Single White Leo

How come I'm always dating someone on their birthday, dropping hard-earned cash on dinner and a gift, but when my birthday rolls around, I'm alone? Starving and giftless.

I'm guessing this is the real reason singles ask one another their signs before dating.

Festival of...beer and midriffs

You know it's a crazy, mixed-up world when I am given the corporate credit card and the responsibility of planning the company Christmas party.

Some supervisors might take the $40/person budget and go to a nice restaurant for an hour or two. This particular party planner decided to have a bonfire, get a bushel of raw oysters (?), and spend the rest on alcohol. Oh, plus one Olive Garden gift certificate for the winner of the poker tournament. Who knew my co-workers and their dates could be so much fun?*

*I'm having second thoughts regarding the installation of a stripper pole in my living room, though. Hopefully, that was just holiday beer banter.

We took one group photo at the beginning of the evening, which was smart, because the rest of the shots look something like this:

I certainly hope there's something in the corporate budget for President's Day...

[Sweet Jane - Cowboy Junkies]

Two Drink Minimum

I'm in Vista Purgatory.

Despite my best computer skills and five-month old laptop and printer, I'm unable to print CD labels. And really, what is the point of music without personalized photo labels and covers, huh? I'm THISCLOSE to reformatting my Dell laptop with XP, though it will probably void the warranty, which would suck since Dell is quite attentive to my keyboard needs when long-clawed cats consistently pluck off keys.

Let the chorus from my Mac-lovin' family begin.

Stumbling across my religion

I had a dinner date last night with Christian*, a younger guy I know from work. I felt an instant connection when I met him last May, but assumed he was in a relationship since he never asked me out (oh, the ego!).

*My cell phone automatically corrected his name to "Christianity" when I entered the text into my address book. I find it amusing, in an Are you there, God, it's me, Margaret kind of way.

Turns out he was taking a time out (a year) from women because when he tried to take the knife away from his last girlfriend, who was trying to slice her wrist, she stabbed him. Sounds like the perfect training camp for a relationship with me. He also owns a coke machine, but rigged it to dispense Bud Light. Be still, my lush heart.

[Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel]

You say you want to be a supervisor?

After what I like to refer to as my "Crazy June Melt Down" (June - the month of Gemini's. Coincidence?), I came up with the ingenious plan of working in Iraq for one year starting next summer. Patrick would be in college, or hanging out in my carport building speaker boxes, or out in the world somewhere and I could take a year, working nonstop in the miserable heat (12 hours on, 12 hours off x 7 days/week), which would probably lead to massive weight loss, waiting for an "honorable" death. Life insurance doesn't pay if you kill yourself, you see, and I wouldn't want Patrick and my cats to lose their home.

Yes, I'm slightly twisted and always thoughtful, but apparently not transparent, because just about everyone, including my therapist*, thought it was good to have a plan. Something to shoot for. A reason to live.

*during our first of two sessions, he told me I was too intelligent for therapy. He asked me what the plan was...did I want medication? Someone to talk to? What did I have in mind? He also pointed out that I would be a hot little commodity in Iraq, given the male:female ratio. Eventhough we hit it off immediately, I didn't get much out of our gabfest, though I did follow his suggestion to try Michelob Ultra as a tasty low-carb beer.

However.

I've been at my current job for one year (which means my replacement had been at her job for one year, until she was fired on Monday for selling crack cocaine!). Our office is located in Baton Rouge, six hours away, which was okay when there were four of us, but now that our staff has been doubled to eight, some powers-that-be decided it might be a good idea if we had supervision and guidance of some sort. Enter my new promotion: onsite supervisor, pay raise 25%, then another cost of living raise in January.

It's more than the money...it's the power and future asskissings I look forward to the most. Just kidding. It's really about the money. Who wants a sugar mamma??

[West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys]

I'm Leaving...on a Jet Ski

Nothing piques a mother's interest quite like a text message from her teenage son in the middle of the night which reads:

I'm o.k. Call me in the morning.

His definition of "okay" is debatable, but I did call in the morning to discover the master of understatement and his dad were out riding jet skis last weekend when one (or both) of them turned too sharply and collided into the other. Patrick flew into the air from the impact, landed on his tailbone and thought he was paralyzed before they were rescued and he was transported to the hospital.

By the time I talked to him, he was doped up on liquid Lortab, and wasn't feeling much pain from the fractured leg and coccyx, stitches, assorted lumps and bruises. His dad rented a U-Haul to transport Patrick's new (pimp) El Camino from Savannah back to Alabama, and I'm guessing this was the least desirable way he imagined spending Fall Break.

My Kathy-Bates-in-Misery style of nursing* involved picking up McDonald's every night on the way home from work, and forcing him to watch chick flicks with me all week. Never underestimate the quality time you can have with a teenage prisoner on pain medication.


*What's the matter? WHAT'S THE MATTER? I will tell you "what's the matter!" I go out of my way for you! I do every-thing to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get? "Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Anne, I can't write on this paper, Anne!" Well, I'll get your stupid paper but you just better start showing me a little appreciation around here, Mr. MAN!

[Crash Into Me - Dave Matthews/Incubus]

Seems "Crazy Dan" is in a bit of a pickle

A month ago: after two dates (and perhaps some saki), Dan told me he loved me and suggested we go to Las Vegas to get married. Proposing to a virtual stranger is one thing; telling them you love them? Freaks. Me. Out. I warned him, told him to stop with the nonsense because, truthfully, I was just looking for a fun drinking partner that didn't live too far away.

3 weeks ago: Dan & I met my sister Tiffany and her most recent/probably-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend for drinks and got into a huge fight that included a stony-silent drive home. Correction: HE got into a huge fight because I was disrespectful by letting her tell a story about a man I had kissed in a bar. Forgive my lack of omnipotence, but am I really supposed to control everyone else's stories? He said he didn't want to see me again, I casually said, "fine, whatever", but when he called the next day to apologize and begged me to go to the beach for the weekend, I agreed.

2 weeks ago: he dumped me again because I couldn't tell him if he was wasting his time with me. I told him I no longer wanted to ride his bipolar express when he pleaded with me to go away for the weekend, like nothing had happened, a few days later.

The plot thickens: apparently Crazy Dan has been dating a woman, Lise, off and on for the past year. She contacted me through a mutual friend because she wasn't sure I was aware that he was already in a relationship. When we realized he'd proposed to and asked BOTH of us to go to Ohio over Thanksgiving to meet his family, it became a "you can have him", "no, you take him" battle for the roller-coaster drama queen.

Lise and I have been emailing back and forth, sending photos, and exchanging ideas for the perfect confrontation. She's amazing - an intelligent, funny, animal crusading hottie. Truthfully, I like her much more than I ever liked Crazy Dan. Oh, this is gonna be good...

[Your Cheatin' Heart - Hank Williams]

Boy Logic

Today I asked Patrick how the new school year was going. He told me it was going okay, but on the first day, he told all his teachers to call him "Rick" so he keeps missing his name during roll call. This from the boy whose cell phone says, "You've reached Rodney - leave a message."

[Why? Why?]

Honey darlin' sweetheart

As a strong, independent, no-nonsense kind of Yankee, this is a bit difficult to admit, but...I kind of like being called "baby".

I love my job, part XXVI

The most stupendous part of the federal government employee hiring process is that someone who is a disabled veteran with virtually no experience or particular knowledge has more "points" than, say, a conscientious, diligent contractor with years of experience (and a cute haircut) who's currently doing the job.

Un-generalized afterthought: I'm not just bashing him because he's male; it's because he's a dumbass. The man who has come to me for years with questions is now running the program? Bravo.

Dalehole

The other half of my Apache pilot* induced meltdown in June was caused by Dale. He was everything the EX was not: sensitive, patient, generous and, apparently, a player. We hit it off immediately when we met in November, though it was short-lived because he had to go back to his life in Ohio, 743 miles away. Our friendship grew over cell phones, and eventually we coordinated a rendezvous in Milwaukee before the weekend in Chicago with my sister (et. al). She was even smitten by him.

*Since my divorce, I've gone out with an Apache pilot, a Blackhawk student pilot, a TH-67 Instructor pilot, and a retired Chinook pilot who forgot to mention he was still married. Is it time to move? Seriously.

I thought we had a fabulous time together, even imagining it was the first trip of many, so I couldn't understand why he seemed distant after we returned home. I made excuses at first about why he stopped calling - "oh, he's busy catching up at work"; I'd leave a voice message - he'd call a few days later; I emailed - he ignored. I was tired of being pathetic so I deleted his number and tried not to obsess (haha, do you know me?). He doesn't drink or like the same music and he's allergic to cats - it was doomed from the start, obviously.

I haven't talked to Dale in 6 weeks, but he called to wish me a happy birthday on Thursday. I didn't answer, so he's called an additional two times and left messages. WHY? Can't you just blow me off and move along? I think I'd have more luck understanding quantum physics than men at this point in my life. Please pass the quarks.

Want to Piss Me Off?

Try this:

Print out "5 Tips to Improving Self Esteem" from an internet website, highlight the section about jealousy, attach a sticky note that says "Happy Birthday, CQ - homework" then mail it, anonymously. Like I won't recognize your handwriting after fifteen years of marriage?

For your edification, darling, I'm not jealous. Angry, disappointed, bitter and sad, perhaps. Please get your emotions straight next time you feel the need to help, and, oh yeah: you suck. Bastard.

Weekended

· My car sales manager, Mitch, who found my dream car for me two years ago, called today. He said he missed me since my driver's side door leak had been repaired and I no longer brought it in for service every month. Really? Because I was kind of thinking how great it was not to discover a foot of water on the floor every time it rained. He asked me to play golf and have a few beers on the course with him, but I told him I didn't know how (to golf. Obviously, I excel at drinking beer) and had no clubs. He offered to buy me a set so we could play, which I find a bit odd, especially considering the fact that he didn't give me that great of a deal on the car.

· I then managed to misplace my cell phone, tried calling it from another phone, but dialed the wrong number. Imagine both of our surprise when someone answered and I asked what they were doing with my phone.

· A guy I used to "date" (a term I use loosely since we live six hours apart and manage much better as friends) in Baton Rouge might be interested in buying the engagement ring from my ex to give to his fiancee...am I officially a redneck? Or engaged to a woman?

"Care" Package

Patrick's going to Savannah to visit his dad (and girlfriend in their new mega-watt mansion) during this last week of summer vacation.

I'm not sure if I'm making a statement or just being a drama queen, but I've packed up every reminder from my marriage for him to take: wedding ring, photos, trinkets from our travels, and the Victoria's Secret lingerie gifts from the past.
The ex will officially have 99.8% of all "our" possessions (I'm keeping that deep, non-stick frying pan).

Is that in Euros?

I've always wondered how much my life is worth - now I know:

$14,677.22

(I'm guessing there was a substantial service charge for the emergency crew having to tolerate my sister's bossiness. When she walked into my house to see me strapped to the gurney, with so many men in blue standing around with their arms crossed, she told them to put their arms by their sides, "Why are we standing like this, when we should be standing like this?" She also insisted on riding in the ambulance, so they let her in the front seat. She didn't, fortunately, demand to drive).

Instant Karma

How to get your dad to drive 15 hours for a last minute father's day visit: overdose, spend some time in ICU, then have your sister given the authority to commit you to a mental institution for one year. Granted, there might be easier ways.

For the icing on a week full of beer, no sleep, and a passive dumping, I talked to Ed on the phone. The initial awkward topic was Patrick, which somehow revolved into his telling me that he was strapped for cash because he was buying a new house and moving in with his girlfriend. Too much information. "Great," I said. "I'll talk to you later. Bye."

During our marriage, I always assumed HE was the problem; the control freak that was lucky to have me. Ha. Turns out I'm the unlovable one, the girl that can't seem to find anyone else. Eight beers followed in quick succession, to wash down the bottle of beta blockers and a handful (or two) of Tylenol 3 that had been prescribed to him after knee surgery. Every attempted suicide needs irony, afterall.

Though there physically, details came later about the fire truck, police cars and ambulance ride to the emergency room. My auto pilot had no measurable blood pressure, so there was talk of a pacemaker. In the end they found an antidote to the beta blockers, which relived Patrick - he was worried I'd never be able to make microwave popcorn again.

Around 4:30 a.m., with a "stable" heart rate around 40 bpm, they wheeled me from the emergency room to the I.C.U. I realized I wouldn't be going into work and called in with a vague explanation of a history of heart trouble. Co-workers came to visit, bringing magazines and plants. Making small talk on a good day, is painful for me. Making small talk with i.v. tubes, heart and blood pressure monitors, and oxygen tubes in my nose while I unceremoniously vomit into a plastic kidney shaped bowl, is hell.

I feel like a fraud who doesn't deserve well wishes or concern - I did this to myself. Relatives and friends battle cancer, praying for more time, while I carelessly try to cut mine short. Why isn't there a life barter system? Watching my dad cry, thinking he failed, and knowing the hell my son and sister went through...depression, apparently, is better served with guilt.

Getting thee to a nunnery

One night about eight years ago, when I was separated from my then-husband and living in the same small, one-stoplight town as my dad (and sister, cousins, uncles, aunts), I went to the bar, as I'm inclined to do, and was having great conversation about Europe and various museums with a guy, Greg.

Greg and I sat in his truck after the bar closed, waiting for my ride, and proceded to do some light making out. I had all my clothes on, as did he, but it was just a nice way to end the evening, kind of like saying "thanks for the good conversation", when his wife pulled up behind us. Greg freaked out, made me duck down in the seat, peeled out of the parking lot, and led her on a high speed chase.

I heard later that he claimed to have an alcohol problem and volunteered for some treatment, since he obviously would never make such poor life choices if he had been sober. My guess is he was mostly upset about getting caught, but I continued on with my life, moved a couple dozen more times, and never thought about the incident again.

Until...

My sister went to Atlanta to spend the weekend with this great guy from high school she's always had a crush on who is now a pilot for Delta Airlines. They got along famously. She asked if it was difficult staying faithful to a girlfriend, since pilots have plenty of opportunities to cheat. He said he wasn't like that, ever since the traumatic experience in high school when his parents almost got divorced over some girl and a bizarre high speed chase. Greg, Jr.

Gulp. Let's just hope he didn't get any names.

Cry Baby Cry

Ever cry so hard your arms shake and you can't be bothered to turn your head or wipe the tears, so they roll down your neck and stomach before they're absorbed by your waistband? And when you're frustrated because you can't cry harder, you kick the metal gutter alongside a building and possibly break two freakishly long toes?

Me neither.

Sanctuary

Apparently, the separation between church and state in Enterprise, Alabama is the width of one street. The row of churches (Baptist, Methodist, and Catholic) adjacent to the high school was left virtually untouched Thursday afternoon.

[St. John's Catholic church, minus one tree]

My sister and her best friend were in her 2nd story apartment in Troy, Alabama during another batch of tornadoes that day. The weatherman advised them to hunker down and her stepfather called, telling them to "get the fuck out of that building". Braless, in their wet, white wifebeaters and clutching their box of wine, they ran to the nearest house, where they must've seemed like a dream-come-true to the resident lesbian. Who said Mother Nature doesn't have a sense of humor?

Why I will never again say, "try not to get in trouble at school today, eh?"

"Mom, aren't you relieved I was suspended from school today?"

Relieved isn't half of it. Wednesday afternoon I thought the punishment a bit severe - detention seemed like a more viable option for getting up in the middle of PE class and ignoring the teacher's request to sit down.

Thursday, during the two-hour drive home from work, with twisted, uprooted trees dotting the landscape, rescue workers and concerned parents on every corner, I cried from relief. Sitting in the dark with no electricity, cable, phone or internet seemed like such a tiny inconvenience after the storm.

Electrosexualmagnetic Forces

I'm a married man magnet.

Correction: I'm a "married-but-it's-complicated-and-she-doesn't-understand-I-just-need-a-piece-of-ass" man magnet.

Bacchus

Finger prick

The last place someone like me (a rage-filled, man-hating shrew) needed to be was the town piss-scented police station, but there I was, getting my fingerprints taken for the third time this year because the powers that be at the Department of Defense judged me unworthy of current security status, and I have a new job and have to go through the rigamarole again, don't you know.

I was minding my own business, paying my fee, as some crackhead detoxed down the hall ("I need a bologna sandwich, fuck, that's all!") and a woman sobbed in the chair next to me.

He: you should have known better. What were you thinking? If I hadn't gotten there...

She: I'm so sorry, I know, I love you, I..I....(her words trailed off into snot-muffled sobs so I couldn't tell exactly what else she was saying, plus I was trying very hard not to eavesdrop. As if).

He: well, I guess you didn't try hard enough, and I can't even touch you because I'll contaminate the evidence and what were you thinking?

The man continued to nag and berate his too-young-looking girlfriend until the receptionist finally butted in, "Shut the hell up and stop discussing the case. Can't you just show a little compassion? Jeez."

Joy to the World.

Solo Etoh

I have this rule against drinking alone. Fuck my stupid rules.

Blah, blah, oink: my new job is sort of a diagonal move up - I'm overseeing much of my old responsibilities, even though I work for a different company. At first, I tried being laid back - "Oh, hey, when you get the chance, this needs to be done". My ex-boss, though, seems to be caught up in semantics: "this scope of work says it will affect a few machines, but 4 is more than a few. What you're asking is labor intensive and we won't be able to do it."

Uh-huh, uh-huh, I hear what you're saying, but...DO IT ANYWAY!! My jugular has been bulging and twitching for 48 hours and for all the time we've spent disagreeing, the fucking work could already have been done. I'm frustrated, annoyed, pissed off and wondering if men like to fight, just for the sake of fighting!

B & E

Every morning, including weekends, I stop by my old place of employment to feed the feral cats before going into my new office. On Saturday, when I tried to get in, I noticed my key was missing. Not wasting one impulsive second, I called my ex-boss.

Me, indignant and slightly foamy: What? You couldn't just ask for my key back? You had to be sneaky and take it behind my back? You don't trust me enough to have access...

Him: What?

Me: I know I wasn't supposed to have it, and that's not the point...the cats should suffer because I no longer work there?

Him: What key?

Me: MY key!

Him: I thought your key broke?

Me: I said it broke, thinking you understood, so I could keep it in order to let myself in during the weekends to feed the cats, but someone stole it from my ring last week!

Him: Of course I trust you...I would never take your key. It bothers me that someone else did, and didn't turn it in to me, since I'm responsible for the warehouse, but I'll get to the bottom of this and give you another one, don't worry.

Me: Okay, fine. Thanks.

It has occured to me that the more you act like a raving lunatic, the more people do what you want.

Novem-blur

I'm not sure how I lost an entire month, but, yep, I did. I'm blaming the new job. Or on too much company. Or the fact that my sister and I are regulars at our favorite bar (finally!) because the bouncers don't make us pay cover and the bartender doesn't ask what we're drinking (yes!). How proud my parents must be.

On my last day at the OLD job, my boss surprised me with a 4-leaf clover front license plate. He took a photo of my tattoo to a screenprinter in an attempt to duplicate my Q, which was a wonderful gesture, but as far as hanging out in the parking lot showing strangers my matching tattoo and car...eh, not so much.

All my co-workers gave me a sappy sentimental card filled with "it's been wonderful working with you" and "I hope you take over the world", but Jessicunt? Wrote "See ya", followed by her initials. Can you feel the love?

Someone once told me I would never find a man as long as I lived in Alabama, which is some sort of back-handed compliment, I suppose, because I'm too independent and intelligent-ish (I'm assuming). Turns out there are great men in Alabama, but only temporarily visiting.

I decided to bake pumpkin bread to take to my ex-stepmother's house for Thanksgiving dinner, but used baking powder instead of baking soda and burned all unrisen four mini loaves instead. Frazzled, but remembering a new recipe for apple-cranberry pie I wanted to try, I peeled some apples and attempted project #2. The oven timer must have gone off some time during my shower, as the crust and crumbly top goodness were burnt to a crisp by the time I checked on the damn thing. I arrived at her house with two bottles of wine and a grocery bag with canned goods - mushroom soup, green beans and French onion pieces.

My son & I had driven separately because I had to drive to the airport in Tallahassee to pick up my best friend that evening, and he would go back home afterwards. While showing off his car and stereo, he somehow managed to lock his keys inside the car. My sister agreed to drive him back to our house, but he grabbed the wrong key ring and had to call a locksmith in the end.

My friend Holly has missed her last three flights, but this time she was only delayed while they waited for a crew member. We spent five wonderful days catching up, which I'll write about...by the end of December, anyway, I'm sure.

Pluck me

Insomnia and the spotless mind

Joel: Is there any risk of brain damage?

Howard: Well, technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you'll miss.

Not that I keep a running list of favorite top 10 movies in my head, but if I did, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind would be holding steady at the #7 slot. The premise is fascinating: erase a person and all associated events from your memory.

If you received a card in the mail that stated you had been erased from someone's memory and not to contact them, would you? Just to mess with them? Would you be destined to meet again? Will I ever stop obsessing about this movie?

Where's my magic 8 ball?

After putting in my two week's notice, I discovered I would lose 48 hours (!!) of PTO, personal time off, without monetary compensation. My boss refused to let me take the time off because I needed to train my replacement, so we compromised - I bitched and moaned, and he agreed to let me have Friday off.

The big question for today, then: margaritas or beer for lunch?

Easy Access

I don't know which one of us was more surprised this morning when, after fumbling and blindly digging through my purse, I handed the guard at the gate a Victoria's Secret "Free Panties" card instead of my ID card. What kind of encore follows that?