One Way Ticket

Elevator Practice

2011-10-02T08:32:00.000-05:00

For some odd reason, while in an elevator, I never seem to be able to remember which button to push to hold the doors open. This leads to some awkwardness after making eye contact with strangers, as they rush to get onboard, only to have the doors quickly shut in front of them as I repeatedly push for the doors to close. I halfway expect some pumped-up, steroid-injecting, angry man to run down the stairs and confront me after I successfully arrive at my destination and attempt to exit. Which leads me to last weekend.

RB & I stayed in a condo in Panama City Beach, where we were fortunate to get free* concert tickets for Miranda Lambert (Friday) and Jason Aldean (Saturday). Admittedly, I'm not much of a country music fan, but it seems rather elitist to write off an entire genre.

*Free is a relative term, since the resort charged an additional $160 for a damage waiver, reservation, registration and cleaning fees.

As holders of preferred general admission tickets, we were directed to the section closest to the stage, which would have been amazing if I'd known one song. I thought I did, but it turns out Carrie Underwood digs her keys into his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive. Miranda should probably add it to her repertoire. Just sayin'.

We were enjoying the show, packed tight, when the angry man from my elevator scenario started pushing his way near the stage. He was saying, "Don't look at me. Don't look at me." A gaping hole in the crowd opened up, as Steroid man ripped off his shirt, and attempted to fight the guilty man who apparently was brave enough to look at him. He was standing directly in front of me, with his beefy, overthick neck in view. I, of course, felt an overwhelming urge to thump him in the neck, but came to my senses when I remembered how painful broken noses can be.

Lost in Time. And Space.

2011-08-20T14:54:00.006-05:00

The man behind the counter of the Enterprise car rental asked if I would be taking the vehicle out of the state. "Not on purpose," I replied flippantly. Who doesn't love a little foreshadowing in life?

I headed north in that Aveo, with the windows down and the radio blaring, across industrialized metal bridges and through Amish farmland, occasionally looking down at the stack of papers printed out from Mapquest before my trip. I drove for approximately three hours through the countryside and city, and that old metaphor about life being about the journey is true...though the destination was actually a necessity for work.

I never realized Pittsburgh, or Pennsylvania in general, was on my wishlist of places to visit - what a great surprise. Next time, however, I plan on being armed with a GPS. And maybe tickets to a Steeler's game. And possibly a driver - it's practically impossible to get bridge photos while negotiating traffic.

3rd Class Travel

2011-08-18T19:33:00.011-05:00

During my flight to Pittsburgh yesterday, smooshed up against the window while sitting next to an overweight, short-limbed snoring man, it occured to me that the airlines should be charging passengers per pound of bodyweight. Or at least a surcharge if they can't be contained in the width of one seat.

As an ineffcient packer, I don't mind (much) paying for luggage, but if I'm being overcharged for my seat, I want to at least enjoy the whole thing.

All men are created equal, but some are more equal than others.

Fg = G (m1*m2)/(d^2)

2011-07-14T17:48:00.010-05:00

I thought gravity was taking a toll on me, but at least I haven't simply fallen in the street without warning (or wind, rain, rhyme or reason). Recently, anyway.

Scare Tactics

2011-07-11T17:51:00.001-05:00

I found my dentist a few years ago after eating nachos and breaking a molar on a Thursday night. Apparently, the Dentist Union prevents them from working on Fridays, but after about twenty calls, I found one willing to see me. I'm a model patient, flossing daily, drinking wine with a straw, and paying for appointments every six months, even when my insurance is particularly fickle about their portion of our payment plan.

How to scare your patient in 3, 2, 1...: my dentist walked up from behind, warning me not to be alarmed. Why? He'd had a face lift last week and was still recovering, with some major hematomas on his neck. He then proceeded to show me the stitches around both sides of his face, around his hairy ears, down his chin, and across the back side of his head. I nodded and checked out the medical wizardry, but it all looked like something that should be healing within the confines of his own home. He then explained that beauty was painful, but he'd be getting a breast reduction next. I can only hope my timing gets better.

Viva Las Romas!

2011-07-09T10:47:00.013-05:00

My favorite place in Las Vegas looks a lot like Italy. Caesars Palace is a newer, cleaner version of Rome, with more glitz, gambling and palm trees. You can even find gelato.

I still prefer the ancient original, however, for the way it touches my soul. Senatus populusque Romanus.

Someone like Us

2011-07-03T09:44:00.004-05:00

There may be several someone's like you, but there are none exactly like you.

Caffè Way

2011-06-30T16:50:00.007-05:00

Always beyond considerate, RB took my car to the gas station last night to fill up, since I had to leave for Montgomery at 6 a.m. this morning. "Besides, you'll want to leave enough time to get lost on your way there." (which might seem funny, if it wasn't for the fact that members of my family consistently get lost in parking lots).

Apparently, he should also have reminded me to leave enough time to pick up a large coffee, then spill it over my new white linen shirt while fiddling with the lid. And I got lost.

Wonder by Wonder

2011-06-28T21:05:00.002-05:00

I expected nothing less than spectacular from the Grand Canyon, and wasn't disappointed. Riding in a jeep with the sides off, drinking Corona and occasionally stopping to buy petrified wood souveneirs.

Life is, indeed, grand.

Public Prattle

2011-06-26T10:26:00.003-05:00

I loathe public speaking. Detest it above all else. My face flames crimson, my vocal chords tighten and my mind performs a massive data dump. My dad Tony offered to send me/pay for a Dale Carnegie course once, but the discussion made my palms sweat. I'd rather visit the dentist and the gynecologist in the same afternoon. At a training hospital. And have the procedures televised.

Last month, I was volun-told to be our representative at the two week SHARP (Sexual Harassment/Assault Response Prevention) Course. I didn't mind the ten-hour days or the topic, and the soldiers were infinitely more interesting than my co-workers. Unfortunately, I'm now responsible for giving 3-hour blocks of training to approximately 80 people in our directorate, in groups of 15 at a time. Just ~~thinking~~ obsessing about it sends me into pre-stroke territory.

"Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent."
~ Dionysius of Halicarnassus

Mo' money, time and cable

2011-06-18T12:07:00.008-05:00

Not that I've ever had much of either, but I've definitely noticed money and time seldom co-exist in my world. Unemployed while living in Germany, I could have spent months skiing the Alps (if I knew how) or riding boats down the Rhine. Capital One's propensity to deny charges over my credit limit curbed my reckless abandon, however. Now? I have access to more funds, but work beaucoup hours with minimal vacation. It seldom leaves time for globetrotting.

It's occurred to me that blogging and actually having something to post seem to be mutually exclusive as well. Case in point: I returned home from my trip to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, armed with three cameras full of digital photos, only to discover internet and cable had been disconnected in my absence.

When Time Warner changed my account number a few months ago, then charged late fees because they didn't receive payment, I simply stopped paying. I refused to pay for the month that hadn't happened yet, or the reconnection fee. I'll call your bluff, giant corporate monopoly-holding bully.

It turns out six days of bluff calling and quiet introspection is all I really need. I called TW, out of curiousity, to discuss options, then upgraded to digital cable for my old school televisions. Now when I'm at work, I can record all the quality shows I'm missing.

Closure

2011-05-02T09:48:00.002-05:00

"I've never wished a man dead, but I've read some obituaries
with great pleasure." -- Mark Twain

Size Extra Medium

2011-05-01T22:32:00.007-05:00

He's nifty! He's fifty! JOE QUINLAN

"I haven't decided - the fact that you're wearing Uncle Joe's t-shirt is either really cool or slightly morbid," I said to my dad Tony after he arrived in town, wearing my deceased uncle's shirt in the kitchen* during our impromptu family get-together last weekend.

*we always sit in the kitchen. I'm not sure why this is, other than the fact that it's closest to the refrigerator so the beer is more accessible. A more practical option might be to hang out near the bathroom.

My sister Tiffany chimed in, "I think it's really cool. Some of the kids in my school would wear the shirts, and it always made me happy when I saw them."

Celebratory shirts. Maybe the best way to feel closer to the people in our lives would be to steal their party clothes. If only my family had better fashion sense.

Days like This

2011-04-20T08:07:00.000-05:00

Worse than flying to Tucson, taking a shuttle to a trailer in the middle of the desert in order to rent a miniature Nissan car with manual windows and no cruise controls, was losing the damn thing at the casino the following night. (At least I knew no one had stolen it.)

Encore

2011-04-02T08:47:00.011-05:00

Despite the hail storm last weekend, spring is firmly entrenched in Southern Alabama. Life seems brighter with azaleas in bloom.

"If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom, maybe your soul has never been in bloom.
-- Terri Guillemets

Frenetic

2011-03-30T07:53:00.005-05:00

"I put my heart and soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process." - Vincent van Gogh

I've had two years to update my installation's Hazardous Waste Management Plan, hauling papers in a notebook around the country in order to be prepared for unplanned spare time or a missed flight (I've apparently had neither).

The first draft needs to be submitted this afternoon. Is the thrill of procrastinating so rewarding? Or is my plan that boring? Maybe I could call it a cliffhanger by skipping the last few sections?

Savannah v. Savannah

2011-03-26T18:22:00.002-05:00

Death Plan, Rev 002

2011-03-22T20:31:00.008-05:00

Morbidly, perhaps, I've been overly interested in my own death for most of my life. Ready for a do-over at 42. Doesn't everyone have a top 5 of preferred demises?

1. free-fall over a cliff in a '72 Jaguar (while Cat Stevens plays in the background. Thank you, Harold and Maude).
2. drug overdose (minus the vomit)
3. airplane crash
4. mortal gunshot wound
5. electric chair (without the guilty verdict/jail time)

Over the years, I've come to the realization that this life isn't so bad and fear, instead, the possibility of surviving a medical calamity, destined to spend years paralyzed and dependent on others.

Though I've been taking blood pressure medication for two years, I apparently do not have a free pass from the professional, personal and financial stress I internalize. The numbers are still dangerously high, and frankly? The possibility of a stroke definitely ranks last on the death list.

Rock the Boat, Don't Tip the Boat Over

2011-03-19T08:45:00.001-05:00

[St. George Island, Florida]

It's a MoonPie New Year

2011-01-01T18:55:00.003-06:00

Central Time Zone. Who wouldn't want to celebrate the New Year with a 600-pound marshmallow pie dropping from the sky? (Mobile, Alabama)

2011: the year of my favorite snack!

Although I'm a former Michigan Wolverine, I cheered for both University of Michigan and Michigan State today in their (separate but equal stompings) bowl games. Since both were scheduled at the same time, RB stacked a 2nd tv on top of the main one in the living room, where we spent the day in our own private Sports Bar, without having to start a tab.

Petite Peeve

2010-12-31T16:19:00.006-06:00

Here's a New Year's resolution suggestion for annoying, clustering, clingy fools:

If you go to a matinée in a movie theater, where there are only a handful of individuals trying to eat their popcorn in peace, try not to sit next to another patron. Better yet, get your own row.

If you're at the gym, where there's a whole row of assorted cardio equipment, don't get on the elliptical trainer right next to someone. Branch out, give people their space. It's tough enough dragging my fat ass to the gym without having to share hot, sweaty air. Geez.

And to all a good night...

2010-12-25T20:14:00.003-06:00

Camilla

2010-12-19T16:05:00.006-06:00

"In the depths of winter I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

-- Albert Camus

The ed is the beginning is the ed.

2010-12-14T21:22:00.004-06:00

I saw an email in my inbox the other day, "Get rid of ED".

A little presumptuous, I thought, to assume I wanted to off my ex-husband. He's kind of large - wouldn't there be evidence? I clicked it open, only to discover Ed is more commonly referred to as 'erectile dysfunction'. The things you learn.

I had always heard that recovery time from a divorce is equal to half the time you were married, but a little rejection goes a long way: I'm ahead of schedule by about 2 years. My (non-ED) boyfriend and I recently celebrated our year anniversary and I did not even freak out. Not even a little. I've been through enough cheap, crazy, cheating, lying toads - I deserve this.

Stiffed

2010-12-13T13:51:00.007-06:00

It may not be accurate or fair, but I've always lumped chiropractors in with the rest of my mom's special brand of medical quackery. Her purple power quartz may have helped with pregnancy and delivery, but I'm a scientist, for heaven's sake. I need facts and proof.

This year, though, has seen the birth of a fatter, stiffer and, dare I say, more open-minded version of my previous self. The other day, when I had to move my entire body to look at someone entering my office because my neck no longer turned left or right, it seemed more than a little inconvenient. Driving? I had become the old woman terrorist commuter, accelerating and hoping for the best when changing lanes.

My new chiropractor tells me that my back muscles have been spasming, which has caused them to lock and severely limit my range of motion. Some manipulating, jack hammers, and electrodes later, I was able to turn my head. He thinks I'll need 2 weeks of daily, aggressive treatment, but with a $25 co-pay each visit, we may need to cut it short due to my ~~cheap ass~~ frugalness.

Motherfunk*

2010-11-15T22:07:00.012-06:00

*Patrick, at 1-1/2, with his cherubic little face, would screech 'motherfunk' every time he saw a chipmunk in the yard. He would get so excited, I never had the heart to correct him.

An interesting tidbit about chipmunks after they're caught by felines and dragged into the house through the cat door: they hide. They hide exceptionally well, squirrelled away in little cubby holes under the refrigerator or tv, or possibly in a bathroom cabinet, then never try to escape. They seem to be biding their time, waiting to die.

Electoral thieves

2010-11-06T18:22:00.000-05:00

I voted the other day, for the first time ever, which I know is lame, but the only place one person's vote ever made a difference was on Survivor. Hopefully, though, in the future, I'll get picked up for more jury duty, sitting in a leather chair from 8-4 with a break for lunch, deciding the fate of a diabetic with a meth pipe in the van he borrowed from a friend. Count me in!

Patrick had a rough night after rocking his vote, when someone smashed the passenger window of his car, then stole his wallet. I looked online at the transactions and saw quite a party: fast food feasts, gas station splurges, some protein products from GNC....until I realized all this had occurred before his wallet was stolen. Never give your kid a credit card to use "in case of an emergency" because there are bound to be errors in translation.

A Hiking Guide to the Internet

2010-10-31T19:34:00.008-05:00

Stephen Jay Gould, one of my favorite authors and paleontologists, published a theory of punctuated equilibrium as a mechanism for evolutionary biology, which was the opposite of that given by the Darwin school. Basically, he said, there are extended periods of stasis, followed by rare events of dramatic change.

It seems like technology enters my life in much the same way - multiple gadgets and devices forcing my brain to adapt rapidly (and kicking my ass in the process). I spent the majority of the week frustrated, trying to figure out how to create and publish Robert's website. Turns out I've learned very little useful information from years of reading blogs on the internet.

Saturday, we went hiking in Providence Canyon in Georgia, which was breathtaking! The "Little Grand Canyon" is the result of poor farming practices by early settlers, who cleared trees to plant crops. Nevertheless, my brain was revived and I was able to renavigate the treacherous world of websites - until I installed the code for an interactive calendar and accidentally deleted the home page a couple of hours ago. It might be another long week.

Case DIS-MISSED!

2010-10-21T13:45:00.005-05:00

My first thought upon leaving the courtroom this afternoon: PHEW! I don't have to come up with any additional money for fees and fines!

Patrick: DAMN! That's a hot, young prosecuting attorney!

I'm glad he wore his lucky court shirt...

Zen and the Fine Art of Procrastination

2010-10-17T10:00:00.007-05:00

I've always been a gifted procrastinator, perhaps even a child prodigy, throwing down the gauntlet of procrastination for years with my dad Tony ("I have 2 days to file for social security." "Yeah? Well, my taxes are due in 3 hours!"). I'm even a driving procrastinator, leaving myself exactly 22 minutes for a 22 minute drive to work (but wind up speeding, just a little bit, or sometimes a lot). The game just never gets old.

Every single year, without exception, I'm required to submit an extremely detailed report to the state of Alabama by the 15th of October. I know it's coming, but manage to put it off until the last minute. I've read articles (while stalling) about how procrastinators are perfectionists, giving themselves a built-in excuse and how unproductive this technique is. Au contraire. I manage to accomplish twice as many other things the longer I avoid the task at hand. This year, I brought in plants/flowers to create a work oasis for my office, and spent 4-5 hours rearranging furniture. I figured the new perspective would help with inspiration, or at least smell nice to cover the scent of my nervous perspiration on the 14th.

Patrick's DUI trial, originally scheduled for December 2nd, has been moved to October 21st. My first inclination was to call and get it changed back. Patrick? Decided to keep it in October, so it wouldn't be hanging over his head. Where did I go wrong? You try to teach your kid, give them a navigational tool for life, and this is how they pay you back? Ungrateful anticrastinator.

Revolution No. 20

2010-09-15T17:20:00.006-05:00

While visiting my son Patrick, we took a road trip to Savannah, about an hour away, so he could tell his dad about the assault. He didn't necessarily want to, but I mentioned that all the medical tests and treatment would be showing up on insurance bills, and it might be wise to give advanced warning. Better to get yelled at now, while his bruises might garner a wee bit of sympathy.*

*True to form, his dad yelled. "What were you doing in a bar?! And in a parking lot at that time of night?!" Then yelled some more. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? And I'm not paying that ticket!" He's nothing, if not predictable.

I wisely killed an hour at the mall, then waited in the bookstore, while Patrick did his time. When he came back to get me, I told him to pick out a book, which he did with enthusiasm. Fidel Castro: My Life: A Spoken Autobiography. He's pretty sure I'll be reading the 700+ page endeavor after he finishes. I'm pretty sure I won't.

Now on his Facebook page: ‎"A man is not entirely the master of his own destiny. A man is also the child of circumstances, of difficulties, of struggle. Problems gradually sculpt him like a lathe sculpts a piece of metal. A man is not born a revolutionary, I'd venture to say." - FC.

Ice, Ice Baby

2010-09-13T08:03:00.002-05:00

When I see parents exasperated, chasing toddler boys, I always say, "Don't worry, it may seem more difficult now, but boys are much easier when they're older." Really? Why do I lie to complete strangers?

Early Saturday morning, a Georgia police officer left a voice message on my cell phone, informing me that my son was in the hospital...(mumbling southern accent)...or the police station...(mumble, mumble)...assaulted in a parking lot...(southern drawl)...followed by phone numbers (ya'll).

When I finally reached Patrick on the phone, I had a difficult time understanding details of the assault, probably due to the punches that had landed on his jaw. He had been walking home from the bar, when a handful of guys jumped him in the parking lot. He took a few blows to the face before hitting the asphalt, and managed to break the fall with his forehead and elbows, before they gave him a few kicks to his kidneys, took his $20, and left.

Unconscious for a while, the next thing he remembered was being on someone's porch, then walking around the hospital, where he was treated, and given a $480 ticket for being a minor under the influence of alcohol. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't throw him in jail for bleeding on public property.

Full Circle

2010-09-11T08:30:00.005-05:00

Events of the past three weeks include: my boyfriend moving in, a week-long conference in Orlando, a belated divorce settlement, training in Mobile, death of a family member, bailing my son out of jail, my first $500 casino chip, more Bud Light than you could shake a stick at, assault and battery in a parking lot, followed by my boyfriend moving back out. And so begins the winter of our disconnect.

From the Ashes...

2010-08-16T21:32:00.031-05:00

March 1, 2007 is one of those days I'll always remember, like 9/11 or 2/25 (George Harrison's birthday).

We share stories about where we were (work. Rearranging my office furniture) and where our kids were (Savannah. Patrick was suspended and spending quality time with his dad as a result) when the F4 tornado struck and destroyed the high school (more photos here).

Today, I was fortunate enough to tag along with a group of engineers from my office to see the soon-to-be completed Enterprise High School.

EHS will be the largest high school in the state of Alabama, with 520,000 square feet located on 135 acres, and some helluva awesome features:

Three floors of classrooms, media and lecture rooms, and a chemistry lab that had me itching to pull out a lab coat and goggles
Multiple computer labs, hundreds of media-streaming screens, "smart boards" in every classroom and a high-tech auditorium

An indoor shooting range

An 8,000-seat football stadium, 3 full-sized basketball courts, and locker rooms galore

Price tag: $92 million

There may not be a specific dress code, but female students be forewarned: stick to comfortable shoes.

Life Begins At...

2010-08-03T18:45:00.007-05:00

1978. Mary VanGordan and I closed our eyes and asked the Ouiji Board questions. "How old will I be when I die?" 4-2, wrote Mary's sister as the glass whisked around the board.

1986. On my nineteenth birthday, my dad sent a card with a pin inside that said, "Life begins at 40." Not much time I quickly realized, after doing the math.

The years I spent, with no retirement plan or financial consequences, officially passed yesterday. I can now call out the Ouiji board for being a dirty rotten liar and let the living begin.

----

Voicemail from my sister: "Happy birthday, flashdance sisterpants! I hope you're not working. I hope you're drunk, in a gutter somewhere, on your birthday. You don't want to talk, I understand. If you want to talk, call me back. If you're in a gutter, sleep tight. I love you. Goodbye."

'Bama Electric

2010-07-29T18:57:00.010-05:00

Loving numbers, graphs and statistics, I thought it might be perfect last year when the local electric company sent a survey and began offering personalized recommendations for changes I could make to reduce electric usage. I set a goal and estimated that I could, under ideal conditions (like being out of town often and never cooking), use 10% less. This would surely translate into cost savings, which would ultimately equal more shoes. Know thyself.

Like clockwork, Alabama Power sends my Energy Savings Report at the end of the each month, comparing my actual kilowatt usage to other similarly sized/aged homes and average temperatures. Instead of cutting my power by 10%, I've consistently used 25-30% more than expected. Tips follow, so that I might become aware of my energy shortcomings.

Alright, already. It's hot and I'm sweaty - stop with the constant nagging. I'll leave all the lights on and you'll like it!

Mixing it up in Town

2010-07-28T18:24:00.002-05:00

Take Manhattan, just give me that Countryside

2010-07-23T23:55:00.007-05:00

I live in a quiet, (mostly) safe neighborhood with a half-acre lot, surrounded by a few homes, woods and a creek across the street. Traffic is minimal, but occasionally when driving home, I'll have a pseudo-premonition of one of my cats, bloody and run over in the middle of the street. It's traumatic, to say the least, and morbid, and makes my heart stop, wondering if/when the scenario will ever play out. I could keep them locked in the house at all times, but they're feral by nature, not special breeds that have been pampered and declawed, napping in fleece-lined beds by the window as they wait for my daily return.

One of the many topics Tony and I discussed during my recent visit (while drinking my new favorite beer, Moosehead, until 5 a.m.), was the importance of having a dream. Turns out we have a similar vision: owning a piece of property, with a barn large enough to store cats, chickens, and some tractors. The nay-sayers think it's an unrealistic, too-far-from-the-gas-station, expensive beer plan, which is probably why I've been reluctant to verbalize it.

Robert and I spent the weekend looking for puppies and farms, not necessarily in that order. I mentioned some sort of swap would be perfect: they could move into my house and keep some cats, and I'll take their home, in which they'll leave a few dogs. Robert informed me that my debt to income ratio would be great if we were married - officially, the least romantic proposal ever. (Logic is a perfect balance for my impulsivity).

My favorite of the bunch is in Newton, Alabama: 14 acres with 1 barn, 1 equipment shed, a pole barn and a 2.5 acre stocked pond. I've already started to imagine my drive home after a long day's work, sitting on the wooden swing with a beer, surrounded by rolling hills, trees, and lilies from the cabin. My blood pressure feels pounds lower!

Animal Planet: Ground Zero

2010-07-13T21:23:00.009-05:00

I would have set my sights on catching cats, ants, or possum if I had known how difficult it would be to catch a raccoon. The local "Critter Getter" dropped a few cages off last week for the relocation project after my vet confirmed the high risk of rabies from local raccoon populations. Sure, I shared a cabin in Michigan with one that nested in the ceiling, but there's just something more threatening about a 'coon strolling in unexpectedly through the cat door to enjoy a snack. Even vampires need an invitation before entering your home.

I had the easier task of drinking beer and performing hourly cat checks, while Robert put canned mackeral in the strategically placed cages around the house. I felt slightly cruel when I discovered the possum trapped in the middle of the night, hissing and spitting, but felt worse when the drama queen cut his chin, stuck out his tongue, and played dead. Thankfully, we didn't attempt to bury the faker.

This morning, the masked bandit was finally outmanuevered. By the light of dawn, I peeked out the window and watched him lying on his back, fiddling with the cage as though hanging out in an oversized Rubik's Cube. Cute little varmint. The Critter Getter picked up the cage and moved him while I was at work, but I'm hoping his new place has a view and plenty of cat food.

Tusconicity

2010-07-12T21:07:00.006-05:00

[San Xavier Mission Church in Tucson, Arizona]

I complain about my job (often and enthusiastically), but that's because I'm understaffed (who am I kidding? I don't have a staff). I am, however, allowed to attend conferences and training in fabulous locations, where shopping, casinos and alcohol flow freely. Michigan for the weekend, oh baby!

Linguist-ric

2010-07-07T19:45:00.004-05:00

I took Latin, Spanish and German in High School, which hasn't impacted my life much, other than I'm able to order a beer in most countries (and might be an idiot savant at the Reader Digest vocabulary quiz).

My son Patrick, however, has had some difficulty with his college requirement to take (and pass) four semesters of a foreign language. So far, he's failed German, French and Spanish (twice? This semester's grades haven't been posted yet, but I'm not entirely optimistic).

He's come to the conclusion that he's always thought in German, but never been able to articulate those thoughts (which, some might argue, has been his trouble in English, as well, though he does have a firm grasp of 'redneck').

He's optimistic about the next attempt at German, since he started listening to German music and posting foreign phrases on his Facebook. Today? He ended our conversation with "Ich liebe dich". His accent is sounding gut.

Son of a Beach

2010-07-01T22:17:00.002-05:00

[Henderson Beach, near Destin]

I live an hour and a half away from the white, sandy beaches of Destin and Panama City - it's what has made Alabama bearable for 5 years. I know the best places to eat (Harbor Dock), shop (Destin), drink (Red Door), play miniature golf to get the $50 on the last hole, and get tattoos.

I keep saying I should go to the beach one last time...but I'm afraid I may be too late.

Rocky, Part Deux

2010-06-24T21:52:00.021-05:00

You know how it is when you have a dog, and they sneak into the laundry room when you leave the door cracked open, and you hear lots of ruckus and cat food being eaten...and then you remember you don't have a dog? So you creep near the laundry room, wondering if auditory or visual hallucinations usually come first with dementia and old age, then give a blood-curdling scream when you come face-to-face with a raccoon eating the cats' food? Yeah, that was my evening.

And people say things like, "I don't know who was more scared."

Well, I do - and it was definitely me!

I recently ranked all the things RB has done for me since we met, and installing that access door for the cats was #1. It allowed me the freedom to go away for the weekend without worrying about them (as much).

#2 on the list is also animal-related: he chased off between 50-75 bats from my carport eaves, then covered the openings with a fine mesh screen so they couldn't come back. Did I mention he performed this task at night when most had flown out in search of food? I couldn't even stay outside and be supportive, in fear that he'd be attacked and fall off the ladder (in reality, my screeches each time I felt a breeze, were probably more apt to cause injury).

#3. Tree-trimming, porch-saving and general yard beautification projects. Most days, after I get home, I can't decide where to sit with my beer in order to enjoy the view most.

Bathroom Prison Blues

2010-06-22T21:12:00.001-05:00

Cash: not just a man in black. Also a kitten in charcoal grey.

[As well as being a potential source of endless nicknames: Cash Cab. Cashilicious. Cash Only. Pothead. Okay, technically that's Holly's suggestion since it appears he followed Crackhead home].

Unfortunately, this adorable little kitten who wandered into my yard has the same intestinal parasite as Ashcroft, who died a year ago this week. What? Me, worry? More like obsessively love, overfeed, and monitor stool samples. People have different strengths and callings - mine might possibly be feline innkeeper.

The Grass is Always Greener...?

2010-06-20T06:40:00.005-05:00

I would call myself a minimalist when it comes to yard work, preferring to cut the weeds every couple of weeks, or when I feel the neighbors glaring at me as I drive past their homes.

Alas, I started dating RB in December, during a particularly rainy season when my front porch almost washed down the short slope to the street.

He jumped in with both feet, getting the cement truck, Bobcat, and a truckload of sand. Visions of yard grandeur were already dancing in his head.

Oh, sure, it seemed innocent enough when he applied fertilizer, then programmed the sprinklers. I vaguely remember conversations of centipede and bermuda, as he spread grass seed, some sod, then weed killer for good measure. He'd spend one day a week mowing, weed eating, edging, and blowing debris. Yeah, it looks great, sweetie.

Now, however, that we're not together, I have to pull out that lawn mower, and traverse this lush green paradise as the temperature hits 102°F. Bonus? The fact that I gained 20 pounds when we were together (eating out, BBQ, grey goose) means I have even more sweaty bulk to haul around.

I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it's only June. Next year's forecast is calling for weeds.

Seriously?

2010-02-13T15:33:00.003-06:00

Approximately 4" of snow in Southern Alabama - no kidding. I'd like to say I was excited for all the people living here that have never seen snow, but in the future I recommend they take a trip North. I'm boycotting the damn stuff.

Irish Brotherhood

2010-01-21T22:48:00.003-06:00

Don't be a stranger...

How could I not?

2010-01-17T12:54:00.004-06:00

I stopped in Savannah to see Patrick during the 11-hour drive home from Ft. Bragg, North Carolina and had a beer in a rustic pub while waiting for him to finish his weekly, court-ordered AA meeting in a Methodist church across the street.

Redneck Sod

2009-12-27T09:59:00.009-06:00

You can pick your friends, your cats, and even your nose. I'm considering exchanging the kid without a receipt, however.

[My yard, after I treated it for weeds, re-seeded it, and got the sprinkler heads fixed. Sometime around 5 a.m., it was attacked by a wayward Mustang. Patrick would be in his room, sleeping, but apparently forgot rule #1: hide the evidence]

Unveiled

2009-12-18T16:00:00.003-06:00

Septo-rhino-plastica

2009-12-17T15:47:00.000-06:00

I have a c-shaped scar on my wrist from running forward as a glass door was slamming backwards, which is cool if you're into monogramed body parts. My c-shaped nasal monstrosity (aka NOSE), however, has been the bane of my existence and ruined more photos than I care to mention. Distorted and exaggerated in my mind, perhaps, but a profile is a terrible thing to waste.

On Wednesday, I underwent a Septorhinoplasty to straighten my nasal passageways, get rid of the hump, refine the tip (and make me beautiful-ish). Because there was a deviated septum involved, my health insurance forked out 85% of the cost of the procedure. Gracias, Blue Cross!

Recovery is going well (except for what looks like a piece of cartilage or leaking brain material poking through my left nostril. Several attempts to remove on my own have caused near blackouts) and I've been able to get out and about with my purple-rimmed eyes, bandages and nose splint. You'd think people would stare, but they go out of their way to avoid looking.

Top 5 anxiety-causing activities post-nasal surgery:

I. Being told not to sneeze or blow my nose for two weeks while it seeps and bleeds its way into a new shape.

II. Getting in the car. Sure, I've only closed my nose in a car door once, but that was enough (the fact that my son accidentally closed his car window on his nose a few weeks ago makes me wonder if these are common injuries?). Also related seems to be a new fear of walls. I've never actually walked smack dab into one nose first...or have I?

III. Driving. More specifically, crashing and having airbags inflated. onto. my. face.

IV. Trying not to get the bandages wet. That was just a suggestion for the 2-showers a day patient, right?

V. Getting addicted to pain medication because moving/breathing/ sleeping hurts so much. Lortab? Oh, yeah, I get it.

Anonymous Alcoholic

2009-12-05T11:00:00.001-06:00

Two projects for a new and improved me. No deadline and graded on a curve.

1. Self esteem. Get more.
2. Obsessing. Do less.

I saw James' colonel at my gym yesterday, on my stairclimber. I didn't ask her about the snake she's dating, if her divorce is final, or how the date went with Crazy Dan. I've practically moved past it altogether. Sure, I can share.

One memory I play over and over, however: when James and I flew to Michigan one weekend to pack all his belongings and haul the crap down to Alabama, I offered to go to the liquor store on the corner so he could continue loading the truck. He pitched in some money, told me the name of the hard-to-find Brazilian Rum we loved, and said, "don't tell the store owner you know me."

Huh. I keep wondering how someone with a big, fat ego would interpret that comment. Could I just take the hit and stop obsessing about it, at least?

Guess Who's Going to Dinner...

2009-11-11T12:30:00.008-06:00

The Plan: "Walking Away" from James and his other women is working splendidly. I had decided (with a little pep talk from my dad) it was the best course of action because it would just seem like meddling any other way and sometimes you've gotta keep that karma moving in a positive direction.

The Snag: last Monday, during one of Crazy Dan's confessions of undying love to me, I suggested he check out a profile on Match.com (of the colonel James has been spending time with - due mostly to her house in Hawaii, I'm sure).

Tonight? Crazy Dan and James' Colonel are having margarita's at a local Mexican restaurant, while I had a date with the sweetest widower, but accidentally told him to meet me at a restaurant in the next town, 20 miles away. Lovable, I am.

A Tale of 3 Ex's

2009-11-05T06:00:00.001-06:00

Approximately 10,000 people work on my military installation. James wouldn’t tell me which airfield he’d recently been transferred to (see? why be so secretive if you have nothing to hide? I'm that crazy?), but did mention his supervisor’s supervisor was my ex-boyfriend Christian. Where art thou, vindictive soul?

One of my biggest fears in life is my son Patrick getting married, and not having a date (me, not him. He’ll have a wife, poor thing. Her, not him). I imagine myself standing around, socially awkward, getting drunk and belligerent, while Patrick’s dad and new wife look over and whisper about what a lonely, fat loser I am.* I met ex-boyfriend Dalehole last week for dinner while he was in town for 2 weeks worth of training. He could barely stop talking about his new girlfriend long enough, but I reminded him of our deal involving his being my amazing date for this future wedding disaster. He reassured me that NO MATTER WHAT, he will fly in and be my hot date. I can only hope the deal includes fake affection, whispered inside jokes and hand-holding, woo!

*people wonder what insomniacs think of at 3:00 in the morning? This is the kind of boundless crap running rampant!

A few weeks ago, Crazy Dan dropped off a chilled bottle of wine on my doorstep. I didn’t have his phone number after all the drama with Lise (I think she hit him in the eye with his phone, then tossed it out in the woods), but emailed him to let him know it was sweet. I was seeing someone now, though, and not to bother in the future. He emailed back, telling me not to flatter myself then called me a whore. What am I missing from this exchange?

Sometimes I’m relieved I was married for fifteen years. Imagine all the baggage I’d have if not…

Modus Operandi

2009-11-03T06:30:00.001-06:00

I suspected there was a Blogger curse on my relationships, since they kept failing shortly after I'd write about them. James was supposed to come over last night, but blew me off instead and posted his profile back on "our" dating site. I also found out that one of the other women he's seeing is the 48 year old Garrison Commander of our post! I refuse to call him or see him again.

7 things I couldn't stand about him, anyway:

1. he continued to pursue other women but insisted he couldn't trust me

2. he has a motorcycle, and his car has been having electrical difficulties. I let him borrow mine last week when I was in Mississippi on business - and he put over 150 miles on it. In two days?!

3. he told me I looked like a librarian/school marm. I also started working out and lost eight pounds since meeting him. Couldn't he have given me an "atta girl" or at least noticed?

4. he remembers everything. Even when drinking. 'Nuff said.

5. I don't claim to be particularly funny or interesting, but he didn't "get" me or find me amusing in the least. I asked if he was planning my assassination when he asked about medication I was taking. "That's what I mean," he said. "You're just so fucking weird and out there."

6. we never emailed. He found my thought processes too strange (see above). I no longer find his misuse of apostrophes or atrocious spelling endearing.

7. he smokes*

*okay, technically, this is a turn on. I'm probably the only non-smoker who loves those Marlboro men...it's comforting. Like curling up next to a campfire. Sparks included.

Why, then, can't I get him out of my head?

Reptilian Dating

2009-11-02T08:00:00.004-06:00

I’ve blog-slacked so long, failing to report legal battles, head injuries, and dating drama, that it will require a bulleted outline before attempting to get caught up. I should probably separate my life into categories, then update one at a time so it doesn’t seem like such an overwhelming chore. Which reminds me of the version of Quicken on the imac my dad gave me. In his “Budgeted Anarchy” file are separate categories for drinking, such as “alcohol in the cabin”, “alcohol from the grocery store” and “alcohol at the bar”. Really? Can’t you just clump it all together under a general BEER FUND? The distinctions make me laugh, though, and help me realize and understand that my brain quirks have simply been passed down as a trait, like those infinitely long toes that are somehow helping future natural selection.

Anyway, to the topic for today: James. The on-again/off-again boyfriend/guy I hang out with, who makes me suspicious and pissed off simply by sleeping. Over the past three months, we’ve had a bit o’ drama, some ups and downs, crazy stalking behavior, blackouts and shady dating busts. The good news is I didn’t realize I’d ever obsess about another man after Ed – now it appears as though the track in my brain that gets stuck on replay has been split. This IS great, right? Because there’s a saying in my field: dilution is the solution to pollution. Less Ed, more James, overall improved mental health. At least comes the realization that (twisted) emotions are still brewing and stewing in this previously cold, dark, frigid heart. Bring it, suckah!

About three months ago, James moved from Michigan to a nearby town in SE Alabama. We met on an online dating site, had the standard dinner and drinking dates, and spent two weekends together. I couldn’t help but notice (when prying) that his dating profile was still active and he was signing in daily, so I created another profile, with fraudulent information and some other woman’s photo. “She” happened to start a conversation with him, emailing and acting interested. Okay, fine, technically this is called entrapment, but it worked. He complimented her smile, she invited him to meet a group of friends in Dothan, and he mentioned it sounded like fun. He works 3rd shift (10 pm - 6 am) and told me that he might have to work overtime that weekend, which I can only assume was a lie so he could meet the date. Freak Out #1 of our blossoming friendship. I never want to start a relationship on false pretensses and spilled the beans regarding the sting operation instead. What he took out of the experience? Never trust me again, and how many personalities do I have, anyway?

We've somehow gotten along and broken up several times since, but when James mentioned he had to work overtime again last Saturday night, I had no choice but to dump him. By Sunday, I was obsessively back to searching for all things James-related on the world's dating sites...and called him 15 times before he wisely turned off his phone. I deleted his phone number and was forced to grab flip flops to wear with my nightgown to drive to his house at 1:30 in the morning to apologize.

I don't know if all Italian men are so shady or if I lucked into the only one, but this relationship is going to end badly, probably one day soon if I have anything to do with it.

Even Crackheads need an occasional glass of wine

2009-11-01T18:47:00.002-06:00

Death by Affection

2009-07-15T21:18:00.009-05:00

And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!

- David Byrne

It's not you, it's me...

On second thought, it is you. Definitely you.

Stephen and I share a mutual friend at work, who noticed we both loved going to the beach - maybe we could go together. During dinner, he opened up about losing his wife almost 2 years ago (on my birthday!) from cancer, after 19 years of marriage. A sign. Indeed.

He told me that he and his 13 year old son were going to Panama City Beach over Memorial weekend - would I like to go with them? I agreed, not realizing how excrutiatingly slow three days could drag.

For lack of a better adjective, Stephen is sweet. When I couldn't make up my mind at dinner, he ordered my second choice so I could try both meals; decided Bud Light was his favorite beer (after a lifetime of Miller products), then remembered he loved 80's music (after hearing what I liked). He was affectionate, constantly trying to hold my hand, hanging on every word, staring and telling me how beautiful I am. Sweet? Smothering and vomit-inducing. Too much affection apparently makes me crabby.

He was ready to put his house on the market and move to my town 45 mintues away. I told him I admired his decision to date, but it would probably be difficult for his son to handle other women in his mom's place. "Teenage boys bottle up their emotions," I wisely told him. "You might want to hold back with affection" (which was a much nicer way of saying, "My personal space. Your personal space. Back off!")

I really want to like him. I really can't. Women want spineless, romantic men? Give me an unstable, emotionally unavailable man any day. I've simply decided I don't trust anyone this much into me...call when you have better taste in women. [The good news is that breaking up is finally getting easier to do. I even threw out the "let's still be friends" card, knowing that will never happen].

To catch a thief

2009-07-11T09:04:00.009-05:00

I stole a bunch of equipment from my dad while he was visiting last weekend. Granted, he called the maneuvers 'trades', but I ended up with an I-pod touch with docking station, a hand-held Sony video camera, an external hard drive, and a desk. He left with a stainless steel step garbage can, a cooler, and a dilapidated Dell laptop (with the dreaded and counterproductive Vista as the operating system because apparently Windows is determined to make consumers hold on to that crap even if they own a copy of XP and would prefer to install that).

I can't say my leap into 2009 technology hasn't been met without some resistance. I still find myself leaving endless paper sticky notes, but at least they're all centrally located on the iPod.

[I wrote this while ~~wasting 3 hours of my life~~ waiting at the doctor's office!]

Burnin' down the Love Shack

2009-06-29T22:24:00.003-05:00

Trying to keep my mind off Ashcroft, I spent yesterday in a whirlwind of activity. That never-ending office project with 6 layers of Venetian plaster on the walls doesn't just happen, you know. I decided to replace the light fixture since all my furniture is conveniently still in the hall, which invariably led to a spontaneous decision to repaint the ceiling. Huge clumps of it fell off. Never again will I believe the claims on those aerosol cans for spot treatment of a textured ceiling either. Clever advertising makes you think you'll choose fine, medium or heavy splatter, but "messy" is the setting of the day. Of what relevance is the ability to go on purple and dry white?

I've learned, barely and at a ridiculously slow pace, that it's easiest to show what you're shopping for if you don't speak the language of mechanically-oriented men by pointing and grunting, and proceeded to remove the light fixture to take to Lowe's. Completing 8 rounds of "did I turn the breaker off? I think so..." while standing on tiptoes on a stepladder, looking into a dark hole, while being petrified of animals falling through isn't easy as you'd think. None of my assorted tools (hammer, wrench or screwdriver) did anything more than injure a cuticle. Frustrated, I cut the wires with scissors, then threw all the damn parts in a bag, only to be looked at like a complete moron when I got there because apparently the stupid assembly unclips. Oh.

Now the list of necessary equipment has gotten longer. Wing nuts and wire strippers to reconnect wires before attempting to shove spring-loaded clamps back into the ceiling, which unfortunately didn't help it all fit in the same precise manner the old one did, but nothing fell on my head. Hope springs eternal.

It worked, and I was proud, dare I say enamored, of my handyman self. Evening had a funny way of changing perspective, however, as I kept imagining I smelled smoke. A short-circuit in the ceiling might smolder for a few hours in the attic before taking over the whole house (reason #32 for my insomnia) so I packed a suitcase with my important documents, photos, external hard drive, and put all the cats outside. I resisted the urge to pack my car with all my favorite things - it might look like a well-planned arson attempt.

Ashcroft No More

2009-06-28T07:32:00.006-05:00

I hoped, for his sake, he'd die quickly, as I rubbed his paralyzed body and listened to the soft cry accompanying each labored, gurgled last breath. His glassy eyes remained open, but saw nothing. He had slept on my pillow every night for the past three weeks, and this would be the final time.

It was rather serendipitous that I came home early on Friday, after all, and feel tempted to believe everything does happen for a reason. Ashcroft had contagious parasites, so mingling with the other cats wasn't an option - he would have spent his last day in the bathroom, alone. Instead, I carried him around as we watched movies and sat outside. He didn't seem hungry, though I offered all his favorite flavors of cat food. Eat, eat!

You never really know how alone you are until the day you lose a kitten. For a short time, I had a reason to go home.

Professional Grouch

2009-06-26T12:05:00.002-05:00

I'm home at noon on a Friday because I have the kind of brain that doesn't filter out background noise. Loud mouths, excessive chatter and 6-year old kids running through the halls asking for candy and screeching over hand-held video games in our office irritates the hell out of me when I'm trying to focus.

So, sure, I should have told my supervisor that having her son hanging out in my office was the reason I was going home. But did I? Nope. Knowing it would be a complete waste of time to stay and pretend work was getting accomplished, I made up an excuse and left. Instead, I'll spend my Sunday afternoon making up the time. I don't bring my cats to the office or show up with a 6-pack of Bud Light. You shouldn't bring your children.

From Jury to Defendant

2009-06-15T07:28:00.001-05:00

My trial date has been postponed, which is fantastic news for the procrastinator in me. The insomniac sharing my skin, however, doesn't seem to appreciate the ongoing emotional weight of fines and/or jail time.

Coincidentally, one of the guys* my sister & I met in the bar that night called to check on me, because he'd been worried when one of our drinking buddies never showed up for work again. He was sober-ish that night, had a bad feeling, and wondered if he should've been more persuasive about letting us stay in his spare bedroom. He didn't want to come across as that creepy guy, though, which is honorable, but since when do men worry about that?

*Lance Armstrong. This may or may not actually have been his name, but that's what showed up in my phone.

Lance volunteered to be my character witness, if I needed one, which would be great if the judge agreed that buying rounds of shots made for a model citizen.

Don't forget your spit cup...

2009-06-04T17:53:00.003-05:00

Rednecks have descended, en masse, upon our tiny Alabama town. BamaJam 2009.

The Way You Move, Soft and Slippery

2009-06-03T22:17:00.011-05:00

I find it particularly amusing to list my son's phone number/email address in lieu of my own, when obligated to fill the blanks. Surely, he's amused when the pharmacist calls to tell him my prescriptions are ready, or the mortgage payment is overdue.

His dad recently (and accidentally, yeah right) "discovered" Patrick's Facebook account by searching through 38 pages of same-named teenage boys, then threatened to stop paying tuition if the account wasn't cancelled or removed (proving the theory: once a control freak, always an asshole). It seems like part of acceptance involves, well, acceptance. Shouldn't he try focusing more on recording his new wife's phone conversations, instead? It's almost like some people refuse to learn life's lessons.

I'm actually Patrick's "friend" on Facebook, which is flattering, in a way, that he feels comfortable being his drunken, obnoxious self in front of me.

Ed: 0

Divorced fugitive with favorite parent status: 1

Welcome Back, Google!

2009-05-31T17:03:00.005-05:00

Perhaps one of the most difficult parts of being internet-less for several months was the unanswered questions. What's my credit card balance? Is there really a new Depeche Mode CD? What do baby bats eat? What movie is next in my Netflix queue? Are round trip tickets to Italy on sale? What's the value of my General Motors stock (sometimes ignorance really is bliss).

All in all, a successful experiment, though money spent at the coffee shop probably could've paid the internet bill. And? My neighbors should stop selfishly putting passwords on their wireless connections.

Thou Shall Not Implicate Thyself

2009-05-13T05:34:00.005-05:00

Some tales are best told in reverse, like a sister's 2004 Grand Am sliding down a snowy embankment in Breckenridge, Colorado at midnight, punctuated by trees.

Runaway Jury

2009-03-09T11:20:00.002-05:00

Jury duty. About 200 of us spent last Wednesday answering questions, making excuses, trying to get deferral for our civic duty, and waiting to find out if we were chosen for any of the 5 trials scheduled this week in Coffee County. Correction: other potential jurors tried to bail out. I was secretly excited to be picked for two drug-related trials. It was like being picked first for dodge ball, a Sally Field moment, "you like me, you really like me!" I'm worthy! And, hopefully, still getting paid at my regular day job?

I arrived at the court room a few minutes before 9:00 (time I normally leave for work? 6:30 a.m.!) and spoke with two of my co-jurors. Always one to look for patterns, the similarity with Colleen, a redhead from Pennsylvania, whose ex-husband is an Apache pilot, was obvious. Also there? My next-door neighbor, someone I've never spoken to, asked "aren't you Patrick's mom? Where's he been? He's such a good kid..." Yeah, it always catches me off guard, too.

The case was dismissed when the State's one and only witness failed to show up this morning. I'm hoping for a little more drama on Thursday - a surpise visit by John Cusak wouldn't hurt, either.

Upgraded!

2009-03-01T19:21:00.013-06:00

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who paint over wallpaper, and those who spend an entire weekend scraping twenty-year old adhesive (and duct tape?) off walls, prepping for pale yellow Venetian plaster. My new i-Mac deserves the latter.

I donated my old Hewlett-Packard to the local Goodwill after reformatting it (turns out Patrick has a propensity for changing security settings/passwords), though they couldn't even bother holding the door while I carried in the monstrosity. I can't say that I blame 'em.

It also snowed today in Southern Alabama - has hell officially frozen over?

Reality cheque

2009-02-12T19:17:00.005-06:00

My family has been extra supportive lately, while simultaneously giving me a much-needed dose of reality regarding Eddie Money. That controlling, bad-tempered, AC/DC playing Republican...are we thinking of the same ex-husband?

The most hilarious words of encouragement? From my sister TQ:

"I HATE when people say 'Oh, you'll find someone when you least expect it'. Well, who the hell expects to find someone? Blah. My cliché piece of advice for you is, and I quote (myself): "You will find someone when you're drunk and expecting it the most."

Baby, you can drive my car

2009-02-10T21:56:00.007-06:00

On the list of top 10 cars in America to receive tickets, mine is parked illegally at position #9. Damn those other foolhardy maniacs for drawing attention to me. I am, however, currently on a streak of 1 year, 1 month and 11 days without a speeding ticket.

Nashing it out

2009-02-07T17:19:00.011-06:00

"It's the same with your dreams and nightmares. You have to feed them to keep them alive."
~ John Nash

I was required to see a therapist in 2007, so I pulled out his old letterhead* to get his phone number and tried to make an appointment. Unfortunately, waiting over a year between visits means you have to go through the new patient referral process again, which takes a few weeks. Note to self: plan the next meltdown a month in advance.

*after two visits, when he declared I was too smart for therapy (ha! who's the dumbass now?), I asked him to write a note for Patrick, who was dubious at best, that I was fine.

My dad suggested swapping out obsessions, telling me that food and exercise had always been successful for him. I'm wondering if he meant the thought of an exercise obsession, though, since it occurs to me I've never actually seen him work out. It matters not. I dragged this flabby ass to the gym today, and now I'm too tired to do much of anything else. Bravo.

[Love Remains the Same - Gavin Rossdale]

Mourning has broken, like the first mourning

2009-02-04T18:07:00.006-06:00

A funeral. Yeah, that was the best place for me today. Standing outside in unseasonably cold, 38 degree Montgomery, Alabama at my friend's mother's Methodist funeral, mouthing the words to Amazing Grace. Who knew?

The couple had been married 53 years...and I think I'm mourning? (an email to Ed this weekend: "'Til death do us part...did you forget? Fucker." And I wonder why I was unsuccessful at wooing him back?)

Poor, poor pitiful me

2009-02-02T17:11:00.014-06:00

I thought I had passed the nadir of my recent emotional downward spiral, but that was only wishful thinking. I ended up leaving work at noon, mostly because it was too difficult to concentrate with mascara running down my face and burning my eyes. The worst? When someone would ask what was wrong.

I wrote an apology email to Ed and Terri-with-an-i (his new wife), telling them it was really none of my business if she had been divorced 5 times or where they lived. He keeps telling me to get on with my life, but I don't know how. I must not have realized how much, exactly, I'd be giving up.

I told him I missed our friendship, which makes me wonder if I have dementia - we never were particularly good friends. He may have a better life and new and improved wife, but I'm going to continue wearing the engagement ring.

Velvet Morning

2009-02-01T07:06:00.006-06:00

You'd think 9 glasses of wine, blood pressure medication and an Ambien would've resulted in a few hours of sleep/passing out. Not so. I need a distraction to get over this ed-obsession. Unfortunately, I recently stopped dating, am on a diet, a strict new budget and still have plenty of cats.

2009: the year of the crack pipe.

[Meds by Placebo]

Get. Over. It.

2009-01-31T14:29:00.007-06:00

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

2009-01-20T06:10:00.003-06:00

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

2009-01-09T20:20:00.003-06:00

"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

2009-01-05T05:47:00.003-06:00

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."]

A fool and his money are soon partying

2008-12-31T18:23:00.001-06:00

To end the year with a bang, I cashed out my 401K retirement fund rather than roll it over to my new employer's program. It was down 38%, which I could've done all by myself and enjoyed a whole helluva lot more. I laugh in the face of penalties! Well, that and common sense.

I'll probably remember this day when I'm 65 and want to kick my own ass...

Merry Hana-Kwanza-Mas Festival!

2008-12-24T19:31:00.008-06:00

[Crackhead Kennedy sitting atop a family heirloom/Budweiser wooden crate Christmas gift to my son...between that and a post-dated check, I'm guaranteed a slot in the mother of the year selection for 2008. Surely.]

I say BAH, you say HUMBUG!

2008-12-22T20:23:00.011-06:00

$98.67 to ship Christmas packages to arrive Monday. That would buy six twelve-packs of Bud Light or eight boxes of wine. Is it any wonder I hate the holidays?

Next year, gift cards. Period.

[And an expression from my grandmother Hope, via my dad from an out-of-town parking lot internet connection: "I have a dual personality, not a split one." That would explain a lot.]

Abby Normal

2008-12-18T20:32:00.006-06:00

My dad, hands down, is the quirkiest individual I know. Oh, sure, it's funny when, once a year, he cancels his phone, internet and cable services. Any idea how frustrating that is for his drunk-dialing descendants living in different states?

I called to harass after receiving his "preparing to disconnect" email, and was eventually able to leave a voicemail (after dialing a series of previous phone numbers), "How do you expect me to be normal* when you set this kind of example? Huh?"

*which is funny, actually, because I've never been a big fan of "normal". It seems like a synonym for boring.

He took my message and transferred it to his portable voice recorder, to serve as a reminder - go normal! Am I the tiny voice of reason in his life?

Mon Ami

2008-12-14T14:32:00.003-06:00

Why do I always think I want to be friends with ex-boyfriends (to fill the void after another ex has returned to his home in Ohio), but after they show up at my house with a big wad of chewing tobacco between cheeks/gums to help pick up a Christmas tree, then fall asleep while watching football on my couch and start snoring so loudly I have to go into another room, it occurs to me: what the hell was I thinking?!

Sacré Bleu!

2008-12-10T20:56:00.005-06:00

I couldn't possibly write another bitchy email to Ed bemoaning the fact that he has all the Christmas trappings, ornaments and candles from 15 years of marriage, while I have an assorted, tangled group of randomly blinking lights and no lids to pans. Not tonight, no, but tomorrow looks pretty good.

(I've started hearing little French phrases in my head at odd times, which is weird because I don't even speak French).

Hot mess of a train wreck - that'd be me

2008-12-07T11:37:00.012-06:00

My parents have been divorced for over 25 years, and they're probably better friends now than when they were married. It doesn't seem weird that my mom would cook the best Thanksgiving dinner spread, and invite my dad and his wife, along with Patrick & me. This may be the root cause of my skewed view of the universe.

I met Patrick in Atlanta, then continued the drive to Michigan with all the rest of the holiday travelers and state troopers. As we drove through Ohio, I thought of Dalehole, and wished I knew where he lived so I could pull up in his driveway and suprise/scare the crap out of him (it's a weird stalking issue or odd sense of humor I have, but it's under control. Mostly). Instead, he called me!

I usually don't answer when he calls, but occasionally I will, if only to practice proper tones of aloof and casual disdain. "Who is this again? Dale? Oh, yeah, yeah..." Really, why would I want anyone, especially him, to know how hard I fell, and how much it hurt when we stopped talking? Reject me? I think not.

He told me he'd be in Alabama for two weeks - did I want to hang out? Grab some dinner? Go to the beach? Sure. Whatever. Maybe if I wasn't too busy.

We've been together since Friday afternoon.

"A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left."

- Marilyn Monroe

Alright, already - I'm home

2008-12-04T20:08:00.004-06:00

Velocity = Distance/Time

2008-11-18T20:46:00.002-06:00

If, by "speed dating", you mean hanging out with ex-boyfriend Crazy Dan on Saturday night, then promptly ignoring him Sunday when he went back to his clingy, pestering, annoying self full of round the clock email, then, yes, I've speed-dated. Note to self: drinking alone isn't that tragic.

A rather momentous weekend, as I also broke my self-imposed age barrier and had dinner with a FIFTY year old. Yes, fifty. It's not a huge age difference, but since I'm still 28 in my mind, I wonder what he's doing with such a younger woman. Pervert.

Baby Got Back (End Damage)

2008-11-11T18:13:00.005-06:00

I must have a mesmerizing rear end, or much better brakes combined with cat-like reflexes, since I've had two separate collisions (that were not my fault) in recent years. What I assumed to be superficial paint damage is estimated at around $800, requiring super high gloss, a new bumper and 3-5 days to repair at the dealer. In Montgomery. Geez. That's not inconvenient.

Maybe I should've stuck to driving 2-1/2 ton trucks?

Appreciate our veterans today and every day!

O'Leary, O'Reilly, O'Hare and O'Hara

2008-11-09T20:32:00.002-06:00

Obama the Irish!

Hey, good lookin', what'cha got cookin'...

2008-11-08T19:04:00.010-06:00

You can probably tell a lot about someone by their grocery lists. Frankly, I'm a little concerned about mine:

beer
wine
mop head
cat food
toilet paper

My last job came through with a check for my accumulated 4 WEEKS of vacation pay in the nick of time, fortunately, so I was able to pay for groceries without auctioning off a kidney on ebay or taking in a roommate while waiting for the new position payroll to come through. I believe, at this moment, my glass is half full. Duh. I have beer and wine.

Dell-utopia

2008-11-06T18:29:00.008-06:00

A 24" Dell flatscreen computer monitor at work. That's how much I've been upgraded with my new position (I feel like I'm hanging out at the drive-in, minus the pickup truck, lowered tailgate and salty snacks).

Unfortunately, it's accompanied by some dual-core, 2 hard drive, automatic backing up, louder-than-a-jet-plane-landing CPU, and the monitor had to be sent back because it was defective. Outstanding news o' the day: our installation hasn't switched to Vista!

Kowalski

2008-11-03T21:45:00.009-06:00

If one more of my neighbors plants a McCain/Palin sign in his yard, I might possibly stomp on the accelerator, jump the curb, and plow into it. It could happen.

End signage!

51% Responsible

2008-11-01T20:00:00.009-05:00

“I was so much older then. I'm younger than that now.”

- Bob Dylan

I've never been drawn to drugs or prescription pills, preferring instead to self-medicate with alcohol (I have 15 years of sober married life to make up for!). Until this summer. Lifelong insomnia had taken its toll - mental clarity was precarious (at best) and the wrinkles around my eyes were taking over my face. I started taking Ambien to sleep, which I'm currently juggling with a prescription for my headaches, and an occasional glass/bottle of wine.

My sister tiffany emailed the other night to get my address in order to mail a check (that our dad had sent) for her auto registration, over a month late (September), and from the wrong state (Colorado). Minor details.

By now, you are hopped up on some barbituates and sleeping pills (Elvis cocktail, anyone?) so chances are you will (A) sleep walk to your computer with a pop tart in hand and read this e-mail or (B) read it at 4:00 when you awake from your drug-enhanced slumber.

She may be insightful and hilarious, but I'm still more responsible...

Cuff Me

2008-10-30T18:26:00.002-05:00

When I was pregnant, a million and eighteen years ago, my blood pressure topped out at a whopping 200/160. I was living alone in a foreign country (Alabama), a supersized seizure waiting to happen. I'd drive to the hospital every day so they could check the numbers, "tsk, tsk", and tell me to stay in bed. The little dumpling was born, and my ferocious headaches ended immediately.*

*rather, they morphed into a 3-dimensional boy.

Upon starting the new job Monday, I was required to visit the Occupational Health Office. My blood pressure was high, higher yesterday, and, continuing with the trend, highest today. Of course, driving to the hospital twice a day, looking for a parking place, and being told to relax is stressing me out! The headaches are killing me...but at least I'm not pregnant.

Blogging Trinity

2008-10-29T18:17:00.009-05:00

Lacy Q! (click it. Just do it. Right now.)

Loquacious Rickster

2008-10-27T21:09:00.005-05:00

My family cell phone plan is no longer sufficient. I spend more in overages than the actual cost, so I called AT & T for some pricing and contract information.

Me: I'm trying to decide whether to increase the minutes in my plan or get one without my 18 year old son, who talks too much.

Customer Service Dude: Kick his ass to the curb!

Work as the Curse of the Drinking Class

2008-10-26T20:27:00.004-05:00

In August, when my Aunt 'Ricia and cousin Tamara stopped by on their drive from Michigan to Las Vegas (yeah, maybe we're all geographically challenged), we were excited to visit the Hank Williams museum in Montgomery, Alabama. The tradition is to do a shot of whiskey over his grave, since he had supposedly gotten thrown out of the Grand Ole' Opry because of whiskey on his breath. Actually, I think you're supposed to leave the shot, but we are not a wasteful crew.

Alabama law forbids the sale of alcohol on Sunday, but fortunately, we had connections: my sister Tiffany's boyfriend's mother had a stash of travel-size shot bottles, which she smuggled into the nursing home to her mother every week. As we were leaving, she asked if any of us had to use the restroom, to which my son Patrick replied, "Aaaaaah do," in the thickest southern accent I have ever heard.

Tomorrow is the first day of my new federal job. When I get sworn in, I'm gonna raise that right hand and say, "Aaaaah, do!"

Strangelove

2008-10-23T20:06:00.004-05:00

Driving to the dentist this morning, I was ~~overanalyzing~~ wondering why a man supposedly dating me would suggest/encourage breast implants and hair extensions. Is honesty in a relationship really so great? Would it be so difficult to accept shortcomings without pointing them out first? I found no answers (as it was only a ten minute drive).

I entered the office and was greeted by a woman in line, who turned and said, "I love you."

I knew no one was behind me, so I smiled and hoped she would realize we had never met.

"It's your insides," she said. "They're beautiful - I can tell - and I love you."

I had always wondered if my spleen was ravishing. Fortunately, there were only a few minutes of awkward small talk before they called me back for teeth-cleaning fun. It turns out my insurance company approved a crown for a cracked molar, but the deadline is tomorrow, so the receptionist managed to squeeze me in. Let's hope I'm ushered into the back before enduring more declarations of love or group hugs.

Rambling Gambler

2008-10-18T08:37:00.010-05:00

During this time of financial uncertainty, while most of my (older) co-workers are freaking out about the downward spiral of their 401K accounts and lamenting the stock market, I am psyched. If I retired today, I could maintain my current lifestyle for two months, which is still 84% longer than ever before.

Currently flat-ass broke, I decided to take my grocery budget (who am I kidding? It's a beer and popcorn fund), and buy more stock in my favorite retail chain on Friday. Then, to increase my odds in successful dabbling, charged a bunch of clothes there on Saturday. Oh, the financial empires I could have founded on shaky ground...

I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler

I'm a long ways from home.

And if you don't like me, well leave me alone.

I'll eat when I'm hungry and I'll drink when I'm dry,

And if moonshine don't kill me, I'll live till I die.

- Clancy Brothers