thinking out loud

embarrassing is not funny when it's you.

2009-11-05T12:50:00.007-06:00

in elementary school when they wanted you to write an essay, seems like it was always something so stupid, like "what did you do this summer?" or "talk about your happiest memory" or "what is your most embarrassing moment?" all of these were as pointless now as they were to me back then. i was in the 4th grade people. my happiest memory? i really liked the cocoa pebbles i had this morning? give me a break. embarrassing moment? this one is fraught with possible disaster to me, as i'm sure there had to be moments of pee-in-pants and throwing up in front of the class that had to go through little minds with this one. i never really had an embarrassing moment, so i usually made up something asinine like grabbing a strangers hand at the mall because i thought it was my mom. wow. was my face red. ugh.

you have to get some life on you to understand what it's like to be truly embarrassed. to walk out of the bathroom with your dress tucked into your panty hose (BTW can i please hear it for bare legs coming into style? good lord how i hate panty hose...anyhoo). but more often that not, embarrassing shit is hard, hurtful stuff. Calling your guy by the wrong name. twice. getting caught at a bar by your pastor. forgetting to pick up your kid and the teacher has to sit there with them in front of the school. it's embarrassing. and it's not cool to be embarrassed.

this morning i was listening to a blurb from the interview diane sawyer did w/ Rihanna (which not matter how you spell, still reads in my mind like diarrhea, sorry Ri..) anyway, she was talking about getting abused and even i can't make something funny out of that. i've never been hit by a man. actually, i don't think i've ever been hit by anyone ever. once in the 8th grade i was supposed to fight some butchy mean girl, but i was so terrified that i hid in the bathroom and let her think i was a total coward, which i am. although in hindsight, i doubt i would've gotten hit even then; i went to this tiny baptist school and i'm sure there was a teacher or a coach or a preacher or someone who would've broken up the whole thing before anything happened.

so what i'm saying is: i can't relate to Rihanna getting punched in the face.

but she said something that i can relate to: she said she was embarrassed. i can't find the transcript of the interview, so please don't sue me Ri if i get this wrong, but she said something like, "i am embarrassed that i fell in love with a man who is like this. that i fell so far in love with someone like this, it's embarrassing."

i totally get that.

my ex never hit me with his fist. but having to tell people that he left me, moved out of state and was living with his then girlfriend while i laid in a hospital bed having his second child--was embarrassing. it still is. he hit me with his words. his abandonment bruised me. gave my girls a black eye. you just can't see it. i selected this guy. do you? i said yes, i do. i'm not proud of it.

people tell me: it wasn't your fault. he's a jerk. i would say the same to Rihanna--he's a jerk, it's not about you. but the fact is: it is about her. she picked him. i picked mine. we CHOSE to be with these guys. you can't pick your parents, you're just stuck with them, but i loved this man. i had children by this loser. and as much as my incredible friends have stuck to their guns about hating him and his name is synonymous with asshole in every conversation, at the end of the day most of my regret about the whole thing is that i fell in love--so completely in love--with a man who was capable of leaving his family in the blink of an eye, for a piece of ass. it's embarrassing. but it is what it is. he's gone. life rocks along. lesson learned: you never really know someone. love as if they'll never leave. because it's all about you. one way or another.

so rihanna: hang in there. the great thing about life is that there's always tomorrow. another chance to get it right. least you don't have to worry about our bare ass hanging out of your panty hose anymore. and if i ever get stuck in an elementary school writing class: i totally have an embarrassing moment to write about.

After the sugar comes this big crash

2009-11-02T12:05:00.013-06:00

Is everyone comfortably seated and safely strapped in? because halloween is over people. clear out the little plastic gravestones from your yard-- it's time for the wild ride toward YEAR END.

yahoo. but pooor halloween. every year it gets more crammed and shoved into one stinkin lousy day. this year Wal-Mart had their halloween stuff 50% off the day before halloween! they were literally stocking wreaths and santas on the shelves as they were cleared of obama masks and fake blood. so in honor of halloween, here are some pics of halloweens past and present, in homage to my parents who were the most awesome costume-makers ever!

What a cute little clown i was back in 1974. the picture-in-front-of-door motif would be picked up again many decades later when i would pose my own dressed up kids at the same place. well... not the SAME place. different house. different door. same location within a different house. jeez. do i need to explain this? hell no.

Halloween 1977 - that's me as cheerios. mom and dad positively LOVED to make us wear boxes. strangely, i don't remember complaining about it. whereas my six year old daughter won't even wear a fairy skirt because "it's too itchy." i spent my first ten halloweens with my arms hanging straight out all night. Here's my poor sister in her box that year: MILK. the parents were very into the whole go-together costume ideas. Cheerios and Milk. One year i was a mailbox and she was a package. me: cracker jacks (cracker "julies" actually) and she was popcorn. possibly the most tasteless costumes they came up with was during the bicentennial -- in which my sister and i were both bicentennial fire hydrants (did the whole country do this or just texas--where the fire hydrants were painted in patriotic colors to celebrate the bicentennial?) anyway, we were bicentennial fire hydrants and my parents were: yep, you guess it: dogs. somehow, the photos, classic as they are, have been misplaced over the last 800 years but i did find this. you can just sense the joy on my dad's face.

Now let's fast forward to my own little darlings, who i allow to wear good old, store-bought costumes that require little, if any, intervention or box-cutting on my part. this was my very first costume as a mommy for my little darling: a flower. both my girls wore this to absolutely rave reviews. Dang, i wish they had a baby costume contest i could've entered them in. this was so incredibly easy, it was back when all that Anne Geddys crap was real popular and i looked at making a flower costume a'la anne geddys for my then 10mos old. but sista mary and the baby it was complicated, i was like screw this. so i went the craft store and bought a bunch of silk flowers on long stems. took them all apart and hot glued the pieces in the right places on a footed sleeper i had. the hat is an amish bonnet someone gave me as a baby gift, covered with hot-glued blossoms. evidently the bonnet was handmade by some woman who rode around town in a black horse-drawn buggy. ah, backstory.

Circa 2002, this was (is) a custom-made raggedy ann costume with my daughter's actual name stitched onto the front apron. i made that yarn wig myself. you can't see it here, but she has red-ringed leggings on, also made by me, by wrapping pieces of red duct tape around her little white-tighted legs. she was three. and just LOVED it. actually, she hated it and couldn't wait to tear off this whole getup. but my dad is happy. no dog costume for him that year. by the way, if you happen to have a 2 yr old named bailey elizabeth *call me* have i got the costume for you in 2010.

obligatory snow white. notice the front door. it's because that's how MY mommy did it. i guess. now this year i was able to talk them into a little "couples" costuming with this: snow white and the witch! get it? but of course you do. My attempt to set up a little vignette: notice the apple? jeez louis that is one cute snow white. lordy. then there's this... not the most well thought-out pose, i grant you. again, in front of the damn door. why?

Blogger seems to be cloggered right now.. probably with everyone trying to meet their NaBloPoMo quota... current pics to follow... looks like i'm gonna get another post outta this! take that daily posting rule! ah HA

hold that bandwagon, i want to jump on

2009-11-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

the blogosphere is packed today with a bunch of posts from people that i follow who haven't posted in about as long as i haven't posted and i just figured out why--its' that dangnabbit NaBloPoMo time again.

this time i want in on this action. for months i've been mercilessly beating myself up (on the inside, scars you can't see) for not writing more. ... as they say, i'm not writing any more, i'm just not writing any less. so, without further adieu, here we go.

and yes, this counts as a post so bite. me.

do you see a pattern here?

2009-10-19T16:53:00.002-05:00

i still haven't actually committed the time to write a full blog. but lemme tell ya, i've got a torn-out piece of spiral paper sitting in my purse with some ideas that'll make your little head spin.

eh. not really. except the torn paper part. that's true. it's the head spinning part: not so much.

but i have been sticking in a little here --too long for twitter and too ..um, much.. for facebook.

here's another.

so i'm reading my blog rolls today, and come upon this little gem: Recipe for Wine Vinegar.

i scrolled back up a little shaggy doo-like "wha huH?" i actually feel kinda sorry for a woman that takes this much time to come up with vinegar. and also--an ear of corn? relax lady. have some of that wine before you let it spoil.

i gotchur recipe for wine vinegar right here:

1. open a bottle of wine
2. drink about two thirds of it.
3. go to bed
4. leave bottle on the kitchen counter for about a week.
5. voila! wine vinegar.

enjoy.

mom math

2009-10-14T21:10:00.001-05:00

how many moms does it take to change a lightbulb?
one.
but she's really got to be in the mood to do it.
so you may have to walk down a dim hallway.

for a while. like a month.

it is what it is.

so...how many moms does it take to change a smoke detector battery? right.
now stop complaining about that beep.

shit. there it goes again.

goodnight kiddies. mom loves you.

collecting my thoughts for the moment

2009-09-16T17:41:00.002-05:00

its not that i don't want a partner. i'm just not sure i can swing my heart out on a line again.
can you really love like you've never been hurt before?
it is possible to forgive AND forget?

i want my mamma (gram)

2009-08-17T12:00:00.003-05:00

i flat out refused to be nervous about it.

oprah's guru says, Always work with it, not against it. whatever it was: it was meant to be for my good, eventually. i was determined to hold onto my shit, even it turned out to be something shit-losing worthy.

it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays Superman by REM. the words come into my ear like someone talking to me, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god. i almost start to cry.

about two weeks ago my gyno had been rooting around on the boob like she does every year. we were in the middle of our usual, meaningless annual well-woman chatter. "I found a lump," she says, looking over her shoulder as she washes her hands. my world flashed black. "You whah...?"
"it's squashy, i almost missed it," she wiped her wet hands and looked me in the eye as i lay there trying to shield my vulnerability with a paper sheet. "i would tell you if i had a bad feeling about it. I don't. It's not hard or immovable. but let's look at it. I'll schedule a mammogram."

so here i sit. drinking dirt. listening to god use michael stipe to mess with my head.
"i am superman and i know what's happening." i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant for the results and i caught myself choking on ~~fear~~ tears.

a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery.

i was flat out determined not to be nervous.
she was freaking me out.
so i moved.

then i got called to the back. it is a surreal experience to sit in a waiting room topless with other topless women. all three of us in a row. in jeans. black lady to my left. older, gray long-haired woman to my right; we sat in silence, clutching our open-in-the-front hospital gowns and staring at the little television.

this was my first mammogram and it wasn't as bad as i thought. i pictured the machine as a huge refrigerator door into which each of my boobs would be ceremoniously slammed. it wasn't nearly that violent or painful. but as i stood there, with the young tech maneuvering my breasticle between the plates, like a fresh-caught fish, i was aware that i was terrified. She gave no indication of what she saw except to say (after i asked), "yes, i see it. it's white. that could mean it's nothing. or it could be cancer." wow. thanks for that.

she took the scans to the radiologist and told me to wait.

i had no contact with the mysterious radiologist, but i had the distinct impression that he was much like the wizard of oz--somewhere behind a curtain, with the little techs coming to him like the citizens of the emerald city, asking for answers.

whatever he saw, the great radiologist ordered a sonogram.

the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played and sang to while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i jerked back in pain up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.

from there, she cleaned me up and sent me on my way. by now, the initial terror had worn off with so much boob goo, stilted smalltalk and indian melodies.

i believe that words give power. So i didn't tell anyone (almost) about the lump. only one chick pal, who had gone through a lot of similar stuff and ... i told The Guy. The two days following the mamma/sono were surprisingly calm. What's done is done, i kept telling myself. The Guy comforted me in his no-bullshit way, which is the only way i can accept comfort. "It's just a picture," he said, "from there, you might do a needle biopsy. Then they might remove the whole thing to look at it. you might not know for a month. Don't waste your energy worrying about. not yet, at least."

The lump, it turns out, is a spectacularly unsexy calcium deposit. A degenerative calcium deposit, to be exact, which not only implies stony boob bumps, but OLD stony boob bumps.

when i hung up from the doctor's phone call, i felt my diaphragm expand. i realized i'd been holding my breath for two days. i haven't come up with a snappy ending for this one. maybe there's not one.

i totally got drunk with the dooce at blogHer and all i got was this crappy post

2009-08-03T21:30:00.002-05:00

i know, right? made you click. i'm going to start titling all my posts with some reference that only the really truly cool blogees will know about and those minions will consistently click, driving up my hit counter higher. and higher.

First things first: i did not get drunk with the dooce. i mean: duh. she just had a baby. okay, that's when most women start the really serious drinking. but she's totally mormon. do mormons drink? i actually don't know any mormons. when i meet the dooce, i'm going to ask her if she drinks. and if she does, i'm totally gonna challenge her to a shot contest. or at least buy her a shot. i not only didn't go to the BlogHer conference, i'd have to google it to know where or when it was. and what it is. or was.

but you're here now and that's what counts.

this blog has become like a dorky little kid that follows me home from third grade.
pesky blog: hi jewels! you gonna write something soon, huh? you think you'll write something? i sure do like it when you write something. you wanna write soon, Huh? do ya? huh?
me: beat it kid
pesky blog: you're so funny jewels! you're hilarious. i like your new shoes. are those new shoes? they sure are nice. you think you're gonna write something soon? do ya? huh?
me: beat it kid. i got laundry to chastise. kids to fold. very important appointments to run late for.

it's been a long time since my last post (which i can't even remember, so i'm certain it was el lame-o. however: a very cool sidenote concerning my last post--and part of the reason why i'm writing now--i got a comment from (get this) BOSSY. i swear i almost peed a little when i saw her name in my inbox. Freakin' Bossy~ read my blog. and left a comment to prove it. Listen, i'm not cool like yall blogHer people. i don't have a badge on my blog. wouldn't know how to put it on this thing anyway. i'm just a writer. sitting in my living room. watching infomania. and out of nowhere Bossy reads my blog. so cool. wish it wasn't such a lame post. anyway... what was i saying? oh yeah, long time since last lame post. well get ready kiddies. here comes another one. sort of.

see, the thing is, i get a lot of great ideas for posts. all day. well, some days. but i can't decide what to write about. and they're starting to pile up. which intimidates me. and makes me not want to write even more. (makes me less want to write?) which makes this pesky little kid hang around my daydream brain. i told you about it. jeez. pay attention. so you decide. you're a cool unknown, random person at a screen. you know where blogHer was. you know i didn't get drunk with dooce.

or did i?

i'm not in the right clique to do one of those awesome random contests, where you get cool free stuff for leaving a comment at the right time on the right day. not that any company would send me free shit to give away on my blog. and let's face it, even if they did i wouldn't give it to you. i love free shit. mine baby. but like a little boy in mommy's nightgown, i can pretend to be beautiful. and i'm giving you a chance to tell me what to do.

so here's a list of a few things i'm mulling around in my blog-brain. take a look, and let me know what you wanna read about. and i'll write it. maybe bossy will read it. and if black hockey jesus leaves a posthumous comment, i may soil myself. with joy.

Blog Bit #1:
It was a surreal moment. i'd been lost in a flashback triggered by facebook comments from names i used to yell down high school hallways. watching johnnie carson. listening to flock of seagulls. barettes. the grassy wet smell of a football field about 7:00 on a friday night in october. sitting in the backseat. i look up and see my kid. "hey, who's the kid in my apartment" then it hits me: i don't live in an apartment. high school was like three big blocks of memory lane behind me. i'm a grown up. i've gone to the dark side. these are the days i used to tell myself about in college. this is : One Day.
remember?
one day i won't be able to lounge around and do nothing, so i think i'll skip class today and smoke pot.
one day i'll have a budget, so today i'm gonna go out and blow my last twenty bucks on a B-52s album and jack in the box.
Today is One Day. and that's a pretty scary day.

Blog Bit #2
i flat out refused to be nervous about it. accept: then act. it's what oprah's guru says, but i like it anyway. it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays superman by REM. a lifetime fave, but the words come into my mind like someone is telling me something, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god. i almost start to cry. god pumps on my faith. i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant about the results. a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery. i was flat out determined not to be nervous. she was freaking me out. so i moved.
the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i teared up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.

Blog Bit #3
so what i'm sayin is: if you're married, stay married. dig in your heels, give it all you got. tomorrow will be better. stay connected with sex and laughing. it's worth it. if you can stick it out, you'll have something truly sacred to be proud of by the time you check into assisted living. love your spouse. accept him. tell her she's sexy. be faithful. relationship is the most rewarding, single most important investment you can make while you're on earth. and the payback is priceless.
but if you've made it this far without getting married, or by circumstances beyond or totally within your control, you've gotten out of a marriage: stay out. it's not as good as it looks. you wake up wishing he was someone else or going to sleep wishing you were. even though you're lonely every once in a while and it feels weird going on vacation by yourself, it's still better than having a three-day discussion of what television you're going to buy or enumerating the pros and cons of mexican vs chick fil a.

Blog Bit #4
so as a willing, anonymous pool of intelligence, i ask you, exhalted reader: what should i be when i grow up?
1. Private Investigator: i'd name my company 'Confidential Observations' with focus on cheating spouses and match.com background checks.
2. Quirky Home Chef Guru: my recipe-laced memoir and irreverant blog build a buzz. I lead the 8 o'clock hour on the Today Show (oh Matt, you're just a big flirt, aren't you?) and i'm the last guest of the night on Jimmy Fallon (well of course i brought the wine, silly boy) . eventually Food Network offers me my own show which i tape from my spacious hill country kitchen along the Frio River.
3. Music Publicist / Restaraunt Critic: both require a huge ego and taking delight in the unwarranted criticism of others. check and check. my lifelong experience as a good ole boy bullshitter only enhances my resume for this one. a strong contender.
4. Stand-up Comedian: not sure if i have the balls for this one, but like bungie jumping, i'm thinking i'm gonna have to do this at least once before i check into the assisted living.
5. Secretary. oh wait, i already am this. if i had it to do again, i wouldn't. assuming i first didn't kill the brain cells where the memory of this crappy job live. and let's face it: these are the first i want to go.

Blog Bit #5
So even though i didn't have venereal disease, it's still an uber-embarrassing story with a high gross factor. i try not to think about it, but i don't know which is worse, knowing The Guy will always have this little gem to "pull out" (so to speak) when he needs a good dig or the fact that i had to tell my father. ugh.

Okay folks, there they are. i don't have any fancy software to randomly choose the winning comment. based on past experience, i'll just have the two of you giving me your opinion. which you would anyway. because you're my friend. and you read my blog even when it's lame. especially when it's lame. and i love you for it.

and bossy, if you read this. call me. we'll do shots.

Amazingly... its barely my fault

2009-06-04T21:09:00.007-05:00

okay. me and The Guy are on the skids. there. now you know. and i'll tell you why.

he travels in his job. also, he likes to travel. a global nomad, he calls himself affectionately. he likes the idea of it. moving all the time. i admit - it works for him. for a long time, i liked that about him too--he's not around all the time. so he is usually gone for 3 - 10 days at a time about once a month. its not unusual that he'll schedule a series of short trips. A three-day business trip then home for a day, to fly out the next day on a 5-day pleasure trip.

so he's gone for sprints at a time. often.

from the beginning, now almost a year ago, he becomes invisible while he is out of town. i say that i become a stranger whenever he gets on a plane. it's an exaggeration, somewhat. he texts. irregularly. usually he will call once. sometimes he won't. so not a total stranger. but an acquaintance at best.

it's weird, because when he's home, we talk all the time. text back and forth all day. meet for lunch. squeeze in an hour of squeezing in the hour between work and my getting the kids. he'll talk to me up until the seatbelt sign comes on in the plane. when he's here: we're good.

but when he's gone, he's gone. our lives swim in a river of technology from texting to email to skype. but still. he doesn't return texts. sometimes for days. lately when he does text, he doesn't even send "i miss you" or any sweet little nothings, like he used to. i feel disconnected from him. i question if this is a one way feeling and i'm the only one going that way.

plus it just irritates me. it hits my "don't-trust-this-guy" button.

this is not a new issue in our relationship thingy. he knows it irritates me. he knows about the button. he knows i feel like he doesn't care... we've passionately discussed this subject ad nauseum.

and every time he says he understands and he's not going to do it next time. ANDs he still does it.

but this time. i don't know. this time when he did it. i was done with it.

he's been gone 7 days. i've barely been in touch with him at all. aside from a few short texts--mostly informational texts (water temp is nice here, our show is going good...bleh bleh ) we talked once on skype. which was nice. but he won't answer my texts. then texts "sorry" he was out til 3am with clients. he's in latin america in a beach resort hotel overlooking the water. what do you think i think about when he says he's out till all hours? yep. my button's going off. you know what i'm sayin.

then yesterday we had a text tiff.

you know, i sat down and started writing this post so i could pour out all the thoughts that keep clogging up my brain. and now that i'm sitting here writing it out. it seems ridiculous. but nonetheless. we had a text tiff. a fight. by text. yes. it is childish. i see that now.

he said i remind him of his ex wife. i said to call me when he gets over his ex wife. he said 'be more positive'. i said, 'come get your shit'. all in text. that was yesterday about 3:00.

so now he's back in the US. not home yet, but on american soil, texan soil even. he text when he got to IAH (his usual "got back ok") and he did call. feeling me out. he'll be back in houston on sunday. i'll have to fish or cut bait at that point.

on Saturday, my kids leave on daddy duty for two weeks. traditionally, i have dubbed these two weeks a summer as "the debauchery tour". i'm thinking it will depend on how much fun i'm having between kidless saturday and The Guy Returns Sunday as to how i'll play this hand.

i'm open to suggestions. it's been six years since i had to manage a relationship. that didn't go so well.

am i rambling? it seems like i'm rambling.

because i have to post something

2009-05-20T22:24:00.007-05:00

when you haven't posted in a long time and you know you want to, sometimes you just gotta throw something out there to get back into the groove; take the pressure off the "first post after not posting forever" post.
so don't get frothy. yes, i'm posting. but: it will suck. it's the first pancake.
now that i'm free to mediocre. let's begin.

current obsessions

music:
she&him Vol. 1 - this is Zooey Deschanel and M Ward. you recognize her. she was in elf. she's pixie-ish, but can also be kind of creepy in a The Shining sort of way. certainly not profound or groundbreaking material, but i can't stop singing Sweet Darling... also the cover I Should Have Known Better, worth hearing.

Short, Sharp, Shocked--Michelle Shocked. early 90s i think. maybe earlier. i used to have this on cassette and would listen to it in between Upstairs at Erics and The Go-Gos and The Judys (if you have a copy of Washarama--LEAVE A COMMENT. i want to talk to you.) i got turned onto michelle shocked with her campfire tapes, but this one is better. Run to Gladewater my current anthem. look for an upcoming post about this song. it'll be deep. but funny. you'll like it. probly.

Day and Age--The Killers. this is my first killers album even though i've been kind of a closet fan since that somebody-told-me-you-had-a-boyfriend-that-looked-like-a-girlfriend song. they seemed constructed in a lab to me. i didn't get a lot of authenticity from them. but by the time this album came out i decided to give them a fair shake. still strikes me in the vein of a poor david bowie wannabe ... but they are catchy little tunes. gotta love catchy. and i do. Spaceman. Are We Human.

Technology:
Facebook -- i don't say this lightly... i never say this, but: OMG. its like sticking your head into the genie bottle where everyone you've ever met got stuck the day you forgot about them. this kind of thing is like putting a bowl of trailmix with m&ms in front of me. i keep digging around to pick out the good stuff. but in the meantime, i've had my hands on a lot of...nuts.

Twitter -- okay, not officially an obsession, but you can't say i'm not open to try new things. i get it. my own quotes, by me. it's funny. i like it. ... i guess. but i have to ask... really? regular posting isn't enough to live up to. now. twitter pressure. the concept is awesome, though and i'm not going to get kicked off the back of the wagon just cuz i'm not with the band. follow me?

Wireless -- oh yeah baby. this is the maiden voyage. the awkward virgin. this is the first post from my new laptop. i am writing this ... from bed. and i am naked. nah, i'm not. but i could be. because i am in bed. with my computer. i am making sweet technological love to this little slab of computerlicious advancement. there aren't words to describe my infatuation and total adolescent-like devotion to wireless internet. but i wish my kids inspired even a fraction of this love. i'm just sayin.

Miscellany
The Guy -- this will probably get its own post. eventually. but The Guy is still around. i know. can you believe it. and he's my favorite current obsession. obsession in a good way. not in a 'got his bunny simmering on the stovetop' kind of way.

Monty's Screenplay -- unfortunately, i'm bound to secrecy by a privacy clause that's only enforceable in states where marijuana is legal, but i can tell you it's a pretty fuckin funny little tale. naturally, neither him nor i have the vaguest clue as to how to write a proper screenplay, let alone shop it, pitch and eventually in some acid-laced dreamworld get it produced, filmed and ... good lord... distributed. but i'm having fun writing about crazy pot-shit. and i like talking to monty about something fun.

My Vacation -- i'm broke. i'm fat. i'm broke. but fuckitall, i'm going on vacation and i. can. not. wait. don't know where. don't know how. but i took a week off. (i've been here for 11 years. please, come kill me. if you loved me, you would) and i know it's going to be more than 2 days. it will not involve any family bonding time (this vacation not approved for general audiences). it will not require air tavel. (ew. planes are derty) and i will be relaxed. more on this later.

you still here? wow. you are cool. bet you have a rockin facebook, doncha.

Somewhat Silent Saturday

2009-04-25T08:29:00.002-05:00

Benihana Birthday

2009-04-24T14:05:00.006-05:00

big time fam fun at our benihana birthday last night. i have no idea why this pic is so small...most irritating because we look so dang cute.

Stall Etiquette

2009-04-20T16:43:00.004-05:00

Okay, so i'm in the bathroom at work. i'm in my stall, doin my bidness... and someone comes into the bathroom. click, click, click... i hear the heels so i know someone's there. she's crying. i can hear the sniffling and the deep breaths. it's not sobbing, not big boo-hoos, just a little office crying, broken up with a few deep breaths--like "okay, get your shit together" deep breaths. and i'm listening. i'm done with what i'm doing. but ... i can't just walk out tucking my tank into my skirt... ta-da! i heard you crying. i'm just going to wash my hands and pretend i dont' see you there blowing your nose.

i can't do that.

so i sit. and she goes into a stall and pulls some toilet paper. at this point, i realize she doesn't know anyone else is in there. so now i'm paranoid about making noise. about that time it hits me that i need some toilet paper. silent toilet paper unrolling is a little-known skill of mine. it's a chick thing. why do we not want anyone to know that we poo? have you ever been in the stall with your poo-time and someone comes into the bathroom and time stops? you sit there, holding your poo (or worse -- your poot!), waiting for sally someone to pee and pull up her pantyhose and get the flock out of there so you can poo in peace? what is it about chicks and silent poo syndrome? blog fodder for another day.

so i sit.
sounds like she's about stabilized by now and then the stampede hits--quarter til five bathroom rush. with all the hub-ub, no sense in me sitting there trying to ~~avoid her~~ be polite.... i get out of there with little more than a "glad monday's over" from the chick at the sinks and i'm free.

yet i'm left to wonder -- why do we hesitate to let someone know we're there... when they might need us?

even if just to spare a square.

Resolution Revolution

2009-04-15T21:56:00.019-05:00

get out your #2 pencils kiddies, time for a Pop Quiz:
who remembers my new years resolutions?

anyone. anyone. bueller.

i remember them. they burn in my belly like midnight jalepenos. reminding me of things i regret. eating at me.

yes fair weathered blogosphere buddies, it's time to revisit the resolutions and take inventory of my inventory.
It is
End of First Quarter - 2009
Actually, April 1st was the end of the first quarter, but like the good procrastinator that i am, i put off assessing myself until now... tax day. and it is a taxing process. but necessary. avert your eyes if voyeurism isn't your thing because here's your peep show into my own private idaho. well not really a-ho, just a girl. my own private idagirl.

New Years Resolution List 2009
First Quarter Overall Assessment = C

* Clear Your Workspace : B+
Bright Spots:
--Kitchen is organized and working well, as hoped for.
--Daughter1 has a freshly painted and organized room, although there are no pictures on the wall and given that D1 is a typical tweenage slob, the room continues to look like an experiment in wall-to-wall clothes as floor covering.
--Breakfast room has new table and full walls. Looks great.
Gloomy Spots
--My closet is cleared of clutter, but still bursting with out-dated, non-fitting or unwanted clothes. Needs Improvement
--Desk still piled with shit. Must sell desk.
--Must take down christmas tree before it goes up in a pine-scented spark.

*Celebrate Your Beauty : C
-- Weekly beauty treatments lasted about ...well, a week. rather than google new music from pandora all night i need to carve out an evening every week to plunge my toes into hot wax, put a healing, rejuvenating mask on my face and polish up my little piggies. needs improvement, but you're still an adorable little sex kitten you.
--Hair needs work. Color. Cut. and don't go to the beauty school again. ever.

* Get to Your Goal Weight : C-
--okay so the thing about getting that gym membership is that you actually have to GO TO THE GYM for it to work. damn. that's what you call the fine print. read it. live it.
--i've said it before, but it warrants repeating: i am sick to fucking death of not liking my body. sick. to. fucking. death. i am considering trashing all other resolutions in pursuit of losing 30 lbs. so that i can NEVER DEAL WITH THESE BODY ISSUES AGAIN. ever.
--in the meantime, i try to cultivate and nurture a slight case of anorexia, since that's the last time i felt really good about my body.

* Workout at the Gym -4xs- a Week : F
--see above. and also, bite me.

* Be on Time for Work : F
-- Needs Improvement. Nuff said.

* Grow your Blog : B
--even though the blog itself hasn't grown much, i've put a few things in place and that can increase traffic in the coming months...i'm just waiting until i get situated on my admittedly super-sized ass and post some shit i can be proud of.
--along with grow the blog, my intention in this resolution was to grow my writing, and that is working. i had a small article published locally last month and i'm working on another. although i have no goals in place, i'm not a very goal-oriented person, so as not to set myself up for failure.
--keep up the good work.

* Eat Breakfast Every Day : A-
--i don't feel the need or desire to expound on this, but for you true voyeurs. i know you. i am you. typical breakfast is bran buds with milk or a poached egg on a toasted english muffin. soak it up people. this is my life.

* Bedtime 10:30pm / Waketime 6:30am : D
--dang i hate that i'm so bad at this one, but ain't it cute how how the colon and the "D" make a smiley face. most twee. anyhoo...i either go to bed about 9:30, slothed out and spent, or i stay up til 1am smoking on the porch and googling music off of pandora. i know no middle ground.
--so far, 7am is getting up early for me... typical roll-out time is 7:30am...unfortunately school starts at 7:50, so i'm totally out of the running for mom of the year. like those tardies are what pushed me over the edge. right.

* The Sacred Dinner Table : A-
--I had set a shooting target for 3 days a week to eat at the table with no television. if i can count the tables at mcdonalds, chick-fil-a or chili's, i'm pumpin an A on this one. By sacred dinner table though, i mean home-cooked, quiet meals at the new kitchen table surrounded by recently hung pictures that used to grace my closet floor. so there's a little room for improvement.
--The key to success on this one is meal planning. if i know WHAT we're going to eat, i've got a better shot at putting that stuff on the table for us to eat it.

* Movie Morning Every other Saturday : A
--Although there have been several Saturdays when we've been busy, the girls have been out of town or we've had to be somewhere for something at sometime...all in all, we've been pretty faithful to the every other Saturday movie committment.
--in that vein, can someone please make a movie that my kids will like that isn't boring to me, or makes me want to shove straws into my ears out of stupidity.

* Sunday is the Sabbath : C-
--the grade looks kinda bad, but i've got high hopes for the future here. We have started visting a church (okay twice) and prospects seem good for return visits. I definately chaulked up some spirit-points over "holy" weekend, hitting church both for Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Next weekend is D2's birthday and the next they'll be gone (halleluah!... but what's the point of going to church if i don't get kid-credit), but along with church, i've tried to make sunday a day of rest. rejuvenation. and having sex if the kids are gone.

speaking of sex, which i encourage whenever possible, keep an eye on the blog for an upcoming update on The Guy. by The Guy, i mean the guy i've been having sex with... see the tie-in there?

up on my soapbox

2009-04-15T21:07:00.006-05:00

what the hell are all yall out there yelling about? taxes? really?

i get cranky at the world. but i don't get cranky about taxes.
taxes feel like investments, but opposite, i guess. taxes is money i earned that i never see, that i never sense in my bank account and that never feels like mine. i remember when someone told me they tithed their before-tax money and i was like, "before taxes? that money was never really mine, so i don't feel like i have to tithe on it...and also, how do i know my before taxes salary???"

naive, i know. but without a little self-imposed ignorance i'd never sleep. know what i'm sayin.

so when a few in my circle of influence got their flag on today and milled around city hall in protest of taxes... i opted for the pass. i hate taxes as much as the next guy, but i don't feel it every month. i don't feel the burden of my tax every 2 freakin weeks when i pay my bills. you know what pisses me off. every month. without fail. credit card interest. this vinny-the-loan-shark of corporate america. i'm talkin to you compass bank you degenerate whore.

once i had a $18 balance on my compass bank card. i paid it late, got a $39 late fee and because it was late, my interest rate went from 9.5% to 24%. 'cuse me? just break my kneecaps. thanks.

over the last three years i've needed a little extra income here and there and i've used my credit cards to fuel my need for all things luxurious and extravagant... like my electric bill last august. and the air conditioner i had to replace. and the pipes that leaked, staining the ceilings and ruining the carpets... that had to be replaced. and also going out to eat about a hundred times.

it's really not the debt itself that is the problem. had my interest rates remained constant, i would be way ahead of the game, having not used credit in the last year... (i had a 0% with MBNA before they sold to bank of america, who are filthy booger-eating mom-hating poo-heads. after the transition, my interest rate went to 14%. from zero to 14%. for no reason, this time. i hadn't even paid late.

seems like the more i pay, the less gets credited to my debts. what the fuck. i have two credit cards at 25%. twenty five percent!!! what the fuck people. that's like charging me $25 for every hundred dollars i owe.

this is bullshit. these credit card companies are making shit piles of money off of me and everybody else and it's time we stood up and said, i'm not going to pay you such high interest rates, it's just sinister.

suze orman can kiss my fica score. look, i have debt. the very last thing that is helpful to me is for YOU to make me feel like i'm dumbshit for having debt. it is what is, oprah. now someone lower these fucking interest rates. ...hey, hand me that foam finger. you got a map to city hall?

Anatomy of a crappy day

2009-02-19T16:05:00.008-06:00

it is rare that i have a super duper stellar day. i'm not exactly sister mary sunshine, but i also don't mope around bemoaning every little irritation that scrapes my skin.

most days are status quo. not so bad. not so great.

yesterday was bad.
crap. shit. suck. fuck. bad.

it was a normal morning. ran a little late for work (status quo); forgot to bring my lunch (sortof on purpose). i was kind of dreading, kind of looking forward to an evening of steaks with The Guy and his roommate and the roommate's latest bar find. i was a little pissed at myself for being too lazy the night before to put together the Thai Shrimp Bisque i wanted to bring. i love to cook and impress people with my (let's face it) impressive cooking. but i had slothed out after work. so i was going to grab a bag of salad. not impressive. let it go.

about noon my sister called my cell phone. that alone is a weird flag. i work at my dad's office. she knows that number in her sleep. my mom was being taken to the medical center. she was unable to put words together and had some cognitive "issues". both of us suspected stroke. sis was in the car on her way to Methodist. i snapped the phone shut, had a momentary head spin, then composed myself. grabbed my purse. hit the freeway towards the med center.

the downward spiral begins.

insert about an hour with me sipping a crap cocktail of snarly freeway traffic, navigating downtown streets, playing bob and weave with the light rail, then basking in the joy that is a multi-hospital parking garage.

and nothing quite compares to the wondrous adventure of spending an hour or three and a half in a busy downtown emergency room. with your mom. nervous mom. who has now been restored with the miracle of speech. which she is using. a lot. ah, thank you god.

after a bunch of blood work, an EKG (eh?) and a pretty cool conversation with Dr. Finkelstein (i kid you NOT). mom was released and i headed back to the sweetest little town in texas. in rush hour traffic. yee ha.

then it was dinner with The Guy, his roommate and roommate's latest bar find. Said bar find happened to be a 44 yr old chick with a brick house body complete with real boobs. and they were fantastic. it was like spreading a frothy layer of shit frosting on the ass cake of my day. as i sat across the table, sucking on 64 calorie beer, letting it sink in that i was about to turn 40 and could probably wear this chick's belt for a headband, she regaled us with positively fascinating stories of her ultra-athleticism. golf? yes. swimming? butterfly,thank you. tennis? her best sport. "i'm not really into marathons, but the occassional 5k is fun, if i'm not too hung over." puh leez. there i sat with the coordination of a newborn calf -- and the ass to match. i decided to get drunk. not always a good plan, but always a reliable back up.

about that time, the babysitter texts me: "no rush, but i told my mom i'd be home about 8:00. Will u b home soon?"

soon? seriously? i just left at 6. you think i'll be home at 8? i thought i was the drunk one.

now i'm not sure what kind of cosmic misunderstanding might have taken place between the time i explained how to put my kids to bed AT EIGHT THIRTY and her belief that i would be home at EIGHT. but it really didn't matter because at that point, i was not only the chubby one, i was the chubby one texting the mystery person and getting pissed off in the process. The Guy was just thrilled with me. i'm sayin.

and yes, i will have another glass of wine. just hand me the bottle. thanks.

i suppose my liquid courage gave me the gumption (really? what am i sixty, now? gumption? ugh.) to call another babysitter and cooerce her to play tag-team with dumbshit babysitter number one (good luck getting that $20 bucks out of me, sister).

Finally ten-thirty rolls around and The Guy follows me home. i tell him to stick close because i've now polished off a whole bottle of wine and my week's allowance of diet beer. i then speed off leaving him to actually come to a halt at stop signs and not skid through the turns.

from here: i'm unclear, but i will say as far as i can remember my day did get a little better.

tomorrow. tomorrow. i love ya... tomorrow. and diet coke. i love ya diet coke.

Best. Valentines. Ever.

2009-02-16T11:04:00.008-06:00

first, i write this with apologies to my bloggin buddy bejewell, who i wholeheartedly support in her recent sweater-lady assault...and second, i quantify this whole thing by saying that i've had many a year when i'd like to hang the founder of valentines day by a couple of nipple clips over a murky louisiana swamp.

But not this year.

for this year, oh anonymous blogfan, was the Best. Valentines. Ever.

i think we're all well aware of what makes valentines day suck..... so what makes for a wonderful, memorable and delightful valentines day? having a guy like mine helps.

he didn't go for the cheesy roses in a vase, which shows he knows me. he didn't overdo it -- no hundred dollar meal, no limo rides and thank god, no wacky over-the-top surprises like waiters bearing gifts on a tray or finding jewelry in my dessert. which shows he understands where we are with this thing, wherever that is, and also that he has good taste.

everything he planned for us was punctuated by an undercurrent of thought and consideration for me. okay, and him... he's lucky that our thoughts sync up, so he has the advantage of figuring out an evening that he would enjoy, then just tweaking it with a little front seat hand-holding, throw in some dirty smooch time at the end of the night and i'm as happy as a little girl.

quick detail summary: couples reflexology massage in little vietnam (i love that he didn't take us to a boring spa in this stepford-clone town i live in; besides those asians are serious about workin you over); then dinner in chinatown: hot pot with shrimp, kobe beef and a pile of noodles and vegetables.

there were little extras to the night that made it special for me. freakishly hot chinese tea waiting for us when we came out of the massage room. perfect for the transition from the tranquility of the dim room to the evening street lights. chatting up the tiny asian fireball that owned the restaurant where we ate, letting her order for us, getting over-the-top, but comfortable service and giving her big props for jacking up the cool-factor in her little place.

then there was the recognition. the acknowledgement that this evening represented. i'm his girl. he's my guy. it's out there now.

the next night, we did the traditional valentine thing: nice dinner, romantic evening. movie. overflowing bubble bath. sex. cards. flowers. all the typical stuff that couples do. on valentines day.

This V day, i started out ahead of the game in that i have someone. just having a some one in my life seems to slightly elevate the plane on which i operate from day to day. the fact that i like to be with him more than i like to be away from him, is better than box full of chocolates. any day.

Vive Les Resolutions

2009-02-11T12:55:00.005-06:00

i wrote a new years resolution list. my first one. i was inspired by a wonderful friend, who we will call The Guy. The Guy evidently writes a list every year. and while he sat scribbling in a quiet room on New Years Day, i sat in the living room thinking: i'm bored. guess i'll write a list too.

so i did.

i've decided to let you in on my list and every few months or so i'm going to give myself a check-up: a status report.

and you , oh you lucky little anonymous blogfan, get to know how i'm doing.
sound boring? it's my blog, i can do what i want to.

***drum roll in the distance* trumpet fan fare ---dum da da da da da DUM...

ladies and gentleman (there's only dude that reads this), it is my honor to present to you:
New Years Resolution List 2009

* Clear Your Workspace -- declutter the house, declutter my mind. This resolution includes cleaning out my closet as well as disconnecting permanently from a few people in my life that are nothing but clutter. this is a year-long goal; eliminating distractions (like worthless stuff, negative people, junk mail...) so that i can work and think clearly.

*Celebrate Your Beauty -- take time to pamper your beautiful self. do the hot wax pedicure; get a massage, pluck your eyebrows. weekly beauty time for hair, face and nails and monthly beauty days for max treatments.

* Get to Your Goal Weight -- i've been talking about this number for -3- years. i'm not going to tell it to you, but it is my goal weight. it's funny how i can talk about sex, my divorce, how i sometimes want to abandon my children: all these really personal and serious things, i just put out there on the open inter-lines for all to see. but my weight carries an anchor of shame around it's neck. guess that's part of the problem. i'm sick of talking about this number. i'm either going to reach it this year, or put "Accept Your Fat Ass the Way it is" on next years resolution list.

* Be on Time for Work -- pretty self explanatory. i am super duper lucky and love love love that i have a boss who doesn't jump my crap every time i'm late. dad's cool like that. but he would like me to be on time. and so would i.

* Grow your Blog -- i resisted the urge to set a number of posts per week, or month, whatever. the purpose of this resolution is to keep my writing in the present. write more. write consistently. along with "grow blog," this resolution includes -get back into freelancing-. This will be replaced with "Write the Book" on next years list.

* Eat Breakfast Every Day -- again, not a complicated goal here, but way off the mark for me. i've never been a breakfast eater, unless you count the occasional gluttonous sunday brunch buffet as breakfast. Breakfast: it's good for my metabolism, starts my day off right and sets a good example for the rug rats. eat it. just eat it.

* Workout at the Gym -4xs- a Week -- easily written, tough to do. i got out of my workout routine after the hurricane (yes, that was september...takes me a while to get back on the bandwagon). i miss that time with my ipod. i miss the feeling of sore muscles. i miss being able to see my feet when i look down. .. ..

* Bedtime 10:30pm / Waketime 6:30am -- of all the resolutions thus far, this one has seen the very least success. building routine into my life will help the other pieces of this self-help puzzle fit together. plus, i don't sleep enough. but i love sitting up late at night and shit i hate to miss colbert report.

* Movie Morning Every other Saturday -- movies before noon are five bucks every saturday. small price to pay for a little family bonding, especially when i fill my purse with booty from the candy drawer. i committed to this and i've only missed one saturday since the year started...

* The Sacred Dinner Table -- my goal here is at least -3- times a week. Dinner at a table. no television. food cooked in my kitchen served on non-disposable plates. milk. there are some old fashioned ways that should never get modernized.

* Sunday is the Sabbath -- Remember Sunday and keep it holy. easier said than done. sunday is our day to sleep late (sorry god) and go to IHOP (hey, breakfast!). then we usually run errands, get gas in the car, maybe wash it. laundry. shopping. but sunday should be the first day of the week. recharge day. rest. be quiet. go to church for god sake.

So there it is people. Bask in its beauty. soak up it's bounty of wisdom and potential for a kick ass rockin new life in this kick ass rockin new year. what do you think?

did you make resolutions for change in 09? are they as cool and smokin as mine?

Sayonara Singapore

2009-02-10T11:15:00.006-06:00

He walked into my office one afternoon in the summer of 2007. He was short, his graying hair brushed his shoulders from beneath his wide black cowboy hat. he wore jeans and a pressed yellow cowboy shirt. i was drawn to him instinctively and as he sat at my desk, talking about insurance, i sensed attraction from him as well.

but it didn't jive. he was way older than anyone i'd dated. the spark must be just my imagination.

we talked at my desk for nearly 2 hours. he told his whole story. he was leaving for singapore in August. expat. no wonder i'm attracted to him. like a flame to vapor, am i to expats. he had just finalized his divorce. been diagnosed with prostate cancer about 5 months ago. he said a lot that day. mostly really personal stuff about trying to find his way to a new life path. he loved Big Bend. had spent years in Russia with Fluor. a texas native from Victoria, where most of his 6 brothers and sisters still lived. he'd never had kids during his 25 year marriage. too late now. he made the break-up sound like it was motivated by her completely; and not at all what he wanted. he cried a little. he laughed. i laughed and fell for his folksy way that mixed so well with worldly experience.

when he left that day i gave him my card with a handwritten email address on the back and squeezed his shoulder (i'm telling you, he's short). i asked him to email me, and he promised he would.

i thought about him a lot that next week. he had popped open a can of emotions inside of me and the aroma of attraction lingered in me. i talked about him, but after a month or so with no word, i dismissed the man i had begun to refer to as "my old cowboy guy."

then one late afternoon in August he called the office. "Remember me?" he said. i remember. he had sent several emails, all returned he said. "guess i couldn't read your writing." he was in town for a few days; was getting his truck out of storage. wanted to come by and get new ID cards for the glove box. "will you be there?" i remember feeling a flush when i said "i can wait for you."

it was going to be a rare kidless friday night for me and i was eager to hit happy hour. i had assumed this whole thing was a one-sided crush on my side. it was the expat thing. and the cowboy thing. maybe i have some kind of grandpa complex. whatever it was, i was determined to be all business when he got there and had the IDs ready when he walked in around 5:00.

when he looked at me, it was like listening to my favorite song, that i hadn't heard in a long time.

i don't remember what we talked about that afternoon, or how long we sat there in the empty office. i will always remember standing next to him in the elevator after he'd stood behind me as i locked up the dark office. and watching him walk away when we got to the parking lot, having a feeling that i should follow him. i didn't.

and that's how it started.

i'm going into such detail of these first encounters mostly because they made such a strong impression on me, and also because these were the only times i had any contact with him beyond words on a screen. over the next four months, i would convince myself that i fell in love with this man, through emails and IMs. no phone calls. no face-to-face contact.

his first email was from sedona, where he'd gone on vacation before leaving again for singapore. it was touristy-chatty stuff about the mysticism of the area and how the new agey-ness of it made him roll his eyes at the place. i liked reading his words. he wrote long emails, which i like. i wrote long responses.

the emails got more frequent, and their arrival predictable, until we were emailing on a daily schedule. our time zones were flip-flopped. his 5am was my 4pm. he wrote to me while i slept, and visa versa. eventually i downloaded an IM program. i knew his schedule as well as my own. i knew when he would wake, and shoot him a good morning. he would respond. i knew when he got into the office, when he broke for lunch. our conversations carried from one day to the next and soon i found myself typing long hours, sometimes until daybreak, as our relationship was forged on a computer monitor.

it was crazy. i know that now. like falling in love with a character in a book. you read about him, you imagine his mannerisms, create his voice in your mind. the emotions feel real, but he's just a character. the love is not real. and neither was mine.

but it was the first time in long time that i had a relationship whose primary source of existing was not sexual. and i clung to that. it was all writing, reading. it almost felt like talking. i convinced myself we were building a solid foundation. he would be "home" for good in April. (as if expats are ever home.) i wasn't worried about the cancer--minor irritation--he'd beat that. he was thrilled to play daddy to my red-heads. they would love him. once they met him. my head swam with possibilities. there was talk of building a house in the country. a lake in the back. four-wheelers for the girls. a sunroom for me. this could be the new beginning he was looking for. this could be the man i was meant to find.

it was a lovely fantasy.

he arrived in houston Dec. 21 2007. it was the first time i'd seen him since that August afternoon in my office. i was like a smitten schoolgirl. i hung on him and gushed over every word he said. we spent two days together like a little family. him toting my youngest on his shoulders and dazzling my oldest with stories about his travels all over the world. we ate at the dinner table together and went looking at christmas lights with hot chocolate and popcorn.

it was a lovely fantasy.

by Christmas Day the facade of the fantasy had crumbled to reveal an unbalanced, emotionally immature, and quite possibly dying man. he had a lot of trouble getting through a day without having to rest. he had a sharp temper that was easy to set off. he didn't show up for christmas night like we had discussed. refused to answer my calls or texts, with no explanation as to why. he didn't call me. he did send a cryptic email that said he "could not do this". and would not speak to me because i'd "talk him out of it".

what? it was like my sam elliot had been replaced by tiny tim. our last conversation had been good.. pretty good. but now he refused me. it was the holidays, my kids were gone. i threw myself into a vortex of pity mixed with embarrassment and utter contempt. a mantra echoed inside my head: i'm an idiot. i will die alone. this just proves it.

we officially stopped the madness during last years AFC playoff game btwn the Patriots and the Jets; jan 2008. befitting our relationship, the breakup--so to speak--was a heated IM session, laced with colorful all-cap words on my part and pathetic childish apologies on his. at that time, he was going to stay in singapore and marry the woman he had been seeing there.

it took me some time to shake the dust off my ass from being bucked off the white horse with the knight and the armor and my hair blowing in the cool, country air.... but i eventually got used to walking my path again. i wrapped my heart in crinkly tissue paper and put it back into it's banged-up, rusty little box, and plucked it into the black hole from which it came. i got pissed off whenever i thought about him. even the idea that i fell for it, just burned me.

i got an email from him last july. he was in alaska now. god, he's such an expat. i had a few hot flashes here and there at the time. but i was in a rational place. i knew him now. i wasn't going to fall for the hype. but we did strike up the old banter again. this time phone calls only. no email. IM was long ago deleted from my computer. we talked about his cancer treatments. his job. the cold up there. all surface stuff. my heart was safely tucked away and didn't flutter. almost not at all.

then The Guy came along. we went to baseball games and the beach. we sat on the couch and watched Boston Legal. we laughed at the same things. it's been 8 months. he holds my hand and kisses my skin. he calls me after work. he burps. he farts. he's real. it's not the freefall, enveloping passion that i had with singapore, but then again, my life with The Guy isn't a fairy tale. did i mention the burping? The Guy is not my knight in shining armor. he's my best friend.

the other night i talked to singapore. he's just returned from LA for his latest clinical trials. the cancer continues to win the battles, it seems. we talked for half an hour. about my girls. the weather. his cancer. the snow in alaska. i thanked him for the big box of gifts he sent for christmas and the accompanying check to buy us each something special. after several minutes of talk i asked him if he was ever coming back to Texas. "i don't think so jewels." i could picture his face as he said it, "just nothing there for me anymore. and the project is so busy here, i can't ever see me going anywhere except maybe back to Singapore." he's an expat. all the way through.

i realized after i snapped my phone shut, that i had read all the chapters in this book. it was time to put it back on the shelf; let the years mellow the memory of the fairy tale.

so it's sayonara singapore.

goodbye alaska.

you win some and learn some.

Internal Conversation

2009-01-23T10:12:00.016-06:00

Myself: you should blog more
I: yeah, you should
me: i should blog more. if i had a laptop i'd blog more
I: you're all about excuses. when's the last time you went to the gym? you're lazy.
Myself: yeah, you are lazy
me: i'm trying to get organized around here. remember "clear your work space" ?? New Years Resolution List #1. i can't do everything
Myself: don't be the victim, puhleez
I: yeah, don't be that girl
me: i'm not being a victim, but i can't do everything at the same time. i can do anything, but i can't do everything. at least i made new years resolutions this year. i wrote them down, i'm working the list. that alone is big for me. i'm working a list.
I: thought "blog more" was on that list
Myself: i remember "lose 30 lbs" that was on the list
me: i don't like staring into a corner with that new computer. i can't get my writers groove in that space. i need a laptop. i'm doing other stuff right now. i'll get to the blogging. for god sakes, give yourself a break. i'm eating breakfast almost every day. baby steps people
Myself: still, you should write. at least read something
me: i've reorganized and de-clutterfied the kitchen, redecorated both kids rooms and the dining room and cleaned out my closet for the first time in 6 years. i will blog when i get a laptop and i will read when i can get through more than two pages without falling asleep
I: reorganized the kitchen? really? come on, you reorganized MOST of the kitchen. redecorating the girls rooms is a work in progress. you'll never have the money for a laptop. nobody reads your blog anymore anyway. its boring. you used to be funny. you're not funny anymore.
Myself: yeah, you're not funny. wedding dress? not funny.
me: i am too funny. i'm freaking hilarious. and the kitchen is reorganized. redecorating is a big job. there's the painting and moving the furniture and new sheets for the bigger bed. carpet cleaning. it's a lot. it is a work in progress, but it is progressing. i've been reading that vampire book, doesn't that count?
Myself: not really. that book sucks. ha... get it ..vampire... sucks... i'm funny
I: now we've lowered ourselves to reading best sellers. pathetic. you don't deserve a blog. what's next? listening to top 40?
Myself: yeah, you blow
me: i do not blow, well i certainly don't swallow--see, i AM too funny. i'm taking it one thing at a time. for once in my life i'm starting a job, finishing it then moving on to the next job. no more half ass -ed- ness. i've been single for 6 years and it's time to take control. i'm not going to live like this anymore! this is my house! this is my life! i'm the only one who is going to be accountable for it. and this time damn it, i'm going to do the shit i say i'm going to do. and i'm not going to let myself talk me into a depressed little pity pit
Myself: chill sister. you're doing a good job. i just want you to write. there's that book in your head, if you don't get it out, you'll drink those brain cells away and not even know it
I: it's not a pity pit, i'm just trying to keep you real. the house does feel awesome. for the first time... ever. and the girls rooms look really good. who would've thought blue and orange? with purple? you totally rock. your ass is big, though
me: i know i need to get to the gym more often. for my ass and for my peace of mind. i need to write. i need a laptop. i need to read--actual literature, not candy bar novels. but hold on a minute... this is the first forward movement i've had in 6 years. SIX YEARS. and i have a guy. yes. me. i.have.a. man . like an actual man that lives in the same town i do and we see each other. it's a real relationship. he's not even an expat. officially, i mean. so give me a break. i'm not going to cower down to these little voices anymore. get onboard with the pep talk ladies. go me. go me. go me.
Myself: yeah, you rock. and you are funny, but this post isn't very funny
I: not too funny
me: at least it's a blog

Myself: not funny, though. you're just going to drive right past the gym, aren't you
I: lazy
me: bite me

the wedding dress

2009-01-07T22:58:00.003-06:00

The universe decided to put me on a treadmill somewhere around mid october. by december 22nd, i was going full incline at about 5.5 mph. and i'd been there for about a week.

there are spider webs of all the little and big monsters that threatened to inhale me during that time, but i'm going to go down only one path: since it seems to lead somewhere.

i see now that it was test. god loves the holiday test on me. i crack Him up and let's face it, who doesn't need a good laugh at the holidays. my richter-scale breaking stress level tested my resolve not to flee. run for fun country. drown myself with self-indulgence and neglectfulness. in some ways i did. but in the important ways: i didn't. i held my ground and tread water, with my head firmly out of the sand, and walked through it.

i see now that i'm on another side. not the other side, that i keep thinking i'm going to, but just a different area. an other side.

the wedding dress made me see that.

i had leaky pipes. it's a whole blog unto itself: "my house, my beloved nemesis." but that's pantry stock in the blog drafts. i had leaky pipes. this is not a revelation to me. recently, my leaky pipes leaked into my closet. it's a big story with a short ending: a $750 plumbing bill and a moldy, nasty closet from ceiling to floor.

today the insurance adjuster came out to assess the damage and go through the formality of telling me i'm screwed. to uncover the full impact of the mess, i cleared out my closet. of everything. now, you probably have your own show on bravo and keep your closet rotated out with seasons, your sweaters uniformly folded resting on clean wooden shelves; you have a special drawer for scraves: but let me tell you: you ain't me. i had maternity clothes in cleaning bags. sweaters so long on the hanger there was a layer of dust on the crease. dust people. i had dresses i would never wear, but were given to me and so i kept them there: hanging.

the wedding dress took up the far back corner. where the brunt of the mold took hold.

the insurance company said to keep all the personal property that was damaged for the adjuster to see and properly tally the perpitude of my screwed-ness. so today, my 8ft walk in closet was totally clean for the first time since i moved in: save my wedding dress hanging on the long wooden pole. matted with black mold and water spots along the hem and up the back.

i went on vacation after christmas. the guy promised to take me somewhere. and the guy is always good for keeping his word. we spent four days together. it was a great time, but the thing was that it was time for me to be me, which is what gave me the clarity to come back. the treadmill came off incline, and then eventually slowed to a manageable pace. by jan 2nd, i was clearheaded and breathing normally again. i started surveying the experience, and saw the test. began thinking on the significance.

then today i saw the wedding dress. in an empty, molding, stinky closet.
and i realized how far away i was from the person who wore that dress.

i had a great wedding. it was beautiful. i was happy. everybody got drunk at the reception. it was absolutely anything and everything i wanted in big bad ass party. but the marriage: not so much.

i had a group of friends in college that became family to me. all of them were in my wedding. it was a given. even though i still love them like family: i have to admit that i really don't know them. i don't know what they order at mcdonalds. i don't know that outfit that they wear all the time. their kids would treat me like a stranger. our intimate friendship is gone. now we are bound by the sheer power of our collective experience. they don't know me either. and i am different than i was then. i see that now.

the wedding dress made me see that. i'm on another side now. it seems like the right place to be. for now.

because one day this dog is gonna die

2008-11-23T03:33:00.012-06:00

my dad is a sensitive guy. he cries at weddings. he cries at commercials during the olympics. he still cries when tiger wins the open. he's a sensitive guy. when my dad was a kid he had a horse named captain. one day captain got sick and died and dad buried him. three years before i was born, my older sister died and my dad buried her. when i was in junior high, we got a poodle. my last year of college, the dog died and my dad buried her.
at the mere mention of these memories, my father gets that teary look in his eyes. he's quiet for a minute. or more. he still mourns. the wounds aren't fresh. but deep. the ache of losing someone you love is a pain that lingers. becomes part of you. i've learned that by watching him.

my kids want a dog.

you might say i've never been great at romantic relationships. i've been the instigator of many'o break up in my pre-marital days. and even though by almost all accounts i was the "blameless one" in my divorce -- that may stand as the exception that proves the rule as i go into this dating world and attempt to forge a meaningful and possibly even, significant romantic relationship.

i'm still seeing the guy. yes. the same one. i'm scared...like seventh circle of hell scared.
why. because
one day this dog is going to die.
in my past life, i liked guys that travel. plenty of space. which i need. lots of give on the relationship tether. the guy travels. quite a bit.

friday night the guy left for a 10-day business/pleasure/holiday excursion to the west coast. saturday night, i had a date. and for the first time (as in first time ever in my entire dating life)--i felt.. .. .. weird about it.. weird? guilt. is that what guilt feels like? about halfway through our fantastic dinner, i was full-on antsy. we kissed a little on the walk to the theater for a comedy show. laughed our butts off. it was great. waiting for the valet, he put his arm around my waist and suggested drinks at a sports bar. i felt myself push away (just a little). i said i was too tired. he took me back to my car and i cut out early. watched the end of the Tech game with my parents. what's up with that.

i don't want a dog.
not because i think my kids are irresponsible or because we're not home enough. but that's an issue. not because i don't like dogs and worry about him chewing up all my shoes, crapping on the floor and tearing out into the street where i'll have to chase him in my pajamas, screaming his name like my idiot neighbor. although i do worry.

i don't want a dog because i know that one day that dog's gonna die. and that will hurt me. it will hurt my kids.it will bring pain into our house. i will have to deal with the ugly matter of body disposal and caring for his memory. i'll probably even cry.
i prefer to avoid that.

saturday night showed me what i didn't want to see. i'm into the guy. let's face it: i'm never too tired for a drink. like. not. ever.
whether the guy is just not that into me or he is or whatever; i realized on my drive home from "the date" that i've already buckled the seatbelt in this relationship jeep and i've got no choice now but to hold on. and ride.

through no conscience decision of my own, i can't date "other men" anymore. even when the guy is out of town. unless i'm willing to feel guilt. not for cheating; (i'm still under a non-exclusivity clause); but i'm taken. even if only in my own mind. and it's not cool to seem available. when you're not.

the whole idea of getting into a *gulp* committed relationship gives me jumbo jitters along the lines of walking down the hall to the room where they do the lethal injections.
i'm terrified to be the girl to the guy.
he's awesome. i'm into him. i should want this. but i know.
this dog is going to die. one day.
i prefer to avoid that.
don't i?
or do i?

is it really better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? really? i mean, i might come out of this as 'A Girlfriend.' good lord. i might actually have 'A Boyfriend.' holy crap.

last christmas my step-mom wanted a dog. she picked out a breed and a size. told my dad what color she wanted. looked up breeders.talked about names. my dad put his proverbial foot down. no dog. essentially he said: "i am not bringing anything new into my life that i might have to bury. i've buried too many things that i love already."

i'm a commitment-phobe.
because i know one day this dog's gonna die.

fam friday

2008-11-21T18:00:00.003-06:00

a is for allie.

the younger of my kidlets had her thanksgiving feast in kindergarten today. i'm no PTO mommy. but, this kind of shit really warms my fuzzies. here's a little peek into my real life.

the good and wonderful stay-at-home mommies who volunteer at my daughters school had the cafetorium decked out with tee pees and pumpkins with turkey feathers. it was cute and not overdone (too much, i mean. given our suburbian standards).
Here is allie's "feast." you'll recognize from that first thankgiving: popcorn, fish (in this case, goldfish crackers), pretzels and a pb&j shaped like a turkey. capri sun to wash it down. they also made butter out of whoop cream and spooned it out to the tiny first americans from a ziploc bag. allie dipped her pretzels in it and wanted to know if we can start making our own butter. fuzzies warmed.

i sent a white pillow case the week of halloween. the teacher dyed them brown and cut appropriate holes. then the kids painted their "vests." she made her own headdress, notice the droopy pink feather (my favorite); the headband is decorated with colored triangles marked with PT. .. .. why? because that's what the indians lived in mommy: pee tees. and by the way, we were clued in to the PC lingo when the teacher released the pilgrims first to the feast, then the ~~indians~~ native americans.

did i mention i live in Stepford ? sugarland moms sometimes creep me out with their incessant conformity to uniformity like some kind of grown up sorority (ok.i'll stop now.) but they do a lot at school to make it fun for my kid. and theirs i guess. they also make it kind of fun for me. to people-watch.

besides, a standing prescription for xanex comes with the zipcode. so i got that going for me. and did i mention turkeys..made from pumpkins?

here she is in her

pilgrim attire.leave it to allie to do a wardrobe change in her kindergarten thanksgiving feast. seriously. the other kids picked one and stuck with it. she's a hoot. i'm dead in the water with this one. mark.my.words.

after school i took her to get a haircut at one of those little-girl salons. they have a "full service" salon, but mostly they do birthday parties. it's the kind of place kiddie beauty pageant moms dig on. my 5-yr old come teenager sat in a girl-crush stare as the birthday girl (who we didn't know. thanks lord for small miracles) and her party-girls pranced down a runway in their blonde wigs, glitterly eyeshadow and high heels. what's next? silicone insets on the dresses. sorry folks. this kind of stuff totally creeps me out. god help me. my kid loves this place.

romantic? ... that's what SHE said

2008-11-18T10:58:00.006-06:00

i'm not a girly-girl. high maintenance:yes. frilly:no.
* i've never read a cosmo magazine.
* i've never gone with a gal pal for a mani-pedi.
* i've never bought a pint of ben&jerry's to get over a breakup.
however
* i do wear sweats when i get my period.
* i cry at the end of steel magnolias.
* i love to get flowers
think of this as back story. on with the blog.

my friend is in love. she's in that kind of teenager-y love where absolutely everything her boyfriend does is adorable and she can't drop his name often enough in conversation.
-he sent her flowers for their six month 'anniversary' of their first date (sweet)
-he starts to text her every fifteen minutes if she's out to lunch w/out him longer than 90 minutes (kind of weird)
and check out this little gem.
-every night while she brushes her teeth and does her womanly pre-bed routine, he lays on her side of the bed. then, before she crawls in, he scoots over: so her side is already warmed up for her.
swear i felt my breakfast bubble up on this one. you say romantic. i say revolting.

but then again. when i fall in love, i go kicking and screaming. maybe that's why i find gooshy, head-over-heals love so ... um .. repellent. or maybe i'm just completely uncomfortable with sweet, soft and loving, outward displays of compassion. probably a little of both.

anyhoo.
after she told me, i suggested (through my bwahahaha-ing) that maybe this was something she wants to keep between him and her. like when he wears her dresses.
i had to say it. mostly because i felt so uncomfortable hearing about this weird and private ritual, but also because i think it's a little disturbing. the thought behind it is sweet, (i guess, if you're into that kind of thing) but when taken in the context of this guy's tendency to be.. shall we say, overbearing... i think the whole laying-on-your-side-to-warm-it-up thing to be kinda creepy. frankly.
and this opinion (which i now realize, i should have censored) offended her.
shocker.

guess i'm on probation now...

2008-11-10T13:44:00.010-06:00

i went to the thing yesterday. the thing with the tailgating party that started at 10:30. the tailgating party with the open bar.with absolute citron. anyway, i had a great time at the thing. but we didn't win the thing, in fact, it was embarrassing how pathetic we lost the thing, so dad and i decided to go have a few drinks at the country club afterward. to talk about how crappy the thing was. but how much the tailgating rocked.

by then, i was absolutely absoluted. and that's when my judgement got clouded.

i've learned the dangers of DWI. many is the morning, i've dragged my groggy, throbbing head across my pillow to look over to my nightstand and know i had committed a crime the night before: dialing while intoxicated. i've matured. done my time with the drunk dialing. it's a quick offense with a long punishment phase, in some cases.

but i was absolutely absoluted; i was tempted to DWI. the guy was out of town. i hate calling the guy on a trip. lord knows its a miracle if he calls me (that's a whole different blog) . trip calls should be important, meaningful; involve flight plans or detailed stories of checking into a hotel. DWI compiled with the pressure of a trip call could have drastic implications. i mean, it's not exactly a concrete relationship as it is.

i had impaired judgement, but not so impaired that i was willing roll the dice on this one. he was in vegas. the last thing i needed was for him to be thinking "jeez. she's drunk a thousand miles away and still finds a way to bug me." not what i want floating through his mind while he flies home. DWI was out.

but i couldn't keep my drunken little fingers off my phone and so it texted him: about 75 times. okay 72, but only the sent box is counting. texting while intoxicated is the lethal mix of thought and speed. i think it. i type it. i send it. then i think something else. send. another thought. send. send. send. send.

luckily, the guy is not the 'easily-irritated-by-drunken-silliness' kind of person. obviously, considering he's put up me for more than 2 consecutive weeks. and he didn't even mention the myriad (and meaningless) texts that i filled up his phone with while he tried to play video poker.

i'd love to bestow upon you the rare and wonderful gems of wisdom that flowed out of my absolute-soaked mind that night. but as is my ususal post-TWI habit, i rolled over the next morning, grabbed my phone and erased my sentbox. problem solved.