Pont Neuf

When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

- Paul Simon

4 a.d. (after divorce)

How unfair that my ex should look so relaxed, fit, and well-dressed (he wore long, flowered surfing shorts when we first met), more distinguished and handsome.

I, on the other hand, look as if I've been hit by a runaway bus - full of lard. Then dressed in hand-me-downs, dipped in honey and rolled in cat fur.

Apache over Baghdad

Naturally, I was curious when my phone rang this morning and my ex-husband's number appeared. Being tax season, I figured he was calling to share his sob story about having all that income, with nothing to claim, poor baby, and didn't answer. He didn't leave a message, which was perplexing, so I hunkered down and prepared to stand my ground (crying if necessary) when I called back. He told me, instead, that his friend from Ft. Campbell had been one of the pilots shot down and killed in Iraq the other day. His family had stayed here in Alabama, while he finished his final year before retirement.

His wife & I had walked our kids to school together; invited one another to Tupperware parties and giggled over wine at aviation functions. Their daughter has a crush on my son, and they joke over whose car kicks more ass (neither's).

I feel such an overwhelming sense of loss for the family that was just like mine; for the daughters and wife he left behind. It could have been us, and nothing in the war thus far has hit so closely. All the numbers and statistics and finger-pointing because the U.S. didn't offer enough troops for sacrifice...and I still don't understand why. Lousy, shitty war.

Cats behaving badly

I'm contemplating snagging two feral kittens from work and decided I'll need a place to keep them quarantined from the rest of my brood for a while. My spare bedroom, which was used as a gift wrap room, with bows and ribbon separated by color in little plastic containers, was apparently the site for the 2007 cat mardi gras:

Which doctor

I'm still not sure if I had food poisoning, a stomach virus, or cat scratch fever this week, but I was horizontal for thirty straight hours.

I told my son I'd probably be dead before he returned from work, but if I could have one last wish, it would be for a McDonald's strawberry shake. I even told him he could drive my car, take all the money in my purse, and keep the change.

He told me dairy products would make it worse, brought me a glass of water with a straw (when I wouldn't stop whining), and KEPT THE MONEY anyway!

Yippee-ki-yay

I recently initiated a private family/friend group blog to get more interaction, then promptly deleted it when it failed miserably. I'm nothing if not consistent. When my cousin Kelly emailed to ask what happened, I might have replied with something along the lines of '...and you can all kiss my ass'.

She said she understood, but wisely mentioned that dealing with our family is like trying to herd cats. Part of our uniqueness is not following the program, and I love that about us. Damn rebels.

So I found my power cord, dusted off my keyboard, and decided to continue blogging on my merry, though solo, way. I like having a reason to organize my thoughts and having a record of my life, even if it's a lonelier this way. I wasn't an only child (for fifteen years) for nothin', you know.

Oddly enough, the next morning, as I was sneaking across the street to peek in the windows of the house for sale, I noticed a trail of five cats traipsing across the road behind me. Turns out I have other cats to herd.

Ugh.

Two sisters who don't wear watches should not go out drinking on a Wednesday night to meet a "classier" crowd of drunken misfits.

She slept in the next day until noon and missed all her classes. I had to be at work because I had stupidly taken the extension cord needed for a projector during this training week, but left shortly after to vomit in the privacy of my own bathroom for the rest of the day.

The good news? I lost 4-1/2 pounds!

Pyjama party

Since she's still a bit traumatized from having someone break into her apartment while she was gone over Christmas break, Tiffany has decided to drive to my house once a week to stay for the night (I like to think of the beer in my refrigerator as bait).

In between assorted cat ruckus Thursday morning around 3 a.m., she gave a bloodcurdling scream, sat up, said, "Oh, my God! I thought you were dead.", then promptly fell back asleep.

Me? I was a bit freaked out, but sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that you're alive.

Must like cats

"Sooooo...." I said, "do you think he liked me?"

Robbie, Tiffany and I all giggled and snorted at the possibility. Yeah, my first blind date. Who knew you weren't supposed to talk about politics, religion, or gay rights with conservative Baptist teetotalers that didn't swear? And the worst part? Tiffany told him about my blog, I gave him my url, and now I can't even talk about him in my online sanctuary.

I decided over Christmas that I needed to step out of my comfort zone shell and hang out with interesting, intelligent people at coffee shops. Or book stores. Perhaps even small talk at a grocery store wasn't out of the question. My shyness shouldn't be an excuse to hole up during the winter with a six-pack and a dvd player.

Deck the halls with Buddy Holly

I'm completely over Christmas, especially in conjunction with the US Postal Service Mafia. I spend holidays alone, or with my son, and easily spend over $100 to send gifts to loved ones in other parts of the country, where they open the crap, without me. My dad & I agreed that we've had enough of the so-called holiday spirit, rushing around, and last minute, guaranteed-to-get-there-on-time shipping fees. This Summer, we're meeting in Vermont, or somewhere equally random, to spend "Christmas" in July in a different state drinking beer together. Fa la la la la.

75 and sunny

Of course I got lost looking for the mall in Montgomery.

Would you expect anything less?

Finger prick

The last place someone like me (a rage-filled, man-hating shrew) needed to be was the town piss-scented police station, but there I was, getting my fingerprints taken for the third time this year because the powers that be at the Department of Defense judged me unworthy of current security status, and I have a new job and have to go through the rigamarole again, don't you know.

I was minding my own business, paying my fee, as some crackhead detoxed down the hall ("I need a bologna sandwich, fuck, that's all!") and a woman sobbed in the chair next to me.

He: you should have known better. What were you thinking? If I hadn't gotten there...

She: I'm so sorry, I know, I love you, I..I....(her words trailed off into snot-muffled sobs so I couldn't tell exactly what else she was saying, plus I was trying very hard not to eavesdrop. As if).

He: well, I guess you didn't try hard enough, and I can't even touch you because I'll contaminate the evidence and what were you thinking?

The man continued to nag and berate his too-young-looking girlfriend until the receptionist finally butted in, "Shut the hell up and stop discussing the case. Can't you just show a little compassion? Jeez."

Joy to the World.

Solo Etoh

I have this rule against drinking alone. Screw my stupid rules.

Blah, blah, oink: my new job is sort of a diagonal move up - I'm overseeing much of my old responsibilities, even though I work for a different company. At first, I tried being laid back - "Oh, hey, when you get the chance, this needs to be done". My ex-boss, though, seems to be caught up in semantics: "this scope of work says it will affect a few machines, but 4 is more than a few. What you're asking is labor intensive and we won't be able to do it."

Uh-huh, uh-huh, I hear what you're saying, but...DO IT ANYWAY!! My jugular has been bulging and twitching for 48 hours and for all the time we've spent disagreeing, the damn work could already have been done. I'm frustrated, annoyed, pissed off and wondering if men like to fight, just for the sake of fighting!

79 a.d.

Practical magic

My sister, best friend & I stayed the night in a hotel in Tallahassee before her xanax-filled flight back to Milwaukee. I had been lost in this city in the past, and was not surprised in the least when it took a little longer to find the hotel.* I hadn't planned on booking the room for the wrong night, but eventually we were able to take the blue padded elevator to our room.

*For some inexplicable reason, I dragged both of them into the gas station with me to ask for directions because I have a limited capacity for remembering more than two turns. We would be in San Francisco if we had to rely on either of their direction skills, though. Ehem.

At some point during the evening, we realized we had 3/4 of a powerful, mystical force with our fire (Leo), air (Gemini) and water (Scorpio) signs and drunk-dialed many in our quest to find an earth sign. Our bartender stepped forward, but after she charged $26 for a buttery nipple (ONE DRINK!), we kicked her ass to the curb.

I am feeling relieved and elated that my sister thinks so highly of my best friend, who "exceeded her expectations" because we have many backpacking and drinking adventures planned in the future, once we add her best friend to the mix.

Next on our list: Chicago 2007. Evacuate now.

B & E

Every morning, including weekends, I stop by my old place of employment to feed the feral cats before going into my new office. On Saturday, when I tried to get in, I noticed my key was missing. Not wasting one impulsive second, I called my ex-boss.

Me, indignant and slightly foamy: What? You couldn't just ask for my key back? You had to be sneaky and take it behind my back? You don't trust me enough to have access...

Him: What?

Me: I know I wasn't supposed to have it, and that's not the point...the cats should suffer because I no longer work there?

Him: What key?

Me: MY key!

Him: I thought your key broke?

Me: I said it broke, thinking you understood, so I could keep it in order to let myself in during the weekends to feed the cats, but someone took it off my ring last week!

Him: Of course I trust you and would never take your key. It bothers me that someone else did, and didn't turn it in to me, since I'm responsible for the warehouse, but I'll get to the bottom of this and give you another one, don't worry.

Me: Okay, fine. Thanks.

It has occured to me that the more you act like a raving lunatic, the more people do what you want.

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

- Christina Rossetti

Novem-blur

I'm not sure how I lost an entire month, but, yep, I did. I'm blaming the new job. Or on too much company. Or the fact that my sister and I are regulars at our favorite bar (finally!) because the bouncers don't make us pay cover and the bartender doesn't ask what we're drinking (yes!). How proud my parents must be.

On my last day at the OLD job, my boss surprised me with a 4-leaf clover front license plate. He took a photo of my tattoo to a screenprinter in an attempt to duplicate my Q, which was a wonderful gesture, but as far as hanging out in the parking lot showing strangers my matching tattoo and car...eh, not so much.

All my co-workers gave me a sappy sentimental card filled with "it's been wonderful working with you" and "I hope you take over the world", but Jessica? Wrote "See ya", followed by her initials. Can you feel the love?

Someone once told me I would never find a man as long as I lived in Alabama, which is some sort of back-handed compliment, I suppose, because I'm too independent and intelligent-ish (I'm assuming). Turns out there are great men in Alabama, but only temporarily visiting.

I decided to bake pumpkin bread to take to my ex-stepmother's house for Thanksgiving dinner, but used baking powder instead of baking soda and burned all unrisen four mini loaves instead. Frazzled, but remembering a new recipe for apple-cranberry pie I wanted to try, I peeled some apples and attempted project #2. The oven timer must have gone off some time during my shower, as the crust and crumbly top goodness were burnt to a crisp by the time I checked on the damn thing. I arrived at her house with two bottles of wine and a grocery bag with canned goods - mushroom soup, green beans and French onion pieces.

My son & I had driven separately because I had to drive to the airport in Tallahassee to pick up my best friend that evening, and he would go back home afterwards. While showing off his car and stereo, he somehow managed to lock his keys inside the car. My sister agreed to drive him back to our house, but he grabbed the wrong key ring and had to call a locksmith in the end.

My friend Holly has missed her last three flights, but this time she was only delayed while they waited for a crew member. We spent five wonderful days catching up, which I'll write about...by the end of December, anyway, I'm sure.

Limited access

I don't know which one of us was more surprised this morning when, after fumbling and digging through my purse, I handed the guard at the gate a Victoria's Secret "Free Panties" Card instead of my ID card.

What kind of encore follows that?

In the queue

My sister and I share an unusual (morbid?) habit of saving the most recent voicemails from people we care about, in case something horrible should happen and we never hear from them again.

Currently, from our dad: "Just wondered if you had daylight saving's down there. We're really enjoying ours up here. Talk to ya' later."

From me, in the parking lot of a bar, playing undercover agent/matchmaker last weekend: "Yeah. You know the guy with that baby*? Well, he said that when he dates girls your age (24-25), they tend to get freaked out because he has a baby, and he asked if you would. I told him I didn't think so, but on second thought, I bet you would, so maybe you could sneak out to the parking lot and let me know so...god, I'm drunk. Nevermind."

*that baby is the one we saw on a Razr phone that a stranger had left on our table, not an actual baby in the bar. Everyone knows you can't take your kids to the bar until they're at least ten, unless a few of their cousins and/or pinball machines are there, or that would just be weird.

Casting call for "Jackass"

My son: Have you ever had a habanero pepper before? I ate an entire one at work tonight - it was orange so I thought it wouldn't be as hot as a jalepeno. You know how your leg falls asleep? That happened to my entire body, my face turned white, and my ears literally felt pressurized for at least fifteen minutes.

Me: Let me guess - this was for money?

He: Yep. $3.00.

I raised my eyebrow at him, giving him a little "I'm-so-glad-I'm-not-a-boy" look.

He: ...in quarters.

Sisterly advice

Next time you mouthe words about the lead singer of a band, make sure his sister isn't deaf and he can't read lips...

Yo. Yo.

In two weeks...I'll start my new job!

My negotiating skills? Suck. Auto dealers, salesmen, real estate agents and flea market vendors love me because I never try to get the price down. If it seems fair, I pay it. Last time another company took over our contract and I was offered a smaller salary than expected, I cried and decided to quit because 'counter offer' was a foreign concept.

This time? I asked for 25% more money than I currently make, never realistically expecting them to offer it. They did. And when the woman from HR explained some of the benefits package, I asked if vacation time was negotiable, to which she replied "sure" and added another week. Just like that. She probably pays too much for new cars, too, I'll bet. Suckah!

Don't call me Bubba

I have, apparently, wiggled my way into the professional good ole boy network of southern Alabama.

I had just started my current job when some sort of incident involving a vacuum pump device, a faulty hose, and a few gallons of oil took place. On me. I had showered that morning, but it turned into a really bad hair, with lots of advice from co-workers on the best way to get oil out of clothes. Dawn dishwashing detergent is not the magic elixir they claim, by the way.

I couldn't go home (which was my plan A) because Sam, a computer/environmental scientist/geek from Louisiana, arrived to install a new program and help me learn it that day. We became fast friends, though he later told me the image of me covered in oil was one he'd always remember.

His company is hiring a few people on my base, and, since he's helping in the hiring process, asked me to send my resume so he could write a job description using MY skills and certifications. I asked if he wanted my height, weight, and a photo to attach to eliminate the prospect of someone else applying.

His human resource department started the background check on me this week, and when my current company found out I was leaving, chaos ensued. Who knew I was such a hot commodity? I've always been tragically underpaid in this field, but it appears we're about to have an all out bidding war...for ME!*

*I'm almost afraid to post this entry, in case I somehow jinx myself and both companies wind up saying, "Nah, you can have her."

Money order

Last night, I talked to my sister, who asked if I had received anything in the mail from Tony (our dad), because he mentioned that he was sending something for both of us.

I replied, "Yep, a check for $6,000."

"NO WAY!", she said. "How crazy! Six thousand dollars? I can make my car payment, and..."

[She just makes it too easy to mess with her].

Quarantine: do not enter

Bowie:
5/06 - 10/22/06

While it's not my intention to start an online cat obituary log (catobitog?), I have to mention the frail, sweet, one-eyed Bowie, who entered my life, and heart, this summer. She was the runt of my foster cats, surviving every possible illness and recent death of her brother, with an adorable one-eyed sense of sweetness.

When my sister's boyfriend offered to take Bowie in July, I lied and said she had an appointment the following week, so he couldn't have her (I believe I might have some sort of underlying pathological issue. Or two).

My personal veterinarian (ha!) has no clue what's causing the quick, successive deaths of my cats, but sent a blood sample for full screening when I showed up with Crunchy Black (always fun at the office, when they call us in and I mumble, "my son named him" as we walk back to pet photo-covered walls). He told me he'd like to perform an autopsy on the next one to die, which made for a rather awkward silence. I told him the previous two had died on the weekend, wouldn't rigor mortis set in during that length of time? He told me, gently, that I could wrap the body in a plastic bag and put it in my freezer until Monday, when I could bring in the body.

What does one say to that? I feel like I'm stuck in a morbidly bad b-movie written by Stephen King.

Highways and byways

My ex- starts his new job today with training in Orlando so he had our son for the weekend, then flew him back to Tallahassee for me to get Sunday night. Post-party pick-up mom.

Most of my life, people have told me to slow down when driving, but my son? Nagged the entire way because I was only going 80. He missed his car and could not possibly wait another minute for the reunion, even going so far as to tell me that he could claim youthful offender and his car insurance could cover it if I got a speeding ticket (which I pay, incidentally).

We arrived home (finally!), and he took his poor car with cat-prints on the hood out for a spin. Just like a neglected girlfriend, she paid him back for his weekend getaway, stranding him on the side of the road about ten minutes from our house.

My son, who knows next to nothing about cars, had the hood open, peering inside, as I pulled up.

"It sounds electronical, don't you think?"

Rule #1: if you know nothing about cars, make up words.

Yes, we're going to a party party...

For birthdays during my obsessive, all-things-Beatles phase (which later evolved into one of all-things-George Harrison), my dad would take me shopping at Harmony House, where I would select the perfect album and we would try to answer the age old question: Beatles vs. Rolling Stones. We shared this interest in music, so browsing together was like being in a candy factory with a chocoholic.

I don't recall a special tradition for his birthday, which is today, though I do remember buying many ties and candles over the years. 2003 stands out for the best surprise, when my mom & I painted his kitchen while he was at work.

For something different, I thought it might be nice if complete strangers on the internet could wish him a good one... (GO!)

You say it's your birthday
Well it's my birthday too--yeah
You say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you.

"I called you and it went straight to voicemail." Yep.

My cell phone, which is also my home phone, has been dead since Wednesday and I'm in no rush to recharge it.

I get like this sometimes, when I'm not able to articulate thoughts, let alone share them with others. It seems much easier to turn inward and avoid people (I wonder if this is what autistic feels like.) If brains are prisons, mine is solitary confinement.

My dad struggles with this, as well, although I always found it a quirky and endearing trait in him. He drove three hours to his neice's wedding reception a few years ago, because he knew he should be there, but he couldn't tolerate the crowd (which was mostly family). He entered the front door, walked though the entire hall, then exited out the back door and returned home. Odd, now, that I should so completely understand.

My ex- used to say to me, "You're going to grow up just like your dad* - alone in a cabin in the woods somewhere, drinking beer."

And? What's so wrong with that?

*he recently got married, moved out of the woods, and switched to whiskey (just kidding).

Addison was here.

Parents with many kids always say they love them equally, though perhaps in different ways, but I don't buy it. Of my ten cats, Crackhead Kennedy and four month old Addison have always been more affectionate, and consequently gained exalted "favorite" status.

Addison was lethargic Saturday, but I didn't really notice...he's a cat. Around midnight he started wailing, and when I got closer I could hear his shallow, pained breathing. His eyes were open, staring blankly and I knew there was nothing I could do. He continued having convulsions and crying loudly, as I helplessly held him. The other cats gathered around, equally confused and concerned.

I laid down on the floor beside him, holding his head tenderly in one hand, and petting him with the other, as he passed away. He still twitched, so I kept holding and petting for probably another half hour. To stop would mean giving up, I suppose, and I was clinging to some desperate hope that he would be alright. He wasn't.

I wrapped him tenderly in one of my favorite, softest hand towels and placed him in an empty box, with a lavender rose from my garden and a catnip toy mouse. My son dug the hole next to the pink Camilla bush that's starting to bloom, and we buried him together.

His brother has spent the past two days wandering around the house, crying. I'm equally as subtle, walking around with my puffy eyelids and sobbing whenever I think of him.

Addison used to sit on my laptop keyboard when I left for a moment, surprising me with gibberish, pop-up windows and odd searches. This one's for you, sweetie. MMMDHGEHEKLJK. Rest in Peace.