Professional Grouch

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

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...

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

The Way You Move, Soft and Slippery

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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!