But, I'm talking to Greg today, for the first time in awhile, and I remember why I miss the dude. I'm laughing so hard, I gave myself a snot bubble.
GnuStew: I hope it does something responsible with that password I just sent out
GnuStew: my password is my credit card number and my social security number and my drivers liscence number =)
IgnorePlz: it just sent it to me, with a list of tasty porn links
GnuStew: rock!
IgnorePlz: if you see a bunch of charges to hoetails and manhole.com...
IgnorePlz: uh
IgnorePlz: it wasn't me
IgnorePlz: I swear
GnuStew: manhole.com!
GnuStew: I love that site!
IgnorePlz: lol
IgnorePlz: (I'm now checking out manhole.com, out of dire curiosity)
GnuStew: its a real site?
IgnorePlz: apparently not
IgnorePlz: but now I want to buy a domain name...
GnuStew: window of opportunity Lisa!
GnuStew: LOL
4.29.2004
Just thought of something else that makes me smile. When someone is just as happy to see you, as you are to see them. When you greet someone with genuine exuberance, and get the same in response. Or, on the same thread, when someone says "I've been thinking about you" and really means it. That's so nice :)
The Month of May
In May, some things usually happen. Mother's Day, my birthday, my dad comes to visit a lot (from Guam, so it's a big deal), and I go into this horrendously depressive funk.
I feel the funk edging in. No energy, a little weepier than usual. I know why, I plan on writing about it, but I still can't keep it from happening.
Mother's Day is funny. Normally it coincides with my dad visiting, so it's awkward. (My mom and dad HATE each other) Generally, though, my mom is understanding about it, and I take her out before my dad comes for a visit, and everything is fine. On the actual day, we go to my dad's folks' house and celebrate with with his stepmom*shudder*. My dad's parents are a trip.
No dad this year, not in May at least. So, who knows what we're gonna do. I used to rack my brains thinking about what to get my mom, heh. Now, I realize that she doesn't need any more crap, so as long as I'm thinking of her, it's all good. I stick to consumables, taking her out to dinner, flowers, before she was diabetic, I'd get her this extravagant cheesecake from Normandy bakery. I just am expecting to get a ration of shit this year, I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones.
As for me? Generally I get flowers. Since my birthday is close, I get the old "birthday and Mother's day" tied together gift. I'm not a material girl, I have very simple wants, but the fact that absolutely NO thought goes into either of those gifts, is a little offputting. What I mean is, when I want something (this year it's an iPod) I'll put the word out early. Saying something like "I really want an iPod, but instead of splurging, I'll wait for my birthday, how's that sound?" And the mister is generally agreeable. Then he goes out and buys whatever. Last year it was a digital camera. It's never something just for me, it's always something for everyone.
The point I'm making is he never has to give it any thought. This year, he doesn't even have to get it, hah, he's letting me use his credit card, to order it. He never makes plans for anything either. I never really get suprised. I dunno, I guess it's no big deal, but just once, I'd like to be whisked away on a fun little weekend trip, or be suprised with something totally off the wall. The bottom line of my gripe is the thought. I wish he'd put some more thought into doing nice things for me, with me, whatever. Plan ahead a bit, suprise me. All that. I'm expecting none of that, so, I'm a bit dissapointed.
Mixed feelings about my dad not visiting. We see each other so seldom, and we're pretty close, so any chance I get to see the guy is wondeful. But, in a way, it's a relief, what with all the shit going down with the house. Having him stay with us would be a serious burden, both financially and time-wise. We do the tourist thing, and go bunches of places when he's here, and go out to eat every night, all that. It gets pricy, and we're just shit broke, heh. Not that I'm complaining, because I love my daddy, and I really look forward to seeing him. I'm actually bummed that he's not coming. Bummed and slightly relieved.
So, it's almost May, and I'm getting a little depressed, I feel dissapointment setting in, and I'm jittery with anticipation, all at once.
I feel the funk edging in. No energy, a little weepier than usual. I know why, I plan on writing about it, but I still can't keep it from happening.
Mother's Day is funny. Normally it coincides with my dad visiting, so it's awkward. (My mom and dad HATE each other) Generally, though, my mom is understanding about it, and I take her out before my dad comes for a visit, and everything is fine. On the actual day, we go to my dad's folks' house and celebrate with with his stepmom*shudder*. My dad's parents are a trip.
No dad this year, not in May at least. So, who knows what we're gonna do. I used to rack my brains thinking about what to get my mom, heh. Now, I realize that she doesn't need any more crap, so as long as I'm thinking of her, it's all good. I stick to consumables, taking her out to dinner, flowers, before she was diabetic, I'd get her this extravagant cheesecake from Normandy bakery. I just am expecting to get a ration of shit this year, I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones.
As for me? Generally I get flowers. Since my birthday is close, I get the old "birthday and Mother's day" tied together gift. I'm not a material girl, I have very simple wants, but the fact that absolutely NO thought goes into either of those gifts, is a little offputting. What I mean is, when I want something (this year it's an iPod) I'll put the word out early. Saying something like "I really want an iPod, but instead of splurging, I'll wait for my birthday, how's that sound?" And the mister is generally agreeable. Then he goes out and buys whatever. Last year it was a digital camera. It's never something just for me, it's always something for everyone.
The point I'm making is he never has to give it any thought. This year, he doesn't even have to get it, hah, he's letting me use his credit card, to order it. He never makes plans for anything either. I never really get suprised. I dunno, I guess it's no big deal, but just once, I'd like to be whisked away on a fun little weekend trip, or be suprised with something totally off the wall. The bottom line of my gripe is the thought. I wish he'd put some more thought into doing nice things for me, with me, whatever. Plan ahead a bit, suprise me. All that. I'm expecting none of that, so, I'm a bit dissapointed.
Mixed feelings about my dad not visiting. We see each other so seldom, and we're pretty close, so any chance I get to see the guy is wondeful. But, in a way, it's a relief, what with all the shit going down with the house. Having him stay with us would be a serious burden, both financially and time-wise. We do the tourist thing, and go bunches of places when he's here, and go out to eat every night, all that. It gets pricy, and we're just shit broke, heh. Not that I'm complaining, because I love my daddy, and I really look forward to seeing him. I'm actually bummed that he's not coming. Bummed and slightly relieved.
So, it's almost May, and I'm getting a little depressed, I feel dissapointment setting in, and I'm jittery with anticipation, all at once.
4.28.2004
Instead of Bitching all the time...
I decided to start listing a few things that make me smile. It's a good thing. Stuff I should keep in mind. I'll make them a happy color, so they stand out, even.
My garden. Opening the back door, and seeing the riot of spring color. Forsythia bushes, flowering almond, hyacinth, daffodils, a thousand colors of tulips. I love being greeted by that, every day.
Finishing a good book. That sense of completion, and mild exhilaration that stems from reading a great new book.
The bond that I have with my son, when every thing's right, and I'm not being a grownup, and he's not being a kid, we're just being two people that are close. He can be my best friend sometimes. He's so perfect.
My garden. Opening the back door, and seeing the riot of spring color. Forsythia bushes, flowering almond, hyacinth, daffodils, a thousand colors of tulips. I love being greeted by that, every day.
Finishing a good book. That sense of completion, and mild exhilaration that stems from reading a great new book.
The bond that I have with my son, when every thing's right, and I'm not being a grownup, and he's not being a kid, we're just being two people that are close. He can be my best friend sometimes. He's so perfect.
Lying to the world, lying on a tanning bed.
It's like, an unspoken lie. Fooling the world into thinking you're the outdoorsy type.
I'm talking about tanning. Paying obscene amounts of money to lay on hot glass and bake your skin. Why? To make it look like you spend time in a warm climate? To make it look like you spend time being outside? What's the draw, I don't get it. People should earn their tans. I'm not adverse to taking on a little color, in the summer. Going to renfairs every weekend in August, my chest gets nice and crispy (call it bodice burn) and it looks good. My face and arms get it from camping. It's cool. If my legs get color, even better, but that's sooooo rare, because one would actually have to lie down outdoors, and expose the legs to the sun. But pay for it!? To schedule time for it?! To me, it's even more ridiculous than smoking. Let me shell out vast quantities money, so I have the privilege of destroying my body.
This rant brought to you by Harriet, whose neck looks like a wet paper bag, now. Whose face is a dangerous shade of brick red. Whose skin (at 31) is a network of fine lines and flakes. Who goes tanning every single day "because my legs just aren't dark enough" And I agree. Compared to her face, her legs are pretty pale. Keep shooting for that goal of the perfect tan, baby, everyone knows it's all about you ;)
I'll stick with my SPF 15.
It's like, an unspoken lie. Fooling the world into thinking you're the outdoorsy type.
I'm talking about tanning. Paying obscene amounts of money to lay on hot glass and bake your skin. Why? To make it look like you spend time in a warm climate? To make it look like you spend time being outside? What's the draw, I don't get it. People should earn their tans. I'm not adverse to taking on a little color, in the summer. Going to renfairs every weekend in August, my chest gets nice and crispy (call it bodice burn) and it looks good. My face and arms get it from camping. It's cool. If my legs get color, even better, but that's sooooo rare, because one would actually have to lie down outdoors, and expose the legs to the sun. But pay for it!? To schedule time for it?! To me, it's even more ridiculous than smoking. Let me shell out vast quantities money, so I have the privilege of destroying my body.
This rant brought to you by Harriet, whose neck looks like a wet paper bag, now. Whose face is a dangerous shade of brick red. Whose skin (at 31) is a network of fine lines and flakes. Who goes tanning every single day "because my legs just aren't dark enough" And I agree. Compared to her face, her legs are pretty pale. Keep shooting for that goal of the perfect tan, baby, everyone knows it's all about you ;)
I'll stick with my SPF 15.
4.27.2004
Stream of Conciousness
I'm in the mood to write. I'm bored, and my mind is moving a thousand miles an hour. I have this urge to write, but the thing is, I don't know what to write about. I just sat here staring at this box for a spell, trying to come up with something profound. Nothing. I decided to just start typing, and go stream of conciousness style.
Right now, the most foremost thing is the Blogger logo is pissing me off. So orange and smug, up there in the corner. A little up from that is my cat, she's going bald along her sides. I don't know why, no fleas, she's healthy as a horse. My mom claims it's radiation because the cat spends 20 hours a day on my moniter. Poor kitty.
Now there's a car alarm going off at the bar. I hate living across the street from a bar. It's a seedy one, too. I mean, it looks pretty on the outside, but the clientele SUCKS. Union Beach is about as hilbilly as you can get, and still be on the Jersey Shore. That bar is like, hillbilly concentrate. Fights every weekend, people having full blown domestic disputes right in the parking lot (and often it carries over into our front yard). Karaoke every Thursday. This would be the perfect neighborhood, if it weren't for the bar.
It's amusing. I see a lot of the same people drunk, staggering, screaming at each other, making a scene across the street, as I do on weekday afternoons, in the "kindergarten mom" crowd. Even more amusing, a lot of these women are the ones that were nasty uppity bitches in elementry school. The teasers, the in crowd, the beautiful girls. I see them now, and I feel good. They have bad skin, and cheap clothes. They have dark roots and peroxide blond highlights.
I endured seemingly infinite amounts of torture and ostrasizing when I was a kid. I'm a strong and sensitive person now, because of it. They doled out the torture and look. They're what? Sloppy drunk white trash welfare messes? Karma, it's so nice. Do I sound bitter? I'm not, really. Maybe a little, but it's not a defining thing in my life. I'm no swan, but, it feels a little good to see them walking places when I can drive. To see them working in fast food resturaunts. I wonder what their 12 year old selves would say to them now. I bet it wouldn't be pretty
I'm in the mood to write. I'm bored, and my mind is moving a thousand miles an hour. I have this urge to write, but the thing is, I don't know what to write about. I just sat here staring at this box for a spell, trying to come up with something profound. Nothing. I decided to just start typing, and go stream of conciousness style.
Right now, the most foremost thing is the Blogger logo is pissing me off. So orange and smug, up there in the corner. A little up from that is my cat, she's going bald along her sides. I don't know why, no fleas, she's healthy as a horse. My mom claims it's radiation because the cat spends 20 hours a day on my moniter. Poor kitty.
Now there's a car alarm going off at the bar. I hate living across the street from a bar. It's a seedy one, too. I mean, it looks pretty on the outside, but the clientele SUCKS. Union Beach is about as hilbilly as you can get, and still be on the Jersey Shore. That bar is like, hillbilly concentrate. Fights every weekend, people having full blown domestic disputes right in the parking lot (and often it carries over into our front yard). Karaoke every Thursday. This would be the perfect neighborhood, if it weren't for the bar.
It's amusing. I see a lot of the same people drunk, staggering, screaming at each other, making a scene across the street, as I do on weekday afternoons, in the "kindergarten mom" crowd. Even more amusing, a lot of these women are the ones that were nasty uppity bitches in elementry school. The teasers, the in crowd, the beautiful girls. I see them now, and I feel good. They have bad skin, and cheap clothes. They have dark roots and peroxide blond highlights.
I endured seemingly infinite amounts of torture and ostrasizing when I was a kid. I'm a strong and sensitive person now, because of it. They doled out the torture and look. They're what? Sloppy drunk white trash welfare messes? Karma, it's so nice. Do I sound bitter? I'm not, really. Maybe a little, but it's not a defining thing in my life. I'm no swan, but, it feels a little good to see them walking places when I can drive. To see them working in fast food resturaunts. I wonder what their 12 year old selves would say to them now. I bet it wouldn't be pretty
Leveling Judgement
I was gonna post something about being judgmental, I had it all composed in my head. It leaked out. Shoot, it was good too.
Oh, oh, it's coming back to me.
Last fall, when I started becoming closer friends with Harriet, she wanted to "confide" in me (that's in quotes, because I learned later that she "confides" in everyone that will listen...That's a future entry, though) about something that was troubling her. She asked if I was the morally judgmental type, if I'd think differently of her if she told me something. I truthfully said "No". Now, I'm sort of at a loss, because after all is said and done, it's really not no.
The original confession is that she cheated on her husband with this guy. She "loves this guy so much, he's so perfect, the chemistry is amazing, he completes me" [face_vomit] By cheated, I mean carry on a 9 month relationship with the guy, spending every spare second with him, going as far as leaving her kids with her sister for a week, to spend the whole time with him.
That pretty much makes me nuts. It's sick and dishonest. But, whatever, love is love, how can I hate her? Sometimes what you do when you're 21 (getting married) isn't where you want to be when you're 31. Whatever. I counseled her through her woes, listening nightly to drama on the phone. There's a lot more to it than just this, lots of sordid little details. She managed to break it off with the guy, or he broke it off with her, or something, and she "reformed". That's magnificent. Error of her ways and all that. I was honestly happy for her, because she went on and on about putting more energy in her family and kids, blahblahblah.
So, normally I see her every day, when we pick the kids up, right? I haven't seen her pretty much since the beginning of April. We talked on the phone a few times, and she's always busy, I'm always busy, but more importantly she's never around to pick up her daughter anymore. Other family members are doing it. I found out why. She told me all covertly today, that she's back "with" this guy (who is also married, with a daughter, and -get this- doesn't speak a word of English, haha, no, he's Puerto Rican. She doesn't speak Spanish either, so how he 'completes' her I'll never know. How they're 'with' each other also baffles me, being married to separate people, and all. Could have something to do with penis size...But I digress)
Now, after all this compassion, and holding her hand, so to speak, through a difficult winter of her trying to get her family life together, and get back on track. This guy calls her up once, and invites her over, and she's off sucking his dick again. Now, she pretty much repulses me (oh, there were many things leading up to that, this is the straw, though). How can I go on smiling, being friendly, when I think she's the scum of the earth?
I guess I am judgmental.
This little rant just helped me firm up what I'm going to say to her, when she starts the bullshit "confiding" again. I can't support that kind of behavior. I mean, once is a mistake, twice is stupid, and three times? That's just fucking self destructive. I won't be a party to it. Let her talk to the gas station attendant, or any of her ass kissy buddies.
I was gonna post something about being judgmental, I had it all composed in my head. It leaked out. Shoot, it was good too.
Oh, oh, it's coming back to me.
Last fall, when I started becoming closer friends with Harriet, she wanted to "confide" in me (that's in quotes, because I learned later that she "confides" in everyone that will listen...That's a future entry, though) about something that was troubling her. She asked if I was the morally judgmental type, if I'd think differently of her if she told me something. I truthfully said "No". Now, I'm sort of at a loss, because after all is said and done, it's really not no.
The original confession is that she cheated on her husband with this guy. She "loves this guy so much, he's so perfect, the chemistry is amazing, he completes me" [face_vomit] By cheated, I mean carry on a 9 month relationship with the guy, spending every spare second with him, going as far as leaving her kids with her sister for a week, to spend the whole time with him.
That pretty much makes me nuts. It's sick and dishonest. But, whatever, love is love, how can I hate her? Sometimes what you do when you're 21 (getting married) isn't where you want to be when you're 31. Whatever. I counseled her through her woes, listening nightly to drama on the phone. There's a lot more to it than just this, lots of sordid little details. She managed to break it off with the guy, or he broke it off with her, or something, and she "reformed". That's magnificent. Error of her ways and all that. I was honestly happy for her, because she went on and on about putting more energy in her family and kids, blahblahblah.
So, normally I see her every day, when we pick the kids up, right? I haven't seen her pretty much since the beginning of April. We talked on the phone a few times, and she's always busy, I'm always busy, but more importantly she's never around to pick up her daughter anymore. Other family members are doing it. I found out why. She told me all covertly today, that she's back "with" this guy (who is also married, with a daughter, and -get this- doesn't speak a word of English, haha, no, he's Puerto Rican. She doesn't speak Spanish either, so how he 'completes' her I'll never know. How they're 'with' each other also baffles me, being married to separate people, and all. Could have something to do with penis size...But I digress)
Now, after all this compassion, and holding her hand, so to speak, through a difficult winter of her trying to get her family life together, and get back on track. This guy calls her up once, and invites her over, and she's off sucking his dick again. Now, she pretty much repulses me (oh, there were many things leading up to that, this is the straw, though). How can I go on smiling, being friendly, when I think she's the scum of the earth?
I guess I am judgmental.
This little rant just helped me firm up what I'm going to say to her, when she starts the bullshit "confiding" again. I can't support that kind of behavior. I mean, once is a mistake, twice is stupid, and three times? That's just fucking self destructive. I won't be a party to it. Let her talk to the gas station attendant, or any of her ass kissy buddies.
The Big Purchase and Roy vs. Joe
I just spent 3,500.00
There is something incredibly satisfying about walking into a store, doing a little paperwork, paying in cash, and walking out the proud owner of 3,500.00 worth of new cabinets.
I ordered them, they'll be here at the end of May. I'm so excited I can barely contain myself. This means I have a firm deadline now. End of May. The cabinets will be the last piece in the puzzle. Now I gotta get the rest of the pieces together (flooring, finish painting, and *cue doom music* PACKING).
I also spoke again to Roy, the guy who wants to rent. The more I talk to him the more I like him. He's a nice, nice guy, totally upstanding. Told me a little about himself, and his girlfriend. I really like his kind of people, he's a Methodist, goes to the same church that I used to (back when I did the church thing) knows a lot of the same people I know. He's totally into clean living, no drinking, no smoking, blahblah. His girlfriend works at a local Dunkin Donuts and is putting herself through college. I have such good feelings about these people. No pets. Two kids that would visit on alternate weekends, but otherwise, no kids. People I can respect, people I would be thrilled to rent to.
Joe, my contractor. The other guy that wants in this house...he's...well...he'd pay me the same amount of rent, and I trust hhim for my money, but the guy is a slob. He's also eyeing the house because it's across the street from his favorite bar. He's a nice guy, yes, but his quality of living...it leaves much to be desired.
I know Roy will love my house like I do, he'll appreciate it. Right now the guy is living in a one bedroom apt with his brother. He's sleeping in the dining room, poor guy. This house is small, but it's head and shoulders above a dining room. He's a neat freak, and he loves gardening. I know he'll love my little flowerbeds as much as I did. Joe? He'd probably park one of his trucks on them.
I'm renting based on character, and quality of life.
I just spent 3,500.00
There is something incredibly satisfying about walking into a store, doing a little paperwork, paying in cash, and walking out the proud owner of 3,500.00 worth of new cabinets.
I ordered them, they'll be here at the end of May. I'm so excited I can barely contain myself. This means I have a firm deadline now. End of May. The cabinets will be the last piece in the puzzle. Now I gotta get the rest of the pieces together (flooring, finish painting, and *cue doom music* PACKING).
I also spoke again to Roy, the guy who wants to rent. The more I talk to him the more I like him. He's a nice, nice guy, totally upstanding. Told me a little about himself, and his girlfriend. I really like his kind of people, he's a Methodist, goes to the same church that I used to (back when I did the church thing) knows a lot of the same people I know. He's totally into clean living, no drinking, no smoking, blahblah. His girlfriend works at a local Dunkin Donuts and is putting herself through college. I have such good feelings about these people. No pets. Two kids that would visit on alternate weekends, but otherwise, no kids. People I can respect, people I would be thrilled to rent to.
Joe, my contractor. The other guy that wants in this house...he's...well...he'd pay me the same amount of rent, and I trust hhim for my money, but the guy is a slob. He's also eyeing the house because it's across the street from his favorite bar. He's a nice guy, yes, but his quality of living...it leaves much to be desired.
I know Roy will love my house like I do, he'll appreciate it. Right now the guy is living in a one bedroom apt with his brother. He's sleeping in the dining room, poor guy. This house is small, but it's head and shoulders above a dining room. He's a neat freak, and he loves gardening. I know he'll love my little flowerbeds as much as I did. Joe? He'd probably park one of his trucks on them.
I'm renting based on character, and quality of life.
4.26.2004
The Fullness of Trust
Trust is a wonderful thing. When perfect trust is attained, all sorts of greatness blossoms in it's wake. Words and thoughts flow so smoothly, when you're not worrying if someone's gonna turn on you. Honesty is the best policy, always remember that, and I think life becomes that much easier.
It's not easy to always be honest, that's not what I mean. Sometimes that's really hard, but the results of it are more than rewarding. Total honesty completes me, when it's freely given and taken.
Trust is a wonderful thing. When perfect trust is attained, all sorts of greatness blossoms in it's wake. Words and thoughts flow so smoothly, when you're not worrying if someone's gonna turn on you. Honesty is the best policy, always remember that, and I think life becomes that much easier.
It's not easy to always be honest, that's not what I mean. Sometimes that's really hard, but the results of it are more than rewarding. Total honesty completes me, when it's freely given and taken.
4.25.2004
We started painting today, got the whole bedroom and closets done with primer. It's so satisfying. It was pretty cool, we had the boy up there helping, he worked for a solid two hours, and he wasn't doing half bad. We had him doing the insides of closets. He was pretending he was on Monster House, haha.
The mister is such a goob. We're standing in Walmart, I'm holding a selection of rollers. I say "We need trays, we only have one" (we're doing a whole house, keep in mind, eight rooms and about 40 closets) He says, "No, I have dozens in the shed, no no, don't buy any more"
He didn't. We have one. :| I'll be making a trip to Lowes tomorrow. For more trays, rollers, and supplies that he assumed we had hundreds of. This is why I run the household, and he works.
The mister is such a goob. We're standing in Walmart, I'm holding a selection of rollers. I say "We need trays, we only have one" (we're doing a whole house, keep in mind, eight rooms and about 40 closets) He says, "No, I have dozens in the shed, no no, don't buy any more"
He didn't. We have one. :| I'll be making a trip to Lowes tomorrow. For more trays, rollers, and supplies that he assumed we had hundreds of. This is why I run the household, and he works.
4.24.2004
The waiting game is killing me, hehe, but in a good way. I've been waiting since last summer, to buy a new computer. Waiting till the house stuff settled down, waiting till after the holidays, then waiting for the tax refund. It's killing me. But, it's a fun sort of anticipation. This computer is a shambles. It's literally falling apart. It'll be 6 this year. 6 years old. That's ancient by computerly standards.
The other thing I'm waiting for, is my iPod. My mom and husband, are going halfies and giving me the money to buy an iPod (and some of the accessories), for my birthday. It's soo close, yet so far. I'm sort of hoping they'll suprise me soon, with the money, so I can order it and have it by the thirteenth. That would be sweet as hell. I don't want it for no reason, heh. I only have a radio in my Blazer, and rather than going all out, and putting in a System, when I got it (like I do with my other cars) I vowed to hold off, and get an iPod, and the thingy that you need, to play in the car. I hate the radio soooo much. It makes me nuts, being without good music day in and day out.
Soon. Soon. Patience is my middle name.
The other thing I'm waiting for, is my iPod. My mom and husband, are going halfies and giving me the money to buy an iPod (and some of the accessories), for my birthday. It's soo close, yet so far. I'm sort of hoping they'll suprise me soon, with the money, so I can order it and have it by the thirteenth. That would be sweet as hell. I don't want it for no reason, heh. I only have a radio in my Blazer, and rather than going all out, and putting in a System, when I got it (like I do with my other cars) I vowed to hold off, and get an iPod, and the thingy that you need, to play in the car. I hate the radio soooo much. It makes me nuts, being without good music day in and day out.
Soon. Soon. Patience is my middle name.
What a bizarrre dream. In a good way. I woke up feeling good, from it. I'm gonna write it down.
So, Mike and I are in a relationship. A serious one, too, very loving. We're right on the verge of living together, you know, where like half of your stuff is already moved in, you're sleeping together most nights, all that. I remember the house very distinctly, too. Strange. The walls were white, and the carpet was a lot of navy blue. Big bed, with a burgundy cover, and big dark furniture. So, Mike's got people coming over, to play cards. I'm in the bedroom changing from my clothes in a backpack, trying one outfit after another. I settled on a navy blue tee shirt, and some dark cutoffs. By the time I was done, all the people were downstairs playing cards, and Mike was in the kitchen getting some stuff to bring down there. There was a knock at the door. It was the police. I jetted downstairs, trying to escape out a basement door, or the garage or something. Mike answered the door, and turns out they were looking for me because one one unpaid parking ticket. I was running around downstairs trying to get through all the people to escape, but they had their stupid card table pushed up against the door. I was climbing over it, when Mike grabbed me around the middle, and hauled me upstairs to the cops. He was all like "I can't believe I loved a criminal, you disgust me, we're finished" It was that dramatic. So, the cops hauled me away.
Fade to prison. I just get placed in this tiny cell, it's roughly the size of my desk, with just enough room for a bench and a bucket, and just enough to stand and turn around. It was smack in the middle of this huge building that was mostly underground. Everything was beige, and lit with torches. The guard was juuust about to clink my door shut, when a riot starts, and I manage to escape.
Fade to me being outside, and escaping. I'm barefoot for some reason, and trotting across a giant parking lot. Also, everything's beige, sky, ground, everything. Very strange. The parking lot was totally deserted, too. Mike appears out of no where on this hovercraft. He pulls up, and I just shot him a look, and kept running, barefoot. He was like "look, I'm sorry, maybe I was too hasty, you need a ride" So, I hopped on.
He said "Since it's Halloween, I decided to go camping, wanna go?" Sure. He hovercrafted to a nearby forest, where there were little bonfires everywhere, and people partying. He pulled up near this huuuuuge winnebago, with a little campfire next to it, and people everywhere. They were having a Halloween party. We went inside, and there was candy EVERYWHERE, but it seemed illeagal. Like, candy was outlawed, or something. It was a party drug. I swept off this couch-bench thing to lay down among the chaos, and just then the park rangers knocked on the door.
Then I woke up.
So, Mike and I are in a relationship. A serious one, too, very loving. We're right on the verge of living together, you know, where like half of your stuff is already moved in, you're sleeping together most nights, all that. I remember the house very distinctly, too. Strange. The walls were white, and the carpet was a lot of navy blue. Big bed, with a burgundy cover, and big dark furniture. So, Mike's got people coming over, to play cards. I'm in the bedroom changing from my clothes in a backpack, trying one outfit after another. I settled on a navy blue tee shirt, and some dark cutoffs. By the time I was done, all the people were downstairs playing cards, and Mike was in the kitchen getting some stuff to bring down there. There was a knock at the door. It was the police. I jetted downstairs, trying to escape out a basement door, or the garage or something. Mike answered the door, and turns out they were looking for me because one one unpaid parking ticket. I was running around downstairs trying to get through all the people to escape, but they had their stupid card table pushed up against the door. I was climbing over it, when Mike grabbed me around the middle, and hauled me upstairs to the cops. He was all like "I can't believe I loved a criminal, you disgust me, we're finished" It was that dramatic. So, the cops hauled me away.
Fade to prison. I just get placed in this tiny cell, it's roughly the size of my desk, with just enough room for a bench and a bucket, and just enough to stand and turn around. It was smack in the middle of this huge building that was mostly underground. Everything was beige, and lit with torches. The guard was juuust about to clink my door shut, when a riot starts, and I manage to escape.
Fade to me being outside, and escaping. I'm barefoot for some reason, and trotting across a giant parking lot. Also, everything's beige, sky, ground, everything. Very strange. The parking lot was totally deserted, too. Mike appears out of no where on this hovercraft. He pulls up, and I just shot him a look, and kept running, barefoot. He was like "look, I'm sorry, maybe I was too hasty, you need a ride" So, I hopped on.
He said "Since it's Halloween, I decided to go camping, wanna go?" Sure. He hovercrafted to a nearby forest, where there were little bonfires everywhere, and people partying. He pulled up near this huuuuuge winnebago, with a little campfire next to it, and people everywhere. They were having a Halloween party. We went inside, and there was candy EVERYWHERE, but it seemed illeagal. Like, candy was outlawed, or something. It was a party drug. I swept off this couch-bench thing to lay down among the chaos, and just then the park rangers knocked on the door.
Then I woke up.
4.22.2004
REMOTE
Let's talk about perfume for a minute.
Personal scent: It should be an understatement. I like to think of it as a gift to people you like enough to stand close to. It should enhance your presence, a little, by being a joy to other's senses of smell.
What it should NOT do: Announce your presence before you physically arrive, nor linger for 20 minutes after you've left. It should not spread in a 30 foot radius assaulting the olifactory gland of any innocent bystanders. It shouldn't be detectable UP WIND or OVER THE PHONE. Perfume should not speak louder than you.
I think people who marinate in their scent are the same ones that talk too loud, and otherwise insinuate themselves on others. It's probably all subconcious, but there's a definite pattern of behavior here.
This rant brought to you by Harriet, who mentioned in a conversation, the other day, "...once a year?! You only have to buy a new bottle of perfume once a year?! Jeezus, I have to get a new one every three weeks!" *shudder*
At least, though, in her credit, she wears quality stuff. My above rant goes TRIPLE for people who buy their eu de toilette at the grocery store, or at a dollar mart.
Let's talk about perfume for a minute.
Personal scent: It should be an understatement. I like to think of it as a gift to people you like enough to stand close to. It should enhance your presence, a little, by being a joy to other's senses of smell.
What it should NOT do: Announce your presence before you physically arrive, nor linger for 20 minutes after you've left. It should not spread in a 30 foot radius assaulting the olifactory gland of any innocent bystanders. It shouldn't be detectable UP WIND or OVER THE PHONE. Perfume should not speak louder than you.
I think people who marinate in their scent are the same ones that talk too loud, and otherwise insinuate themselves on others. It's probably all subconcious, but there's a definite pattern of behavior here.
This rant brought to you by Harriet, who mentioned in a conversation, the other day, "...once a year?! You only have to buy a new bottle of perfume once a year?! Jeezus, I have to get a new one every three weeks!" *shudder*
At least, though, in her credit, she wears quality stuff. My above rant goes TRIPLE for people who buy their eu de toilette at the grocery store, or at a dollar mart.
I hate it when the mister says "So, what's on your agenda for tomorrow?" (and he does, almost every day) because half the time, I really don't have anything planned. I just take things as they come, and I wind up getting stuff accomplished. I don't like saying "Umm, nothing, why?" because he either smirks at me, and acts like "Oh, nothing? You're not planning on doing anything tomorrow?" with sort of a 'tude, as he looks around the house. OOR, he'll say something totally off the wall like "Good, you know that 9 yards of mulch in the driveway? Can you spread it over where the azalea bushes are planted?" or some other ridiculous task.
When I say "No plans." I mean doing my day-to-day routine, which includes, meeting with the contractor, and whatever inspectors decide to show up, often a trip or three to Home Depot for supplies, 5,000 phone calls and various daily odd tasks that keep his business running smooth (I spend more time on the phone with customers, than a telemarketer, it seems) bookkeeping, AND being a mother and a housewife on top of all that. So, tack on the daily duties of raising an exeuberant five year old, cooking 3 meals a day, doing crazy amounts of laundry (the mister changes his clothes 3 times a day. Street clothes, highway dept. uniform, and his own work clothes) with no dryer, and now, packing a few boxes every day. A few weeks ago, you can add cutting and installing lengths of insulation. Next week, add paining and priming to that list. Oh, and general upkeep of this and the other house.
When I DO have plans, I'll say something like "Yeah, I have to go give two people estimates, grocery shopping, and bake 3 dozen cupcakes, oh, and I'm getting my nails done"
Nowadays, I just fucking INVENT plans for myself, to avoid the smirk, and to avoid plans being made FOR me.
See, the problem is, he works two jobs, right? Till 3 he works for The Monmouth County Highway Dept. as a Heavy Equipment Operator. From 3 till whenever, he's his own boss, as a landscaper. In season, he's gone from 7 a.m. till dark. (Dark in the summertime can be as late as 9 p.m.) He's a workaholic, he gets very antsy if he's just sitting around. No patience to read, or chill, or mess with a computer. If it's not making him a profit, it's a waste of time. My job? I'm his personal assistant, in a way. I do allll the administrative whatevers for his business, and take care of every single other thing in this household, so that he can work 16 hours a day, and everything runs smoothly. I'm his PR person, his secretary, receptionist, appointment setter, soon to be landlord, maid, chef, personal massage therapist, and so on. I work from home, so he thinks I do nothing. He respects people that "go out and work, for a living" but, when I offer to go get a *real* job, which I would LOVE to do (only if it relieved my duties here) he's like "Who's gonna do the bookkeeping?" Right, exactly.
I guess I feel unappreciated. He doesn't notice what I do, because I do it so well, y'see? If he DID notice things, it would only be because I failed to do them. Does he think about credit card bills, or how his jobs get lined up? Does he have to double check on clean socks for the next week? Does he have to stop and wonder if the orders for parts and equipment were placed, or if the checks will bounce? Is he worried that his lunch won't be packed for the next day? Nope. Yet, when I tell him I don't have anything planned, he spazzes out. So, now I have to detail every single little thing that I do.
There's a few things I don't do, however. One is dishes. I do the daily ones, but I don't do them after dinner. Two is *most* yard work. For years my mom forced me to do her shitty yard work, to the point of being abusive about it. I like having a nice garden, and I work in my own little flowerbed and herb garden, but if he wants to have a hugely landscaped yard (which we do) then it's his job to maintain. Won't touch it. Oh, and I don't get paid, that's the other thing I don't do.
One nice aspect to not getting paid is, I can take extra money and go out and buy stuff on a whim. It's an ok deal, and I get no guilt. If I had a "real" (haha) job, I'd have my own pocket money to go out to lunch with, or get my nails done, or splurge on a new game or some books. So, once in awhile, I'll do just that. I feel I'm justified. I'm not spendy, though, or some kind of compulsive shopper, but I do like to get things when I want them. If I set my heart on a new game, or a new jacket or something, and it doesn't happen right away, I get antsy. Like, I work my ass off, and I can't even have a few bucks to buy some new clothes? WTF. It seldom happens, though. Because I'm not a girly type of shopper, and because I very very seldom get told no.
When I say "No plans." I mean doing my day-to-day routine, which includes, meeting with the contractor, and whatever inspectors decide to show up, often a trip or three to Home Depot for supplies, 5,000 phone calls and various daily odd tasks that keep his business running smooth (I spend more time on the phone with customers, than a telemarketer, it seems) bookkeeping, AND being a mother and a housewife on top of all that. So, tack on the daily duties of raising an exeuberant five year old, cooking 3 meals a day, doing crazy amounts of laundry (the mister changes his clothes 3 times a day. Street clothes, highway dept. uniform, and his own work clothes) with no dryer, and now, packing a few boxes every day. A few weeks ago, you can add cutting and installing lengths of insulation. Next week, add paining and priming to that list. Oh, and general upkeep of this and the other house.
When I DO have plans, I'll say something like "Yeah, I have to go give two people estimates, grocery shopping, and bake 3 dozen cupcakes, oh, and I'm getting my nails done"
Nowadays, I just fucking INVENT plans for myself, to avoid the smirk, and to avoid plans being made FOR me.
See, the problem is, he works two jobs, right? Till 3 he works for The Monmouth County Highway Dept. as a Heavy Equipment Operator. From 3 till whenever, he's his own boss, as a landscaper. In season, he's gone from 7 a.m. till dark. (Dark in the summertime can be as late as 9 p.m.) He's a workaholic, he gets very antsy if he's just sitting around. No patience to read, or chill, or mess with a computer. If it's not making him a profit, it's a waste of time. My job? I'm his personal assistant, in a way. I do allll the administrative whatevers for his business, and take care of every single other thing in this household, so that he can work 16 hours a day, and everything runs smoothly. I'm his PR person, his secretary, receptionist, appointment setter, soon to be landlord, maid, chef, personal massage therapist, and so on. I work from home, so he thinks I do nothing. He respects people that "go out and work, for a living" but, when I offer to go get a *real* job, which I would LOVE to do (only if it relieved my duties here) he's like "Who's gonna do the bookkeeping?" Right, exactly.
I guess I feel unappreciated. He doesn't notice what I do, because I do it so well, y'see? If he DID notice things, it would only be because I failed to do them. Does he think about credit card bills, or how his jobs get lined up? Does he have to double check on clean socks for the next week? Does he have to stop and wonder if the orders for parts and equipment were placed, or if the checks will bounce? Is he worried that his lunch won't be packed for the next day? Nope. Yet, when I tell him I don't have anything planned, he spazzes out. So, now I have to detail every single little thing that I do.
There's a few things I don't do, however. One is dishes. I do the daily ones, but I don't do them after dinner. Two is *most* yard work. For years my mom forced me to do her shitty yard work, to the point of being abusive about it. I like having a nice garden, and I work in my own little flowerbed and herb garden, but if he wants to have a hugely landscaped yard (which we do) then it's his job to maintain. Won't touch it. Oh, and I don't get paid, that's the other thing I don't do.
One nice aspect to not getting paid is, I can take extra money and go out and buy stuff on a whim. It's an ok deal, and I get no guilt. If I had a "real" (haha) job, I'd have my own pocket money to go out to lunch with, or get my nails done, or splurge on a new game or some books. So, once in awhile, I'll do just that. I feel I'm justified. I'm not spendy, though, or some kind of compulsive shopper, but I do like to get things when I want them. If I set my heart on a new game, or a new jacket or something, and it doesn't happen right away, I get antsy. Like, I work my ass off, and I can't even have a few bucks to buy some new clothes? WTF. It seldom happens, though. Because I'm not a girly type of shopper, and because I very very seldom get told no.
4.21.2004
Opportunities come from the strangest places.
So, I'm looking for a renter, for the house I'm living in. I figure $1000 will be a good ballpark. I'm telling people $1200, though, but, I'm willing to bargain.
So far, my two best offers: The guy that works at Lowes, who's selling me my cabinets. He used to live in town, but now he lives in Keansburg, the next town over, and it's generally recognized that Keansburg is a slum. He wants back in Union Beach bad. He's flinched a little at the price, but he said he'd talk it over with his girlfriend.
The other offer, and this one came outta left field, was from my contractor of all people. He used to live in town, and, you guessed it, now he lives in Keansburg, yeah he wants back in too. He likes our house a lot, perfect for him and his girlfriend. Ok, here's the kicker. To get a Cert. of Occupancy, I have to replace the heating and electrical. Big $$, roughly 10 grand. That we didn't budget for, in this loan. He said he'd do any painting, and cleaning up or whatever. I quoted him $900, for rent "as is" and he got excited. I like the guy, our relationship has been strained, at times, but it's not him, it's the situation. He's a decent guy, we've known each other for awhile, I've got no problem whatsoever renting to him.
The only thing is, is it worth the risk doing it "under the table" like? Without a Cert. of Occ? We'll get one eventually, as a matter of fact, I told him we would upgrade everthing if he promised to stay at LEAST a year. He said "If things work out, we'll stay there at least 10 years, I hate moving" .
The mister is a little patchy about it, but, then again it's not his decision, it's mine. It's my job, this whole renting thing. I'm gonna have to sit down with a calculator, and work out hard numbers, to see if it's worth it, to take the cut in our price, and upgrade things eventually.
So, I'm looking for a renter, for the house I'm living in. I figure $1000 will be a good ballpark. I'm telling people $1200, though, but, I'm willing to bargain.
So far, my two best offers: The guy that works at Lowes, who's selling me my cabinets. He used to live in town, but now he lives in Keansburg, the next town over, and it's generally recognized that Keansburg is a slum. He wants back in Union Beach bad. He's flinched a little at the price, but he said he'd talk it over with his girlfriend.
The other offer, and this one came outta left field, was from my contractor of all people. He used to live in town, and, you guessed it, now he lives in Keansburg, yeah he wants back in too. He likes our house a lot, perfect for him and his girlfriend. Ok, here's the kicker. To get a Cert. of Occupancy, I have to replace the heating and electrical. Big $$, roughly 10 grand. That we didn't budget for, in this loan. He said he'd do any painting, and cleaning up or whatever. I quoted him $900, for rent "as is" and he got excited. I like the guy, our relationship has been strained, at times, but it's not him, it's the situation. He's a decent guy, we've known each other for awhile, I've got no problem whatsoever renting to him.
The only thing is, is it worth the risk doing it "under the table" like? Without a Cert. of Occ? We'll get one eventually, as a matter of fact, I told him we would upgrade everthing if he promised to stay at LEAST a year. He said "If things work out, we'll stay there at least 10 years, I hate moving" .
The mister is a little patchy about it, but, then again it's not his decision, it's mine. It's my job, this whole renting thing. I'm gonna have to sit down with a calculator, and work out hard numbers, to see if it's worth it, to take the cut in our price, and upgrade things eventually.
4.20.2004
I made an interesting discovery about blogging. Often, throughout the day, I'll think of something brilliant to muse over, here, "OMG, I must blog that, I'll do it when I get home!" Then this or that happens, and when I actually do get in front of this thing, it just doesn't seem all that brilliant.
It's almost as if, these thoughts (besides remote, that is) are what hits me, when I'm sitting here, or bored at home. I should put more effort into Remote. I keep a notebook in my car, and I use it when I have to wait somewhere. I need to use it more. Just for one line notes to myself, so I don't forget.
I was gonna type about my bizarre spending habits, and my new addiction to Morrowind (bought because of my bizarre spending habits) but, now it doesn't seem all that important.
But, what is? This isn't about important. I'm keeping this blog, because I like talking to myself, typing things out helps me get things straight in my head, and it's a nifty little cross section of life, to look at. Snapshots of my days. Mental photo album.
It's almost as if, these thoughts (besides remote, that is) are what hits me, when I'm sitting here, or bored at home. I should put more effort into Remote. I keep a notebook in my car, and I use it when I have to wait somewhere. I need to use it more. Just for one line notes to myself, so I don't forget.
I was gonna type about my bizarre spending habits, and my new addiction to Morrowind (bought because of my bizarre spending habits) but, now it doesn't seem all that important.
But, what is? This isn't about important. I'm keeping this blog, because I like talking to myself, typing things out helps me get things straight in my head, and it's a nifty little cross section of life, to look at. Snapshots of my days. Mental photo album.
What a weird situation this could blossom into.
My son is over there yammering away to The Neighbors From Hell, and he has been, for a good long time.
We hate TNFH. They're the Devil. They're Legion. Picture this: Something like 4-7 kids, all related somehow, living together, with a sometimes parent on the premesis. They're all older now, and honestly things have gotten better, but about 4 years ago, it was sheer hell. They ranged in age from 7-15. But, there were no PARENTS LIVING THERE. The dad would pop by occasionally, but besides that? I'd see them lugging groceries home on foot, and riding their bikes to the laundermat. Yeah. I should feel sorry, right? I would, I tried, but shit, they're such animals. Where should I start?
They killed my rabbit, and maybe one (possibly two) of my dogs. The younger kids would throw a bunch of shoelaces tied together with a huge fishing hook at the end, over the stockade fence into my yard. Once, they hooked it in my rabbit hutch. My rabbit ate it, and died. I'd be sitting in the yard, and *woosh* over the fence would come this long string, with a hook. Sometimes into the dog pen, sometimes right into the fish pond. In that time frame, two of my dogs turned up dead. One would eat ANYTHING, seriously. She was youngish, only 6, but she chewed on everything. There was bits of string in the pen, and my dog was dead :( one can only assume. Another of them died, but he was older, about 10. It was just *poof* he wasn't sick or anything, but we had no evidence.
They used to throw all manner of garbage out of their second floor window, on to my house (we live about 10 feet apart), anthing from used feminine hygene products, to old food (dishes and all, know how many forks I hit with the lawnmower?), to toy parts, to once, a used condom. Every time we'd notice something new, we'd go bang on their door, and make one of the kids clean it up. Turns out, it was just this one girl doing it, the sloppy bitch, rather than clean her room, she'd chuck everything out the window.
They have two dogs and about a billion cats. One dog is fine, cute little bugger. The other one is a vicious nightmare. It's a boxer. They built this ridiculous enclosure that gave the dog a 3 ft. width of run up and down the stockade fence bordering our yard. All the dog would do was bark and bark and bark all day long. It had a thing for our clothesline, too. It would go NUTS, when we would put clothes on the line (we don't own a dryer). Our stuff kept dissapearing, too, and, I chalked it up to our carelessness, misplacing stuff whatever. Till one day, I saw one of our towels hanging over the fence (now, our clothes line is about 10 feet high, and 2 feeet away from the property line). I went to go grab it, thinking the wind had knocked it over there. The dog climbed up the fence, and went after me, ripping the towel from my hands. I got a stepladder, and peered over the fence, and FUCKING LO AND BEHOLD a heap of our stuff out there. Roughly two loads of laundry, this asshole dog had snatched off the end of our clothesline. The damn thing climbed up this bowed section of fence, and ripped clothes off the line. So, I go get the husband, he looks, and puts a hand on the edge of the fence to steady himself, and the dog bites him. Bites him. Yes. Tore three fingers open, and a nice puncture wound on the knuckle. He's livid, at this point and goes banging on their door, yelling about the laundry, yelling about the dog, screaming at the top of his lungs. No one came to the door. He pounded and pounded, and ranted and raved. He left bloody smears all over the door, the front window, everything. He hit one windowpane so hard, he broke it. Yeah, mister temper. One of the kids finally came to the door, the boy. All my husband said was "I'll pay for that window, if you want, but, then I'm gonna call the cops about the vicious dog, and where's your dad, anyway..." The kid mumbled, "Don't worry about it"
Since then, the dog has been on the other side of the enclosure, with three feet of space seperating. They didn't clean the blood off the front of their house for weeks. Weeks.
That was all a few years ago. Since then, the boy's dissapeared, I'm guessing he's in his late teens, now, the oldest one, a girl, has a kid of her own, a baby, and she's maybe 20. Some of them drive now, thankfully, and we had about 6 different kinds of "authorities" come banging on our door, looking for the father. Get this, FBI, Union Beach cops, county sheriff, NYPD (that one floored us), DYFS, and someone else, some other bureau. The father has totally dissapeared. Those were just some of the more major problems, but I assure you, there have been literally hundreds, over the years. We don't hate, we just ignore them, mostly, and once in awhile the mister will go off on who ever answers the door. They apologize, and fix whatever it is. Their dogs occasionally get into our yard, and we throw bricks at them, or baseball bats. No biggie. Things have been quiet, mostly.
Now all of a sudden, my son, the politician, everyone's friend, this boy, is talking to the youngest of them through the fence. I eavesdropped. He told them he's afraid of their dogs. She invited him to come over and play. I shuddered. But hey, he can talk to whoever, I guess, it wasn't hurting anything. I'm not letting him go over there, nohow. I'm afraid of the dogs, and of what diseases he may contract...plus, they're just skaaaanky.
My son is over there yammering away to The Neighbors From Hell, and he has been, for a good long time.
We hate TNFH. They're the Devil. They're Legion. Picture this: Something like 4-7 kids, all related somehow, living together, with a sometimes parent on the premesis. They're all older now, and honestly things have gotten better, but about 4 years ago, it was sheer hell. They ranged in age from 7-15. But, there were no PARENTS LIVING THERE. The dad would pop by occasionally, but besides that? I'd see them lugging groceries home on foot, and riding their bikes to the laundermat. Yeah. I should feel sorry, right? I would, I tried, but shit, they're such animals. Where should I start?
They killed my rabbit, and maybe one (possibly two) of my dogs. The younger kids would throw a bunch of shoelaces tied together with a huge fishing hook at the end, over the stockade fence into my yard. Once, they hooked it in my rabbit hutch. My rabbit ate it, and died. I'd be sitting in the yard, and *woosh* over the fence would come this long string, with a hook. Sometimes into the dog pen, sometimes right into the fish pond. In that time frame, two of my dogs turned up dead. One would eat ANYTHING, seriously. She was youngish, only 6, but she chewed on everything. There was bits of string in the pen, and my dog was dead :( one can only assume. Another of them died, but he was older, about 10. It was just *poof* he wasn't sick or anything, but we had no evidence.
They used to throw all manner of garbage out of their second floor window, on to my house (we live about 10 feet apart), anthing from used feminine hygene products, to old food (dishes and all, know how many forks I hit with the lawnmower?), to toy parts, to once, a used condom. Every time we'd notice something new, we'd go bang on their door, and make one of the kids clean it up. Turns out, it was just this one girl doing it, the sloppy bitch, rather than clean her room, she'd chuck everything out the window.
They have two dogs and about a billion cats. One dog is fine, cute little bugger. The other one is a vicious nightmare. It's a boxer. They built this ridiculous enclosure that gave the dog a 3 ft. width of run up and down the stockade fence bordering our yard. All the dog would do was bark and bark and bark all day long. It had a thing for our clothesline, too. It would go NUTS, when we would put clothes on the line (we don't own a dryer). Our stuff kept dissapearing, too, and, I chalked it up to our carelessness, misplacing stuff whatever. Till one day, I saw one of our towels hanging over the fence (now, our clothes line is about 10 feet high, and 2 feeet away from the property line). I went to go grab it, thinking the wind had knocked it over there. The dog climbed up the fence, and went after me, ripping the towel from my hands. I got a stepladder, and peered over the fence, and FUCKING LO AND BEHOLD a heap of our stuff out there. Roughly two loads of laundry, this asshole dog had snatched off the end of our clothesline. The damn thing climbed up this bowed section of fence, and ripped clothes off the line. So, I go get the husband, he looks, and puts a hand on the edge of the fence to steady himself, and the dog bites him. Bites him. Yes. Tore three fingers open, and a nice puncture wound on the knuckle. He's livid, at this point and goes banging on their door, yelling about the laundry, yelling about the dog, screaming at the top of his lungs. No one came to the door. He pounded and pounded, and ranted and raved. He left bloody smears all over the door, the front window, everything. He hit one windowpane so hard, he broke it. Yeah, mister temper. One of the kids finally came to the door, the boy. All my husband said was "I'll pay for that window, if you want, but, then I'm gonna call the cops about the vicious dog, and where's your dad, anyway..." The kid mumbled, "Don't worry about it"
Since then, the dog has been on the other side of the enclosure, with three feet of space seperating. They didn't clean the blood off the front of their house for weeks. Weeks.
That was all a few years ago. Since then, the boy's dissapeared, I'm guessing he's in his late teens, now, the oldest one, a girl, has a kid of her own, a baby, and she's maybe 20. Some of them drive now, thankfully, and we had about 6 different kinds of "authorities" come banging on our door, looking for the father. Get this, FBI, Union Beach cops, county sheriff, NYPD (that one floored us), DYFS, and someone else, some other bureau. The father has totally dissapeared. Those were just some of the more major problems, but I assure you, there have been literally hundreds, over the years. We don't hate, we just ignore them, mostly, and once in awhile the mister will go off on who ever answers the door. They apologize, and fix whatever it is. Their dogs occasionally get into our yard, and we throw bricks at them, or baseball bats. No biggie. Things have been quiet, mostly.
Now all of a sudden, my son, the politician, everyone's friend, this boy, is talking to the youngest of them through the fence. I eavesdropped. He told them he's afraid of their dogs. She invited him to come over and play. I shuddered. But hey, he can talk to whoever, I guess, it wasn't hurting anything. I'm not letting him go over there, nohow. I'm afraid of the dogs, and of what diseases he may contract...plus, they're just skaaaanky.
4.19.2004
I just started playing AC again, right? I'm enjoying it, because I'm taking things slow, and really getting INTO the game. Trying quests I've never done, reading lore, keeping a book of detailed information. It's a nice, different approach. I used to play to hang out with friends, now, I don't have any friends in game, so I'm doing what I can to keep myself interested. It's really a fun game, but I think it's all about setting self-goals. Lately, I've been trying to fill this checklist I made, of housing items. It's harder than one would think. Rare drops really are rare.
Here's what sucks, though. Someone suggested that I would like the game Morrowind. I looked it up, and it really grabbed my interest. Now, I'm about to go buy it. It'll either turn out one of two ways, I can see it now: I'll love it, and abandon AC again, to play it, or I'll play for a week or so, and get bored like every other game, and go back to AC.
Here's what sucks, though. Someone suggested that I would like the game Morrowind. I looked it up, and it really grabbed my interest. Now, I'm about to go buy it. It'll either turn out one of two ways, I can see it now: I'll love it, and abandon AC again, to play it, or I'll play for a week or so, and get bored like every other game, and go back to AC.
4.16.2004
Gah, it's happening again. I changed my AIM name, because every time I'd log in under my old one, 2897427493 people would pop on and want to chat. I can't entertain that many people, on a daily basis, I simply don't have that energy, I do it enough in real life. So, I changed my name. Soon enough, lots of people learned my "hiding" name. Same problem. So, I moved over to MSN. Now, every time I get on MSN, I really only want to talk to one or two people, and 5 conversations start up, and here I am netted into talking to a load of people. It's that whole obligation thing. I like talking to my friends, and I enjoy having conversations, but when it gets to the point where I feel like I *have* to...gah, that makes me want to delete the program.
I've been feeling it more lately, because I'm online much much less. Spending whole days (!!) outside, busy as hell with the house, all that.
I've been feeling it more lately, because I'm online much much less. Spending whole days (!!) outside, busy as hell with the house, all that.
4.15.2004
To get back into the swing of things, I'll start with the magical Three Things I Did Today:
Thing One: I called my contractor at 9 a.m. (just like he told me to) and woke him up out of a dead sleep. I say "Hi, this is Lisa" He says "LIIIIIIIIIISSSSAAAAAA" really loud. His girlfriend comes to the phone. Apparently, his girlfriend's name is Lisa, too. Lemme just say this: 27 (more or less) years of smoking pot is bad. BAD. Poor old Joe.
Thing Two: I finalized the design of my kitchen. The keywords here are elemental, moden, clean lines, and bold color. Natural Maple cabinets, very smooth and square looking, full overlay, all that. Countertops in this color called Ebony Oxide, which is a very dark shade of charcoal grey, with black I dunno...texture looking stuff, looks almost like waterspots, or granite. It's Formica, I originally wanted Corian, but since I found that Laquer black Kohler sink, and it has to go above the counter, what's the point of blowing 3 grand on Corian? Right, exactly. So, yeah. I picked out a floor, too. Almost the same as the countertop, this dark dark grey granitey looking linoleoum. And, here's the kicker. Laquer red walls. Like, that Chinese enamaled dragon red. Dark, rich, modern, warm, mysterious. Stainless and black appliances. I'm thrilled. They finished putting up sheetrock yesterday, now you can actually see where the rooms start and end. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. Maybe one day, I'll explain this tunnel of which I speak. Right now, I'll say, that it's been two years since the house burned, as of April 3. Two friggin years.
Thing Three: Uh. Hm. I had fun in AC. I ran allll the way to the start of that river thingy, that flows by Holt, and Crag, and all. There were some huge monsters out there, scary for my little level 30 self. It's nice, though, to play and explore, and have the freedom to do whatever I wanna do. Without having to worry about patrons, and vassals, and guild expectations. That's really why I quit. I was tired of being obligated. Obligated to do this or that for the monarchy. Obligated to get to a particular level, so I could do this or that with my companions. I just burned out, I guess. Now, if only I can talk Jez into joining me on MT again. Yeah, MT. I started again on FF, but it occurred to me, that I already had an apt on MT, and no other ties, really. The apartment sold me. It's nice to go home.
Thing One: I called my contractor at 9 a.m. (just like he told me to) and woke him up out of a dead sleep. I say "Hi, this is Lisa" He says "LIIIIIIIIIISSSSAAAAAA" really loud. His girlfriend comes to the phone. Apparently, his girlfriend's name is Lisa, too. Lemme just say this: 27 (more or less) years of smoking pot is bad. BAD. Poor old Joe.
Thing Two: I finalized the design of my kitchen. The keywords here are elemental, moden, clean lines, and bold color. Natural Maple cabinets, very smooth and square looking, full overlay, all that. Countertops in this color called Ebony Oxide, which is a very dark shade of charcoal grey, with black I dunno...texture looking stuff, looks almost like waterspots, or granite. It's Formica, I originally wanted Corian, but since I found that Laquer black Kohler sink, and it has to go above the counter, what's the point of blowing 3 grand on Corian? Right, exactly. So, yeah. I picked out a floor, too. Almost the same as the countertop, this dark dark grey granitey looking linoleoum. And, here's the kicker. Laquer red walls. Like, that Chinese enamaled dragon red. Dark, rich, modern, warm, mysterious. Stainless and black appliances. I'm thrilled. They finished putting up sheetrock yesterday, now you can actually see where the rooms start and end. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. Maybe one day, I'll explain this tunnel of which I speak. Right now, I'll say, that it's been two years since the house burned, as of April 3. Two friggin years.
Thing Three: Uh. Hm. I had fun in AC. I ran allll the way to the start of that river thingy, that flows by Holt, and Crag, and all. There were some huge monsters out there, scary for my little level 30 self. It's nice, though, to play and explore, and have the freedom to do whatever I wanna do. Without having to worry about patrons, and vassals, and guild expectations. That's really why I quit. I was tired of being obligated. Obligated to do this or that for the monarchy. Obligated to get to a particular level, so I could do this or that with my companions. I just burned out, I guess. Now, if only I can talk Jez into joining me on MT again. Yeah, MT. I started again on FF, but it occurred to me, that I already had an apt on MT, and no other ties, really. The apartment sold me. It's nice to go home.
My my my, that just made me grin from ear to ear. :) Ally (Ally's Blog) posted a bunch of comments about my thoughts, on her blog. Hehehehehe, I keep telling myself that it's ok to say whateverthefuck here, because no one reads it.
Well, if it's just Ally reading it, I can still say whatever, hehe, I'm sure nothing could shock her at this point.
Oh, and good luck on the not-swearing, girly. I could never do it. You could build a casino on what would go into my swear jar.
Edit: I'd code that link in to the side somewhere...but I dunno how :'(
Well, if it's just Ally reading it, I can still say whatever, hehe, I'm sure nothing could shock her at this point.
Oh, and good luck on the not-swearing, girly. I could never do it. You could build a casino on what would go into my swear jar.
Edit: I'd code that link in to the side somewhere...but I dunno how :'(
4.08.2004
4.06.2004
Society as we know it, is on life support. Think about it. If electricity went *poof* one day. The human race would implode. We'd be dead in the water. We're hooked to machines, baby, and we don't have a choice. If the machines go down, we go down. We created this. We created the machine.
I'm feeling very "End Times" today.
I'm feeling very "End Times" today.
4.05.2004
4.02.2004
HUGELY GOOD NEWS WOOOOFUCKINGHOOO!!!!!
I got my nose pierced again, today (that's not the good news, wait for it). My piercer, Turin, and I have a good rapport. I've been going to him for almost 8 years now, and he's awesome. Today, we were talking, and he was thinking about going back to school, making piercing a part time thing. Half jokingly, I said "well, if ya ever need someone to answer the phones..." He looked at me, and said "I'm seriously considering taking on an apprentice, so, we'll have to think about that." He's the only one that works there, he owns the place. We? I guess he meant he and I. HELL FUCKING YEAH. You wanna talk dream jobs? Close to home, good pay, excellent hours, great boss, and it's something I totally love. I'm floating. He's got my number, now :) Oh, and I have a lovely stainless steel ring in my right nostril. That's good too. :D
I got my nose pierced again, today (that's not the good news, wait for it). My piercer, Turin, and I have a good rapport. I've been going to him for almost 8 years now, and he's awesome. Today, we were talking, and he was thinking about going back to school, making piercing a part time thing. Half jokingly, I said "well, if ya ever need someone to answer the phones..." He looked at me, and said "I'm seriously considering taking on an apprentice, so, we'll have to think about that." He's the only one that works there, he owns the place. We? I guess he meant he and I. HELL FUCKING YEAH. You wanna talk dream jobs? Close to home, good pay, excellent hours, great boss, and it's something I totally love. I'm floating. He's got my number, now :) Oh, and I have a lovely stainless steel ring in my right nostril. That's good too. :D
Woohoo! Confession time!
So, I'm going to get my nails done this morning. (no, that's not the confession) The shop where I get them done is CONSTANTLY blasting CMT. Who woulda thunk, Vietnamese folks, into country music. The duration of the visit is roughly an hour and a half, and for that whole time, I'm watching country music videos. It used to make my skin crawl. It's growing on me. Some of those country music guys are friggin HOT! Some of the songs, I can relate to. Like, today, there was this song called Whiskey Girl. It made me smile. SMILE, people. Most of it is still total dreck, like there was this Dolly Parton song about Jesus or some shit, that made me want to toss cookies, and there's the standard sappy whiny love songs, but every once in awhile, I hear something I like. WTF people. WTF I say.
You know what? This would make a good ACF post.
So, I'm going to get my nails done this morning. (no, that's not the confession) The shop where I get them done is CONSTANTLY blasting CMT. Who woulda thunk, Vietnamese folks, into country music. The duration of the visit is roughly an hour and a half, and for that whole time, I'm watching country music videos. It used to make my skin crawl. It's growing on me. Some of those country music guys are friggin HOT! Some of the songs, I can relate to. Like, today, there was this song called Whiskey Girl. It made me smile. SMILE, people. Most of it is still total dreck, like there was this Dolly Parton song about Jesus or some shit, that made me want to toss cookies, and there's the standard sappy whiny love songs, but every once in awhile, I hear something I like. WTF people. WTF I say.
You know what? This would make a good ACF post.
4.01.2004
More: This is a continuation of The Harriet Chronicles. See down there for clarification.
She's planning this huge bash, in May, for Sis's 75th b-day. Big affair. They're getting a hall, a DJ, catered, the whole works. Harriet is positively consumed, to the exclusion of most other things, by this. Every day, yammering about this DJ and the price of that hall, and who has better food, and themes and colors, and the guest list. Every day. While Sis herself is hooked to machines in the hospital. Tuesday night, she called me about chicken dishes. What's good for a crowd? What works for a spring party? "How's Sis?" I asked. Fine, and she likes chicken, too.
I'm bothered by this.
It bothers me.
Fin. Finally. For now. I'm sure there will be more about this woman.
She's planning this huge bash, in May, for Sis's 75th b-day. Big affair. They're getting a hall, a DJ, catered, the whole works. Harriet is positively consumed, to the exclusion of most other things, by this. Every day, yammering about this DJ and the price of that hall, and who has better food, and themes and colors, and the guest list. Every day. While Sis herself is hooked to machines in the hospital. Tuesday night, she called me about chicken dishes. What's good for a crowd? What works for a spring party? "How's Sis?" I asked. Fine, and she likes chicken, too.
I'm bothered by this.
It bothers me.
Fin. Finally. For now. I'm sure there will be more about this woman.
The culmination of three days worth of REMOTE, or bloggings from my car. This kicks off The Harriet Chronicles.
I wasn't gonna write today. I don't when she comes to pick up her daughter. Normally, we get there the same time, and I go hop in her Durango, and we talk. Well. She talks, mostly. So funny, when I hop into her car, or go to her house, it's like I may as well check my personality at the door. It's all about her, baby. I'm an accessory in her world, just like everyone else.
She thrives on drama in such a way, it's difficult to put into words.
Her husband is a mild alcoholic. He's not a roaring drunk. He's not abusive. The kids have never seen him drunk, that I know of. I know he had a real problem before they were together, and early in the marriage. I would rank him a 4, on a scale of 1-10. So, once in a blue moon, he'll dissapear and have a few at a bar. He's so afraid ("he better be afraid, goddammit, he knows I'll kill him", she says) to come home with it on his breath, he stays overnight at a buddy's house or something. Like I said, guy's got a problem, but he's not abusive (she is...)
The Harriet Protocol, for the situation is as follows: She calls him the moment he gets off of work, and confirms that he's on his way home. She knows it takes him X amount of time to get home. If he doesn't get home in just that amount of time, all hell breaks loose. She gets on the horn to all her drama-enabler friends, and the network then calls every bar and cab company within a 50 mile radius. She hunts him down ("like the dog that he is", she says) confronts him wherever, and proceeds to make a HUGE FUCKING SCENE, wherever they are, then drags him home, literally.
Normally, it's over with in 45 minutes. Like some kind of fucked up well rehearsed play.
Then, she gets BACK on the phone, with all her lame friends, and she's all fucked up about how much her marriage sucks, how her life is in the toilet, general man bashing, and how she "simply can't take this anymore". She floats around in this hazy funk, sighing, and moaning, and taking off of work "oh, this stress, I can't deal with it". You can't even get near her, without getting blown over by all the sighing. Till recently, it was shower, rinse, repeat, about once every two weeks.
Ok, this is the second day I'm working on this. The Harriet Chronicles. The irony is, if she knew her name was on a site somewhere, and people were talking, she'd be thrilled. Anyway, she thrives on this brand of drama and martyrdom. It would be sickening, but, my own life is drama-free by comparison, so this is all rather amusing.
Third day's the charm, maybe? I had to quit yesterday, because she materialized at my car door. Good thing I'm scribbling this, otherwise she may have been able to decipher it over my shoulder.
On with the story: Monday morning she shows up in the AM all distraught. Her Aunt Sis (whom they live with) had been rushed to the ER the night before. Chest pains. That's scary. She's 74 years old. I'm genuinely concerned, here, she's a good woman. "Keep me posted, please"
Tuesday comes, and from the moment I see her, she's going on and on and on about some work bullshit. I had to stop her mid deluge, to inquire about Sis. *blank stare* It took her a minute. "Oh. OH! Yeah. Pneumonia. Yeah, she was admitted last night." Right back about how this guy at work is a dick. Pneumonia is scary, in old people, poor Sis. My Aunt Mary died from complications of it, around that same age. I told her that, and she was like "Yah, Sis has had it before, no biggie."
No biggie.
I wasn't gonna write today. I don't when she comes to pick up her daughter. Normally, we get there the same time, and I go hop in her Durango, and we talk. Well. She talks, mostly. So funny, when I hop into her car, or go to her house, it's like I may as well check my personality at the door. It's all about her, baby. I'm an accessory in her world, just like everyone else.
She thrives on drama in such a way, it's difficult to put into words.
Her husband is a mild alcoholic. He's not a roaring drunk. He's not abusive. The kids have never seen him drunk, that I know of. I know he had a real problem before they were together, and early in the marriage. I would rank him a 4, on a scale of 1-10. So, once in a blue moon, he'll dissapear and have a few at a bar. He's so afraid ("he better be afraid, goddammit, he knows I'll kill him", she says) to come home with it on his breath, he stays overnight at a buddy's house or something. Like I said, guy's got a problem, but he's not abusive (she is...)
The Harriet Protocol, for the situation is as follows: She calls him the moment he gets off of work, and confirms that he's on his way home. She knows it takes him X amount of time to get home. If he doesn't get home in just that amount of time, all hell breaks loose. She gets on the horn to all her drama-enabler friends, and the network then calls every bar and cab company within a 50 mile radius. She hunts him down ("like the dog that he is", she says) confronts him wherever, and proceeds to make a HUGE FUCKING SCENE, wherever they are, then drags him home, literally.
Normally, it's over with in 45 minutes. Like some kind of fucked up well rehearsed play.
Then, she gets BACK on the phone, with all her lame friends, and she's all fucked up about how much her marriage sucks, how her life is in the toilet, general man bashing, and how she "simply can't take this anymore". She floats around in this hazy funk, sighing, and moaning, and taking off of work "oh, this stress, I can't deal with it". You can't even get near her, without getting blown over by all the sighing. Till recently, it was shower, rinse, repeat, about once every two weeks.
Ok, this is the second day I'm working on this. The Harriet Chronicles. The irony is, if she knew her name was on a site somewhere, and people were talking, she'd be thrilled. Anyway, she thrives on this brand of drama and martyrdom. It would be sickening, but, my own life is drama-free by comparison, so this is all rather amusing.
Third day's the charm, maybe? I had to quit yesterday, because she materialized at my car door. Good thing I'm scribbling this, otherwise she may have been able to decipher it over my shoulder.
On with the story: Monday morning she shows up in the AM all distraught. Her Aunt Sis (whom they live with) had been rushed to the ER the night before. Chest pains. That's scary. She's 74 years old. I'm genuinely concerned, here, she's a good woman. "Keep me posted, please"
Tuesday comes, and from the moment I see her, she's going on and on and on about some work bullshit. I had to stop her mid deluge, to inquire about Sis. *blank stare* It took her a minute. "Oh. OH! Yeah. Pneumonia. Yeah, she was admitted last night." Right back about how this guy at work is a dick. Pneumonia is scary, in old people, poor Sis. My Aunt Mary died from complications of it, around that same age. I told her that, and she was like "Yah, Sis has had it before, no biggie."
No biggie.
This is gonna unwind into a saga, I can feel it already... No one I know irl reads this, so I'm not changing any names to protect the guilty and weak.
So, Harriet's husband, John is an alcoholic. He's now in recovery. After drama after drama, and her running to his rescue then threatening to throw him out, and the threat of divorce, and so on, he's gotten himself on the ball. Counceling twice a week, AA meetings, the whole bit. Grats to him, it takes a big man to admit addiction and get over it.
SHE'S got her head SO FAR up her ass, I can't even believe it. Just got off the phone with her, and get this, a direct quote: "I know the meetings are helping him, and all the councelling shit, but I just don't want to hear about it. I'm so not interested in his life. I try to pretend to care, but I don't. As long as he stays clean, what the fuck do I care what he does? Soooo boring...."
Am I the only one who notices how wrong that is, on so many levels? How totally unfair? Well, honestly, you don't know the situation, so I can't ask that. I'm working on presenting it here, though. I've been working on THe Harriet Chronicles, in my car, day to day. She is a source of much of my ponderings. She is a psychologists' wet dream.
When I tidy it up, and finish that one part, I'm gonna start it. The Harriet Chronicles. It'll be interesting, you'll see.
So, Harriet's husband, John is an alcoholic. He's now in recovery. After drama after drama, and her running to his rescue then threatening to throw him out, and the threat of divorce, and so on, he's gotten himself on the ball. Counceling twice a week, AA meetings, the whole bit. Grats to him, it takes a big man to admit addiction and get over it.
SHE'S got her head SO FAR up her ass, I can't even believe it. Just got off the phone with her, and get this, a direct quote: "I know the meetings are helping him, and all the councelling shit, but I just don't want to hear about it. I'm so not interested in his life. I try to pretend to care, but I don't. As long as he stays clean, what the fuck do I care what he does? Soooo boring...."
Am I the only one who notices how wrong that is, on so many levels? How totally unfair? Well, honestly, you don't know the situation, so I can't ask that. I'm working on presenting it here, though. I've been working on THe Harriet Chronicles, in my car, day to day. She is a source of much of my ponderings. She is a psychologists' wet dream.
When I tidy it up, and finish that one part, I'm gonna start it. The Harriet Chronicles. It'll be interesting, you'll see.
ACF again, hehe. That thread with the girl. Naturally, it dissolved into a pro-anti piercing thread.
Close mindedness: When the world has to fit into your standards to be "right". God, I hate that so much. When you judge someone's viability as a person, their intellect, their character, based on a simple piece of jewlery placed in a non-standard spot. Marvellous.
I was on the phone with the mister, when I read that thread, and I had to chuckle out loud. He asked what I laughed at, and I told him. Somehow the discussion of my upcoming piercings nose/labret came up.
I think he heard me this time. I've mentioned it before, dozens of times. He brushed me off...hahahaha. Well, this time he might have heard me.
I said "To round out and complete my facial work, I'm getting my nose/labret done all at once. That'll be it, then I can focus on other parts of my body"
Him: "WHAT?! You never said you were..."
ME: "Oh, but I did. I've been planning it since before Christmas"
Him: "I didn't think you were serious"
Me: "Heheh. You never do"
I could go a hundred places with this. I could attempt to plead my case further. I could try to prove that people DO look past the piercings, and they DO take me seriously. I could say that the people that make the mistake of brushing me off, upon really meeting me are sorry they did so.
That doesn't matter. I won't change his opinion.
He said "But Lisa, you're 25 years old, you're not a teenager!", and I said, "Which gives me the power to make decisions for myself, and not have to answer to anyone..."
He was ok with the rest of them. He swings from my nipple rings like any kind of perv. He loves the tounge ring, and bought me a pretty ring for my eyebrow. He took me to get my nose done the first time. Evidently, the labret is just a wee bit too far, and now all bets are off, and he hates every last one of them.
He's gonna have to get over himself, methinks.
Close mindedness: When the world has to fit into your standards to be "right". God, I hate that so much. When you judge someone's viability as a person, their intellect, their character, based on a simple piece of jewlery placed in a non-standard spot. Marvellous.
I was on the phone with the mister, when I read that thread, and I had to chuckle out loud. He asked what I laughed at, and I told him. Somehow the discussion of my upcoming piercings nose/labret came up.
I think he heard me this time. I've mentioned it before, dozens of times. He brushed me off...hahahaha. Well, this time he might have heard me.
I said "To round out and complete my facial work, I'm getting my nose/labret done all at once. That'll be it, then I can focus on other parts of my body"
Him: "WHAT?! You never said you were..."
ME: "Oh, but I did. I've been planning it since before Christmas"
Him: "I didn't think you were serious"
Me: "Heheh. You never do"
I could go a hundred places with this. I could attempt to plead my case further. I could try to prove that people DO look past the piercings, and they DO take me seriously. I could say that the people that make the mistake of brushing me off, upon really meeting me are sorry they did so.
That doesn't matter. I won't change his opinion.
He said "But Lisa, you're 25 years old, you're not a teenager!", and I said, "Which gives me the power to make decisions for myself, and not have to answer to anyone..."
He was ok with the rest of them. He swings from my nipple rings like any kind of perv. He loves the tounge ring, and bought me a pretty ring for my eyebrow. He took me to get my nose done the first time. Evidently, the labret is just a wee bit too far, and now all bets are off, and he hates every last one of them.
He's gonna have to get over himself, methinks.
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