank goodness the equipment is always safe during nature's wrath).

With this same amount of advance notice, I don't understand why these helicopters weren't mobilized from here no later than day 2, at least until an organized relief effort could begin. Maybe the president needs a giant key alarm that will beep and make noise next time he misplaces his aviation units.

knock three times...

My dad and his eleven brothers and sisters all suffer, in varying degrees, from manic depression. They require solo time, calling it "going down to the basement" in honor of my uncle Paul (with a metal plate in his head from a mugging in Chicago), who would not leave his dark basement bedroom for days at a time. Eventually, he'd emerge, not necessarily better for the wear.

A few years ago I miscarried by taking St. John's Wort to help with my depression and working out 3 hours a day (6 mile run and weights in the morning, step aerobics and treadmill in the evening). I didn't see daylight for five days and played the same two cds - Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing and Cowboy Junkies over and over. I didn't think I could feel a bigger loss. I was wrong.

Homes in Alabama don't have basements because of the water table (or something). "Sitting in my dark closet looking at my shoes" isn't as poetic as heading for the basement, but that's where I'll be for awhile. I have a habit of ruining all good things in my life.