Velvet Morning

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.

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

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

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

Love hurts, but dating maims

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

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

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

My date: "...and cats."

Fiero Tundra

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

(photo courtesy of my dad TQ*)

*I have a stronger aversion to frostbite

Proposal #6: Don't Think Twice

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fool and his money are soon partying

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 butt...

Merry Hana-Kwanza-Mas Festival!

[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!

$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

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

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!

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

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

Velocity = Distance/Time

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)

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!

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

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

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

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

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

- Bob Dylan

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

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

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

Loquacious Rickster

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: Kick his ass to the curb!

Work as the Curse of the Drinking Class

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

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

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 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

A picture is worth...more than 6 words

Apparently, I should be more specific when posting my latest employment news and a photo from a long weekend in North Carolina with my platonic, yard boy boyfriend*. The new job is still in Alabama - the government equivalent of the position I currently hold. There'll be way more responsibility, and slightly less pay, but at least I'll still be working incredibly long hours. Truth be told, it's been my dream job for years.

*Mike & I have been going out for over two months, but I'm not exactly sure if we're dating. He takes care of my "honey do" list like installing ceiling fans, hanging blinds, and all the yardwork every week, but there's no romance. Maybe he's playing hard to get? Sly.

We drove six hours to his parents' place in North Carolina for a long weekend in the mountains. I can safely say I'll never hike in flip flops again.

Into the Horizon

New job start date: October 27th.

Wayah Bald, North Carolina

Table for One

My weekend consisted of: a four-hour drive to Atlanta, a flight to Michigan, a funeral, two nights without quality sleep, a four-hour drive to Savannah, then six hours in the car to return home. To top it off, a text message from Mike, whom I've been "dating" for two months, asking if my phone was broken. I thought I was having doubts about him - now I'm sure of it.

My aunt Pat suggested I wouldn't find love until I was ready for emotional intimacy. Perhaps she's right, but I don't believe I'll be ready until men stop sucking.

Uncle Joe

I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks,

Slow-moving trains, and rain

I love little country streams, sleep without dreams,

Sunday school in May...and hay

And I love you, too

Joseph William Quinlan: July 23, 1949 - September 20, 2008

Saintly

Mel says he can't live without my photos.

Perhaps I exaggerate.


[One of the bridges near the Market Street Brewery in St. Louis, which I didn't need to cross to get to my hotel room, fortunately. The tricky part will be to submit my expense report to the corporate office to explain the quantity of "brew" taken there. They should be more specific regarding sustenance]