Just Some Random Photos I Had Laying Around

Its been so long since I put a picture of anything on here! Pathetic. OK, well, not pathetic if you count the two 1300 mile, cross country moves, then one more move across town, and the whole getting a divorce and emotional wreckage thing. Kind of remarkable that there are even WORDS here on a regular basis, now that I'm thinking about it, you ungrateful bastards!

Oh, sorry....

(I'm not even sure where the cord for the camera is, if you must know...luckily, the children can always find it.)

This is my dear friend, Paul.
I'm the only one on Earth that calls him "Paul",
even though that is his actual name.

Shhh......he likes the Jack Daniels...

I've known him forever, we used to work together, and if you ever listen in on one of our conversations, you'll hear something a little like this:

Paul: Sleep with me
Me: Um...Yeah...
Paul: You know you want to
Me: Sure, sure...
Paul: We can talk about it later, after we have sex.

And....we've been having the same conversation for over 20 years with no clothing ever removed. In fact, he's hauled my drunken ass home on more than one occasion and has never once taken advantage, and you know that means I trust him with my very life.


Our next model...

Sammyus Maximus

This picture was taken at First Avenue by someone other than me, and I know I will likely go to hell for once again posting something without giving credit where credit is due. I fully expect someone to show up at my door and punch my lights out any day now. I richly deserve it. You'll just have to take my word for it that I was actually there at the same time as the nice person who took this picture. We took no pictures. Although I think he thought we took a picture. Long story--you don't wanna know. What a delightfully bewildering night that was...

ANYWAY...I like this one cuz he looks like he's thinking really hard about something, and, how cute is that, right?

This one is from our favorite scene in the movie Horton Hears A Who

Every time we watch the movie, we watch this scene three times.

Daughters.

I have daughters.

Did I mention I have daughters?


Speaking of daughters...
So, The Diva was snapping photos one day and she thought this one was a keeper for some reason, BUT, then she came running into the living room, and said, "Gawd, mother, your CAT ruined my picture!" because, as you can see, Jack chose that exact moment to clean his private parts.

Nice...


And this one is just a very cool picture of my daughter...
...that she's going to yell at me for posting.
I don't care.
I just wanna know how she gets all these great shots!

Oh, to be young and fab...

That's Good Teen Humor

UPS man came to my house yesterday....but The Diva refused to answer the door because...she didn't have her make-up and hair done.

Sweeeet...

(with apologies to the publishing house that is waiting for that book review...the UPS man has the book...)

Meanwhile, it is Spirit Week at her school, and, today is Rock Star Day, meaning, everybody with spirit is supposed to dress up like a Rock Star!!! This works out perfectly with her current wardrobe. She did not dress up. She just looks like that all the time...

I Couldn't Even Begin To Think Of A Title For This

Last year, at about this time, I sent my husband flowers.  He had moved to Mobile, AL, and was setting up housekeeping there, and the rest of the family was in Duluth, MN, UN-setting up housekeeping there.

 

The reason for the flowers was the one-two combo Valentines Day (*blech*) and the anniversary of our first date, which is very close to Valentines Day.  Usually, we would use that combination of Real and Corporately Contrived reasons to celebrate as an excuse go out to some ridiculously expensive dinner or something.  However, we were living 1300 miles apart at the start of February last year, so, I sent him some ridiculously expensive flowers instead.

 

I liked sending my husband flowers from time to time--some might think it a bit backward, because supposedly the guy is supposed to send the girl the flowers, but, I did it anyway, because I wanted to.  I enjoy being a recipient of unexpected flowers, so, it was fun for me to send them.

 

He, on the other hand very, very rarely (OK, "Never") sent me flowers.  Its not like I stood around, tapping one foot and complaining that he never sent me flowers--It was not that big of a deal to me, but on one occasion, I really, really wanted some flowers and asked for some. 

 

(Jeez, who wants to have to ASK for flowers?  That's so lame...) 

 

I knew that even though I had asked, that he still wouldn't do it, and I was annoyed by this, so I did up a One Sheet explaining what I wanted (lilies), where to get them, why it was important, and by what date I would like to see those little SOB's sitting on my desk at work. 

 

The flowers arrived, but, since I knew it was definitely NOT his idea, nor something he wanted to do just out of the goodness of his heart, I didn't really enjoy them.  Big surprise.  I never asked again.

 

I used to go out with a guy who gave me flowers CONSTANTLY, like, literally every other day.  Finally, I had to tell him to knock it off.  Have you ever seen 37 flower vases all together at the same time?  I have.  

 

And right after that, I had to figure out what the hell to do with them all...

 

My next boyfriend after Lots O Flowers Guy ended up being my husband, so it is entirely possible that I went into my marriage with a less than excited attitude regarding bouquets.  In fact, when we first started going out, I may have actually said the words, "Whatever you do....do NOT send me any freaking flowers...."  because that is where my head was at, at the time.  Its possible.

 

 

This morning, I got an email from one of the flower services that I use, reminding me that it was time to "Make Jim's Valentine's Day special again."

 

 

 

Jesus...

 

 

 

At first, I sort of chuckled and moved to delete it.

 

 

Then, I didn't delete it.

 

 

Then I sat and stared at it for a little while.

 

 

And now, here I sit, thinking about how I loved that man, and how I tried so hard, and how, in the end it was all for nothing.  I only wish he would have had the decency to tell me that he would never give a shit and that I was wasting my time.  That, would have been nice.

Indivisible

I've been very quiet here on the homey page about the political discussion, but I HAVE been talking everybody else's ears off lately, commenting on other people's political discussions, on other people's homey pages.

 

 

Hey, they're the ones that keep bringing it up...

 

 

I put myself on a news television black-out immediately after the election because I juuuuuust didn't want to hear it.  I knew what everybody would be talking about, and frankly, I did not care.  As soon as I verified that the guy I voted for won, I shut the damn thing off.

 

 

But y'all are talkin'.  So, I got sucked in, and added my two cents.  And since I'm all brazen and don't comment anonymously, I can be found.  And now when I look at my page stats, I notice that half of my visitors, most of whom are new, are visiting from their office computers with the DotGov IP's.  And they're digging through the archives.  Makes me a little itchy.  Thank you for visiting.  Did you need something, or are you going to be one of those creepers that just stands on the sidelines, waiting for me to fall down so you can pounce?

 

 

Trust me, I'm boring, and I don't need to be watched.

 

 

Well, actually, I'm not boring, but, I don't need to be watched.

 

 

Well, actually, maybe I do need to be watched--not because I'm going to do anything bad, but because...I'm not going to get all worked up and emotional like a lot of people do, I'm just going to be all "rational" and tell you a bunch of things that will make worked-up and emotional people FREAK.  You know, like, people who think that they can find stuff in The Bible that says people aren't supposed to love each other...

 

And then, just so nobody takes me seriously, I'll throw in some bad language.  (Please watch this informational video, featuring Lewis Black, to better understand my opinion of "bad" language.  Thank you.)

 

 

 

So here you go.....after my long, long silence, here it is....The Post About The President:

 

I looooooooove The President.  Loooooooove The President.  Oh.  My.  God.  Looooooooooove, love, love, love love...When he signed that Gitmo thing and sat there, chatting with the press about what it was that he had just signed and why he signed it, I wanted to reach through my TV and Hug.  That.  Man. 

 

Looooooooooove The President. 

 

However, I do get the impression that, because I'm a white girl, some people of color believe that I don't have the right to looooove The President like I do, because to them, this presidency is all about the Black Experience and what the hell could I possibly know about that?

 

"Zip" is the answer to that question, but, you knew that already, right?  I'll just save you from having to say it.  Hello!?!?!  White girl!  ¡Chica Blanca!   Pretty sure we established that early on...

 

Does the fact that The President is black hold any significance to me?  Nope.  Not one bit.  I could NOT care less.  In fact, I'm getting a little annoyed with all the "he's a black guy" talk, which is why I shut my TV off in the first place, so, if you don't mind, please stop.  Just stop.  For so very, very long, this country has not had a decent candidate for the presidency.  Seriously--Democrat, Republican--they all pretty much sucked.  You know its bad when you get to the polling place and you think, "Well, this guy sucks, but, not as much as that other guy, so, I guess I'll just vote for slightly less suckage, since it doesn't matter, and we're all going to end up paying for it in the end..." 

 

PAINFUL politics in this country.  Just damned painful.  No matter who you voted for, you knew you were going to end up completely fucked.  Nobody spoke with even a little bit of common sense, and, as history shows, nobody who got elected was all that hot to really change any of the things that actually matter.  We thought, maybe somewhere along the line, that somebody would be nice enough to not make it ILLEGAL for my friends to get married, or, take a serious look at the gluttonous government WASTE on all levels, or maybe ask around to see what the immigrants are actually doing once they get here instead of threatening to build a damn wall on the Southern border.  Nope.....nobody did SHIT.  Not a one of them offered anything resembling "Hope". 

 

However, I continued to vote, even when I knew that it was a complete waste of time.  Cuz if you don't vote, you can't complain, right?

 

Anyway....finally a candidate that didn't suck.  Thank God.  Happy, happy, happy.  Now, please, I'M BEGGING YOU, stop trying to take this away from me because I happen to be a white girl!  I've been waiting a loooooong time for this guy, too!  Why ya gotta go and ruin it for me by acting like I haven't EARNED this shit by having lived through the last several dumb-asses who sat in that chair?  I mean...Big Stupid Guy, Blow-Job Guy, etc....I'm pretty sure that I had to deal with the fall-out of their retardedness, just the same as everybody else.  Can we just be happy that all early indications show that our new president is not a shady fucker?  God knows I am!  You mean....he's just a guy?  Just some guy?  "Normal" guy?  Working guy?  Guy who takes time out of his day to actually give a shit?  What a rare and special treat!  Its a brand new day, people....brand new day.

 

I'm a little concerned about the people who are saying, "Now the black folks can tell their kids that they can be anything they want to when they grow up, and it will actually be true."  Look, I'm sorry you never felt you could say it and mean it before.  First of all, I'm not sure why anybody would want to BE president in the first place, because it seems like the ultimate pain-in-the-ass gig to me.  I'm also not sure I would ever tell one of my kids that they should shoot for the presidency as a goal.  Oh, wait...never mind.  Both of my children are GIRLS!  Never mind.  (....Didn't like that one?  I have more...)

 

I'm not speaking for any other white people, but I gotta tell you, I've never met ANY white people who ever said, ever, that a black person could not be President of the United States.  Its not us sayin' it.  Not me, anyway, and not any of my friends--not my experience at all.  Forgive me if I don't understand where you're coming from.  I just don't get that.  Who, in the last 50 years, has said that?  I mean....someone who wasn't a complete dumb-ass, that is.  Yeah...there are a lot of stupid white people.  Lots of stupid black people, too.  Not a one of them deserve your ear.  And if you're listening to them strictly because they are the same color as you, then you, my friend, are a dumb-ass, too.  Don't ever believe anybody who uses the word "can't".  They are ALL full of shit.  "YOU can't get married, YOU can't be president"  Yeah, whatever, dude.  What.  Ever.  If you want something, do the work.  Tah-Da!  Don't whine about how hard it is and how everybody's keeping you down.  "Let him that would move the world first move himself", right?  Just be smarter than those who would use the evil "c" word so you can work around them, cuz they WILL try to stop you. 

 

(No, not that c-word.  The other c-word.)

 

 

So, that's my take on the whole historic presidency thus far...he's doin' good, and, people are placing way too much importance on the fact that he's not a rich white guy.  I'm a big fan of breaks in tradition--they make me happy.  We hired a guy who doesn't SUCK.  That in itself is reason to celebrate.  Please, please, don't make it yet another reason to divide us.

Last Date

A banker needed a copy of my driver's license today, so I faxed it over. He emailed to ask that I send it again, because he couldn't read it, so, I made the copy a little bigger, a little lighter, and faxed it over. 


He still couldn't read it. 



So...I made the copy a little bigger, and a little lighter, and faxed it over again.



Aaaand he still couldn't read it.


So...I made the copy a little bigger, and a little lighter, and faxed it over.


Again.


By this time, of course, we're reaching a level of Comically Huge Driver's License, and trust me...nobody wants an 8X10 blow-up of my driver's license photo. Nobody.


Even if they ask for it, they don't really want it. 


I had that DL picture taken on a delightful summer day several years ago--my birthday, as a matter of fact!  (Isn't that so sweet that I would renew my license on my actual birthday?  How delightfully civic-minded of me!)


Strangely, and, I don't know how this could have happened, but....I look like absolute HELL in my driver's license photo! If memory serves (oh yes, I believe it is all coming back to me now...), the reason I looked like absolute hell that day because I was doing yard work and didn't even take a shower before I went to the DMV.


Yard Work.


On my birthday.


Yard work, instead of, say, leisurely relaxing and having people fetch things for me.


On my birthday.



Strange, isn't it?




How did that happen?


I remember that it was kind of hot that day, and I was digging a trench.


Yes, digging a trench...because digging trenches was what you did on your birthday when you lived with my husband. There was always some hellish project that needed to be done around the house, one that required your full attention, and every one of them non-negotiable.  We needed that trench dug.  We needed it, damn it!


Luckily for my husband, he had a heart condition and could only supervise, not participate in, the trench digging, and he usually did his supervising from a comfortable chair in the shade where he would drink cold sodas and smoke cigarettes.


Anyway...really, really bad driver's license photo...I think what happened was that at some point, after digging a ditch half the day, I flopped in a lawn chair, exhausted, then suddenly realized that OHSHIT I had to go renew my license and probably only had one hour in which to accomplish this, so I got up and left, as is.


I just want to say that I'm not blaming my soon-to-be ex-husband for the bad driver's license photo...after all, I was the one who failed to say, "I ain't doin' shit!  It's my birthday!"  ShouldaWouldaCoulda.  However, the ditch-digging story does remind me of yet another amazing, delightful story that I never told here.  Trust me, all of my friends have heard this, and, this particular tale is a hit at parties, right along with story of the Inexplicable David Crosby Incident.


I call this, If This Was Our First Date, We'd Have Never Had Another.


In our back yard in Mobile, Alabama, there was a pond...a small, cute pond, right outside our bedroom window.  And, who wouldn't want a pond right outside their bedroom window?


The neighborhood frogs loved our pond as much as I did.  Maybe more.


Well, definitely more.


The neighborhood frogs were some noisy little buggers. They are just like humans--one gender sends out a call to the other and the other gender comes along with a million pick-up lines, obsessed with scoring. Whoooo-Hooooo!  Party in the pond! Throw in a case of Heineken, and you have one noisy-ass frog orgy right outside your window.


The sound didn't bother me--its a nature noise, so I barely noticed.


My husband? Not so much. He freaked about the frog singing. Freaked. One night, I woke up dripping with sweat to find the bedroom windows shut up tight and the TV blasting an info-mercial, at 3 in the morning. He couldn't stand the frog noise, so he shut the windows and cranked up the television.


Never mind the fact that I was sleeping and would have probably continued to sleep right through the frog noise! Oh, no....if Jim's not sleeping, NOBODY IS SLEEPING.


Oh, the frogs of Alabama.  Any time my husband saw one, he'd make it a new family project.  We had to get rid of the frogs.  WE had to.  They bothered him! 


Didn't bother me, just him.


On our 8th wedding anniversary, we went out to dinner at a great place.  I was wearing a fabulous dress and heels, and I must say, I looked pretty damn good for a 106-year-old woman.  We had a bottle of wine, incredible food covered in impossibly rich sauces, and lots of Toasts To Us that night.  It was our anniversary! Yay Us!


Several hours of dinner and drinks go by and we're as relaxed as we could possibly be.  Gee, going out to dinner sure is great...


We left the restaurant and drove home in our oh-so-relaxed-and-happy state, and I'm thinking, "Hey!  Cool!  I have a half a bottle of wine in me and I could be wrong but I think I look totally fuck-able in this dress, so, who knows?  It is our anniversary, after all...it could happen!"


But as we were driving up the driveway...we saw it...A lone frog hopping from the pavement into the grass.


And the relaxed and happy came to an immediate and unquestionable end while my husband slammed the car into it's parking space, jumped out, and went looking for the frog in the the dark of night.


Of course, he couldn't find it....it was dark.  But he figured that the offending, sex obsessed amphibian was headed for the pond, so he shook a fist in that direction, vowed to "get that little fucker," and took off for the shed to find a shop light.


Having retrieved the shop light, he then instructed me to hold it for him while he searched for the frog.


Let's recap, shall we?  Wedding Anniversary, Date Night, wine, Half-drunk horny hot chick...


....frog.


A shop light was not the thing that I had hoped to be holding that evening.


And, much like my birthday...I ended up doing something really dumb when I should have been celebrating.  I stood there in my back yard, in my dress and high heels, holding a shop light for the Mighty Frog Hunter, while I noted with some sadness that my delightful buzz had completely disappeared.


That particular anniversary, just this past June, was part of the beginning of the end of my marriage. That may be part of the reason I have never told that story here before.  Oh, sure, its funny now...But I knew when I woke up the morning after my anniversary that if it had been our first date, not only would there have never been another date, but I probably would have changed my number, my locks and possibly my name to avoid further contact with that man.


Luckily, its a funny story.


I have nine years worth of stories just like that.  Most of them, I can tell and get a laugh--he's a funny guy (when it's not you in the story...).  Some of the stories make me mad so I don't tell them much. I try not to remember the ones that made me cry. It didn't seem so crazy while I was in the middle of it all, but truly, the last years were insane. I was on edge, pretty much the entire time. It was when somebody asked me how I felt when I heard him walk in the door every evening that I knew it was over: I dreaded it. I dreaded it, because it always meant that everyone was going to have to drop whatever they were doing and spend our entire time with him doing whatever it was that he wanted or needed. Many days, I wished he wouldn't come home at all.  I'm not proud of that, but it is true.


I don't feel like the time was wasted. After all....there are all these great stories....all these stories that I never told because I thought they might embarrass him. I think I'm far enough removed from the situation to allow me the perspective that I need to laugh--at him, and at myself. I'll talk about it, before the memories fade, and I get a new driver's license photo taken.

No Pressure

Hehe....Joe Biden was so excited!  I thought he was just gonna grab that bible and swear his own damn self in...

 

 

And I'm sure we'll be watching video of the flubbing of the Presidential oath for the rest of our lives...kinda like when Diana Spencer stumbled on her marriage vows.

 

 

Not to worry....its not like THE ENTIRE EARTH was watching, or anything....no pressure to be perfect....no sir, none whatsoever.

 

 

I didn't love the speech, but, you know...no pressure.  :-) 

 

 

Its just nice to have someone in office who can actually talk--that's not a crack on W or anything.  We haven't had someone in office who could give a decent speech since before I was born...I have to agree with David Letterman on this--he said that even if things were absolute crap, if the president can get up an make an inspiring speech, then everything will seem alright.

 

 

 

OK, people!  Game on!

Seems So Weird

And, that's probably just cuz I'm old....

 

 

I remember many historic events in my life.  We'd all gather around the television.  These were shared moments.

 

 

Today, I'll be camped at my desk in my usual spot, just like a lot of other Americans.  I'll be taking a break around 11 to watch streaming video of the inauguration while I sit here, by myself, with my earbuds plugged in so I don't disturb the other people in the office.  I'm not going to assume that anybody else wants to watch, though I am sure that many of them do.  I'll be watching it alone.

 

 

Seems so weird.

Its All Downhill From Here

I'm a hundred and six years old, and, by this time, I'm used to the weird sh*t that goes on with The Aging, and I'm used to waking up every once in a while to some new weird thing that wasn't there the day before that I now have to add to my daily maintenance, but I am telling you, THIS IS THE LAST STRAW!

Those first strands of grey on my head were a bummer, but, ultimately became an excuse to change my hair color whenever the hell I felt like it, since, I was just nuking the grey.

The creeking old bones, well, I've had those forever. Bad knees from the get-go.

The arthritis in my neck and the accompanying neurological bullshit, I deal with on an as-needed basis.

No big deal....all of this stuff is No Big Deal. I trudge forward, undaunted.

But...a grey hair on my freaking eyebrow?

My EYEBROW?

Somebody please just shoot me...

Work Is Life

I work at an insurance company. 

 

We're a weird bunch of people who work at insurance companies.  For one thing, we speak an entirely different language than anyone else in the human race.  "Insurance-ese".  You can't understand a damn thing we are saying.  We'll say things like, "He wanted a one-one, but didn't no app, so we termed it." 

 

Sure you know what that meant!  Sure you do.

 

I was actually speaking to a recruiter in Dallas yesterday and peeled off a bunch of Insurance-ese in conversation, cuz, he worked for an insurance company too, which led me to believe that we were practically related, and, even he had to stop me....Not.  A.  CLUE what the hell I was talking about.  He was, however, impressed that I knew Insurance-ese, so he sort of offered me a job.  Sadly, the job is not actually in Dallas.  (...and, can I just say, WTF Jose*?  Shelly doesn't get to go to Texas?  I'm sure I must have mentioned, during our delightful conversations, that I am freezing my ass off.  Where is the love?  I thought we had a thing...)

 

We insurance people piddle over the minutiae of language as if our very lives depend on it--trust me, nothing an insurance company every says or publishes has not been picked over by a team of experts, then a team of lawyers, then back to a team of experts.  Why?  Cuz we don't want you thinking we're going to go paying for things all willy-nilly...We're going to be absolutely sure that we can back out at any moment, citing the written materials.  And they don't call it 'copy' like we did in advertising and promotion--insurance refers to things we tell consumers as The Language.  Yesterday, I was witness to a hallway discussion about 'The AIDS Language'.  Yes, we have an AIDS Language!  Of course we do...

 

So, this is the kind of thing we bury ourselves in all day long.  Our beloved policy-holder Jane Doe wants us to pay a claim, but we're backing out of paying for it because that bitch failed to mention that she had a cold once, back in 1987, and that's a pre-existing condition, my friend.  Pre-Existing.  Can you believe she thought we wouldn't find out about that?  Its pick, pick, pick, all day long!  Joe Consumer wants to buy insurance and we ask him things like, "Is one of your pinky toes bigger than the other?"  Cuz we can't have that...that pinky toe thing could one day cause you to lose your balance and trip!  And if you hurt yourself, we are NOT paying for that!!!

 

 

*sigh*  I mentioned that I'm working on positive change from within, right?

 

 

Anyway...you get the personality type...Our brains are loaded with conditions and law and policy and dates and detail, detail, detail.  We know a LOT of stuff because if we didn't know a lot of stuff, the company would be losing money left and right, paying those pesky insurance claims.  Nobody wants that!.  Its not a real cut-loose place.  More cut-throat.  Most of the people I work with sit at their desks all day, thinking of reasons not to pay for things, and backing it up with documentation.  Fun, right?  (Oh, and it is also somebody's job to provide the documentation...which makes that person a bit of an enforcer.  You need proof that That Bitch Jane Doe had a cold in 1987?  Somebody has it.  We'll find out exactly where that body is buried, and if we can't find it, don't worry, we'll squeeze a confession out of Jane, herself...we live for that sh*t...). 

 

But, like Tony Soprano would say....it's not personal.

 

 

While I would consider us a dynamic bunch, we're not a particularly WARM group of people.  No, we're about as warm as, say...a stoic, German woman from the Midwest.  Like, my mom, for example.

 

 

 

Honk if you saw that one coming!

 

 

 

 

We do find stupid ways to amuse ourselves.  Mory has a doorbell on her cube...just in case she's on the other side of her cube and doesn't notice you are standing at her "door". 

 

M&J smoke.  A lot. 

 

Mike has long conversations on the phone with his wife, and you can tell he's talking to his wife because he's speaking Spanish the entire time, as if that would somehow disguise the fact that he is speaking to his wife.

 

Jay keeps pictures of his guitar on his desk.  Its....a nice guitar....just....framed photos on the desk, is all...  He likes to talk a lot about being a musician and everything, and shoots me dirty looks from time to time because I once told him he looks way too healthy and well-fed to actually be a musician, so he's actually a Guy Who Works At An Insurance Company Who Owns A Really Nice Guitar.  I'm not sure, but I think he went home that very night and wrote a song about how mean I am. 

 

Yours would not be the first, dude.

 

Down the row are some sales people with very little, or very bad, hair (that's the men) and on the other side, some of the most biting, sarcastic, delightful humor you have ever heard in your life, delivered by smiling, adorable women who laugh all day....while they're putting the screws to you...

 

 

My people.

 

 

 

 

 

*that name was NOT changed to protect the recruiter.  Any man who RECOMMENDS that I go out shoe shopping should be identified, glorified, and perhaps hugged.  Favorite Jose of the day, for sure...

Colder Than A...

You know it is nasty when the nicest thing your automobile can muster in the morning is a "Screw you, lady!  I don't CARE if I've been running for 20 minutes!  This SUCKS!"

 

 

The understatement of the year.

 

 

But the car was nice enough to take me all the way to the place I was going, which was nice.  In return, I promised to one day wash the car. 

 

 

 

Some day. 

 

 

 

Some day when my coffee doesn't get cold walking from the car to my office. 

 

 

 

Some day.

It'll Be Like A Spring Fling

 

 

Squirrel Nut Zippers at the Varsity, March 24th

I Wouldn't Want To Hang Out With Me

Got the usual morning rush today--make-up, hair, clothes, out the door--and I get to work (after that lovely freezing-our-asses-off commute), take off the PARKA, settle in at my desk and realize that the suit I'm wearing is, uh....I would say not so fresh, but, its pretty much stinky-dirty. 

 

 

Nice.

 

 

I wonder how early I have to get up to allow my senses to be fully awake by the time I put my clothes on.

 

 

Seems the last time I wore this, I went out.  And there must have been some dancing.  Or, just general sweating. 

 

 

A little of both.

 

 

 

....At least the pants and shirt are clean....gotta ditch the jacket, though, so people won't be afraid to approach my desk...

 

 

 

And, at least it doesn't smell like beer and/or anything else.  Nothing frightening in the pockets....we can just pretend that never happened....

Everything's Cute

Now that the level of BUSY!  CRAZY! has subsided, I'm in the enviable position of having pretty much everything seeming like No Big Deal.

 

 

No Big Deal compared to last week, or the week before, or the week before.

 

 

Uh, No Big Deal compared to most of the entire last calendar year...

 

 

Its kinda like when you have given birth and afterword, if you are injured, on most occasions you think, "Meh...it doesn't hurt as bad as child-birth..."

 

 

 

No Big Deal.

 

 

 

 

This morning, I picked up a stack of papers from the fax machine and literally said, "Look how CUTE this is!  This little stack of paper is only a half inch thick!  Its like....nothing!"

 

 

I'm sure if the people in my office could get past the Weird, they'd think it was charming.

Humina Humina

Not quite as quick and easy this morning as it was on Friday....but not bad.  One kid forgot her lunch, and refused my repeated offers to just take my lunch, since I remembered mine. 

 

Stubborn.  Wonder where she gets that.  ;-)

 

 

Break

Down.


I don't know about you, but I feel so much better today.


Of course, one could say that it doesn't take much to feel better than you did when you were sobbing on the bathroom floor for half the night.  I warned you this would happen. 

The brain can only handle so much, and I was definitely over-loaded, for too long.  Too much "I have to work extra hard to be good enough" stuff to think about.


Today, with renewed perspective, I advise that the line to kiss my ass will be forming to the right, and, anybody who has been less than overtly adoring for the last several years can go stand in it, and wait for me to get back to you.


Behold the power of a good cry.  Exorcises the "I'm not good enough"s right out the eyeballs.


You stop saying, "whatever you need" and start saying "And, what the f*ck have you done for ME that makes me want to do a damn thing for you?"



Don't worry....it does mellow after a while.


I can say that with complete confidence because, well, I know this girl.  I know how I get.  I act like nothing is wrong for months and months, it suddenly dawns on me that I'm extremely alone, I spend one 12 hour period really, really wallowing, then wake up the next day saying, "Thank G*d I'm alone, cuz I'm about to kill somebody, and it sure as HELL isn't going to be me..."


And...then I do that for a while.


Only maybe this time, I'll just keep doing that.  I mean...I'm 42 now, and, I think I can say "done" to the days of compromise in an effort to not be alone.  I've earned an awful lot of stripes, and, I'm perfectly OK with realizing my mortality at this age.  I allow myself to accept that it might all end tomorrow, and, if it does, I don't want my last thought to be how I wish I had been less of a doormat and wondering if the dumb-ass was worth it.  He's not.

Kind Of Lovely

When everybody in the house wakes up on time, the lunches are made, clothes/school books are easily located, the car is warm as you walk out the door ahead of schedule, you hit every green light between your house and the bus stop, and there are no 27-car pile-ups/merging incidents all the way to work...

 

 

Must be a Friday.

 

 

 

 

Can we do this again on Monday?

Anger

You know, sometimes it helps to get damn mad, so you can just get on with your life.

 

This whole marriage thing...I've been through a lot of phases.  I've felt bad, guilty, sorry, sympathetic--I've had a lot of feelings that were all directed toward the soon-to-be ex.  But I haven't gotten mad.  I haven't gotten mad because I was the one who chose to leave, and I suppose I didn't feel it was my right to be angry.

 

Yesterday, for some reason, I got pissed off.  And...it was probably the best thing for the both of us.

 

I won't even discuss the reason I got mad--as it happens, it was just some dumb, mundane, house-keeping sort of thing.  When you are legally bound to someone and ending it, there are matters that need to be taken care of in order to divide the union--who-gets-what, who-makes-what-phone-calls and who-is-going-to-handle-which-minutiae.  Boring to write about.  Somewhere in the middle of the mundane I got angry--I guess I just got the feeling, once again, that it was all on me.

 

To be clear, I want to say that I didn't expect him to be "helpful" or go out of his way to make things easier on me--I probably wouldn't have, if I were him.  But looking at a tangled financial mess and realizing that I had little to do with creating it, and realizing that cleaning it up was going to be entirely my job, really pissed me off.  And hearing my husband talk about how the sky is falling in his world, while he remains blissfully oblivious to the fact that I was the one holding up that sky for 8 years, with no help from him, really, really pissed me off.

 

I totally failed at this marriage.  I demanded nothing from him.  I took care of things, and kept us out of the shit.  I was sympathetic and encouraging, when I should have been more like a drill sergeant.  I gave up a lot of things to support him when I should have just said "Fuck you".

 

Its pretty normal, at the end of a relationship, to look back on things, take stock, and either justify the end, or, re-think it over and over again and wallow in the sorrow of it.  Until yesterday, I guess I really hadn't done either.  I'm glad I finally justified it, to myself.  Sure, you could say that its just something I'm doing to make myself feel better for having left--so what?  It needed to be done.  To admit that I was stupid and get pissed at myself for being stupid is the most important part of learning the lesson, and if you don't learn the lesson, you just go on repeating all of the same mistakes. 

 

I wish I could say that I will never be stupid again.  I know better.  I'm sure that there will be plenty more mistakes in my future, and there will be other opportunities for me to smack myself on the forehead and think, "GAH!  Why did I DO that?"  And...most of those moments of "I'm such a fucking idiot" clarity will involve some man--I guarantee it.  Work is easy.  Parenting is tough, but do-able.  NOTHING makes you stupid more than falling in love with someone.  Nothing.

 

Its a choice we make, I guess--to go ahead and let ourselves be a little dumb--to let ourselves be human, not just some machine, plowing through life, racing for the finish line....because there is no prize for "winning" this race.  The rewards you get are in the things you learn, and the joy you scoop up along the way.

Insomniac Whack IV (Workplace Edition)

When I can't sleep, I feel like there is some sh*t going on in the universe that I need to be awake for...

 

 

...though I can't really explain all the 1AM's, lately. 

 

 

 

Oh, I could theorize--we're all under the same moon, after all, so somebody's awake and thinking--but, I couldn't say for sure.

 

I very much believe that we are all connected, and wonder sometimes if I'm just more aware of that connection than the average person--most people wouldn't even think this way, right?  They'd just figure they must have eaten something weird before bed, or, (in my case quite possible), the landlord was out doing snow removal outside the window at some odd hour.  (Midnight?  Really?  And more than just a couple of times.  I'm just sayin'...)

 

 

There are a million examples floating around, about twins having a strong feeling that something bad just happened to their sibling, or mothers about their children.  People wake up in the middle of the night for some good reason all the time.

 

 

Just cuz I don't have a twin sibling and I happen to know that my children are tucked in just a few feet away from me, doesn't mean I can't wake up thinking. 

 

 

Well...that's obvious.  It keeps happening.  Strangely, I don't mind.  A "normal" person who had to function on the amount of sleep I've been (not) getting lately would be having a fit by now.  I'm feeling pretty mellow about it for some reason.  No worries.  Must be some sh*t in the universe that I need to be awake for...

Its So Fine, Its Sunshine

Everybody in the office just hates me on Mondays.

 

 

 

Happy to be here! 

 

 

 

Wooooo-Hooooo!

 

 

 

Annoying, isn't it?

Waaaaaay Too Blonde For This Household...

If everybody at Winn-Dixie could please calm the hell down, that would be great.  Really, really great.

Jeeeeeez....make one smart-ass comment about Winn-Dixie and nipples, and they're all over you.,,,



Hi!  How the hell are ya?   Good, good...

Another amazing day in wonderland.  Hope yours is good.


I have to dish on the grandma for a moment, cuz, its just too rich not to share.  My children have a lovely grandmother (not my mother, not that my mother isn't a lovely grandmother...), very nice lady, never hurt a fly.  And, she picked them up some Christmas gifts, which was quite nice.

I know how the weirdness I am about to reveal came to pass, and that is entirely because Grandma doesn't get a lot of time to spend with the grandchildren--she's very long-distance, which is a bummer, cuz, like I said, she is a nice lady.  She was always very nice to me, anyway.

Sooooo....the Christmas gifts. 


The gifts. 


The gifts are, well...things designed for 8 year-olds.  And, I no longer have 8 year olds.  Ooops. 


Punky and the Diva are 13 and 15.  Not too hip on the stuff that 8 year-olds like.  I would like to stress that they are incredibly gracious 13 and 15 year-olds--quite mature for their ages, a fact proven last night upon opening a gift from their paternal grandmother that was emblazoned with a picture of a particular Disney singing icon, who, for the moment, shall remain un-named.

To fully appreciate the hilarity of the event, let me describe The Diva to you in this way....pretend Johnny Ramone and Chrissie Hynde had a baby 15 years ago.  Are you with me?  I mean, not just looks, but total personalities, too--right down to the occasional snarl. 

OK....and....I think we can all agree that the Prentenders/Ramones set is not the target market for the Hannah Montana stuff, right?

Right?



I had friends tell me that they would have PAID to see The Diva open this.  PAID.  Cash money.  As it happens, I didn't see it either--I was in a different room and The Diva was alone at the time.



But I did hear the screaming.


(Ahem....its not that we don't think Miley has talent, its that we find over-marketing to be one of the most insidious evils known to man...The problem is that now, even though the girl CAN actually sing, she's completely screwed by her own marketing monster.  Most unfortunate...I hope she is making enough money to retire.)


Luckily, we have little, little girls living next door--twins, about 6 years old.  The re-gifting will be swift.  And bless Grandma's heart for making the effort--it was sweet.  Even though it was all pink and smiley and waaaaay too blonde for this household...

*sigh*

I think I am almost ready to EXHALE....finally. 

 

"Running at an insane pace" doesn't even begin to describe it.  I think we were all around for the Holiday discussion, right?  Where I told about how I got to see a bunch of family members by vitue of the fact that they got stuck at the airport, one by one, and I had to go pick them up, one by one?  Meanwhile I was moving, and it was Christmas?  Yeah, that was nuts...

 

Usually, for most people, after Christmas you can chill, a little--you glide into the New Year, and its pretty mellow.  For me, working where I work, "gliding" is not an option, cuz thousands of pieces of paper have to leave my hands and go someplace else, BY MIDNIGHT, DAMN IT!, and everything has to be verified authentic, and, you know, date-stamped, stapled, paper clipped, whatever.  If the insurance industry every REALLY went paperless, we'd really get fat and sassy, but for now, we just have this once-a-year full-on effing panic in which everyone is scrambling. 

 

You might refer to it as "Open Enrollment".

 

Anyway, working my job the week between Christmas and New Year is like bartending last call in a crowded club for 10 hours a day, several days in a row.  People wonder why I went home and collapsed on New Years' Eve instead of going out....I earned that nap, thank you...and now that I am 106 years old, I"m going to take those little sleeping opportunities when I can.

 

I have a feeling that sometime in the coming weeks I'm going to have that good cry--like, I'll be standing in line for a coffee and notice that what I thought was change in my pocket is actually paper clips, and I WILL melt right into the floor, weeping about the stupid job and the stupid apartment and the stupid ex-husband and how I dont' have anything planned for dinner, and I can't afford to eat, anyway, and I'm sleepin' alone and blah, blah, blah, and it will all just gush out of me while innocent bystanders stare, horrified, not knowing if they should offer me comfort or just call the nice people in the white van.

 

If you happen to witness this, just usher me out to the smoking lounge, and let me goob for a bit and I'll be fine.