I tend to assume everyone else is on the same page I am, yet that rarely seems to be the case. Christian has called three times, leaving messages about wanting to see me this weekend.
My break-up skills, obviously, need a little work.
3.09.2008
3.06.2008
November Spawned a Monster
Apparently, my maximum tolerance for a man is three months - it's officially over with Christian (though I should say "unofficially" because he's been waiting for ME to call HIM and I have no intention of breaking the silence with a dumping). There were no major problems - just a series of cumulative pet peeves and I'd rather be stoned to death with popcorn than deal with them another day:
I have no problem dating a poor (monetary-challenged) man, but a tightwad, cheap boyfriend who makes more than I do, and hasn't taken me out in three months, but still manages to come over and drink all my beer? Thanks, but no.
This might be irrational, but I don't like people who sleep more than 6 hours/night.
He doesn't believe in evolution, fossils, or carbon dating. Seriously. Gravity is also a theory, and I may not understand the complexities of it, but that doesn't mean I won't land on the floor if my drunken self falls off a bar stool.
He'd complain about my Netflix movie choices. She who pays, chooses!
Chewing tobacco. Just...ew!
How endearing that he has no cell phone or internet? Nope. He's too cheap and was hoping I could add him to my family plan.
He watches competitive fishing shows. Day and night.
Tell me, again, about all the fish in the sea??
2.23.2008
Single White Leo
How come I'm always dating someone on their birthday, dropping hard-earned cash on dinner and a gift, but when my birthday rolls around, I'm alone? Starving and giftless.
I'm guessing this is the real reason singles ask one another their signs before dating.
I'm guessing this is the real reason singles ask one another their signs before dating.
2.07.2008
The Theory Debunker is IN
24 years driving. 13 speeding tickets.
[Is that as bad as it sounds? Oy]
As a self-proclaimed speeding expert, I've had this theory: if you overpay your speeding ticket by $1, the books never get closed because the city clerk will never send a rebate check for the difference, so your insurance company never finds out. Ignorance is bliss, you know, and I delusionally hoped my rates wouldn't reflect my "I need to see your license and registration, ma'am" status.
Perfect in theory, not-so-perfect in reality.
After my most recent "68 in a 55" (on New Year's DAY! Apparently, I need a designated driver to get places while I'm sober), I procrastinated* too long and had to make the payment in person.
*which comes first: the procrastinator or the speeder?
I handed the city clerk a money order for $121, so she attempted to give me $1 change. I said, "Oh, no, that's a tip. I don't want it."
We argued back and forth for a while, and as I was pocketing the change (those city clerks are badasses, I tell ya'), I asked her about my theory. She informed me that if I had mailed in too much money, they simply would have raised the fine to the amount sent, so the ticket would be closed.
What's a poor lead foot to do?
[Is that as bad as it sounds? Oy]
As a self-proclaimed speeding expert, I've had this theory: if you overpay your speeding ticket by $1, the books never get closed because the city clerk will never send a rebate check for the difference, so your insurance company never finds out. Ignorance is bliss, you know, and I delusionally hoped my rates wouldn't reflect my "I need to see your license and registration, ma'am" status.
Perfect in theory, not-so-perfect in reality.
After my most recent "68 in a 55" (on New Year's DAY! Apparently, I need a designated driver to get places while I'm sober), I procrastinated* too long and had to make the payment in person.
*which comes first: the procrastinator or the speeder?
I handed the city clerk a money order for $121, so she attempted to give me $1 change. I said, "Oh, no, that's a tip. I don't want it."
We argued back and forth for a while, and as I was pocketing the change (those city clerks are badasses, I tell ya'), I asked her about my theory. She informed me that if I had mailed in too much money, they simply would have raised the fine to the amount sent, so the ticket would be closed.
What's a poor lead foot to do?
2.01.2008
Adult-ish
I might be twisted. My sister TQ showed up at my house last night, suffering from her freshly broken heart and weighing about 88 pounds - I'm so envious! She tends to get sad and anxious, which prevents her from eating - and also makes her a cheap date at the bar. When I saw her, I realized I needed a strong bout of depression, myself, because I've been happy for 3 months and happy equals fat in my food-is-tied to everything world.
Sorta-boyfriend Christian is out of town in a week-long fishing tournament in Georgia so TQ and I headed to the bar and met up with some of my ex-coworkers.
This morning, as I was wandering around in last night's wet clothes, with my hair sticking out at right angles, looking frantically for my work cell phone (my personal cell phone died recently and I still haven't been able to find that one, which is somewhere in the house, I'm sure of it!), my 17 year old son passed me in the hallway and said, "You know you're an adult, right?"
Sorta-boyfriend Christian is out of town in a week-long fishing tournament in Georgia so TQ and I headed to the bar and met up with some of my ex-coworkers.
This morning, as I was wandering around in last night's wet clothes, with my hair sticking out at right angles, looking frantically for my work cell phone (my personal cell phone died recently and I still haven't been able to find that one, which is somewhere in the house, I'm sure of it!), my 17 year old son passed me in the hallway and said, "You know you're an adult, right?"
1.16.2008
Louie Louie
I'm living large* this week in the 17th largest city in the United States at a conference with 1632 other attendees. Louisville, in case the brochure tagline wasn't an obvious reference.
*not so much large as FAT. There's something about having my company pick up expenses that causes me to eat several large meals per day, including Crab Ravioli with pesto and snacks from Starbuck's. I might possibly need an intervention.
As I was walking through the hallway in the Conference Center this afternoon, I passed by a familiar face (conveniently attached to a body) that I knew from somewhere. I turned around to stare, as he did the same. My first sergant from Ft. Lewis, Washingon in 1988 (!), here from Ft. Bening, Georgia. He asked if I kept in touch with anyone else from our unit, but other than awkward, accidental yearly visits with my ex-husband, sadly, I did not.
The husband of one of my friends/co-workers is a contestant on this season's "Biggest Loser", so we all gathered (and dare I say bonded) together last night while watching the episode with with beer, pizza, and chips. Ironic, no?
Thought for the week: do not, under any circumstances, attempt to shave your legs in the bathtub, while talking on your cell phone. It will end badly.
*not so much large as FAT. There's something about having my company pick up expenses that causes me to eat several large meals per day, including Crab Ravioli with pesto and snacks from Starbuck's. I might possibly need an intervention.
As I was walking through the hallway in the Conference Center this afternoon, I passed by a familiar face (conveniently attached to a body) that I knew from somewhere. I turned around to stare, as he did the same. My first sergant from Ft. Lewis, Washingon in 1988 (!), here from Ft. Bening, Georgia. He asked if I kept in touch with anyone else from our unit, but other than awkward, accidental yearly visits with my ex-husband, sadly, I did not.
The husband of one of my friends/co-workers is a contestant on this season's "Biggest Loser", so we all gathered (and dare I say bonded) together last night while watching the episode with with beer, pizza, and chips. Ironic, no?
Thought for the week: do not, under any circumstances, attempt to shave your legs in the bathtub, while talking on your cell phone. It will end badly.
12.27.2007
Festival of...beer and midriffs
You know it's a crazy, mixed-up world when I am given the corporate credit card and the responsibility of planning the company Christmas party.
Some supervisors might take the $40/person budget and go to a nice restaurant for an hour or two. This particular party planner decided to have a bonfire, get a bushel of raw oysters (?), and spend the rest on alcohol. Oh, plus one Olive Garden gift certificate for the winner of the poker tournament. Who knew my co-workers and their dates could be so much fun?*
*I'm having second thoughts regarding the installation of a stripper pole in my living room, though. Hopefully, that was just holiday beer banter.
We took one group photo at the beginning of the evening, which was smart, because the rest of the shots look something like this:
I certainly hope there's something in the corporate budget for President's Day...
Some supervisors might take the $40/person budget and go to a nice restaurant for an hour or two. This particular party planner decided to have a bonfire, get a bushel of raw oysters (?), and spend the rest on alcohol. Oh, plus one Olive Garden gift certificate for the winner of the poker tournament. Who knew my co-workers and their dates could be so much fun?*
*I'm having second thoughts regarding the installation of a stripper pole in my living room, though. Hopefully, that was just holiday beer banter.
We took one group photo at the beginning of the evening, which was smart, because the rest of the shots look something like this:
I certainly hope there's something in the corporate budget for President's Day...
12.25.2007
Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen
Every year, my mother, eternal optimist extraordinaire, buys me kitchen-related gifts, which I love because it's like she's keeping that glimmer of hope alive that someday I might become a great chef...er, not burn down the kitchen. (Nope, that was not a run-on sentence).
Observation of the day: why do spice racks come with unalphabetized bottles of spices? Who can cook under such chaotic conditions?
Post-baking-script: every try making "pecan ball" cookies while getting sloshed on white wine and listening to Clancy Brothers? No? Let me save you the trouble, 'cause you'll just wind up with chunky pecan oblong-ish shapes with wayyyyy too much sugar.
Observation of the day: why do spice racks come with unalphabetized bottles of spices? Who can cook under such chaotic conditions?
Post-baking-script: every try making "pecan ball" cookies while getting sloshed on white wine and listening to Clancy Brothers? No? Let me save you the trouble, 'cause you'll just wind up with chunky pecan oblong-ish shapes with wayyyyy too much sugar.
11.22.2007
Stumbling across my religion
Martha Stewart's herb-roasted turkey recipe calls for rosemary, thyme and lemon zest, so I managed to scrounge up some chives and oregano, then stuffed orange wedges down the headless neck. And? It was the best turkey I have ever tasted (which is a relief since there are only two of us eating 12.23 pounds of meat, translating to approximately eight pounds per each of us). And, no holdiay oven fire - score!
I had a dinner date last night with Christian*, a younger guy I know from work. I felt an instant connection when I met him last May, but assumed he was in a relationship since he never asked me out (oh, the ego!).
*My cell phone automatically corrected his name to "Christianity" when I entered the text into my address book. I find it amusing, in an Are you there, God, it's me, Margaret kind of way.
Turns out he was taking a time out (a year) from women because when he tried to take the knife away from his last girlfriend, who was trying to slice her wrist, she stabbed him. Sounds like the perfect training camp for a relationship with me. He also owns a coke machine, but rigged it to dispense Bud Light. Be still, my lush heart.
I had a dinner date last night with Christian*, a younger guy I know from work. I felt an instant connection when I met him last May, but assumed he was in a relationship since he never asked me out (oh, the ego!).
*My cell phone automatically corrected his name to "Christianity" when I entered the text into my address book. I find it amusing, in an Are you there, God, it's me, Margaret kind of way.
Turns out he was taking a time out (a year) from women because when he tried to take the knife away from his last girlfriend, who was trying to slice her wrist, she stabbed him. Sounds like the perfect training camp for a relationship with me. He also owns a coke machine, but rigged it to dispense Bud Light. Be still, my lush heart.
11.20.2007
Beach Mahal
Tonight for dinner I had a Twinkie, a chocolate donut, 4 marshmallow cookies and an orange. My body is so obviously a temple.
And beach season is officially over [Destin, Florida].
And beach season is officially over [Destin, Florida].
11.18.2007
Double, double, toil/drink and trouble
"Before a mad scientist goes mad, there's probably a time when he's only partially mad. And this is the time when he's going to throw his best parties."
-- Jack Handey
I managed to interview for and fill all four of our new contractor positions last week and came to the conclusion that there are a SHITLOAD of unemployed biologists out there (and that I really, I mean really, hate being called "ma'am"). It probably doesn't help that this progressive state won't hire biology teachers who believe in evolution, by God/Darwin, either.
My ex-boss also managed to find someone to take my old job, which will be a huge relief for me. He's an intelligent, funny, adorable smartass - perfect, right? The twist is he met my sister and me in a bar in February, while he was home from Iraq for a couple of weeks, and has a bit of a crush on her. He called eight times, and isn't ready to give up yet. The universe really does revolve around that girl - the rest of us should probably be paying rent.
I'm taking an 8-hour online OSHA supervisor course with a virtual minute-ticking, internet clock. Normally, I jump straight to the final exam, but this time I'm forced to drink beer, watch tv and kill time for 7.5 hours first. At least I'll get a day off from work.
-- Jack Handey
I managed to interview for and fill all four of our new contractor positions last week and came to the conclusion that there are a SHITLOAD of unemployed biologists out there (and that I really, I mean really, hate being called "ma'am"). It probably doesn't help that this progressive state won't hire biology teachers who believe in evolution, by God/Darwin, either.
My ex-boss also managed to find someone to take my old job, which will be a huge relief for me. He's an intelligent, funny, adorable smartass - perfect, right? The twist is he met my sister and me in a bar in February, while he was home from Iraq for a couple of weeks, and has a bit of a crush on her. He called eight times, and isn't ready to give up yet. The universe really does revolve around that girl - the rest of us should probably be paying rent.
I'm taking an 8-hour online OSHA supervisor course with a virtual minute-ticking, internet clock. Normally, I jump straight to the final exam, but this time I'm forced to drink beer, watch tv and kill time for 7.5 hours first. At least I'll get a day off from work.
11.03.2007
You say you want to be a supervisor?
After what I like to refer to as my "Crazy June Melt Down" (June - the month of Gemini's. Coincidence?), I came up with the ingenious plan of working in Iraq for one year starting next summer. Patrick would be in college, or hanging out in my carport building speaker boxes, or out in the world somewhere and I could take a year, working nonstop in the miserable heat (12 hours on, 12 hours off x 7 days/week), which would probably lead to massive weight loss, waiting for an "honorable" death. Life insurance doesn't pay if you kill yourself, you see, and I wouldn't want Patrick and my cats to lose their home.
Yes, I'm slightly twisted and always thoughtful, but apparently not transparent, because just about everyone, including my therapist*, thought it was good to have a plan. Something to shoot for. A reason to live.
*during our first of two sessions, he told me I was too intelligent for therapy. He asked me what the plan was...did I want medication? Someone to talk to? What did I have in mind? He also pointed out that I would be a hot little commodity in Iraq, given the male:female ratio. Eventhough we hit it off immediately, I didn't get much out of our gabfest, though I did follow his suggestion to try Michelob Ultra as a tasty low-carb beer.
However.
I've been at my current job for one year (which means my replacement had been at her job for one year, until she was fired on Monday for selling crack cocaine!). Our office is located in Baton Rouge, six hours away, which was okay when there were four of us, but now that our staff has been doubled to eight, some powers-that-be decided it might be a good idea if we had supervision and guidance of some sort. Enter my new promotion: onsite supervisor, pay raise 25%, then another cost of living raise in January.
It's more than the money...it's the power and future asskissings I look forward to the most. Just kidding. It's really about the money.
Yes, I'm slightly twisted and always thoughtful, but apparently not transparent, because just about everyone, including my therapist*, thought it was good to have a plan. Something to shoot for. A reason to live.
*during our first of two sessions, he told me I was too intelligent for therapy. He asked me what the plan was...did I want medication? Someone to talk to? What did I have in mind? He also pointed out that I would be a hot little commodity in Iraq, given the male:female ratio. Eventhough we hit it off immediately, I didn't get much out of our gabfest, though I did follow his suggestion to try Michelob Ultra as a tasty low-carb beer.
However.
I've been at my current job for one year (which means my replacement had been at her job for one year, until she was fired on Monday for selling crack cocaine!). Our office is located in Baton Rouge, six hours away, which was okay when there were four of us, but now that our staff has been doubled to eight, some powers-that-be decided it might be a good idea if we had supervision and guidance of some sort. Enter my new promotion: onsite supervisor, pay raise 25%, then another cost of living raise in January.
It's more than the money...it's the power and future asskissings I look forward to the most. Just kidding. It's really about the money.
10.21.2007
I'm Leaving...on a Jet Ski
Nothing piques a mother's interest quite like a text message from her teenage son in the middle of the night which reads:
I'm o.k. Call me in the morning.
His definition of "okay" is debatable, but I did call in the morning to discover the master of understatement and his dad were out riding jet skis last weekend when one (or both) of them turned too sharply and collided into the other. Patrick flew into the air from the impact, landed on his tailbone and thought he was paralyzed before they were rescued and he was transported to the hospital.
By the time I talked to him, he was doped up on liquid Lortab, and wasn't feeling much pain from the fractured leg and coccyx, stitches, assorted lumps and bruises. His dad rented a U-Haul to transport Patrick's new (pimp) El Camino from Savannah back to Alabama, and I'm guessing this was the least desirable way he imagined spending Fall Break.
My Kathy-Bates-in-Misery style of nursing* involved picking up McDonald's every night on the way home from work, and forcing him to watch chick flicks with me all week. Never underestimate the quality time you can have with a teenage prisoner on pain medication.
*What's the matter? WHAT'S THE MATTER? I will tell you "what's the matter!" I go out of my way for you! I do every-thing to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get? "Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Anne, I can't write on this paper, Anne!" Well, I'll get your stupid paper but you just better start showing me a little appreciation around here, Mr. MAN!
I'm o.k. Call me in the morning.
His definition of "okay" is debatable, but I did call in the morning to discover the master of understatement and his dad were out riding jet skis last weekend when one (or both) of them turned too sharply and collided into the other. Patrick flew into the air from the impact, landed on his tailbone and thought he was paralyzed before they were rescued and he was transported to the hospital.
By the time I talked to him, he was doped up on liquid Lortab, and wasn't feeling much pain from the fractured leg and coccyx, stitches, assorted lumps and bruises. His dad rented a U-Haul to transport Patrick's new (pimp) El Camino from Savannah back to Alabama, and I'm guessing this was the least desirable way he imagined spending Fall Break.
My Kathy-Bates-in-Misery style of nursing* involved picking up McDonald's every night on the way home from work, and forcing him to watch chick flicks with me all week. Never underestimate the quality time you can have with a teenage prisoner on pain medication.
*What's the matter? WHAT'S THE MATTER? I will tell you "what's the matter!" I go out of my way for you! I do every-thing to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get? "Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Anne, I can't write on this paper, Anne!" Well, I'll get your stupid paper but you just better start showing me a little appreciation around here, Mr. MAN!
9.18.2007
Seems "Crazy Dan" is in a bit of a pickle
A month ago: after two dates (and perhaps some saki), Dan told me he loved me and suggested we go to Las Vegas to get married. Proposing to a virtual stranger is one thing; telling them you love them? Freaks. Me. Out. I warned him, told him to stop with the nonsense because, truthfully, I was just looking for a fun drinking partner that didn't live too far away.
3 weeks ago: Dan & I met my sister Tiffany and her most recent/probably-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend for drinks and got into a huge fight that included a stony-silent drive home. Correction: HE got into a huge fight because I was disrespectful by letting her tell a story about a man I had kissed in a bar. Forgive my lack of omnipotence, but am I really supposed to control everyone else's stories? He said he didn't want to see me again, I casually said, "fine, whatever", but when he called the next day to apologize and begged me to go to the beach for the weekend, I agreed.
2 weeks ago: he dumped me again because I couldn't tell him if he was wasting his time with me. I told him I no longer wanted to ride his bipolar express when he pleaded with me to go away for the weekend, like nothing had happened, a few days later.
The plot thickens: apparently Crazy Dan has been dating a woman, Lise, off and on for the past year. She contacted me through a mutual friend because she wasn't sure I was aware that he was already in a relationship. When we realized he'd proposed to and asked BOTH of us to go to Ohio over Thanksgiving to meet his family, it became a "you can have him", "no, you take him" battle for the roller-coaster drama queen.
Lise and I have been emailing back and forth, sending photos, and exchanging ideas for the perfect confrontation. She's amazing - an intelligent, funny, animal crusading cutie. Truthfully, I like her much more than I ever liked Crazy Dan. Oh, this is gonna be good...
3 weeks ago: Dan & I met my sister Tiffany and her most recent/probably-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend for drinks and got into a huge fight that included a stony-silent drive home. Correction: HE got into a huge fight because I was disrespectful by letting her tell a story about a man I had kissed in a bar. Forgive my lack of omnipotence, but am I really supposed to control everyone else's stories? He said he didn't want to see me again, I casually said, "fine, whatever", but when he called the next day to apologize and begged me to go to the beach for the weekend, I agreed.
2 weeks ago: he dumped me again because I couldn't tell him if he was wasting his time with me. I told him I no longer wanted to ride his bipolar express when he pleaded with me to go away for the weekend, like nothing had happened, a few days later.
The plot thickens: apparently Crazy Dan has been dating a woman, Lise, off and on for the past year. She contacted me through a mutual friend because she wasn't sure I was aware that he was already in a relationship. When we realized he'd proposed to and asked BOTH of us to go to Ohio over Thanksgiving to meet his family, it became a "you can have him", "no, you take him" battle for the roller-coaster drama queen.
Lise and I have been emailing back and forth, sending photos, and exchanging ideas for the perfect confrontation. She's amazing - an intelligent, funny, animal crusading cutie. Truthfully, I like her much more than I ever liked Crazy Dan. Oh, this is gonna be good...
9.12.2007
Decreed
So, our division chief sent out an email this week:
"The command staff has demanded that the individual releasing the cats from the live traps set out by the Game Warden cease and desist immediately."
Cease and desist? That sounds an awful lot like 'carry on like a rockstar but be careful and don't get caught'. Right?
"The command staff has demanded that the individual releasing the cats from the live traps set out by the Game Warden cease and desist immediately."
Cease and desist? That sounds an awful lot like 'carry on like a rockstar but be careful and don't get caught'. Right?
9.09.2007
Party of three?
The great part about losing your expensive sunglasses in the Gulf of Mexico while drunk is that you might spend an hour in the water looking for them, while doing back flips and hand stands and nearly drowning, then wake up the next morning, wondering if you've lost your glasses (all over again).
What was supposed to be a "sister weekend" in Destin, Florida turned into a "sister plus one boyfriend weekend" instead. Oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward in the least - she actually has great taste AND he picked the most amazing restaurants so I might be forever indebted.
---
There was quite a bit of feral cat drama at work last week involving military police cruising our street to find the saboteur of the metal cat traps. The director of my division was notified of my "possible" involvement, so tomorrow's either going to be a "ha ha, that's so funny" or a "pack your stuff and get out" kind of day. The suspense is killing me.
What was supposed to be a "sister weekend" in Destin, Florida turned into a "sister plus one boyfriend weekend" instead. Oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward in the least - she actually has great taste AND he picked the most amazing restaurants so I might be forever indebted.
---
There was quite a bit of feral cat drama at work last week involving military police cruising our street to find the saboteur of the metal cat traps. The director of my division was notified of my "possible" involvement, so tomorrow's either going to be a "ha ha, that's so funny" or a "pack your stuff and get out" kind of day. The suspense is killing me.
9.04.2007
Trail of nails
The two greatest words for impulsive gamblers of Irish descent who might possibly have lost an entire day last weekend? FREE DRINKS. I'd be bummed about losing all my money in Biloxi, though it probably just covered what would have been a 3-day bar tab. Perspective, you know.
---
I was a tad pissed in May when I had to buy new tires for my car that had only 25,000 miles, but paid a little extra for the extended warranty with a lifetime of balance and rotations because they gave me an instant line of credit (which should probably be the tagline to my life). This has never worked out in the past since I always forget to take autos in for maintenance, but, hey, I'll play your game.
One of my coworkers mentioned that I had a flat tire last week, so I high-tailed it to the Firestone before closing, to be informed that the culprit was TWO nails. I made an appointment to come back today to get the tires rotated (plus, I'm naturally suspicious of scheming, hoodwinking, greedy mechanics - I wanted to make sure they had repaired the nail holes adequately).
Imagine my surprise: a third nail in the sidewall of a second tire. How the hell am I driving sideways over nail-infested terrain with my car? Alas, it didn't matter: they replaced the tire, since it couldn't be repaired, and I had to pay nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nyet. Oooompah!
---
I was a tad pissed in May when I had to buy new tires for my car that had only 25,000 miles, but paid a little extra for the extended warranty with a lifetime of balance and rotations because they gave me an instant line of credit (which should probably be the tagline to my life). This has never worked out in the past since I always forget to take autos in for maintenance, but, hey, I'll play your game.
One of my coworkers mentioned that I had a flat tire last week, so I high-tailed it to the Firestone before closing, to be informed that the culprit was TWO nails. I made an appointment to come back today to get the tires rotated (plus, I'm naturally suspicious of scheming, hoodwinking, greedy mechanics - I wanted to make sure they had repaired the nail holes adequately).
Imagine my surprise: a third nail in the sidewall of a second tire. How the hell am I driving sideways over nail-infested terrain with my car? Alas, it didn't matter: they replaced the tire, since it couldn't be repaired, and I had to pay nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nyet. Oooompah!
8.31.2007
House of Biloxi
How is it possible that I'd get two invitations to go to Biloxi, Mississippi to go gambling for the weekend by two different men?
Is Venus rising over the first house of Leo, or was the timer set for my implanted chip to start emitting steak-scented pheromones on my 40th birthday?
Is Venus rising over the first house of Leo, or was the timer set for my implanted chip to start emitting steak-scented pheromones on my 40th birthday?
8.21.2007
St. Augustine
I drove my car to Hilton Head Island to I could take the long way home, via St. Augustine, Florida, since it was only a few hours out of the way (as an aside: Georgia has more police officers, state troopers, and speed-trap-enforcers per capita than any other state. And yet, I am amazingly ticket-free). Founded in 1565 by the Spanish, St. Augustine is the oldest, continuously occupied community in the United States.
I think the world would be a better place with more cobblestone streets.
I think the world would be a better place with more cobblestone streets.
8.20.2007
Boy Logic
Today I asked Patrick how the new school year was going. He told me it was going okay, but on the first day, he told all his teachers to call him "Rick" so he keeps missing his name during roll call. This from the boy whose cell phone says, "You've reached Rodney - leave a message."
[Why? Why?]
[Why? Why?]
8.18.2007
It's an island - how lost can we get?
I didn't imagine we'd learn much at a work conference last week scheduled on gorgeous Hilton Head Island, but, oh yeah, did I care? Turns out, though, that the social events every evening might be more crucial to the future success of our program, as we have many future visitors volunteering to visit and assist. I hope. Unless "bar talk" is similar to our grand family schemes, in which cars and computers are bartered for property.Oddly, the Marriott Resort offers a fitness center, spa treatments and valet parking, but no free wireless. Geez. I'm too cheap to pay $9.95/day for an internet connection that I can get from any neighborhood parking lot.
The first evening, in the bar at what would become "our" table, the vice president of the hosting company introduced himself, "Hi, I'm the young, arrogant vice president." Ever-so-smooth when inebriated, I replied, "Oh, hi, taste this buttery nipple." (the bartender, for some inexplicable reason wasn't sure about the ratio and I offered to be the guinea pig until he perfected it). Later, Mr. VP told me that he had always been attracted to "crazy". No wonder we hit it off and spent the week together.
A fellow conference attender from Alabama was, unfortunately for his sake, named Reagan. "Oh, no," I said. "I can't, in good conscience, call you by the same name of the worst president in our history! I'm calling you Kennedy, instead." By the end of the week, I'm sure everyone there thought his name was actually Kennedy. I was officially renamed IRISH.
Only a half an hour from the EX in Savannah, I'm quite proud to report that I didn't stalk, call, or Google search his new girlfriend. In fact, I probably only thought about it a handful of times. Baby steps, ya' know.Highlight: Crabcakes and unbreakable, cobalt blue, aluminum bottles holding 16 oz. of Bud Light on the beach.
Life is good.
8.11.2007
Rainy days and cat killers always get me down
I topped off a grueling day at work as I always do, by heading a few streets over to the yard near the warehouse building where my family of feral cats live. There were only a handful there, instead of the usual 15, with three wire cages holding styrofoam cups of dry cat food, chained along the fence. I continued along my merry way, feeding the remaining cats and manually setting off the traps so curious animals wouldn't be tempted, then gave my old boss a call to get the scoop.
"The game warden was here today," he told me, "and said he would arrest anyone caught feeding the cats."
"The game warden was here today," he told me, "and said he would arrest anyone caught feeding the cats."
"What is this? Carry-a-badge-and-make-up-your-own-rules day if you hate cats? Arrest someone for being compassionate? That's ridiculous," I said.
"He said he'd put cameras out if he had to, and he does have the authority - and a gun."
I continued my rant, "Well, I'd like to see him arrest me, even shoot me for resisting arrest, because I will go to every newspaper, tv station and animal rights group in the state. I'll be sneakier, if I have to, but Mr. Almighty Game Warden should really be doing something more productive with his time. Cold-hearted redneck."
I'm so endearing when I'm pissed off. Or headed off to jail. Either way.
Basic Training, 1987: the drill sargents were always yelling at me for eating too slowly, "Two hands, private! What do you think this is - finishing school?!" I stubbornly refused, of course, because training to kill people shouldn't mean a complete lack of manners. For three days, they'd throw me out of the mess hall during every meal, but obstinence prevailed and eventually I was left alone to chew and swallow my food.
I'll be in Hilton Head, South Carolina this week (should I tell Ed I'll be in his neck of the woods, just to make him sweat?) for a conference, anyway, but I'll be stashing bags of cat food in every nook and cranny on Ft. Rucker...hopefully we'll win the battle of the cats, but a hunger strike may be on the horizon. Summer diet '07.
I continued my rant, "Well, I'd like to see him arrest me, even shoot me for resisting arrest, because I will go to every newspaper, tv station and animal rights group in the state. I'll be sneakier, if I have to, but Mr. Almighty Game Warden should really be doing something more productive with his time. Cold-hearted redneck."
I'm so endearing when I'm pissed off. Or headed off to jail. Either way.
Basic Training, 1987: the drill sargents were always yelling at me for eating too slowly, "Two hands, private! What do you think this is - finishing school?!" I stubbornly refused, of course, because training to kill people shouldn't mean a complete lack of manners. For three days, they'd throw me out of the mess hall during every meal, but obstinence prevailed and eventually I was left alone to chew and swallow my food.
I'll be in Hilton Head, South Carolina this week (should I tell Ed I'll be in his neck of the woods, just to make him sweat?) for a conference, anyway, but I'll be stashing bags of cat food in every nook and cranny on Ft. Rucker...hopefully we'll win the battle of the cats, but a hunger strike may be on the horizon. Summer diet '07.
8.10.2007
Honey darlin' sweetheart
As a strong, independent, no-nonsense kind of Yankee, this is a bit difficult to admit, but...I kind of like being called "baby".
8.07.2007
I love my job, part XXVI
The most stupendous part of the federal government employee hiring process is that someone who is a disabled veteran with virtually no experience or particular knowledge has more "points" than, say, a conscientious, diligent contractor with years of experience (and a cute haircut) who's currently doing the job.
Un-generalized afterthought: I'm not just bashing him because he's male; it's because he's a dumbass. The man who has come to me for years with questions is now running the program? Bravo.
Un-generalized afterthought: I'm not just bashing him because he's male; it's because he's a dumbass. The man who has come to me for years with questions is now running the program? Bravo.
8.06.2007
Dalehole
The other half of my Apache pilot* induced meltdown in June was caused by Dale. He was everything the EX was not: sensitive, patient, generous and, apparently, a player. We hit it off immediately when we met in November, though it was short-lived because he had to go back to his life in Ohio, 743 miles away. Our friendship grew over cell phones, and eventually we coordinated a rendezvous in Milwaukee before the weekend in Chicago with my sister (et. al). She was even smitten by him.
*Since my divorce, I've gone out with an Apache pilot, a Blackhawk student pilot, a TH-67 Instructor pilot, and a retired Chinook pilot who forgot to mention he was still married. Is it time to move? Seriously.
I thought we had a fabulous time together, even imagining it was the first trip of many, so I couldn't understand why he seemed distant after we returned home. I made excuses at first about why he stopped calling - "oh, he's busy catching up at work"; I'd leave a voice message - he'd call a few days later; I emailed - he ignored. I was tired of being pathetic so I deleted his number and tried not to obsess (haha, do you know me?). He doesn't drink or like the same music and he's allergic to cats - it was doomed from the start, obviously.
I haven't talked to Dale in 6 weeks, but he called to wish me a happy birthday on Thursday. I didn't answer, so he's called an additional two times and left messages. WHY? Can't you just blow me off and move along? I think I'd have more luck understanding quantum physics than men at this point in my life. Please pass the quarks.
*Since my divorce, I've gone out with an Apache pilot, a Blackhawk student pilot, a TH-67 Instructor pilot, and a retired Chinook pilot who forgot to mention he was still married. Is it time to move? Seriously.
I thought we had a fabulous time together, even imagining it was the first trip of many, so I couldn't understand why he seemed distant after we returned home. I made excuses at first about why he stopped calling - "oh, he's busy catching up at work"; I'd leave a voice message - he'd call a few days later; I emailed - he ignored. I was tired of being pathetic so I deleted his number and tried not to obsess (haha, do you know me?). He doesn't drink or like the same music and he's allergic to cats - it was doomed from the start, obviously.
I haven't talked to Dale in 6 weeks, but he called to wish me a happy birthday on Thursday. I didn't answer, so he's called an additional two times and left messages. WHY? Can't you just blow me off and move along? I think I'd have more luck understanding quantum physics than men at this point in my life. Please pass the quarks.
7.29.2007
Weekended
· In the middle of a"can't-sleep-or-eat" phase, I got up at the crack of dawn and watched the extremely powerful movie Freedom Writers. I wish my passion - the cats - could graduate someday.
· My car sales manager, Mitch, who found my dream car for me two years ago, called today. He said he missed me since my driver's side door leak had been repaired and I no longer brought it in for service every month. Really? Because I was kind of thinking how great it was not to discover a foot of water on the floor every time it rained. He asked me to play golf and have a few beers on the course with him, but I told him I didn't know how (to golf. Obviously, I excel at drinking beer) and had no clubs. He offered to buy me a set so we could play, which I find a bit odd, especially considering the fact that he didn't give me that great of a deal on the car.
· I then managed to misplace my cell phone, tried calling it from another phone, but dialed the wrong number. Imagine both of our surprise when someone answered and I asked what they were doing with my phone.
· A guy I used to "date" (a term I use loosely since we live six hours apart and manage much better as friends) in Baton Rouge might be interested in buying the engagement ring from my ex to give to his fiancee...am I officially a redneck?
· My car sales manager, Mitch, who found my dream car for me two years ago, called today. He said he missed me since my driver's side door leak had been repaired and I no longer brought it in for service every month. Really? Because I was kind of thinking how great it was not to discover a foot of water on the floor every time it rained. He asked me to play golf and have a few beers on the course with him, but I told him I didn't know how (to golf. Obviously, I excel at drinking beer) and had no clubs. He offered to buy me a set so we could play, which I find a bit odd, especially considering the fact that he didn't give me that great of a deal on the car.
· I then managed to misplace my cell phone, tried calling it from another phone, but dialed the wrong number. Imagine both of our surprise when someone answered and I asked what they were doing with my phone.
· A guy I used to "date" (a term I use loosely since we live six hours apart and manage much better as friends) in Baton Rouge might be interested in buying the engagement ring from my ex to give to his fiancee...am I officially a redneck?
7.26.2007
Shoe-bop
I had a sneaking, egocentric suspicion the movie "In Her Shoes" was based on my sister and me, but the theory was modified one weekend at a a pool in Panama City when a clueless gentleman yelled out, "Look! It's Cameron Diaz and her mom!" (yes, I would be the 'mom').Appointment-with-the-new-shrink countdown: 5 days.
7.18.2007
Running with Scissors (Addendum)
Because they were a little suspicious about all the chemicals in my blood, I had to talk to a substance abuse counselor before I was released from the hospital. Smart, those doctors.
We came up with a "life plan", in which I agreed not to attempt to harm myself before June 16, 2008 (do I get a "best if used before..." date stamp on my forehead?) and to see a counselor, who happened to be a therapist AND a pastor conveniently rolled into one. Great. I eagerly agreed, mostly because I didn't want to raise any flags and spend another night in that tv-less room, throwing up jello, and was in desperate need of a shower.
I made a casual, "hypothetically-speaking, if I did need a therapist" phone call to my insurance company and discovered they were willing to shell out funds for forty-five visits per year. A little pessimisstic, I thought, but at least this self discovery crap wouldn't cost me anything.
My 'therapastor', who doesn't like to focus on the past (what kind of anti-Freud bullshit is this?), welcomed me into his office and distracted me by talking about himself for 45 of the scheduled 55 minutes. The shoulda-been-caped Super-Crisis-Therapist has helped the high school tornado survivors, girls who are "cutters", and families who need help communicating.
After my brief synopsis/sharing of the spotlight, his only concern seemed to be my drinking, so he asked if I'd ever considered AA.
"Nah," I said, quoting my sister, "That's for quitters."
"Does your sister think you drink too much?"
"Uh...no. She's in college."
Obviously, alcohol might have impaired my judgement and encouraged impulsivity, but it seems like it'd be more logical to give up prescription meds if we're going to take this odd approach to curing depression. Yeah, focus on the only enjoyable social activity I have. He deemed me 'fine' and suggested I make another appointment in a few weeks. Delusional narcissist.
We came up with a "life plan", in which I agreed not to attempt to harm myself before June 16, 2008 (do I get a "best if used before..." date stamp on my forehead?) and to see a counselor, who happened to be a therapist AND a pastor conveniently rolled into one. Great. I eagerly agreed, mostly because I didn't want to raise any flags and spend another night in that tv-less room, throwing up jello, and was in desperate need of a shower.
I made a casual, "hypothetically-speaking, if I did need a therapist" phone call to my insurance company and discovered they were willing to shell out funds for forty-five visits per year. A little pessimisstic, I thought, but at least this self discovery crap wouldn't cost me anything.
My 'therapastor', who doesn't like to focus on the past (what kind of anti-Freud bullshit is this?), welcomed me into his office and distracted me by talking about himself for 45 of the scheduled 55 minutes. The shoulda-been-caped Super-Crisis-Therapist has helped the high school tornado survivors, girls who are "cutters", and families who need help communicating.
After my brief synopsis/sharing of the spotlight, his only concern seemed to be my drinking, so he asked if I'd ever considered AA.
"Nah," I said, quoting my sister, "That's for quitters."
"Does your sister think you drink too much?"
"Uh...no. She's in college."
Obviously, alcohol might have impaired my judgement and encouraged impulsivity, but it seems like it'd be more logical to give up prescription meds if we're going to take this odd approach to curing depression. Yeah, focus on the only enjoyable social activity I have. He deemed me 'fine' and suggested I make another appointment in a few weeks. Delusional narcissist.
7.14.2007
Charmed and dangerous
I hauled my bitter, junk-in-the-trunk self back to the gym this week, for the first time in at least five years. I figure if I keep busy and glare at enough sweaty, grunting men in tank tops, my broken heart will eventually mend.
Life begins at 40, baby (squeeze, breathe, relax, and feel the sarcasm).
"The vote means nothing to women. We should be armed."
Life begins at 40, baby (squeeze, breathe, relax, and feel the sarcasm).
"The vote means nothing to women. We should be armed."
- Edna O'Brien (b. 1930)
7.04.2007
So you think deleting phone numbers out of your cell phone address book makes you less impulsive?
I have this great new game: I send emails (or forward some he wrote to me) to the most recent address I have for my ex-husband. I get to vent under the veil of mystery (is he getting them? Are they sitting in cyberspace?); he gets to remember my bitter, sentimental, accusatory, pitiful and angry sides. Are we having fun yet?
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