Seems "Crazy Dan" is in a bit of a pickle

A month ago: after two dates (and perhaps some saki), Dan told me he loved me and suggested we go to Las Vegas to get married. Proposing to a virtual stranger is one thing; telling them you love them? Freaks. Me. Out. I warned him, told him to stop with the nonsense because, truthfully, I was just looking for a fun drinking partner that didn't live too far away.

3 weeks ago: Dan & I met my sister Tiffany and her most recent/probably-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend for drinks and got into a huge fight that included a stony-silent drive home. Correction: HE got into a huge fight because I was disrespectful by letting her tell a story about a man I had kissed in a bar. Forgive my lack of omnipotence, but am I really supposed to control everyone else's stories? He said he didn't want to see me again, I casually said, "fine, whatever", but when he called the next day to apologize and begged me to go to the beach for the weekend, I agreed.

2 weeks ago: he dumped me again because I couldn't tell him if he was wasting his time with me. I told him I no longer wanted to ride his bipolar express when he pleaded with me to go away for the weekend, like nothing had happened, a few days later.

The plot thickens: apparently Crazy Dan has been dating a woman, Lise, off and on for the past year. She contacted me through a mutual friend because she wasn't sure I was aware that he was already in a relationship. When we realized he'd proposed to and asked BOTH of us to go to Ohio over Thanksgiving to meet his family, it became a "you can have him", "no, you take him" battle for the roller-coaster drama queen.

Lise and I have been emailing back and forth, sending photos, and exchanging ideas for the perfect confrontation. She's amazing - an intelligent, funny, animal crusading cutie. Truthfully, I like her much more than I ever liked Crazy Dan. Oh, this is gonna be good...



So, our division chief sent out an email this week:

"The command staff has demanded that the individual releasing the cats from the live traps set out by the Game Warden cease and desist immediately."

Cease and desist? That sounds an awful lot like 'carry on like a rockstar but be careful and don't get caught'. Right?


Party of three?

The great part about losing your expensive sunglasses in the Gulf of Mexico while drunk is that you might spend an hour in the water looking for them, while doing back flips and hand stands and nearly drowning, then wake up the next morning, wondering if you've lost your glasses (all over again).

What was supposed to be a "sister weekend" in Destin, Florida turned into a "sister plus one boyfriend weekend" instead. Oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward in the least - she actually has great taste AND he picked the most amazing restaurants so I might be forever indebted.
There was quite a bit of feral cat drama at work last week involving military police cruising our street to find the saboteur of the metal cat traps. The director of my division was notified of my "possible" involvement, so tomorrow's either going to be a "ha ha, that's so funny" or a "pack your stuff and get out" kind of day. The suspense is killing me.


Trail of nails

The two greatest words for impulsive gamblers of Irish descent who might possibly have lost an entire day last weekend? FREE DRINKS. I'd be bummed about losing all my money in Biloxi, though it probably just covered what would have been a 3-day bar tab. Perspective, you know.
I was a tad pissed in May when I had to buy new tires for my car that had only 25,000 miles, but paid a little extra for the extended warranty with a lifetime of balance and rotations because they gave me an instant line of credit (which should probably be the tagline to my life). This has never worked out in the past since I always forget to take autos in for maintenance, but, hey, I'll play your game.

One of my coworkers mentioned that I had a flat tire last week, so I high-tailed it to the Firestone before closing, to be informed that the culprit was TWO nails. I made an appointment to come back today to get the tires rotated (plus, I'm naturally suspicious of scheming, hoodwinking, greedy mechanics - I wanted to make sure they had repaired the nail holes adequately).

Imagine my surprise: a third nail in the sidewall of a second tire. How the hell am I driving sideways over nail-infested terrain with my car? Alas, it didn't matter: they replaced the tire, since it couldn't be repaired, and I had to pay nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nyet. Oooompah!