Get. Over. It.

I had almost forgotten about this loop in my brain. A cd with only one track: play, repeat, play, repeat. Anxiety in the cul de sac, to the pit of my stomach with no place else to go.

All I wanted was to get a free online copy of my credit report, but somewhere admidst the social security numbers and secret questions, I managed to pull my ex-husband's report. I couldn't help but notice that he refinanced his joint mortgage of $418,000 in October. Google maps showed his homestead on a creek, on an island near Savannah with his own dock. There were no satellite images of his wife sunning herself, but when I dialed the number on the report, hoping to hear her voice, I discovered it was only his cell phone. If they didn't live 6 hours and 31 minutes away, I would be driving by their house at this very minute.

I'm obsessing. And nauseous. I don't know if I'm more jealous of his $15,000 jetski, or the fact that he found love. Oh, wait a minute: IT DOESN'T MATTER! Stop, brain. Please, please stop.


Love hurts, but dating maims

I gracefully slid into my date's BMW, trying not to get boot drippage from the rain on his floor mats, when he closed the door on my shins.

We had one drink apiece at several locations (?), before we headed to dinner. As his eyes started watering and itching, my date said, "There must've been something in my meal. I'm allergic to blue cheese, peanuts..."

Me: "I tried giving my coworker a ride in my car once, but he was so allergic to cats, he couldn't even ride in my fur-filled car!"

My date: "...and cats."


Fiero Tundra

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams go
Life is a barren field, frozen with snow."
-Langston Hughes

(photo courtesy of my dad TQ*)

*I have a stronger aversion to frostbite


Proposal #6: Don't Think Twice

I woke up at 5 a.m. when my blue tinsel, makeshift engagement ring started cutting off circulation in my left finger.

New Year's Eve marked my second date with A.J. in six months. Apparently his persistance paid off, because there I was, drinking congratulatory beers (which makes him seem immensely more interesting and less irritating), after he proposed in front of the whole bar, and wondering how I was going to get out of this one. Will March of 2000-never work for you?

He seems sweet, but his retirement from law enforcement draws a giant, red waving flag. People drawn to this occupation tend to be paranoid, background-check running, computer key logger installing control freaks. None for me, thanks. He talks too much and says things like "chow" instead of dinner, and gives his daughter article 15s, rather than grounding her.

I hate to prematurely decide that someone's not right for me, but there must be some sort of balance between that and agreeing to go out because of feeling obligated and mean if I don't. I detest conflict, but maybe if I could just punch guys I don't want to see again? Would that be too subtle?

For people I've dated but no longer wish to talk to, I change their ringtone on my cell phone to Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright." It's starting to be the only one I hear.

[All my mom had to say about my recent engagement? "I should probably call you more often."]