Sugar-Snit,
You are so eloquent. Thanks ever so much for your last post. (and, personally, I just don’t like guns. I know if there had been one in some of the places I lived, I’d be dead by now).
But I like the rich. I’m not. They are. Most of my friends are rich and when I needed some help, they were all there for me and Zoë. I’ve always been employed by the rich, the corporate. I’m grateful for that. Sometimes I’m jealous of my friends, but they have worked really hard for their money. They aren’t assholes about it, and they too are grateful. I know I’d be rich if I didn’t have Zoë to think of and worked 80-120 hours a week. I’d be rich, but would my life be richer?
My #1 Sis’s husband was in the car with me the other night. We were in a neighborhood of multi-million dollar homes. I was like, “Wow, who makes that kind of money?”
He quietly said, “Behind those huge mansions is a person working their ass off, who mostly likely is afraid to lose their job and not be able to afford the huge mansion mortgage.”
I saw this with Enron, y’all. Trust me, it’s all relative. Filet mignon one day, mayonnaise sandwich the next.
-----------------------------------------------
(FINALLY not a morbid entry…)
I am lucky. I love my family.
My family is rich in so many ways.
Some are rich spiritually and they are generous with their time and give comfort and joy.
Some are rich with serious financial gain, but they work hard are beyond generous to many many people.
Some are rich because their houses are filled with children and laughter and they (and we) revel in this.
Some are rich with their career paths and they are thankful and appreciative because it took them a long time to find jobs.
Some are rich with adorable pets in their homes, and they are compassionate, generous and kind.
Some are rich because they made mistakes, and we forgave, supported and loved them anyway. That’s what second chances are for. They remember this.
Some are rich as they travel around the world, and they are giving and sharing with their knowledge.
Some are rich because they are blessed with wonderful marriages, and they work hard at it and set examples for us all.
I am rich because I am extremely grateful for my blessings. I struggle every day with my finances, my loneliness, my lack of time, my boring job, my irritating ex husband, and with my lack of patience sometimes with my child.
But I can see through these difficulties. I lead a very rich and fulfilling life. I love and adore my child. I am lost without my family. I am working, and many in this world are not. My child is healthy and I try to remember that my ex husband doesn’t have the supportive family that I do and he IS trying.
I appreciate everything that I have, and remember what is was like when I had a lot lot less. So now I live and love and share my joy and riches with all of my friends and my family.
But one lesson I’ve learned from my family is to not make judgments about others, because at any given point in this life, I, or they, have, or will, walk in the shoes of the less fortunate.
Sugar-Snit, thanks for reminding me of some of this.
Y’all be thankful and loving today.
Deb
----------------------------------------
Yikes, what’s up with all the barfing cats . That’s making me sad.
I’m off to take my beautiful nephew to see Nemo. *yippee*
Sorry for the morbid entries. But unfortunately, they are suiting my mood. I’ll snap out of it.
Tuesday was the six year anniversary of the tornado that killed 27 of 600 residents in Jarrell, Texas. The tornado was TWO MILES WIDE!
Quote:
Shortly before 3:45 pm CDT on 27 May 97, a violent tornado struck portions of Jarrell, TX, killing 27 directly, and doing damage officially rated F5 on the Fujita Scale -- the most extreme level of tornado damage. This tornado blew some houses completely off the foundations and swept away the disintegrated remains. It also scoured asphalt from roads, killed and dismembered hundreds of cattle, stripped bark from trees and uprooted them, and bounced vehicles for up to half a mile from their parking places.
I remember this terrible day for a number of reasons.
I was working for Pepsi in Austin, Texas, about 40 miles away from Jarrell. My boss had us all huddle in the warehouse as we were having terrible hail (golf ball size+) and severe thunderstorms. Perfect tornado weather. It was frightening. Yeah, let’s all hang out in a metal warehouse full of bottles and cans. I had seen some bad storms, but this one was scary.
And I was there, but I really didn’t want to be there. But me, probably more so than others.
I was working, but only because I was about to take some time off.
It was the first time I had seen my husband cry. My phone rang the day prior to the storms. “They killed her,” he plainly said. “They killed Tessie.” Tessie. My husband’s sister. Now my daughter’s namesake. (Zoë Katherine Teressa)
I never knew her. My ex and I just bought our plane tickets to go vacation in New York and visit his family. This was to be the first time I was going to meet most of them (as we had eloped). I had talked with Tessie only a few times on the phone. She was funny. Pretty. Outgoing. She had been a wild hippie child. I was looking forward to meeting her.
I never got to. She was murdered.
Apparently this 34-year old gang member tried to rob her (just out of jail 18 hours earlier). She lived in California. Very active member of her church. She was visiting a single mom of four and was delivering some food to this woman’s apartment. As Tessie was coming out, this worthless asshole approached her and wanted her jewelry. He shoved her down to the ground. She tried to get back up and he pushed her down again. Then he proceeded to kick her head in. The woman jumped on this guy’s back, but there was no stopping his fury. He had steel-toed boots. Tessie didn’t stand a chance. Some asshole security guard didn’t even try to stop him. He was afraid. Nice.
[aside]
They wanted to give him a death sentence. My mother in law refused. He was a third striker and got life with no parole. I bet he doesn’t even care. He showed no remorse. He is the reason why some people should not have children.
He literally rearranged Tessie’s face. The jury cried during the trial when they showed her autopsy pictures. We had to have a closed casket.
Tessie was married to Benny. They had an 11 year old son. Stupid thing was, Tessie would have given that guy her jewelry, and then come back to bring him food or money.
It was the saddest funeral I’ve ever been to. My ex silently cried behind his sunglasses. The church was crazy hot. The widower was inconsolable. He read a poem then fell down sobbing. I just wanted to escape. I felt like an intruder. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know these people. So many of them came up to us to relay their sympathy. I nodded and kept quiet.
My ex’s ex-girlfriend (mother of 2 of his kids) was there. She knew everyone and they all came up to her. It was beyond uncomfortable for me. I wanted to go home. There were so many people there and I didn’t know any of them.
Back home people were also grieving. Entire families were lost in Jarrell. A whole subdivision was wiped off the earth. Fundraisers were held. We had driven through Jarrell the day after the tornado on our way to Dallas (long story, we had to fly out of Dallas). There was another tornado watch and we drove through the worst thunderstorm I had ever seen. I had to drive 30-40 mph for an hour. News trucks and storm watchers lined the freeway. It was morbid.
This past week has made me sad. I do and I don’t know why.
I want to take a week off. I really feel the need for a vacation or some fun. I’m working too much (and not really working). I’m also not taking time off on the weekends (babysitting the under 3 crowd). I’m broke, and I’m not feeling well. I’m avoiding going to see my endocrinologist. I know he’ll yell at me for not seeing him.
Meena wants me to go dancing this weekend. I think I may force myself to go. Or I may start posting my recipes, just so I stop writing about dead people.
As you are Hostage in my Head for the few minutes you read this, I turn and offer my condolences.
[aside]
Thanks Minou and to all of y'all. Good posting. Keeps me entertained while fake-working.
RIP Lissa
Ok, one of my former bosses died at the beginning of May. That sucked so bad. Well now, I got an email from my friend Hannah that one of our former co-workers died too. *yikes* Maybe it's a good thing I'm not still working there.
Geez, this sucks. Lissa was only like 40 or so. She had 3 kids. Single mom. Her youngest daughter is probably about 9 by now. I used to baby-sit for her on occasion. She loved those kids like there was no tomorrow. (oh, , there isn't going to be a tomorrow ... that sentence just brought tears to my eyes)
She was the most sarcastic woman I have ever met. She was sometimes fun and sometimes funny. We'd laugh our asses off and make fun of our boss. But most of the time, Lissa was on my ass.
At work she could be a total cunt. She told Hanna that she didn't know why, but she just didn't like me. I don't mind people picking on me, but she would purposely hit you where it hurt. I know that she tried to get me fired on several occasions, but I think she liked having someone to boss around more.
She clock-watched me and criticized everything I did. Lissa was the most anal retentive OCD person I have ever met. "We need to go fix the fax machine cartridge." I finally started asking her ... "Ok, is that we WE or we ME?" Well, you know the answer.
I also never understood her very well. Lissa was from the Valley. Bordertown. She was a pretty Hispanic woman, but married a White guy. She'd never ever date anyone who wasn't White. She knew Spanish, but refused to speak it or teach it to her children. *note to Lissa, they have to take a language in high school in Texas... so sooner or later....*
Lissa was always very interested in my business. She was constantly asking me personal questions about my social and personal life. I was pretty young and stupid, so I'd tell her stuff. Big mistake. She'd then turn that around to pick on me. If I told her I went out on a date, she'd always ask what color the guy was.
She and her daughter actually came to my wedding. I couldn't believe it, because the groom was brown.
My only business trip for that company was to a useless training class in Manhattan. Lissa came with. We spent a week there. Lissa and I shared a room, and after a few days her husband joined us.
I love New York. My grandfather and father were born in NYC, and I was born in Westpoint. It's in my blood. I enjoyed my trip very much, but I tried to stay away from them. They were the tourists from hell. Me, well I felt like I was finally HOME.
Everywhere we went, they hit the gift shops first. We took the Staten Island Ferry and went to see the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, etc. I wanted to spend some time there looking around, but they just wanted to see the gift shops. BUY, BUY, BUY. I told my family that I was going to spend my money on doing things and seeing stuff. They'd get some matchbooks or brochures. None of them minded and wanted me to have a good time.
We went to the Empire State Building (it was beyond cold!), and went to Windows on the World. Unfortunately her dorky husband was wearing sneakers or something stupid and they wouldn't let us in.
In four days, we basically hit every touristy spot.
Finally, I had had enough of Lissa/Nanuck of the North (she bundled up like it was Alaska and constantly complained about the temperature - only in the 40s) and Cliff Clavin (her husband went on and on and on with useless information.) I spent an entire day at the Museum (MOMA). It was pure bliss. Silence, not rushing, not gift shopping.
I went to Town Hall that night and saw Ladysmith Black Mombazu. It was lovely. They went to see some Broadway monstrosity and critiqued it to death over breakfast the next morning. Cliff.... just shut UP... I prayed for patience (and silence).
Regardless, I had a great trip. Lissa took some really cool pictures of me. Deb with the twin towers in the background, Deb on the ferry, Deb in snow in New Jersey, Deb on Wall Street (spot the tourist in front of the Empire State Building -- Texan chick with the red lipstick. Big smile. Frowning native NYers... shit colored lipstick... big scowl)
[aside]I would like to return to NYC someday and go with someone I really like. And see if I could drink some of these improvers under the table... *heh* unlikely, now that I'm a lightweight. But I'd like to actually meet some of them.
One weekend Lissa paid me to come over and help her clean her garage. Now this is the woman that would color coordinate her file folders - grant folders orange, vendors green. She also made me use an alphabet system A = Left tabbed folder; B = middle; C = right, etc. So I was unbelievably surprised when I saw what a horrific mess her garage and house were. Clutter everywhere. Papers, toys, dishes... every surface in her house was covered with something. I felt like a shit, but somehow her mess comforted me. I felt only a tiny bit superior. (although now that I'm a working mom, I can only feel solidarity).
The other thing I remember is that her kids were: 1) always perfectly groomed. Beautiful clothes/hair. A picture of her daughter with this huge huge HUGE matching bow on her hair. Practically half her head. They were even in a commercial for a local grocery store.
and 2) they were involved in every activity. Swimming, baseball, t-ball, boy scouts, church activities. Three kids and all three were busy. She had this calendar to keep track of it. It is one of the reasons why I don't want Zoë too involved. (Sometimes kids just need to play).
Towards the end of my stint at that company, Lissa's husband kept getting really really sick. He was always throwing up and losing a bunch of weight. They did every test they could on that dude, but couldn't figure it out.
Years later Hanna told me he was bulimic/anorexic. Yikes! They ended up divorcing.
I never will figure out what made Lissa tick. The closest I can come is that her life was so hectic and out of order that she tried to control everything and everyone around her.
I'm sad for her kids.
I'm sad for her parents (they actually were really really sweet) and her two sisters.
Even though she was a bitch to me most times, I'm just really sad knowing that Lissa isn't on this earth anymore.
RIP my bitchy, funny friend.
I wish that Dr. Egypt would come back to town so that I could get even with my fucking fucking neighbors. (how do you say that, my fucking neighbors that were fucking?)
I think I'd purposely go all out. Screaming, moaning, banging, crying, lots of -ing verbs going on.
I'm so tired and it's all their fault. I want to go home and sleep. I keep thinking it's Monday. It's way too early for chocolate.
I wonder what code to charge my time to for fucking around on the internet all day.
I'm so lame I just realized I wrote about meatloaf. Well I suck, but the meatloaf was good.
Y'all need to do some writing in your journals. I've still got 3 hours to kill.
I think I'm going to get some earplugs.
Ok, how boring am I. I'm reading instead of sleeping. For this I am going to pay.
I would have been asleep, but I could hear my neighbors fucking. It didn't sound like it was any good. Those assholes have finally stopped, but I'm way too uptight for words.
This weekend... Well, it's over and it's as always too short (even though it was a three day weekend). I dread Mondays. I wish I had played the lottery. Just to make myself feel better. I know I'd never win, but a girl can dream.
Went to dinner with my friend, Meena and Zoe. Meena used to go out with my ex. He left his cell in my car once and called me from her phone. I missed the call and didn't recognize the number and I called her back. We talked a bit. She seemed pretty cool.
I was trying to reach him once and called that number. We talked more. They had broken up. She's as much a dumbass for dating him as I was (she loaned him $400 to fix his tires). We get along pretty well. We both have the realization that we were duped. What you see isn't always what you get.
Meena went with me to the concert and hung out a bit this weekend. Zoe likes her. They draw together and glue.
I phoned the bodybuilder/movie critic on our way to the restaurant to see if he wanted to join us. I was just curious to meet him. He's very interesting, but I don't think he's my type. I am taller than he is by more than a few inches, but he's really good looking. And he's fascinating. Way too smart, but that's my type now.
I like it that he's seen more movies than me. (I'm a movie junkie). He doesn't body build anymore, but is going to be in this 200 mile canoe race. How cool is that. I didn't get to talk to him all that much because Zoe had to go to the bathroom at the restaurant... twice.
Alas, no sparks though. I'm sure it's because I'm so missing Dr. E. Still no return email. Fuck, when will I really be able to admit that it's over? Maybe when I actually see his face in person. Dammit.
Babysat the under 3 crowd Sunday. It was exhausting, but my brother in law fixed me a drink that set me right. Just one, but it was tasty. Made $100. Spent nearly all of it at the grocery store. No eating out this week.
Cooked a bunch today. If you want the recipe for Chicken with Mustard Cream sauce, send me a message. It's excellent.
Went to the outdoor concert. Saw Jewel. The girl can sing. Zoe mostly wanted to swing on the playground. It was annoyingly hot. Thank God I wore long sleeves, otherwise I'd be burned to a crisp. Holy Hell it was hot.
Saw Kelly Clarkson. I think she only sang two songs. We were on our way out. Zoe climbed up this fence and was yelling "Hey Kelly." We were over 500 feet away, and I know that she couldn't have heard us, but it was just pretty darned cute. My kid amazes me.
She stirred the mustard and cream today. Adorable.
We went swimming. Damn, I am white. Probably even whiter than Eugenegue. I stayed up and read that whole journal. I can relate to the white socks story. It's funny, so if you haven't read it... read it.
Zoe likes the pool. Thank God for some of her dad's genes. She tans. She has the cutest bikini - blue with white flowers. I'll live my bikini life vicariously through her because my bathing suit is ugly and horrible. I don't care. I swam ten or so laps with her hanging on my back like a monkey. I miss swimming.
I am glad she has the ear tubes in her ears as her ear infections were excrutiating to her and painful for me (waking up every hour on the hour for months). But I wish I could teach her to swim. I learned when I was 2 or 3. All kids should learn to swim.
Zoe likes meatloaf. I made some for fun. Sheesh, I'm writing about meatloaf. I'm sorry I'm such a lameass. Oh, but of course... YES, I STILL SUCK.
Ok, midnight. No fun stories really. Life without Dr. E seems boring. I haven't shaved my legs in a few weeks. I think I'll go another three years without sex. Damn, Dr. E.
We won't mention him again.
I fully plan to goof off all day tomorrow. Looks as if I'm going to have to drink some coffee.
Fucking neighbors and their fucking. Fuck!
I just found this in my message archive. It's the Italian wack job conversation (see last post). I don't know why, but I found this just too funny:
Quote:
deb_u_taunt2002: are all italians this horny?
Italian weirdo: l don't know really, but here we think always to put our cocks somewere everyday, l'd like sit down on a table and instead to have a breakfast, eat a parfumed (sic) and wet pussy every morning before to go at work
Now why can't I find a guy who DOES this, but doesn't TALK about it with a complete fucking STRANGER???
Wow. I met a normal guy. (well so far, normal)
Surfed all day today. Still distracting myself from Dr. Egypt. Talked online to a few guys. Funny and interesting. Interesting and funny.
The Highlights:
1 normal guy. cute. funny. actually very funny. (my favorite quality) I like
1 semi-normal guy. very funny, cute, dark dark past. Completely cool with a semi-self-depreciating humor. I like
1 goodlooking bodybuilder/movie critic. freakishly smart. cool. He said he'd explain the Matrix to me. I like
3 weird Egyptians *note to self to remove the word Egypt from my profile* Shivers
And one complete wack job from Rome. See I told you. He brought up anal sex in the first two minutes of our conversation. Major sex fiend. I kind of dug it in a sick way. His English is just a bit off though, so it's funny to see him talk about sex. He reminds me of my perv lawyer online friend from CA. Sick, but fun.
"I want to visit all your holes."
When I asked him if all Italians were that horny, he basically said that he hopes to stick his cock into something every single day. All I could think of was American Pie.
He eats pussy instead of breakfast. (um, I prefer oatmeal)
I think my holes and I will be firmly planted in the U.S.
I did have a last minute dinner with nice guy #1. He's too sweet for words. God help me, I sure hope he doesn't turn out to be a freak or phreak. He was incredibly nice. I'd like to hang out with him. He reminds me somehow of my dearest friends. Comforting, funny, and completely adorable.
I felt like a dork (wearing the most unattractive outfit no less, straight from work). I was a total dufus, shy and awkward. But mostly I looked like crapola and felt like a dork. We'll have to see where this goes. Regardless, he was very cool.
I want to meet nice, but dark, guy #2. I don't think there is much spark there (on his part), but he seems like the type of guy that I could hang out with. He's way too hilarious, and hella sexy, but he's emotionally distant. Again. Why am I attracted to this? In need of therapy.
[aside] Heidi Klum looks bad as a blonde. Dammit, I wish I cold look that bad just for a day.
-------------------------------
About a week ago I sent Dr. E a message to his hotmail. He actually replied last night. I forwarded the message to my office so I could analyze and re-analyze and actually re-re-analyze it. [insert "you suck big time" phrase here].
This is precisely the reason women are idiots sometimes.
*repeat after me - it's just a fucking email. It means nothing*
He said he missed me (missed, is that freudian). Shouldn't he have said misses (see, not past tense) me?
He said he was glad to hear from me and hopes to hear from me again soon. (yeah, but why didn't he contact me first? when will I hear from him again? dorkfus)
Not very intimate, and no mention of when he's coming back or if he's going to see me.
The original email I sent said he could be strange, but not to be a stranger. He said he's not that bad. Ok, what does that mean? Does he want to see me again? ongoing? long term? what the fuck does this mean?
Do I put my life on hold?
Do I really want to move on just yet?
Or is our relationship (or lack thereof) like a bad car wreck you can't stop looking at.
Tune in to the next installment of ....
I feel like a total asshole. I miss him and I am wanting for sex. I didn't fucking think about sex for three years, and now it's been like three weeks and I'm insane. I feel like a sex crackhead.
I got a male perspective on the email from another friend, Architect Boy. He said I need to cut my losses and take the out.
Lara (my coworker) always knows the best way to put things. She said it sounds like the typical postcard vacation bullshit. He has no emotional attachment to me because he knew from the beginning he'd be moving away. Cut my losses and take the out.
Lara is ALWAYS right. (This is why she rules.)
distract. distraction. play. distract. My lips need kissing, but they aren't ready yet. distract. distraction.
How come this all feels like one long job interview? I hate interviewing.
keep it moving people. there's nothing to look at.
-----------------------------
Get out the crackers, it's time for some cheese!!! In honor of distraction, it's bad poetry time. So skipit if you want to.
something in my old old journal. circa 1993
"Don't advertise your man."
------------------------------
untitled 5 December 1993
Today is Sunday
It's beautiful outside
and I have the day off
There are so many choices
to make
as to what I should do today
So I choose to do nothing
I'm not sure what is going on
inside my head
so I stay inside
drinking coffee
and losing at solitare
I like my place
I hide here
and avoid
life outside
although I wish I had a friend
to talke me out somewhere today
Well, fuck it
I'm going outside
for a bike ride
Fuck that asshole boy
and his rules.
--------------------------------------
Suggested alternate journal titles - Oct. 1995 @ 2:38am
Journal of the damned
Too many lovers
Kill the hook-nosed bitch
McBev and the BLT
None of your fucking business, a book of bad poems
Just a cup
I hate that fat fucker
Leaves could not be green enough
Texas sucks my ass
Juicy burger
For unlawful carnal knowledge
Repeat after me - sorry. sorry motherfucker
Can't I wait until after I'm dead to publish this
Kiss my ass, David Peterson, you sorry motherfucker from hell
Rot in hell till your nuts are roasted like blackened acorns
Deb, Queen of the Universe
Why don't you just... oh, fucking nevermind
Fill in the blank for all I fucking care
I think I'll round out my day and give blood
Now I know why Zoe said fuck at her first parent teacher conference.
------------------------
Austin. Early 90's
Untitled
Sitting here with my evening
topping off a glass of champagne
watching the ants eat the wood away from my door
and waiting
for nothing or no one in particular.
Looking at my right foot.
Who's the better tenor tonight,
Carraras or Domingo?
Another sip on my glass
and killing ants with my black pen.
Hopefully I'll get a nice drunk
and not notice the time.
Wishing for some scotch.
----------------------------
Austin. Mid 90's
Untitled (and last of the cheese, my only running poem ever, but dragged out in honor of 7,000 aka benorbeen )
Running.
Heart punching and hands swelling
I cannot see for the hair in my eyes
Dark in the dark
feet follow my mind tonight
and I can run forever
turning the key in my hand over and over
I pass the boys on the sidewalk
as they give me the thumbs up
she's in there
just rake the coals
now I shower in my darkness
spider dungeon
turning the soap over and over as I had the key
crying
making myself laugh
--------------------------
Goodnight y'all. to Erik with a "K"
I miss Dr. E. (uh, derr) So, I’m trying to distract myself and went profile surfing on Yahoo yesterday.
Saw and talked to a few interesting guys, (possibly one prospective date??) but mostly was horrified by what I saw. *note to self… if profile says bigblkrooster4yourkitten, cuminmymouth_i_swallow or dirtydiaperboi, you don’t want to look*
Dick pictures. DICKS! Lots of them. Penises without warning should be charged as a felony. Faceless shots. Just torso and below. Some hands on, some freewheeling. Not in the over-18 profiles either. Just the regular “normal” ones.
Ok, so WHO exactly are these guys scoring with?
I mean, some of these penises aren’t even that impressive. Some just had elephantdick-itis and were frightening, but most were average looking or smallish even. Regardless of the size, I’m just not up for that kind of vomit inducing action.
Is it just me, or is there something I’m not getting? (no pun intended)
More on this later... I'm still surfing.
Lemme tell you all what totally made my weekend. Now, remember, I have no life, so this was big excitement.
Zoë’s cousin, Jacksy (nickname), turned three this past weekend. He’s part of my under three crowd that I baby-sit occasionally. I’ve been babysitting that little dude since he was about 4 months old. Sometimes he calls me MommyDebby. Zoë calls him her brother (brud-err). Zoë’s my girl; well this little dude is my boy. I love that little man.
When I went on retreat, Sis #1 sent me a picture of Jacksy in some shades. He wrote on the back “Debby, you are so coooooool. I love you more than I can poop.” Which, trust me, is a LOT! (sorry, TMI)
My sister and I both kind of agree that overdone kid birthday parties suck. So we usually just have cake and such. Low key, at her house. The kids just play and eat cake in their big driveway. We had pizza and salad, and then cake and presents.
Jacksy got this Sit-N-Spin that you hook up to a hose. It shoots up little sprays of water. We hooked it up and I took off Jacksy’s shirt. Zoe wanted to play, so I took off her dress too. My other niece, Genny and her little friend Ne Ne stripped down too.
Jacksy decided to hang free and took off his diaper. The other’s followed suit. It was hilarious. All these little naked kids playing in the sprinkler in the driveway. Zoë was posing and laying down on the ground, moving her arms and legs about like she was swimming.
We all agreed that this is how all parties should end. Naked in the driveway.
I guess you just had to be there.
----------------------------
Supper club was fun. Again. No date. But everyone had a good time. The food was great. The house was amazing. The women looked gorgeous and the guys were just too good looking. The hostess drives this super bad ass Hummer. I totally dig her. Good thing her husband owns an oil company because that damn thing was huge. I bet it costs $50 to fill it up.
But of course, I got bombarded with all kinds of questions about Dr. E. Where is he? Are we still dating? Will we still date after he moves away? Shit, how I miss him!
I’m reading a poolside book (aka, the equivalent of People magazine reading) called “Mr. Maybe” by Jane Green. I haven’t finished, but she describes my relationship with Dr. E to a T. Sex & companionship with no commitment. As is the case with me, a bit easier said than done.
I miss him but dammit I don’t want to. He’s not “The One” so I should just take it casually. I want to, but he’s got me addicted. No mas, no mas. I don’t want to think about him anymore. Blah!
Soooooo……
One of the husbands at the party said I need a sugar daddy. I completely agree. I need distracting. Someone new. Will fuck for shoes.**
The girls decided they were going to have another clothing swap party. Everyone cleans out their closets and they pick and choose what they want. We did it last year and had so much fun. The hostess decided that she’d get a jump on the party and a bunch of us went up to raid her closet of shoes. She’s a total Goddess. Versace, Jimmy Choo, Gucci. Amazing shoes. Unfortunately, her foot was a bit too small for me, but Poppy and Cyndi and my sister cleaned up. Lots of come fuck me pumps, so I guess someone had some fun after the party.
I reminded the girls that they should invite their friends WHO ACTUALLY HAVE AN ASS to the swap party. Just for once I’d like to walk away with something other than a purse. (Ok, I’m not J Lo, but I’m not Way Lo either. I actually have a little junk in my trunk, but it’s all good).
Sugar Daddy postion: Now accepting applications……
**the hostess’s husband takes this literally. He says she trades “favors” for shoes/clothes. Damn, I completely dig sex, so if that were an option for me, I’d be buying a new pair of shoes every day. Yippee, Neiman Marcus, here I come. Literally.
P.S. Thanks Jesster for your kind message. I think the cry room has our name on it too.
P.S.S. Hang in there Aimee. A liar is a liar is a liar.
God is still stalking me
I know that Dude surely is testing me. I should have known it was going to be hard when Zoë wouldn’t let me put her ponytails in her hair. She’s such a little cranky butt in the mornings. I hate to wake her when she’s not ready. She woke up early on Sunday and we watched cartoons for a bit.
Getting her ready takes forever. "Don't touch me. I want to sleep. Get away from me." This is not the words of a teenager, but a three year old. Oh joy. What do I have to look forward to?
We get to church. Zoë’s actually looking most adorable. She seems in a pretty good mood. We had discussed church. She was going to be a good girl and read her books and ZIP it. ZIP it. ZZZZZZZ. I told her to make sure she was nice and quiet so she could hear God, and also so she could go to her cousin’s birthday party later on.
It starts off bad. How I end up sitting next to the most child-hating bitches every time is beyond me. Zoë wanted to hold the song book. No, make that books. She had two. They are about 2 inches thick. Freaking Catholics. Sitting, standing, kneeling… all the while, Zoë is laying, crawling, kicking and standing on the pew (non-Catholics, that’s a bench).
She accidentally kicks the bitch. Great. Just typical three year old behavior. The bitty next to me is giving me the evil eye, like I can control my child. Well I can’t. She’s three. They are not built for long-term sitting, much less silence. So fuck you.
Then we have to go potty. Ok. We made it through that trek. The moment of truth: Communion. I go up to receive communion, the woman pats Zoë on the head and gives her a blessing. I skip the wine, because it’s weird that everyone drinks out of the same cup. Too many germs for me. Well then Zoë screams, “I want some JUICE!” Over and over, very loudly.
I go back to grab our stuff so we can head to the “Cry room.” (self explanatory) She lays down on the pew. Zoë’s kicking and screaming. Pulling the limp-body protest bit. She’s loud. “I want SOME! I WANT SOME JUICE.” I want to die at this point. There are near tears in my eyes and I’m praying to God to make her stop. I’m half holding her, half nearly dropping her. She kicks me in the face. Yea, I love God. Go God!
We get in the cry room and she’s still screaming, “I want to go to church. I’m finished. I’m done now. I want to be good.” Over and over. I feel like complete shit. Everyone’s giving me the pity look. Someone actually say's she's sorry as they leave the room. Nice. She’s on the floor. Enough of that. Crying big time now. I finally grab her and beeline out to our car. She’s screaming and crying still.
I sit in the front seat of our car with her. I start crying. Yeah, I suck. I’m a dumbass. I wonder why I’m even trying to take her with me to church.
My mom always took us. Seven of us. Seven kids all two years apart. A brood. We never sat in the cry room. We used to take up the entire pew. She said families should go to church together. Kids are a part of the church, and if they don’t go, they never learn how to act.
I know I could take her to the daycare. But she’s already in daycare all week for 10-11 hours a day. I want Zoë with me in church. I want to hold her and listen to what the priest is saying and to hear the singing and I want Zoë to enjoy our quiet time together. This is the only time when we aren’t rushing off to go somewhere. School. Work. Babysitting. More school. Grocery store. It never ends.
She finally stops crying. She gives me a hug. My heart breaks for this child.
God knows she needs me, so why is he fucking making it so hard?
psych - I have a date with the under 3 crowd tonight!
Babysitting so that my sister (sister #1) can have some fun with her Bunko group. (if you don't know bunko, look it up. Fun dice game). They are having a girl’s spa night. I wish I had some girlfriends to do that with.
I'm not sure if my sister will be paying me. I hope so, but I'm thinking not. We are hosting our Italian Feast night for our supper club tomorrow night. She made 2 different lasagnas and I made nothing. So I'm thinking she's expecting that the babysitting counts for my share of the food, booze, etc.
She's probably right, but I sure do like when I get paid. It's hard to watch 2 three year olds and an 8 month old. I deserve combat pay. But supper club is usually pretty expensive, so slave labor it is.
Supper club. It was a little dinner party club started by my sister's friend Poppy. Poppy is a true Southern belle. She plays by The Rules. Beautiful blonde, married to a good-ol-good-ol boy, Arkansas lawyer. She’s a junior leaguer, with two beautiful blonde little girls and a huge southern-style mansion in a major trendy/expensive part of town. Vail or South Beach? Vail or South Beach? Oh, heck. Let’s go to both.
We had our last supper club at their house. It's gigantic. My apartment could fit in their living room. It looks like a New Orleans house of ill repute. Red dining room with gold overlay. HUGE chandelier in the front hallway. Dramatic spiral staircase and a wrap around front and back porch with big gas lanterns. Their pantry is the size of my kitchen and dining room. They have a guest house and Poppy does custom framing there. It's a nice life .
Supper club has expanded. It started off with six couples hosting dinner parties. The second year, they voted to add six additional couples. My ex and I were extended the invitation by my sister. I usually went alone. He didn't go that often. More than just a fish out of water.
Every other month, one couple provides the main dish and the alcohol. Each of the guest couples are to bring potluck dishes. The host couple assigns the specific dish. Bring garlic mashed potatoes, fruit with prosciutto, green salads, etc. The best usually is dessert: One chocolate and a non-chocolate dessert. They all go crazy with dessert.
The dinners are very elaborate. Sometimes we have themes and dress up. It's rather fun.
I brought Dr. E to the last one at Poppy's. It was a crawfish boil. He was a good sport as he was a bit under the weather. He said he went because he knew how much I wanted him to go. He had never seen crawfish and was fascinated with the whole cooking process. Kill ‘em with salt water, boil ‘em, shuck ‘em. It was all a little too dirty for my tastes. I stuck to the shrimp. We ate standing up around this big wooden table with a two holes in the middle that had big trash cans underneath. Beer, crawfish, and key lime pie. It was sinful, but Dr. E just nibbled. Poor guy had a fever.
The couples all checked him out. He was an outsider. My first date (that didn't stand me up) since my ex and I split. I got the major third degree. Where did you meet him? What does he do? Are y'all serious? I felt some pressure, so I'm sure Dr. E was feeling a little heat too. If he was, he didn’t show it. I was loving him for it.
These couples are all yuppies. Yuppier than yuppie. Almost all are under 45. More than a few own million dollar homes. Most are lawyers, some doctors, but the rest are in the oil bidness. They survived Enron, Dynegy, Reliant. They all are incredibly sweet. It’s funny, but they are all extremely nice. I could say they are all nice for rich people, but they really are all just genuinely nice. I like supper club, but I’m so out of my league here. My sister says they all adore me. Someone has to be the goofball.
I think I threw them off a bit last month though. Going from being married to a building engineer (aka locksmith/cable guy) to showing up with a heart surgeon. But see, I jinxed it. He’s moving away. (insert phrase “I suck” here).
Now I have to show up. Dateless. I’m the only single one. I’m ALWAYS the only single one. Their lives are too good to mess up. But even if they divorced, the women are equally as intelligent and able to have a much better life than me. Lawyers, doctors, people with career paths. I collect a paycheck. I read about toxic waste.
Sometimes it bothers me to park my Taurus among the Mercedes, BMWs and Lexus’. Sometimes I hate not having a husband. Not seeing a ring on my finger. Living in a tiny apartment and not ever going on vacation.
But then I think back to my ex. It wasn’t worth it. I’m too hard on myself to live with. I expect too much because that’s how my family was. My father and brothers and brothers-in-law have set some high standards for me when it comes to marriage and relationships. They are good guys and I hooked up with a not good guy. I’m not even sure if there is one out there for me, so I’m not wanting to even look anymore.
But for now, I’ll live vicariously through my supper club sisters.
I love them. They are an extension of my own sister. Kind, beautiful, caring, intelligent. You can’t ask for more than that.
And damn, they sure can cook!
sitting on the can
something drips onto my leg
fucking ceiling leaks
niceeeeeeeeee
Goddamn, good morning!
----------------------
Yeah, I miss him. He once told me this story about how the Chief of Surgery used to come into a dead silent operating room for early morning surgeries and say "Goddamn, good morning!"
I try to remember this every morning when I wake up. That it is a Goddamn good morning because I'm alive. Zoë’s alive. I have a job. I have a family that loves me. I have a roof over my head (albeit a leaky one... I'm thinking it's my neighbor's toilet... ewwww). And we have food to eat, etc, etc, etc.
Seems as if there's always something to whine about though. Lately it’s Dr. E. I know I won't hear from him. Out of sight out of mind with him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder for me. He's in BFE (and yeah, the E really is Egypt for once).
This time, it's HIM that sucks. But I miss his suckyness.
---------------------------
Miss Patsy (not really a Miss, but they are all deemed Miss Something), one of the teachers that worked at Zoë’s daycare called me last night. She is like Mary Lou Retton on crack. Always happy, smiling. The kids love her. She always wears a skirt and likes hats. She quit a week ago and didn't really get to say goodbye or anything. She said she had had enough of that place and the directors. She went to work for her former boss. Just called to warn me about all the bad stuff that goes on at Zoë’s school.
I had to tell her to shut up.
I have more than enough guilt about Zoë going to daycare without being paranoid that they are beating her or anything. It’s your worst nightmare. Miss Patsy was saying they don't let them have seconds of food, make them drink tap water when they are dying of thirst from being out in the heat, and that don't let them have juice or extra snacks.
(Since diabetes runs in my family, I really don't like her to drink juice. She eats fruit. And we drink tap water at home. They are only outside for like 20 minutes at a time anyway.)
I finally told her to zip it. I couldn’t hear anymore.
I have no option but to take her to some sort of school, and there are no indications that she’s unhappy or mistreated. She doesn’t freak out going to school. She doesn’t misbehave any more than any other 3 year old does. She sings songs, knows some Spanish, knows her alphabet/colors/numbers. And she runs up and hugs all her teachers. Often. She even includes them all (and doesn’t let me miss even one) when we say our nightly prayers.
Miss Patsy tried to tell me more, but I kept cutting her off. Finally, I told Miss Patsy that if she really had complaints to take them to the state. Report the school. But I couldn’t handle what she was saying. This is the second school Zoë has attended. My baby has enough turmoil with her dad moving out, and that I don’t have the heart to pull her from her school as well.
I’ve worked in the corporate world for 15 years. There have been shit storms at every company I’ve ever worked. The grass isn’t always greener. Usually some are just less full of weeds.
Daycares are no different. They are completely regulated by the state and some of the rules are just plain dumbass. (That’s Texas for you). I’m actually glad big brother is watching, but it sometimes prevents a Director from doing things the way they really want. This is why they aren’t all Lala Land. But it’s also why they all aren’t using bleach in their koolaid.
I’m happy with her school. She’s happy there, and that’s all that matters.
So fucking SHUT IT Miss Patsy.
---------------------
Random things that are making me grouchy:
I am supposed to be off tomorrow, but I’m working because I need the money.
I want to go see the Gypsy Kings Saturday night, but we have supper club.
I am too full of bow-tie pasta with meat sauce. Someone get me a bucket.
I want to take a nap, but have too much work to do.
I’d like to get laid, but have no takers right now.
I think my laptop is on its last leg. It’s now making grinding noises. It’s doomed for death.
I had to talk to Zoë’s Assistant Director this morning and was late. She is the antichrist of tact.
Zoë’s dad owes me nearly $200. I’ll never see it.
My leaky pee pee ceiling grossness. (see above)
Dr. E is still …. Oh fuckit, nevermind.
Random things that are making me happy:
I bought my Earthday ticket. I now get to be one of 10,000+ to see Lisa Marie Presley.
I’m not completely out of money. Not rich, but not yet bouncing checks. Only one week till payday.
I’m listening to my favorite Austin radio station.
I’m not completely fucking up my job. (just a little, but not completely)
I still like the Bo Deans.
I’m kind of looking forward to going to church.
I’m not pregnant. But my sister is.
I secretly went to happy hour yesterday and had two margaritas.
I had my transmission fluid flushed.
I love my family. My Zoë.
My pedicure still looks really good
I’m still alive. GODDAMN GOOD MORNING!
Nostalgia tonight. Skip if you are cynical.
Mom making homemade pinatas for our birthdays. She'd wrap a balloon with paper mache and then use tissue paper to decorate. They always looked so much better than the kind you see now in the store.
Mom drawing cowboys, mermaids, astronauts on a poster board. She'd cut out the face and then take polaroids of us making silly faces.
Watching the moose cross our back yard in Alaska. Jumping on our neighbors waterbed. Looking over his stuffed bears and mooseheads. Sitting in his corvette. He was a pilot.
Staying up late talking to my sisters when we were supposed to be sleeping. Making a canope around our beds with toilet paper. Hanging from floor to ceiling.... long strips of toilet paper.
Singing the constipation song that we made up about my brother when he was sick. "Constipation, you rule the nation. With your constipation."
Our housekeeper that came once a week. Juanita. She chewed tobacco.
Swinging on our willow tree swing. Climbing to the top.
Talking about periods with Shelby in 4th grade. I didn't know what she was talking about. She said it was blood that came out of your cooter (so South Carolina-esk). I asked my mom about it and she told me that it was more like a drippy faucet then a gushing hose. Thank God for analogies.
Snow mobiling with my dad. We had a trailer behind it and one time we flipped over. It was the only time I've ever gotten a bloody nose.
Girl scouting.
Summer trips in the car. Riding backwards in the station wagon. Minnesota. Missouri. Florida. California. Nearly every state in the U.S.
Fake curse words. Watha = bitch. Boarwab = butthole of america, red, white and blue.
Mrs. Mims. 7th grade. She sang the Ave Maria like an opera singer. I thought she was about 100 years old. I bet she was only about 38.
Playing cards with my Grandma J. She could shuffle like a blackjack dealer.
Giving my other grandmother (did not call her grandma) back rubs. She had cancer and I remember helping her get dressed. Near the end, she smoked dope at our house during Christmas. Her skin was yellowed from a carrot juice diet thing.
Going to my cousins in Minnesota. Their house was haunted and someone wrote a book about it. We set up our own haunted houses in the basement. We also set traps up using pool balls, and gallon mayonaise jars to catch mice. My mom saw the ghost. She said it sat on the end of her bed and bounced up and down. She thought it was my cousins.
Swimming in my grandmothers pool in California. She drove a big cadillac. The based the movie Mame on one of her best friends. My grandmother looked like her. She wore Joy all the time and never messed up her hair. She had a 6 carat diamond she never took off. I look like her.
Going to the movies with my mom. Escape From Witch Mountain. The Man From Snowy River.
Seeing Air Force doctors. They sucked. One peeled a scab off my leg. My mother nearly fainted, and I have the hugest scars on my foot from that.
Thinking we only bumped heads. Sis #1 and I collided during a game. My teeth went into her forehead. She got some major stitches and I fractured 4 teeth. I never knew that you could get a cast on your teeth.
Wearing my purple velour Chic bell bottom hip huggers. I wore them all the time. I stopped wearing them when I left them out by the pool and a slug crawled on them.
Playing Pong on my dad's Radio Shack TRS 80. Later we played Leisure Suit Larry.
Having a crush on Stephen Hussey in 7th grade. I just found out he died recently. I never told anyone I thought he was cute.
Mrs. Doppelfield. Kindergarden or 1st grade. Alaska. Learning the alphabet in sign language. Later we used it in church to talk to each other.
Accidently hitting brother #2 in the head with a baseball bat. He now has 4 or 5 major scars on his face. It adds some serious charm.
Hot wheels loop the loops.
Picking rhubarb for my mom. She made pies for my dad.
Camping in Alaska with my family. My Grandma J would bring her cards.
Changing diapers. Second kid out of seven, I could change them when I was 5.
Playing nun/orphan with Brother #1. He was a baby. I'd dress him in rags, put him in a laundry basket and "discover" him on the front porch. I'd wear a blanket on my head like a nun. I'd take my brother in and dress him up in his Easter suit. I don't think he's ever recovered from this.
Drinking lots of grape koolaid. The kind you mix with sugar.
Sucking my thumb.
Evil Kenevil. Star Wars toys. Sharing a bathroom and stepping on their Star Wars toys in the tub.
Going to minor league baseball and hockey games in Alaska with my dad. Chewing the foot long bubble gum.
Playing in our red playhouse. We played school and I was always the teacher.
Sailing with my dad on his catamaran.
Going to the library every Saturday with my mom. Being in a play called Free to be You and Me. I recited the poem My Dog is a Plumber.
Ice cream men who weren't creepy.
Building sandcastles and making ice forts. Sledding.
Making real Christmas cookies from scratch. The kind that you roll out the dough, cut with shapes, and put sprinkles on.
Homework. Memorizing bible passages. Making molecule pizzas and DNA with pipe cleaners. Family trees and stories of the Nile. Science Fairs.
Playing "bulldozer" with my mom in her bed on Saturdays.
Singing to Grease records with my best friend Madeline. Her family was from Switzerland and owned the biggest house I've ever seen. Babysitting her brother Dominic and sister Gunny.
Good. Bad. They are all lovely. These are all the things I wish to share with my daughter. I wonder what she thinks all day. I wonder what her life is like.
I like that she sings to herself in the tub.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ok, if you all feel generous, maybe I can put my kid through college (or at least buy her some damn shoes).
http://www.cafeshops.com/cp/store.aspx?s=zoerocks
or try
http://www.cafeshops.com/zoerocks
I mean, everyone needs a lunchbox!
Still being stalked by God
Zoe was much better last night. We cooked squash aka "squashies" We slept well.
I completely miss Dr. E. I don't think I'll hear from him. And that fact blows.
Work is lame. Lamer than lame. I cleaned my desk.
I didn't see the cute guy at church. I think I might try to stalk him.
Zoe learned some weather song. I couldn't tell what the fuck she was singing except "What's the weather, is it sunny, is it pouring?" I'm going to ask her teacher so we can sing it.
Still not speaking with gaythongbungholio Bartholomew. This makes me happy.
Speaking with sis #2. This also makes me happy.
I ate canned ravioli for lunch. I forgot that they were kind of good.
Zoe called my mom (momo G) and sang her this cute Jesus song for Mother's Day. She remembered it from the retreat. I was very impressed with my child. So was my mom.
I'm filling out an application for Extreme Makeover for my ex husband. He has about $20K in dental work & needs his nose fixed so he can breathe better (bad basketball accident). I bet he would be a much nicer person if he could actually smile and breathe once in a while.
Zoe needs new shoes that she won't get.
I'm going to an Earthday festival Memorial Day weekend... Kelly Clarkson, Jewel, L.M. Presley... it's lame, but fun at the same time.
I want to go home. I'm tired of working. But you already knew that.
I think I want to teach school. I like kids better than grownups. At least with kids you know they will act obnoxious. Grownups do it when you least suspect it.
And yes, I still suck. Someone is trying to tell me something.
This is all that is in my head right now. I have some stories to tell, but don't feel like sharing yet.
---------------------------
L(space)D haiku hour:
I miss my mother
She can make doughnuts from scratch
I want to move home
oldlady, tell us a story
Sunday
Clothes – washed ‘em
Church – went, sweated – it was hot, but *yawn,* no offense God. That priest is very uninspiring.
Groceries – bought ‘em, cooked ‘em
Kid – fed her, clothed her, changed her – all times three… no, clothes times four – church dress. She looked cute.
Best present I got for Mother’s Day. My brother in law (sis #2) watched Zoë, and sis #2 and I saw The Mighty Wind. I knew it wasn’t going to be that good, but went just to go somefuckingwhere.
Zoë made me a tissue / clothes pin butterfly. I love it.
Just another Sunday in the life of a single mom.
--------------------------------
The guiltiest I always feel is when Zoë is sick and I have to take her to school. I only get 20 hours of sick leave. I used that within two months of receiving the hours. I am negative on my vacation time from Zoë’s stomach flu last year. So here I am. At work. Thinking about my child.
Kids at daycare just get sick. Working parents (most of us) can’t afford to stay home with every little cold. Therefore, all of our children pass around such nastiness to one another on a regular basis. But it makes you feel like the shittiest parent in the world to dope your child up and bring her to school when she feels bad.
And you know what? Your boss doesn’t fucking care. They just want you at work. Do the job. No drama. They wish for the employee who has no life. They don’t ever want to hear about it. Just fucking show up and do your work. I know this.
I used to be a boss. I supervised 42 secretaries. Like being the keeper of a hen house. BUT I WAS NEVER ONE OF THOSE BOSSES! Where I worked, you couldn’t use your sick leave for your kids/spouse. It was only to be used if you were sick. So I had a code with my secretary moms. If their kids were sick, I told them to say “I’m sick and my child is sick too.” I felt it was my responsibility not to make them feel guilty about missing work. I mean, they feel bad enough about their kids. It was my job to cover for them. Several times I actually filled in for them. I was a good boss. I’m glad not to be a boss anymore. It sucked.
My bosses are butts. Most of the time they don’t even say hello. Just do the work fuck you. I don’t want to have to tell them about Zoë being sick, but I want to go. I need to go. She was really feeling bad.
She was dragging this morning. Woke up every hour on the hour last night with congestion. She’s just plain full of snot and no amount of decongestants will make it go away sometimes.
We watched “Drumline” last night. Twice. Talk about your guilty pleasures. She loved the music. I love marching bands, especially these. They were cool and funky.
I asked her what she wanted to be when she grows up. She said “a princess and a queen.” Looks like someone is going to go visit NASA this summer. I hate Barbie and fairy princesses. How did I end up with such a girly girl?
I want to be with her. I don’t want to be working (ok, stop laughing, I know I never want to be working…) Today, all I can think about is my little girl, snottily snoring. Poor thing.
I feel like the worst mother on the face of the planet.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Full of steak and corn
Nice PM from Dan Telfer
He is right. Don't fight
Good thing. I think I've fought enough with my ex to never ever want to fight again. Usually I duck and hide. I have a mean right jab though. Sorry, I know. I even annoy myself.
----------------------------
I'm a writer with no place to write. Not brave enough or knowledgeable enough to go sell my stuff anywhere. Don't necessarily know if anyone would want to buy it anyway.
I do write some really dirty poetry. Most of which will not be posted as it's really boring to read about smut all the time.
I don't know what would happen if I didn't have my job and concentrated on writing full time. I actually have an English Writing degree. Not literature, but writing specific. Great program at Saint Edwards in Austin. If you haven't noticed (I'm sure you have) I'm lazy in my grammar. Only B I got in my major. (um, yeah, all the rest A's... I'm a nerdbag). But a writer nonetheless. Ergo, I love all the creative types here.
I know I'm online way too much. At work. Even on a busiest of busy days like today (I sent out 4 copies of a 700 page document to the EPA), I found time to read about 12 journals and put in my lame two cents into some strange threads. Granted, I worked until nearly 8:35pm. I'm a multi-tasker. Most of the time I'm a great editor and am really organized. A Slacker, but can still fake it enough to fucking crank out the work.
At home. I get my Zoe. Take her home. We cook together. She likes to stir and pour. She's starved, so I cook and distract her by kitchen dancing. We blast some Texasy music or some Zydeco and dance in my tiny kitchen. (picture me holding her, ballroom dance style while she hangs on me like a monkey) Step, twist, turn, dip. We eat and then bathtime. We read about 4 books (yeah, I Mommy read using different voices), then she wants to lay on my arm. Sometimes she stalls, tosses and turns, but other times like tonight she's out in about five minutes.
Then, it's mommy time. When Dr. E is in town, he calls, sometimes comes over and we have fun.
When Dr. E is gone, I turn on my computer. (It's a laptop, so I'm in bed right now. You're in bed with me. OMG, I'm swinging!!!) Obviously he's been gone quite a bit because I find myself on nearly night. Like I was before I met him. Just this time, I'm doing more reading than chatting. I guess I had my fill of getting hit on by married men and pervs all night.
[aside, but not aside... this entire thread is an aside]
Dr. E is on his way to NY. I finally reached him. Let's say it together: Yes, I suck! He had a horrible week last week. Went into a bit of detail, but basically got fed up and ran. He left Sunday. Then four hours before I talked to him, well, he decided to go to Egypt for a while. Said he'd be back in June. I guess I better get used to the separation. It was awesome when he was here, but he's gone for the next three years regardless. Like I said. Someone is trying to tell me something.
[back]
I don't know why I didn't pursue writing. I'm an excellent technical writer. I give great research. I'm sometimes and sometimes not creative. And I used to write pretty decent magazine articles. I never took journalism though. It seemed like too much stress. I can't handle reality. Obviously, because I suck at it.
I guess it's the same as my painting. I am pretty creative there too. But if I had to do it for a living, I'm not sure if I could live. Zoe's playroom is full of my acrylics. It's crazy and bright. Our bedroom is girly and pasteled.
My mom is a much better painter, but she has been a homemaker for 37 years now. I'm a good painter, but I'd much rather be a homemaker. I know for a fact, this will not happen unless I win the lottery. Considering I actually met a Texas lottery winner at my retreat, I think my odds of throwing a penny from the top of the Empire State building into a cup on the street in front of it are better than me winning any big money.
(that chick was the coolest chick there. I'm glad she won the money, but it sucks because I'd like to be her friend as she was hella cool, but now, I'm sure she'd be too suspicious of my intentions. It happens)
So the long and the short of it, this is where it ends. This is the dump for all of my creativity, the stories stuck in my head, the memories of my child, my family, of my husband, and the wandering thread that is my life.
Just like me... well, sometimes it sucks!
Enough.
I accept and offer the olive branch back to you, Chastain. If she'd accept, I'd offer... oh nevermind. I still suck.
with much love and apologies to the almightly, and ever so sexy, Queen Haiku, L(space)D
-----------------------------
Chastain
Go ahead and swing
Hey, you're all good in my book
Just don't invite me
jaissasgirl
For fuck's sake, ENOUGH!
You are the blackest kettle
Get the fuck off me
Who are you to judge?
You don't know me from Adam
Look in a mirror
Lori Sunfuckingshine
Say what you want, girl
We can all have opinions
Will you marry me?
Deb_u_taunt2003
Quit goofing at work
If I had some privacy
I'd argue circles
You hate to argue
Will you please shut the fuck up?
I've had enough jerks
My asshole ex sucked
All I want to do is write
I like L Sunshine
No more drama here
That Mary J. Blige is right
Except my tall tales
My sister cooked steak
Yet I am finishing work
And I miss Zoe
So that's enough now
I'm too old to fuck with this
Still love IRC
Hope I don't get kicked, but it was nice knowing you all if I do. (would that mean I can't read journals anymore either?)
Oh for fuck's sake. Go home, Deb
-----------------------
oh, and by the way... the name...
Deb_u_taunt2003
Deb taunts
Deb kickboxes so she is now taunt
Deb had a jackass husband, is single, and looks forward to my new life:
Main Entry: deb·u·tante
Pronunciation: 'de-byu-"tänt
Function: noun
Etymology: French débutante, feminine of débutant
Date: 1801
: DEBUTANT; especially : a young woman making her formal entrance into society
so cheers!
I'm bitchy, but I'm not a bitch. And yes, I really have read all of your journals. Don't test me, but I have.
-----------------------
Still no word from the Good Doctor. I've been too busy today to notice.
-----------------------
God is stalking me…
And I can't seem to finish a damn story.
Ok, I’m off. I don’t feel clever or funny. I have been feeling really weird. I’m still all high on the Lord and everything, but I’m just not myself yet. Weirdness with Dr. Egypt. I know. Someone is telling me something.
There was this guy at my church. When I first saw him I felt like that was the man I am supposed to be with… like forever… eeks. He was a big, good looking, stocky guy, taller than me (I’m 5’11), not really my type, but had beautiful eyes and a wonderful accent. Sounded like from Mexico, but I’m not sure. Like Déjà vu, but was this Dejesus vu?
He met me and my mother at my car. I was busy drawing the 9th map of the day for my mom. Said he was there to carry my luggage into the church gym. I was liking this already. Would there be room service?
He was patient and kind. I think his name was Antonio. Mmmmm, Antonio. We had to wait over an hour (the busses never showed). I kept spotting him. Every time I’d see him, he’d smile at me like he had this secret. I’m sure it was related to the fact that he had been on one of these retreats and knew what was in store for me. The dude was practically glowing.
I thought about him a few times during the weekend. I wondered if he was married, how old he was, what did he do, etc.
After the retreat, we had mass on Sunday. The 50 ladies from the retreat were the choir. I actually sang, and the church didn’t even burn to the ground.
[aside]
But I lip synched all weekend because with all that fucking singing (you have to sing before every event. I’m surprised you didn’t have to sing when you had to go to the can.) I knew I’d completely lose my voice if I really sang. I pulled a Milli Vanilli. (I usually only sing for Zoë.) Believe it or not, my grandmother was an opera singer and my grandfather wrote songs for Warner Brothers. He wrote the Connecticut state song & had a song that was sung by Elvis, Nat King Cole, Doris Day and that has been used in three Woody Allen movies. My mother has an incredible voice. So why is my voice so craptacular?
Anyway, while I was in the choir, I was wondering about that guy. I looked around a bit to see if he was one of the retreatants’ husbands or something (some of the guys were.) Finally, I spotted him in the very very back of the church. He was standing next to this pretty Hispanic woman. He stood there for a bit, then started walking over to where the choir was in the front. He sat down. By himself. I was looking at him and he caught me. He smiled. Big smile.
After mass, we had a lunch reception for our families. I saw him in there. He was on the phone, then talking to some of the other women. My ex had picked up Zoë that morning to take her to the park.
[2nd aside]
This was the low point of my weekend. On Saturday night our families were invited to the chapel. We didn’t know about this. My parents came there and they brought my Zoë. I carried her around and danced and sang for about 10 minutes. She asked if I had to go back to work. That was so not cool. I told her I’d see her the next day. We went out and I sobbed. I haven't cried that hard in over 10 years. I was really looking forward to seeing her at 12:30 mass the next day. Then I saw she wasn’t there. I missed her so much. But was grateful that my parents were there. My ex finally brought her to the reception though and she wouldn’t let me put her down. Blah, blah, blah....
Sooooo…
We all went around meeting each others families. My mom was starved and we were about to leave. Antonio actually came up to me right as I was walking out and was asking about my weekend. I nearly fainted.
We had a five minute conversation, and I can’t remember a thing he said.
I don't know what else to say about this.
Geez. Reading some of these is like being back in high school. (and I've been reading for a long long time... just stayed quiet till lately)
I just love people who say not to be judgmental and then call names.
stones... here they come... *duck and cover*
Oh well. Call me Pollyanna then. I'm glad I'm older than most. (this is why I love Oldlady).
I'm also so glad I'm popular. I am the next Ali Davis. Don't you know that? I've calculated my hits ratio down to the 38th decimal.
I took out a billboard in Times Square that advertises a link to my ever so fascinating journal. I'm so glad that you love me, you really really love me!
I'm am so HUGE!!! Take out some more broadbandwidthswitcherserverlengths.
Now I just wish I had titled my journal something more salacious. I'm sure my hit ratio would be tenfold.
Ok, I still suck. Let me have it. I'm a newbie.
Read above.
*like I care*
[edit] I'm glad I get myself. Someone has to..... you're so vain. I guess you thought this song was .... oh, nevermind. Bwahahaha
An old poem found on my crap(lap)top
------------------------------
Z baby
Talking in her sleep
so much like her father
gentle and sweet
yet often cold beneath
mad so she hits me
I cringe at the similarity
yet I see me too
I see my love
my heartbeat
my sassy
my smile
my temper
my creativity
fighting her sleep
soft and sweet
wild child
wild child
I adore you
------------
I read the entry about my ex, Zoe's dad. Gosh I feel sorry for him. What a stranger to me.
Cheating wasn't the only reason I left him. I forgave him, not forgetting, and we were to be "roommates" for our daughter sake.
I don't remember how this argument started. I remember seeing beer cans. Six to seven to eight, all over the living room. It was late, I had finally gotten Zoe to sleep. I came out and deb-bitched at him. Bitched at his predictability. Drink up all night, watch sports, watch the re-sports on ESPN, watch whatever and drink until 3 or 4 or 5am.
I felt like a single mom even then. Slept with my child. Nursed her, fed her, bathed her. Took her to daycare and back. Weekends were spent at the park, at the mall, running errands, playing. Me and Z, Z and me.
He was always too hungover to do anything with us. Slept until 1 or 2pm. Or if we woke him to go out with us he was Oscar the Grouch to the 200th power. I'd rather be alone to smile and be smiled at.
He was sitting on the floor. I said some mean, bitchy Deb thing and he grabbed my ankle, nearly sending me to the floor. I kicked him. He stood up and drunk punched me in the mouth. The start of the first and last time this man would hit me.
This was the end.
I remember my hand slapping him in the face. Hard. It wasn't a conscious decision, it just was a reaction. I felt my lip swelling immediately.
He shoved me down on the couch and started to choke me with his forearm on top of my neck. The look on his face was fiercesome. The end, the end. I bit him as hard as I could. I bit and bit and I tasted blood but I don't know if it was from my lip or his hand. I didn't care and bit him harder.
He drew back. He punched me in the eye. Again and again. I kicked him as hard as I could. He fell to the floor and I ran.
I couldn't see, but still ran. I don't know how I got out of the house, but I did, keys in my hand. Zoe crying. I remember hearing her cry and knew that I had to get out. Even if it meant leaving her. I thought he was going to kill me. I could not let him do that. She needed me. I am all she had.
I drove and drove, not knowing what to do. It was the middle of the night and I didn't want to bother my sisters. They had kids, they had lives and they had no drama. I drove to the local fat Texas sheriff's office. They escorted me back. Ready to wifebeater react. They asked me if he had a gun. No. They made him go downstairs. I had Zoe. Finally. She stopped crying. And forever she had me.
They didn't take him away because I kicked him first and I bit him and drew blood. We were equally at fault. Uh huh. But one of us had to leave.
I took the out.
I packed an overnight bag. Grabbed a blanket and a few of Zoe's things. She didn't even look concerned. Me and Z, Z and me.
I drove. I didn't call anyone. I wanted to sleep and be safe. I checked myself into the Galleria Marriott. $100 a night. A safe house, of sorts.
I knew I couldn't afford it. But I had the need to have some normalcy. Something nice and not a seedy or not so seedy motel. Room service, hot shower and anonimity. I don't remember what name I used, but she and I knew it wasn't mine.
I remember the look on the desk clerk's face. Horror and shame. They were supposed to charge me for that night and the next. $200. But she knew. She didn't charge me for that night. She knew. Frightened, exhausted woman, bloody swollen lip, black eye. Beautiful, peaceful child in pajamas and no shoes on a cold night. So kind. They were all so kind.
We all knew from the tales of Tina Turner. She gave me one of the nicest rooms I have ever seen (and I've stayed at the Fairmont Chicago and various Four Seasons, but this was plush). God bless that woman. We got extra food from room service. It never showed up on my bill.
And yes, this was the end.
I knew that even if Jesus touched my husband personally, erased his sins, took his drink, made him faithful, and made him Saint Ex Husband, I would never let that man touch me again.
We slept and we were safe.
*happily single with z*
Shoutout back atcha, girl!
L (space) D you rock
You are the Queen of haikus
Bow down before her
I jinxed myself. Too much writing about my wonderful sex life. Well, I haven’t heard from Dr. E in nearly a week. He phoned the day I left for retreat, totally forgetting that I was leaving that night, said he wanted to see me and would miss me terribly, and fuck, I haven’t heard from him again.
I actually phoned his cell phone today. (yeah, yeah, I suck). I got this weird static reception. He said hello. Then I heard him say he was traveling? It kept breaking up. Called again and went directly into voicemail. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll call sooner than later. But I’m irritated about this.
This feels like the longest week ever. I’m missing Dr. E, I have a ton of work to do, I don’t feel like working (when do I ever feel like working?), Zoë has been super clingy and cranky, and Saturday feels way too far off. I want to talk to him, but I don’t know where the fuck he is. I’m hoping he’s not on his way to freaking Egypt.
Do they serve cheese with this whine?
--------------------
Tales from the weekend:
The first day of my retreat was excruciating. The day had started off with the death of my former boss. I had a shit work day. I was supposed to leave at 12, but instead was pushed to 2pm. I was walking to my car and dorked off the curb and twisted the hell out of my ankle. I then had a parent teacher conference where she told me that Zoë said fuck, twice. I don’t ever curse in front of her, but I’m sure it’s karma for being such a potty mouth myself.
I get to the church, and we wait in the gym for like an hour an a half. Only one or two people talk to me and I am completely feeling awkward, which I usually never do. I so wanted to go home. I see this cute guy, which sort of makes up for it (next post).
The buses no-show us. We ride in these cars to the retreat camp. It’s late and I’m pretty hungry (no time for lunch). We drive into this little hick town and turn down a dirt road towards the camp. It’s wooded and I all can think of is snakes, spiders, Jason or Freddy Kruger and shit. I’m expecting that we will be in rustic cabins like Girl Scout camp… fighting off cobwebs and hiking to use funky open holed toilets.
We drive in, and the camp was dark, but you could tell that it was beautiful. Man-made lakes and tropical flowers everywhere. I think someone was going for the Garden of Eden groove. The cabins were actually mini-apartments with a kitchen, living room and three bedrooms. It’s nicer than my apartment and I’m happy about this.
We eat dinner (bleck, mushy Subway sandwiches), but first we have to sing this awful and goofy prayer song. We learn that we will have to sing before every meal. *roll eyes*
Then we go do the lets meet everyone thing. Over an hour later, after listening to everyone blah, blah, blah about their kids/grandkids, we head toward the chapel. Singing. Votive lit pathway. Slow and slower than slow, like a funeral. I’m sure it’s after 10 or 11pm by this time. (They took our watches and cell phones, so I have no fucking clue.) My legs are swollen (too much fucking sitting), sore ankle, I’m tired as hell, and already I’m sick of singing. Someone please call me a fucking cab.
We get in the chapel. My head is pounding. I sit in the back because I’m cranky and don’t want to be social or sit next to anyone. It’s dark except for a few candles and I’m half asleep. They start re-enacting the Stations of the Cross. [non Catholics: these stations remind us of Jesus’ journey from condemnation to resurrection, yeah, yeah, I had to look it up.] Jesus carries the cross. Jesus falling. Jesus getting his ass whipped. I’m like, fuck, how many stations are there?
But it was spooky. This was the first time (I guess because now I am a mother), that I kind of got the sense of what Mary really went through as Jesus’ mother. She sacrificed his life because that’s what God told her to do. This was freaking me out. I don’t think it helped any that I was super exhausted and that we saw the lightning flashes through the windows behind the altar. Jesus dying, nailed to the cross. The skies light up. Jesus’ resurrection… it was like a movie. BOO!
I then get this heathen thought in my head of David Koresh as Jesus. It won't go away. I think of Zoe too much. I think of Earnest Borgnine eating a balony sandwich naked while sitting on the john (my typical mind clearing thought... see it did it for you too) I suck.
Finally, I’m assuming around midnight. They finish the 14th and final station. “Let us go in Peace.” I bum rush out of there and head toward my cabin. It’s humid, sticky and the air is completely still.
I go around this corner and a gush of cool wind blows on us. Several of us comment on it later that weekend. It added to the spooky feeling that God was there. The cold rain starts right as I’m in front of my cabin.
I’m determined that someone is trying to tell me something.
Regardless, I just want to sleep. I bragged earlier to y’all that I would sleep.
6am – they wake us up with fucking cowbells.
I was so hating God.
A total of 10 emails from my fucktard ex. I ignored the majority of them. He doesn't have the money for Zoe's daycare this week. So, I just won't be paying the majority of my utilities for this month. Here is the best one for your enjoyment:
Quote:
i know what i wrote you try and act like you all that and you are nothen but a fat ass and always will be looks like all your wt. came back like always start something and never finish where you going to go no where so you can be by mommy i know what i am you trying to be something you will never be small i know how old i am i am weak so you take care of it miss know it all i see all the men kicking your door down you had to go to egypt to get someone because any one else would not want your big ass lose 10 gain 20 sorry only thing for you cut your head off sorry
I replied (I have to write like I'm writing to a 10 year old, so it's not my best insults):
Quote:
You are a stupid fuckhead. You can call me all the names you want. It so doesn't hurt my feelings. It makes me laugh. It just makes me feel sorry for you that you are such a small, insignificant, bitter and sad person.
Whenever you get mad, all you start to do is to call me a fatass. It is so junior high. You might as well stop because it doesn't hurt my feelings one bit. Go ahead and call me fat. That’s your opinion. I'd rather be a 600 pound monkey than a bitter, negative, drug-addicted, bigot.
There are plenty men in my life. I just choose not to tell you about any of them because you are such a lame and jealous person. You have to go and call them names and then boo hoo... I’m sorry I broke up my marriage. I can't afford my rent. I'll always love you. blah, blah, blah. Save it for your momma.
I think you are bi-polar. You need to be on medication.
Signed,
The fat bitch that doesn't care what the hell you say. All I want is the check for Zoë’s daycare paid every other week. If you don't have it, it's on your head you weak ass motherfucker. I'll survive. I survive. I'm glad that I will.
He called me and I kept hanging up. I don't have time for this shit.
I don't think I'm going to have enough time this afternoon [yeah, work is piled up] to post all the tales from my church retreat experience. All I can say is that I wish I had access to a computer this weekend. There were so many experiences that I wanted to write about before I forgot them.
Most of all....
1. No, I'm not becoming a nun (even though they have a picture of me in a nun’s habit…. don’t ask)
2. Yes, I'm going to start going back to church (I think about 6 women are going to call me every Sunday morning)
3. I want to go on another one. Yeah, yeah. I’m all high for the Lord now.
(Never thought you'd see #'s 2 and 3, did you? Lightning will strike close soon.)
Well I had a nice time. Not as relaxing as I wanted to because they don't let you fucking sleep and even go so far as to wake you up with this damn cow bell in your room (and no, I'm not going to stop cursing...it's part of my charm, no? I'll just say like 3,000 Hail Mary’s & then it's all good). But I met some really fun ladies. It was like having 70 mothers around. And I didn’t have to cook or clean all weekend. Now that’s heaven sent.
Speaking of Hail Mary’s and repentance...
I had to attend confession for the first time in... well, shhhhh…. You have to be quiet, but I'll let you in on my little session:
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been 27 years since my last confession."
"OH MY GOD!" (great. A Catholic priest from India takes the name of the Lord in vain during my confession. [cool accent, so imagine it with an Indian accent…kind of like he’s asking a question] See, so I just really am going to hell now.)
Yes, I haven't been to confession since 1976. Fourth grade. Saint Andrew’s. I really don't know why, but I haven't ever really wanted to go. It has always kind of skeeved me out. That and the fact that I have sex out of marriage and am not really all that sorry about it. Ok, well with Dr. E, I’m not at all sorry about it. I didn't have much of a choice this past weekend though as I was surrounded by major holy rollers.
They gave us a list of questions. Like a reminder of the 10 Commandments, to help us figure out what we were going to confess. After the shock of the OMG comment from the priest, I said, “Here,” and handed him the entire list. [thou shalt not kill was in there for killing bugs and such… they counted that too.] “I think that during the past 27 years I have pretty much covered them all.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, well maybe all except for the honor thy mother and father thing. I pretty much am a good daughter.” Then I thought a minute. “Well I guess by breaking all the others, I dishonor them then.”
“Yes, that’s true. From now on you need to come to confession once a month.” [GREAT] “And you need to start coming to mass on Sundays and Holy Days.”
“Yeah, I know. My Dad is a Deacon.”
“OH MY GOD!” (again with the OMGs. I know, I know, I’m the heathen child. Just give me the penance)
I told him that they only prayer I still remembered was the Our Father. So, keep that in mind when he picks my poison.
He then did some ominous, dominous, patras, santus, sutis, Latin thing and told me I would have to read an entire chapter of the Bible. (yeah, my Bible has never been opened once).
* Good thing I speed-read for a living *
OH MY GOD!
I am off this afternoon for my church retreat. I woke up and was having a horrible day. Now, I'm having a horrible day that is very sad, and I'm stuck at work and I want to go home and not to some damn retreat.
I got an email from one of my college pals. My former boss, Dr. George Kozmetsky, died yesterday at the age of 85.
He was one of the richest Texans. He co-founded Teledyne, was on the boards of Dell, Gulf Oil, La Quinta among others. He was the dean of the UT College and Graduate School of Business for 16 years. I worked for "GK" and his wife Ronya "RK" at their family foundation. Even then, in their 70s, they were the most amazing wonderful people.
It was from RK & GK that I got my work ethic. The guy had a bazillion dollars and I would find him in the kitchen microwaving a small can of Wolf Brand chili. His favorite drink was diet root beer. No job was beneath him, and he was generous and kind.
I kept in touch with them throughout the years, as my own grandparents passed away. They marveled at my family of seven kids as they both were only children. They also followed me through my marriage and the birth of Zoe. They touched so many lives... mine was one.
RIP GK, you will be missed!
http://www.statesman.com/metrostate...day/news_1.html