Random stuff

Just some things that pop into my head, now and then…


I went to get my nails done, yesterday, pedicure and eyebrows too.  I’ve been going to this place since summer, but I think I hate it.  I really need to learn Vietnamese.  It’s hard to find a good nail place.

I’m always a little paranoid, when I’m sitting there, in every place it’s the same.  They’re talking and laughing back and forth, in their native tongue, I always get the feeling they’re talking about me, or us, the customers.  Generally, it’s probably not.   Yesterday, though, it definitely was.  I was the only one in there, and there were 4 employees hanging around, the girl that runs the place, and three guys.  They kept walking over to where I was, and talking to the guy doing my nails, and I got the sense that they were ribbing him. Then, they would all look at me, and start laughing hysterically.  Then, another guy did my pedicure, and it was more of the same.  Till I shot the woman The Look, you know, my look.  The one you can feel.  The giggling pretty much dried up, though I could tell they were making all these little comments.  They would say something with sort of a short, clipped feel, and glance my way.

Not only that…but my nails are butchered, and my eyebrows…horrifying.  Alden could have done a better job.

I’m rather appalled at that sort of treatment.  I was the only customer in there, for the whole time, and I didn’t just come in there for a little procedure, I was having a lot of stuff done, and I tip well, REALLY well. I used to tip Paul, like $20.  But…how long do you think that place is going to stay open, when the employees spend half their time mocking and making little comments about their only customer, and the other half of the time butchering them?  That’s so fucked up.  A plague upon all their ancestors, I hope the place burns down.  I hate being made to feel like a spectacle.  I mean, I already feel like one, every minute of my life, that kind of shit just fucks me up even more.

More random stuff:

Irv has been really irritable lately.  Really really.  I have no idea what’s causing it, but like EVERYTHING frustrates him.  He plays WoW with me now, and he’s close in level, now to all my chars. He’s big enough to do the end-game stuff, and I thought he would be happy that he finally caught up.  No.  When I deliberately invite him along, he gets annoyed at some element of the group, like it takes too long, he’s not making any gold, some person rubs him the wrong way, etc…Like, anything he can find to complain about.  Something ALWAYS inevitably sets him off.  So…I don’t force him to come along, and he goes off and does his own thing. I hang with my static group, and we have fun.  Like we always do.   Then, he’s all pissy because I disclude him, because I’m always “running around with THOSE guys, they’re always up your ass”  (We have about 10 people that more or less steadily quest together, there’s always between 3-10 of us around, so we just hang out.)  So…I endeavor to spend alone time with him.  Which seems to make him happy…but I move to fast, he says.  He actually had a tantrum and called me a powerleveler, because I didn’t hand walk him to an area, I gave him specific directions, and had him meet me there.  

He started this ridiculous fight, and said all sorts of hurtful things, making wild accusations, Saturday night. Because my character was standing too near a guy’s char.  An in game buddy of mine, we happened to be standing next to each other, in this central area, and he came up and saw that, and flipped out.  It’s akin to standing near someone in an elevator.  You can’t HELP it, and it’s mostly coincidence. But, oh, he flipped out, because my pixilated fictitious cartoon-like avatar was standing just a little too close to someone else’s.  As far as the game goes, I can’t make him happy, at ALL, and I’ve tried talking about what’s ‘really’ bothering him, but he says nothing.  

All I ever wanted was for him to play WoW with me, and share this hobby that I love.  Now, I’m dying to start an alt, and go off and do my own thing, and play without him.   I love that he has an understanding of the game, and we share that in common…I just can’t cope with his high-maintenance-ness in game.  It spills over to our normal life. He gets bitchy about something that tweaks him, in game, then goes off on me over RL shit.  He gets in his ‘mode’ and starts attacking me, and being irrational about EVERYTHING.  Be careful what you wish for, I guess.  

This week will be cool, I think.  Luiz is coming down, again, which is always fun.  The weather is perfect, I anticipate us going out doing outdoorsy fall things a lot.  Not enough of that, lately.  But, I’m looking forward to going to the park, and for walks and stuff.  

Jamaica is a month away, and I’m excited and apprehensive.  I get anxiety, with new situations, and this will be one.  I’m not looking forward to the dress code, and the fact that I’ll be in my bathing suit a lot.  I’m very self conscious, and my typical clothes are my armor.  I’ll be going into a very different setting, being stripped of my security blanket.  I know I’ll be fine once I get there, but I have mild anxiety now.  I don’t even HAVE the stuff I’m supposed to wear.  So, there’s that to think about.

I almost fainted yesterday, for the second time in my life.  Alden comes running into the house, going “OW OW OW OW” half in hysterics…not like him.  He says “I fell on a nail!” and shows me his wrist.  The skin is broken, in this jagged little slit, no bigger than ½” across with an inch long bruisy area heading down his arm.  It was barely oozing blood.  Classic puncture wound.  I launched into nurse mode, washed his hands and the whole area with antimicrobial soap.  Just then, Irv walked in, to see what was up, and Alden (who was AMAZINGLY calm) showed him the wound, and just looking at that tiny bloodless slit, and the bruising around it…it sent me into shock.  Waves of nausea, everything got all far away, and tunnely, this buzzing happened in my ears, and huge viscous bubbles started popping in my brain, and in front of my eyes.  I lost my footing and crashed into the kitchen door.  Alden must have had it too, because he staggered into the bathroom and threw up.  Irv took over, and helped him clean and dress the wound, while I was trying to regain my footing, and make my head start cooperating.  

He’s had a tetanus shot, so we’re not worried, but Alden was on ‘light duty’ all day yesterday, spending a lot of time on the couch, watching various movies, with his arm in the air.  It appears to have just punctured the skin, and slid in, horizontally, not going deep, or hitting anything vital.  It just poked through all the layers of skin.  He’s so tough.  He shed minimal tears, threw up, and took it like a man.  Mommy almost fainted right there in the kitchen.

Tomorrow is the funeral...

So, I've felt like blogging, all last week. I just haven't had the energy, really.

This past week sucked horrendously. Worst. Week. Ever. The first half, I had massive PMS, as a nice backdrop to the events. It rained every single day, from Saturday, to Saturday. I had to stand out in it, every single day, to pick Alden up, from school.

Tuesday was the worst, though. It was raining so hard, you didn't even need the wipers on, because it was a solid crystal sheet of water pouring down the windshield. That bad. And about 40 degrees. I was out in it for a half hour. I was sure, SURE that I would be laid up with bronchitis, after that.

Monday Luiz was annoying. Tuesday, he was annoying. Probably no moreso than usual, but still. Tuesday, he and I got into this apocalyptic fight, that actually inspired me to block his name, from my messengers, and in game (no, I didn't. I got as far as typing /ignore before I was like "no, we can fix this" I couldn't make myself type his name.). One of those "Never speak to me again." kinds of fights. I went to bed, after it, and sobbed for 2 hours straight. I wrote this long, heartfelt email, apologizing for attacking him (I did start it, it's true) and, trying to get my point across. I was already trying to apologize, but he was so pissed he wasn't even responding. How often does Lisa throw herself at people's mercy and just lay out apologies like that? Not often. And he was too mad to even reply, that night. I was so hurt. I was also stressed, PMSsing, getting sick, tired, and depressed, already.

Tuesday, also Earl went in for major surgery. Now, I hate Earl, it's a fact, I don't try to cover that up. But, he's still family, I guess, and I was worried. He was having part of his bladder wall removed, and part of his prostate. He's been fighting cancer for like 5 years, and this was the first time he actually had to go get cut open. It was worrisome. There's this curse, everyone I've ever known that was fighting cancer (a lot, trust me) has always been...fine...till the surgery. Then comes the "we had to remove _____" and they have to get cut open. After that, it always seems to become terminal. I saw it happen to my grandfather, paternal grandmother, uncle, friends of the family, etc. Just, having to be cut open for it seems very final, to me.

Then, Tuesday, I found out that my mom booked a trip to the UK and France. For...this weekend. Earl was to get out of the hospital, tomorrow, and she would be leaving Saturday. For some 18 day trek across Europe. Yes, she scheduled the trip, after they scheduled the surgery. Yes, now I know my mother is a complete cunt. I sorta guessed at it before, but that hammered it home.

Finally, Tuesday, Helen, Aunt Lynne's mother died. Now, Helen was a sweet old lady, sort of a great aunt. Not some distant stuffy old lady type, we have a very tiny family, so Helen was close to us. Moreso, Aunt Lynne. I've mentioned her before. Of all the people in my family, I feel closest to her. We can relate better than anyone, she's someone I genuinely respect, look up to, I can see myself in her. She can see her young self in me. That's how close we are, like mother/daughter. I feel closer to her than my own mom, at times. Most times. And, her mother died. So, I'm crushed. I found out about that on Tuesday, as well.

I went to bed, Tuesday night, and sobbed myself to sleep, for maybe two hours. I got up Wednesday morning, also in tears. I was mentally, physically wrecked.

I spoke to Luiz, Wednesday morning, and we talked for a good three hours. We completely mended. He apologized, we were miscommunicating, he had no idea all the stuff going on, he just thought I was being a bitch (and, I was, to him, but I was outside of myself, on Tuesday) He doesn't deserve that, of course. But, he also promised to be a shade more sensitive, and caring, and try to remember that there's a human behind the text. It's hard, when your best friend is 3 hours away, and rely on voice and text to keep in touch.

I spoke to Aunt Lynne, finally, on Wednesday, about everything, we had one of those long, girly talks, I tried the best I could, to console her. What the hell do you say? She didn't get along well with her mother (just one thing we completely have in common) and she felt all kinds of guilty. She sat by her side at the hospital, though, for the 10 days she was in there. It was just horrible. But, I felt better after we talked. I wanted to hear her voice, I was so worried, and so concerned, I just wanted to know that she was holding up.

Wednesday, Earl made it through the surgery, very well. He was fine, and out of ICU, into a regular room. He even came home from the hospital a few days early. That too, was an enormous burden lifted.

I was still sick, still cramping, still sad as hell, but things were starting to lift.

Thursday and Friday were uneventful, Friday night was even fun, in game. I drank a bit, not a lot, got buzzed, and cut loose PvPing, being a badass hunter in my own little world, talking to my friends, all on Teamspeak, and having fun.

Saturday was great! It started great, at least, Mindy called! OMG MINDY! I almost fell out of my chair, heh. We wound up hanging out all day. Day wore into night, and we drank. Now, I hadn't planned on drinking, seriously, not at all. I have a "one night a week" policy. Oh, but Irv was pouring. Hard. Michele came over and hung out at one point, but I was so wasted at that point, I was half asleep in my chair. I don't remember much. I feel embarassed. I rarely lose control like that, and usually it's on the heels of major stress. I hadn't been that drunk since Schuyler was over, last year. I woke up yesterday shaking, and sick. Very very very sick. Needless to say, it'll be awhile before I drink like that again. I almost needed something like that, to throw on the brakes.

Yesterday, I slept it off, made lasagna for Aunt Lynne, looked for pictures of Helen, that we could add to the mural, found some of her, and my own grandmother, and got all weepy. It was sort of a day of hibernation, and domesticity.

Today, the day dawned absolutely GOREGOUS, bright, crisp, breezy cool...like a whole new fucking life. Now, I know I', 5 minutes away from leaving for the wake, and I know that's gonna be painful, and the funeral tomorrow, even moreso. I think I've blogged about funerals here. Hell, even Aunt Lynne said to me on the phone "I know how you feel about funerals, you don't have to come." Of course I'm going, I'm going for her, so I can hug her, and be there. But, it's gonna kill me.

Still, all that about to happen, and I feel great, today. I feel like whatever poison was haunting me last week, and even the week before, has been bled clean, and now I'm weak, but recovering.

Now I have to go. I am late.

Mid-September

It’s one of those ultrapleasant weekends.  I love weekends like this.  Yesterday, I was able to sleep as late as  I wanted, I then dragged my carcass downstarirs, drank a bottle of seltzer and a HUGE thing of iced coffee, and spent the rest of the day and half the night playing WoW, PvPing with my favorite game buddies.  We broke, for dinner, went out got some great food, and came home, and got right back in game, and in Teamspeak.  OOH Mopped up. We cleaned house.  We actually won a few rounds.  In a setting where the Horde is way more organized and dedicated, winning not one, but three spins through Arathi Basin, is a huge feat.

While I was being a gamer bum, inside, sitting around in boxers and a tee shirt, Irv and Alden landscaped this really barren section of the yard.  Last week, they pulled out like, 9 trees (the ones going down the driveway, for those of you that know the house) and…it was pretty desolate.  Yesterday, Irv and Alden went on a shopping spree, and bought a couple dozen trees and flowers and stuff, from Home Depot, and have been doing, like Monster Yard, ever since.  The whole strip is all fresh black mulch dotted with those winter-cabbagey looking plants, and mums.  There’s a spot near the house that curves and tapers into a long point, that he finished with white goose-egg stone. Very classy.  He’s an arteest.  

Today, I get up to Irv saying “get up in 5 minutes for breakfast!”  I rolled outta bed around 9, mumbling and grumbling.  I mean, I *was* up till 3 kicking ass…  At the table is a yummy breakfast, and a cup of coffee, all laid out, just for me. I’m so lucky.  Irv and Alden then run out to some building supply place, and come home with 2 yards each of red chip stone, and blue river pebbles…I watch them unload it, wondering what they have up their sleeve…  Then I go inside and read.  I’ve been reading Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions.  One of the most quoteable books I’ve ever read, by the way.  I can hear them landscaping…I know it’s gonna be good.  

I just came back in from outside, and Alden’s out there, watering the new flower bed.  It’s this curved area between the front door and the back door, that we had no idea what to do with.  Well, now it’s dotted with small evergreens and holly bushes of varying species.  Alden’s out there watering them calling them his “babies”  He’e even named the bushes…  “that one’s Spiky, and this low one is Green, and here’s Pricklepine, and Bushy, and Poofy”  He named them, and adopted them.  He vows to come out here and water them every day.  Irv really did something cool with the stone, it’s mostly red, but the ends are curved off, and finished with a the grayish-blue, it looks like waves of grey stone lapping over the red, and the back corner was rounded.  The red wends a path, enhanced by the grey.  It’s all very dramatic looking.

Oh, and I’m only spending so much time inside because I have a nasty sinus infection.  It started as my usual September allergies, but…blegh, with all this Guam-like 85 degree 100% humidity we’re having, it quickly turned into a sinus infection.  So, I’ve been laying low.  Pollen murders me.  

9-11-01

I posted this on ACF, in response to a "where were you on 9-11-01" thread. Normally I don't talk about it, don't think about it too hard, but that thread got me writing. It was a very impactful thing in my life, many people from our town, and our area were killed and many more lost family members. We live in a huge commuter area. The area was in a state of depression for months, I remember Peter going to funerals every single week, just about, clear into January, because of all this. Most of his office was wiped out. A friend of ours was working in her high-rise office, a few miles away, with a clear view of the building, and watched the whole thing unfold, in great detail, from her desk. She had to go through therapy for over a year. I figured I'd copy this over here, just to remember. It was like the entire state went into deep mourning. No one smiled, much, people went around with a somber air. It was really remarkable. Every store, every organization had huge things setup for donations. We went to Costco 2 days later, and they had huge trailers open in the front, with guys loading stuff in. You could go into the store, with a list, and buy up needed stuff, and the guys would load it in. We donated about $300 worth of stuff, cases of water, dogfood, clean socks, batteries, nonperishable snacks and food, for the rescue workers. But, this is where I was, at that moment.


The first plane hit at 8:42, and I was tending to my son's morning routine. He was only 3, we were getting ready to go to daycare. My husband called at 8:45, and yelled for me to put on the TV, or go outside and look across the water, I did both. I ran outside to a thin column of smoke rising over the water, and watched the live coverage of the plane smacking into the building over and over, and the newscasters being like "what a horrible accident, I wonder what happened, was it an equipment failure?" Then, the second one hit, and at first, the newscasters (and everyone else, it seemed) thought it was just another replay of the first one, from another angle. Then, the truth came out, and it was the second plane, the second tower. I couldn't even go outside to look, after that, it was just TOO real. I skipped school, and Alden stayed home with me, that day.

I sat there riveted, on the corner of my bed, with Alden in my lap, just watching agape, as the whole tragedy unfolded. I had all the TVs on in the house, I just kept drifting from room to room, in this zombie like state. It hit me the hardest, though, when the buildings fell, because before that, there was hope. Rescuers were there, people were getting out, getting saved. When they fell, it was the ultimate finality. I spent time calling the people I know that worked there, Joe, the guy across the street, Pete, my stepbrother in law. As far as I knew they were trapped in there. Hell, as far as Joe's wife knew, he was. He wasn't, he happened to be working in the building across the courtyard, and they all evacuated when the plane hit, but couldn't get out of the city till much later. Pete was late for work that day, because his youngest daughter made him take her to school, so he was on a train going into work.

Friends and family from out of state called throughout the day, seeing how our area was, if anything happened to us, because we're right across the water from it. My dad was particularly worried. I remember him trying to convince me to move to Guam, heh. Nothing happened to us, obviously, but the smell, and the smoke. The air was filled with this ozone-y smelling dust for over a week afterward. I've never smelled anything like it, and I probably never will again, but it defines the "smell of death" for me. I live on a main road, going down to the beachfront, and all day, it was bumper to bumper traffic, of people filing past, to go see. It was horrible, that was the worst sight to me. It looked like the majestic NY skyline, with its front teeth busted out. There were these two pillars of HEAVY black smoke, rising from the area for a few days afterward. The weather was crisp and beautiful, with a pure blue sky, with these two black streaks, that seemingly went on for miles, marking it.

I love Sinatra

There's something very cool about riding around with Sinatra blaring. "...cause I loooooove you....and the way you look...tonight" Sexy. Sexy man. So cool. The music alone drops the temperature in the car, by 20 degrees. Did it just get cooler in here? No, Sinatra just came on.

More on Mom

So I was telling Irv today, about how I made my mom cry.  His comment was “the asshole is not cutting her grass anymore.”

This brings me to my complaint, and this second entry.  I might actually tell her this to her face, if she starts with me again.  We bend over backwards to help her.  We come over there to install things, fix things, move things, etc. I’ve sent Irv over there, to “move this TV upstairs for me” real quick, after work, and had him come home 3 hours later, pissed, hungry, tired, because a simple “move this here” turned out to be a “Oh, you can’t get it up the stairs?  Oh yeah, that stereo cabinet is blocking the way, well that has to go upstairs as well…and while you’re up there, help me hook this TV up, to the surround sound…oh, that’s in a box downstairs, too would you go get it?”  But…she watches Alden for us when we need it, and we don’t mind helping, family is good for that.

We’ve asked her a million times to stop dumping off shit at our house, toys, used clothes, just…shit.  We’re not some fucking charity family that we need her to go buy garbage bags of clothes at yard sales for Alden’s school wardrobe.  That’s the one thing that would greatly improve relations. I mean, we have a lot of problems getting along anyway, but that one simple thing would make life so much better.  One thing.  Can she do it? No.  The other thing is respecting that I am my own person, and I’m capable of making my own decisions, and raising my own family, without her CONSTANT “suggestions”. This goes WAY above and beyond normal parental advice. Look how she reacted when I told her not to put the teeball thing there.  Look how she responded when Irv got upset, he’s now an “asshole” getting upset.  She comes here, and opens my dishwasher, then says “you’re not loading it from the back to the front, that’s all wrong” and will hound me till I either tell her to stop, or till I rearrange it.  If I tell her to stop, she’d ‘fix’ it to her liking anyway.  IN MY FUCKING HOUSE.  She comes over and rearranges Alden’s furniture, on the sly “I’m just gonna help him put away his laundry…”  We go in there, his bed is against another wall.  She has taken to hiding stuff in his room, actually sneaking bags into his room of second hand garbage toys.  It’s a sickness.

I got off my point. The point I was trying to make was that we ask her for two things.  One, to respect that this is Lisa’s House, and Lisa has Her Own Way of doing things.  And not to cover us in a deluge of crap.  

In return for this, we jump at her beck and call, moving her stuff, Irv landscapes her yard, and cuts her grass every single week, he does all her gardening pretty much. We housesit for them, take them places, put up with Earl The Human Fungus, and…the thanks we get is “he’s an asshole”.

It’s very frustrating.  This thought makes me even sadder:  She’s my only relative on that side, and I’m her only ‘blood’ relative.  She has no siblings, her cousin is in England, her parents are dead, I have no siblings (half brother, but he’s my dad’s not hers).  She has Debbie, Lou, and Dianne, her stepkids, but…really it’s just she and I.  In other words, I’m going to be the one taking care of her, later in life.  Serious changes will have to be made, in order for that to happen.

Which is better?

The lime green accented grey page?

Or this, all black...


This is Bloggar software, now, rather than Blogger for Word. I like them both equally I think. This has a lot of neat features, specifically for blogging. That one has the comfort of being usable from such a familiar environ. Oh decisions, decisions.

Black? Grey? BfW or Bloggar? My blog-life is in an upheaval, right now.

New toy...

Oh, Glee!  I just implemented “Blogger for Word” a tool that lets me blog from Word!  Grammar will be good.

Only…Word doesn’t even recognize blog, or blogger, as a word, so now I have all these red underlined words.  How ironic.

Let’s see which is better, this one, or the Bloggar software.

She's finally snapped.

I just made my mom cry. And, I kicked her out of my house.

Today, she was worse than she was yesterday. I mean, yesterday she was bad enough. First, she calls, and I can tell when she's looking for a fight.

"Where's Alden?"

"In his room, cleaning it."

"On the first day of school? Why? Don't you think he's tired enough? Why don't you do it for him? What kind of person are you? Why are you so mean to him?"

"Because I didn't make the mess."

"Oh, you're terrible!"

"If you called just to give me shit, I'm hanging up now."

She didn't call, just to give me shit. She called to tell me she was coming over, to give Alden some stuff. Fine, whatever. More crap. Luiz was here, I didn't feel like getting into it.

She shows up, outside, Alden runs to meet her, and they're playing outside for awhile. She brought a tee ball thing. We have a huge yard, we have a backyard filled with play-equipment for Alden, a huge grassy unlandscaped area for him to play. We have a very nice front yard, elaborately landscaped, always a work in progress. Alden doesn't play in the front yard. A) because I don't want him near the street. B) because I want to have a pretty section of the yard, uncluttered of toys. Simple enough, right? She plants this fucking teeball thing in the front corner of the front yard. 6 feet away from a main road. Then, as if that weren't enough, she dismantled a flagstone wall, to pile flagstones around the base of the tee, so it didn't fall over when Alden hit it. What. EVER. I let her go. She was in a *mood*.

She comes in, later, walks in, first thing she says is "this house is a disaster, how do you live?" then, Luiz was stretched out on a futon thing, on the floor (fully dressed, wide awake, reading) and she looks him over, and goes "what, are you DRUNK? What are you doing on the FLOOR in the middle of the DAY" Was like "ok, mom...time to stop harassing my guest..." She left. At that point, it was chuckle-worthy. "What a psycho."

Irv, of course, came home and had a conniption, later. He moved the teeball thing, yelling about how she took apart the wall, etc. He put it in the back yard, rebuilt the wall.

But, it doesn't end there, oh no. I wish it did.

TODAY, she came over, because she had "so many new clothes, for Alden, brand new things she bought for school this year" and she was pissed that WE went out and bought him school clothes, when she had done so already. So, she comes over just a while ago, with this huge bag. Get this. Inside the bag are 4 clearance sale tee shirts. Some nice, some not so much, but at least those were new, and 6 pairs of pants...that we bagged up and gave her when we moved in beacause he'd either grown out of them or we didn't like them. He wears a size 8, all the stuff she gave me was size 6. I'm still being pleasant at this point. I even thanked her. I was like "yeah, he can use some of this stuff, I'll clean out his drawers and bag up the stuff that doesn't fit anymore." And that was that. Then she makes the comment:

"I see Irv moved the teeball thing...well, now it's in the wrong place, it's all wrong, if he hits it and runs around from there, he could break his leg"

To which I replied "better than running on to a main road, though. Oh yeah, and Irv freaked out because you took down half his flagstone wall, to steady the thing, so try not to do that anymore" with half a smile.

Then, she lost it. "Well your husband is just an asshole, how dare he yell about that? He's such an asshole!"

"I think maybe you should go now."

"What?! I'm not leaving, what are you saying? I do nice things for you and you kick me out of your house?"

"You've been looking for a fight since yesterday, You won't disrespect me like this it's not right. You can't talk to me, to my guests, or about my husband that way, I'm sorry, go now."

"boohoohoohoo"

"Bye."

"*sniffle* I was going to come over later to play with Alden, but now I'm not! *wail*"

"Bye."


I think she's finally snapped. I mean who DOES that?!

This was taken verbatim, even, because she JUST left, in a huff, so I remember it perfectly. I'm half expecting her, or my stepdad to call me, and bitch me out further.

I had to delete the really good one...

Because of REALLY shitty coding. But, I'm a "Quester" if that means anything.

Here's another one! Much less meaningful, but cute.

I am 14% Idiot.

I am not annoying at all. In fact most people come to me for advice. Of course they annoy the hell out of me. But what can I do? I am smarter than most people.

Take the
Idiot Test
@ FualiDotCom

Wardrobes.

So, we're going to Jamaica, December 5. I'm excited, nervous, excited...

Check this place out!

Swanky, no? We went for the Honeymoon Grande Luxe Beachfront Concierge Room, too. Sounds really out there, I know, but what it translates to is a bottom of the top of the line rooms. The nicest room they have, right on the beach over looking the water, but not a suite. We're simple folk. We don't NEED more than 1 room, for 5 days, and we thought the butler was a bit over the top.

So, wardrobes, this brings me to my biggest dilemma, with this vacation. What the FUCK will I wear? They specify "Resort Casual" then further define it thusly:

Resort Casual
Dress shorts or jeans are permitted. Swim wear must be dry and covered. No bare feet.

Resort Evening
Dress pants for gentlemen. Shirts with sleeves and collar. Dress shoes.

On most nights you will need to dress casually elegant or elegant. This all depends on the restaurants you wish to dine in. Many couples change into more comfortable clothing after dinner. None of our restaurants require a jacket to be worn.


I guess I can handle that. I'm gonna have to buy some new clothes, though. I'm sitting here in a pair of tight black jeans, and a Slayer shirt, and I just don't think it's gonna fly, down there. Maybe capris, I have a few of them, maybe I could go find a nice sundress or two. Meh. Irv's lucky, though, we bought him a few pairs of khaki shorts, and he has a polo shirt, or two, and his Hawaiian shirt.

Then there's the dread of being in public, in a bathing suit. *cringe* The up-side is, I'll likely never see any of those people again.

But, all this talk of clothes had me thinking about it. I mean...we have our everyday wardrobe, work clothes, stuff we go out in, THEN, "resort casual" then...we have camping clothes (really warm stuff, that we don't mind letting get dirty, and is comfortable enough to layer and sleep in, lives in our camping box). It's like, we have to have a seperate wardrobe for every aspect of our lives. Lame. I want this teeshirt, and these jeans to carry me almost anywhere.

And yeah...

I am concerned about New Orleans, very much so. Only, I've been reading up on it, watching CNN, and venting about it over on ACF, where I can commiserate with a group, rather than talk about it here. It's not a personal-whine, which is what this place is for. So, if you skim this looking for my feelings, this entry is all you get. It's terrible, it's horrifying, my heart goes out to the people, and the area. The looters piss me off so bad, stuff like this isn't supposed to bring out the worst in folks, it's supposed to bring out the best. Etc.

Don't be alarmed...

It was time for a change. I was sick of the doom and gloom purple and grey. Dark is good. Lime green is better. I hope this doesn't change the way you think of me...

We regret to inform you...

I just spent time composing one of those "We regret to inform you that we're raising the prices on your lawn service, due to the drastic increase of the price of gas" letters, and now I have to do a mass mailing. I expect to lose a ton of customers. And, I don't blame them. Everything's jumping, LEAPING up in cost, who can afford to have their grass cut professionally?

This economy is in the shithole. Pretty soon, it's gonna be like it was during the French Revolution. There won't BE a middle class. There's gonna be the very very rich, and...the rest of us.

Yesterday, Irv suggested we go to New Hope, on Sunday, just for the nice drive out there, and a pleasant way to kill an afternoon. Now I'm like...damn, can we afford that? It's an hour long road trip! Normally, it's our "cheap day". But, with the way things are changing, an hour long ride is going to become something people save up for.

Recipes

I found myself, in the long drought of not writing, coming back here, once in awhile to look for drink recipes. I'm glad I saved some of my favorites. I think, in light of how useful that turned out to be, I'm gonna peg some of my cooking successes here.

For instance, the other night, I made this soup, it's an Italian sausage and greens soup, loosely based on Olive Garden's zuppa toscana.

I say loosely based, because I ate it there, decided I loved it, and tried to replicate it, years ago. What I came up with was 50 times better. My latest incarnation of it was THE BEST, so I'm gonna document it.

No, this isn't an exact recipe, it's like a cooking memo, to myself.



6 link of hot Italian sausage, removed from its casing
1 Yukon Gold potato (I'm thinking about doing away with potatoes all together sometime, and subbing in a can of cannelini)
1 piece of bacon, chopped
1/2 of a small onion, minced finely
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 cup of white wine
huge pinch of red pepper flakes
freshly ground black pepper
about an ounce (a chunk the size of a walnut) of grated parmesan
1 big can of chicken broth, low sodium, or whatever. I really liked Cento brand
pound, pound and a half of roughly chopped Kale
uh, heavy cream...a lot, probably a pint, I didn't measure



Ok:

Have a big soup pot on one burner, and a nonstick pan on the other. Don't turn the pot on yet, you have some frying to do.

Before that, though, take the potato, scrub it good, poke holes in it, and microwave it till it's cooked, like a baked potato.

In the meantime, fry the sausage, till browned and crumbly. I usually make a HUGE patty out of it, in the pan, using two spatulas, then sort of get it mostly cooked that way, then hack it apart using the spatulas, into browny little half-bitesized bits. Drain the sausage over something, in a paper towel, in a colander. Sausage=good Grease=bad. While that's draining, cook the chopped bacon till it gets light brown, then dump the onions and garlic in on top of things. Low heat is good, you don't want brown, you want sauteed. When they're nearly done, dump the white wine in, and sort of deglaze the pan.

Remember the potato? Should be cool enough to handle by now, if you started it before everything else. Dice it up into half inch cubes.

Into the pot goes the sausage, the deglazed wine/onion/garlic/bacon mix, potato cubes, and the can of chicken broth. Add the parmesan, finely chopped or shredded, along with a healthy pinch of red pepper flakes, and a good generous amount of black pepper. Let it come to a low boil, then add the chopped kale. Let it simmer with the kale for like 10-15 minutes, till it looks good and wilty, then add enough heavy cream to fill it out, and make it look creamy. Let it get hot and bubbling again.


Best served with a loaf of crusty-untoasted bread, and an awesome Mozzarella Caprese salad.

I know, I know, I suck

There are a lot of things I want to blog about, a lot of stuff that blogging would help me figure out, or just feel good to put somewhere. Just not stuff I feel like sharing.

The old double edged sword of the blog. Yay! Readers! Oh no...readers...

Instead, I'm gonna go with a meme I've seen on other blogs, not something anyone tagged me with, but something I'm just gonna use to build some inspiration, and get this thing rolling again.


5 Things I Miss From My Childhood



1. Spending time at my grandmother's house.

She and I were very close when I was little, my mom was always going out, so I stayed with her 3-4 nights a week, when I was a kid. I miss it a lot.

She was never much of a cook, she would make pots of ramen noodles, with twice the right amount of water, and then proceed to empty the fridge of leftovers, into the pot. Leftover mashed potatoes? In they went. Leftover omlette from breakfast at the diner? In it went. Leftover pot roast, from dinner two nights ago? You guessed it. She would simmer the glop, till the noodles were downright squishy, then eat it happily. Me? I would bring TV dinners, to eat while I was there, or later, I learned to cook for myself. But, there's something I miss about sitting at her kitchen table, wincing as she dug through the fridge, producing all sorts of random odds and ends.

Breakfasts were fun, though, she would give me a $10 spot, to go to the bodega down the street, and buy a bag of Portugese rolls. I would always use a bit of the change and buy some candy, for later. But, I'd walk home with this huge crispy bag of rolls, and when I'd get back, she would have a cup of camomile tea ready for me, and coffee for herself, and we would eat the rolls, dipping them in our drinks. Often we finished up with a grapefruit, or an orange. She would always peel them in such a way that they wouldn't have any of the tough fibery parts.

She had a spare bedroom, with a queen sized bed, right next to her own room, I would sleep in there, most of the time. The room was so fancy, with this cream colored theme. The comforter and curtains had this huge fern print, in wild greens. I always felt so sophisticated sleeping in that huge fancy room. She kept her perfume bottles on a mirror, on top of this low dresser. I would sit and look in the mirror, over those perfume bottles, and feel so grown up. It was all very glamorous, to me. Even though I slept in there for years, that feeling never wore off.

Sometimes, she wouldn't be able to sleep, or I wouldn't, and she would tell me stories of WW2 and the time she spent in concentration camps. I would lay there silent, straining to hear her speaking quietly, she would often cry a little, while she was relating the stories. I don't remember them so much, but I rememember the feelings they gave me. A lot of times, I would go into her room, and crawl into her bed next to her, and try to get her to stop crying. Her room was sooo different from the guest room. Very lacy, and homy, a huge old fashioned sewing machine dominated one side of the room, looking out this giant picture window, over the street below. Her room was always sorta messy, too, piles of sewing everywhere, newspapers. Very cozy.

There's more details, but this whole blog is turning into a thing about my grandmother...


More:

2. When my dad would take me out on 'dates'

When my parents were getting divorced, there was a time, between May, when he moved out (3 days after my birthday, thanks dad...) and October, when the divorce was finalized, and he moved away, when he would see me every single weekend. He would take me out to really special places, and we would do fun things. I was 5, and a lot of the stuff we did was like, way over my head, but I just loved my dad so much, I was so enchanted by our days.

We lived in Indiana at the time, right outside of Lousiville, over the bridge by maybe 10 minutes. We went to festivals, in the summer, and to art galleries, he took me to outdoor concerts, and to fancy rich shopping districts, to walk around and have lunch. We saw movies, and went on adventures. It was a short time in my life, right before things sorta crumbled, but for what it's worth, it was absolute bliss. I still carry the memories from every weekend, and look back at them.



3. Trick or Treating

Halloween is my favorite holiday. Always was, always will be. I used to look forward (and still do) to Halloween, for half the year, scheming, planning my costume, waiting for the big day. I still do, but for Alden. I love getting dressed up, myself, but...where does one go? I hate clubs, parties...but I love getting dressed up.

I miss rushing home from school (or omg omg Saturday Halloweens were so GREAT) and diving into my costume, grabbing my pillowcase and rushing out to the corner to meet my buddies, or over to Jessy's house, to get her and her brother. Being a kid on Halloween is SOOO COOL. I mean, it's still a totally magical night, but it's magnified, then. Walking the town, boasting about how much ground you covered, making trips home to dump out your loot, and go out for more.



4. I miss reading, like I used to.

I was always a huge reader. I would just rip through books. I still read fast, but, when I get the time, or have the concentration to do so. I would come home from school, dash off my homework, and either run outside, on nice days, and sit on the huge covered swing, in the garden and read till dark. Or, I would lay crosswise on my bed, with my feet under the blankets, and stay there till dinner. I would finish 2-3 normal-kid books a day, when I got on jags. When I was 11, I discovered grownup literature, I was reading Stephen King, by 12. I wouldn't tear through those as fast, taking maybe 3 or 4 days to read one. I miss that. I miss all the time I could devote to reading, and how voraciously devoured knowledge, and fantasy. When I was 12, I also read Grey's Anatomy, half of my mom's 1978 Encylopedia Britannica, and just TONS of nonfiction. I went on a real knowledge kick, back then. I had this huge interest in astronomy, the human body, dinosaurs, and archeology. Stuff I was into then has shaped a lot of who I am now.

Now, I just don't have the drive, as much. Not only that, but when I DO feel like sitting down and reading, for some reason, book open in front of me = free time. Free time = pester me. "Oh, you're not busy..." I still do it when we go camping, though. I choose a few new books very carefully, and the whole 5-7 days we're out there, if I'm not cooking or hiking, I'm reading intensely.



5. Sleep Overs

Weren't sleep overs so cool? When you got to go to a friend's house, and stay over night. I loved that. My friends Becky, and later Jessy, would sleep over all the time, we would be at each others houses almost every weekend. We always did the typical stuff, games, TV, movies, make some bizarre food, annoyed each other's parents, but it was SO cool. As we got older, Jess and I would get into trouble, sneaking out of the house, going in the pool at 3 am, barbecuing our breakfast at 5 am...but that was when I was a teenager, so it doesn't count for this. But, I also loved sleeping over friends' houses. What a cool change of pace, eating their family's breakfast, seeing how other people lived, and what they did. I remember my friend Onnie's mom teaching us all how to swingdance, at 10 pm, one night, in her kitchen. There was like 3-4 of us 7 year old girls, in our nightgowns, swingdancing to old music. That was before it became big again, so this was something TOTALLY foreign to us.




That was a fun little writing assignment. As I was thinking of all this stuff (and limiting it to 5, there was a few more I could think of, like Saturday morning cartoons, class trips, and going to amusement parks to ride rides...) I was thinking, what if Alden wrote this, 20 years from now. Would he look back fondly on all sorts of stuff? I mean, I know he would, we make it our life's work to provide him with a fun and interesting childhood. But, what things would stand out most for him? Would he fondly remember things that we're doing for him? Real memory makers, stuff that's a huge deal to us (Twisted Sister concert...all the museums and culture we expose him to, etc) Or would it be "I used to watch this really cool cartoon..." Sometimes I don't know, he's got such weird interests.

More boring WoW stuff :D

It's been one of those weird-for-blogging kind of weeks.

I get good ideas. I get near a computer. Bam. All the good ideas are wooshed out of my head.

Luiz got here that Monday, after that post, and left a week later, Memorial Day. It was a really cool week, we did a lot of stuff together during the day, and gamed alot in the evening. He got me to pick up Call of Duty, which is a really twitchy immersive little shooter. We also learned the art of farming (killing the same group of creatures over and over and over, with the sole intent to earn money from the stuff they drop, for the WoW uninitiated) from the floor. It's a boring task, so we managed to make ourselves very comfortable, and chill on his air mattress, and farm for hours, from the floor. Fun stuff, the epitome of lazy geekhood. Watched more anime, a lot of movies, saw EP: 3 (omg...excellent! Darth Vader RAWKS) hit up Red Bank, hung around a bookstore, just lots of low key, quiet fun.

All that farming was for a reason, we were aiming to get our epic mounts, on the same day. We got them, a week later. When I host, I'll post screenshots. A paladin and a regular epic mount, to get, together, was a HUGE task. I will *never* mention the free normal paladin mount, again. His was easily three times harder to aquire, than mine. But that's the stuff that keeps me motivated, in game, at max level. Setting far goals for myself, and reaching them. Today, I tamed a new cat, level 50, so my new far-reaching goal is to get her to 60, and have an increcible jet black cat, to follow me into battle. To go with my jet black epic mount, and my black armor, with my black hood. I'm a hunter that looks like a Death Knight-ninja! Oh man...I named the cat Sambuca...I should have named her Ninja.

The game is still as fun as ever for me. I have moments, (like that last intense week of farming money for the epic...800g in 7 days. No loans.) when I say to myself "when I'm done with this, what else is there for me to do?" Every time that question comes up, it's answered in spades. After the epic, all of a sudden now, I have this burning desire to level Gossamer, my mage alternate char. I want to gain PvP rank, and get the hot-damn pvp armor, like Drawl has and Luc will. I want to get the huge kickass best bow in the game. I want a full set of Beaststalker armor. I want Dragonscale boots. I want to finish all these quests, and go into every raid instance, with a 5-man crew. Just when I think "60, yep. End game" it feels like just the beginning. Yes, it's easy to get to max level. No, it's not boring, once you get there, as long as you have things to keep you motivated, and interested in the game.

I'm having a lot of fun too, because a good wave of the guild just hit 50, and they're all doing quests and stuff in my neighborhood, so I'm back in my old role of shephearding the babies
(well, now level 50+ babies) through, and helping out the masses. It's great, helping really *is* fun for me. As long as I get a break, and can go be selfish once in awhile. It's all about a balance.

I started playing this game...what, September? Late September, as I recall, in Beta. Here it is, June, and I'm still as enamored with it as I was, day one. Sure we've had ups and downs, any MMO does. But, I LOVE the game, and the people in it, for everything it offers, both good and bad. Hell, I even like being a gimp-no love-hunter.

Productive Sunday

Yesterday went entirely differently than I planned, but, still managed to be totally productive. I like when that happens.

Luiz is coming down, tonight or tomorrow, spend a few days here (Geek Holiday!) again, and in light of his last visit, I decided to actually *cook*. Last time, the one night I made ribeyes didn't cut it, that's not cooking. That's steak. So, I got the wild idea to make lasagna. No, not just any lasagna. Lasagna Bolognese. This is one of those multi-day undertakings. Yesterday was the Bolognese sauce. Today, the assemblage and cooking. Or tomorrow, depending on when he shows up. I'm just in that mood to cook. I've also got plans for cookies. There's some kind of strange satisfaction I get, knowing that there's roughly two gallons of sauce reposing in my fridge, waiting to be used and abused. It makes me feel rich, in a very domestic way.

It'll be fun. It's always cool to have a houseguest, sort of a break in the routine. We're gonna see EP3, and hit up Red Bank, maybe go to NYC for some art museums. Oh, and of course, we're gonna LAN like dorks, and play WCIII, probably, and definitely WoW. So much fun to be raiding or PvPing with your gaming partner sitting 2 feet away. "Eek! I broke sheep! Sorry guys!" "Stupid hunter!" *thump* It adds a whole other level of immersion, when you're in thumping distance. It'll be a big treat for me to have a co-gamer around. It was a LOAD of fun last time. For some reason, he's got it in his head that he can outdrink me. Heh. That'll be fun to watch too :)

So, yesterday and today are sorta devoted to getting the house clean. Not that it wasn't, but it's not houseguest clean. You know, like "ok, we have company coming, it's time to once and for all get rid of the growing pile of junkmail on the counter" Normal everyday clutter has got to go. It's part of life, for me. I keep a clean house, but I need a good excuse to, say, put away the toenail clippers that have been inexplicably sitting on the antique sewing machine, forever.

Yeah, I don't know why I'm still sitting here typing, when I have so much stuff to do...and I'm burning daylight, bigtime. Yeah, yeah, I'm going.

On the heels of *growl*

Yesterday, the fighting. Today, the aftermath.


Yesterday was recoupreation day. After my blogging about it (which, for me, is the big step one of self-therapy) I felt better. He called me, from work, shortly after. He was feeling miserable, too. He wanted to see how I was feeling, and talk about it. I told him a lot of things that I blogged. The paranoia scares me, the fact that he's starting to hang on stuff he's IMAGINING, and going off about things he's got in his head. That's a big step, because he used to just fly off the handle, and pretend like nothing happened, after the fact. Now, now he wants to talk about it, examine why, see how I'm feeling, and most importantly, apologize for upsetting me. He used to have the mindset "What, I'm over it, sorry I got hot-headed, everything's fine though, you need to get over it..." Now he's genuinely remorseful. This comes from the discussion in September, and how he's learning to recognize me, and my feelings, and be keyed in.

When we got a few minutes alone, after he got home from work, the first thing he said to me was "You're right. This is never about you. It really is me." That was a first. I just stared at him. He continued, "you never get so upset, usually. Last night, when you were yelling back, I listened, and you are right." Some of the things I said, when I was fighting back, were to the effect of how selfish this tantruming is, how petty, how I have no way to defend against his bullshit accusations, how I'm sick of him dragging stuff out of the DEEP past, and throwing it in my face, and how bad it effects me. Again, a lot of what I blogged about. But, at 3 a.m. I was a zombie, and it was very stream-of-conciousness. I couldn't relate EXACTLY what I said, I understand the gist, but apparently, it was something that made him sit up and take notice, for the first (ok, second, I suppose) time.

I calmly told him yesterday, that he IS pushing me away, and every single time he does that, he unmakes ALL the stuff we've been working for, to patch the relationship back together. All the nice things we do, he says, all the thing I think we've accomplished, *poof* right out the window, when he does it. I told him, calmly, all I can think about, when laying there, too tired to cry, too stressed to sleep, in the aftermath, is leaving the situation, and taking Alden with me.

For the first time. I think he really internalized it. All I can do is give him the chance to prove it, and that will come with blissful, rage free time. Here's hoping, eh?

One thing, in his defense, is he doesn't just say stuff to smooth things over. He's never come out and said "You're right, I need to fix myself" So, that's a big deal to me. He's not a wordsmith, or a sweet talker. What he says, is.

*growl*

It's one of those miserable, no good, fucked up sort of days.

Yesterday wasn't so hot, either.

He picked a series of fights with me, starting last night, after 10:30. Then he blustered and raged and calmed the fuck down enough to fall asleep on the couch nearby.

Then he got up, noticed what time it was (1:30) and that I wasn't planning on going to bed anytime soon, and started it all over again.

I *was* planning on going to bed around 12:30, but after the fucking temper tantrum, I was like "yeah, no, fuck you I'll do what I want. I need time to cool down."

I get up and go to bed, around 2:15, on the heels of, yes folks, a THIRD fucking rage. This time, I was so tired, so strung out, so sick of the fucking mental abuse, I did what I don't do very often. I yelled back. It continued like this until about 3:30, and I laid awake for maybe another hour after that. Laying in bed, stiff, tense as a board. Wishing we had a spare room in this house, so I didn't have to sleep there. I may as well have slept standing up, I was so tense and miserable. Of course, after HE got what HE wanted to say, out of his system, in the most hurtful, raging, psychologically damaging way possible, HE fucking slept like a baby.

He woke up this morning, trotted off to work. I, however, slept through the alarm clock, and got up an hour ago. Yes, with Alden in the house, still. No, Alden didn't wake me up.

What did we fight about? Does it matter? No. Not when I can time his raging like clockwork. I can almost pinpoint what sets it off, and looking back, it's THE most petty thing, in the whole universe. It always it. I never know what I'm going to say or do, that sets this off, but when it's over, I can evaluate the events leading up to it, and say to myself "oh...never woulda guessed".

Nevermind that I can figure out what does it, he's going to do it again, and again, and again, relentlessly, every other day, every week, for a completely random and different reason each and every time. I walk on eggshells around him. I pick my words and actions so carefully. I spend most of the day running around keeping the business in line, making sure this house, and Alden are in peak condition, so that when he comes home, I'm infallible. He's got nothing to rage about. But he always manages to find something. Do I live in fear? No. I do try to do everything I can, to end this rage, these fights that he just blindsides me with. I've never, in our 8 years together, started one fight. I don't have to, I don't even get the chance, really. He brings it right to my lap.

He becomes a paranoid, ranting maniac. When he starts, it could be something in the now, that makes him go off, but for some reason, he yells about EVERYTHING that's EVER pissed him off since we've KNOWN each other. Last night...he managed to bring ex boyfriends that he never even MET, into it, somehow. Just attacking, like a pit-bull, everything he can. The worst thing, it's like he searches his brain for stuff to get mad ABOUT. Just to fire the rage along. Like the initial thing wasn't enough, he has to dig up things that happened 6 years ago, and throw it in my face, and get mad. Every single time. He's lately going so far, as to ASSUME things, and get them so worked around in his mind, that he's making things up about me, the things I do, how I spend my time when he's not around, and about stuff, and then yelling at me about it. That's what last night was about, mostly. He got an idea into his head, and I couldn't get it out, no matter what. I calmly denied his delusions, I tried to show him that he was wrong, that if he sat back and really thought about it, it *couldn't* be true. No matter that it was a total fabrication of his own paranoid imagination. Nevermind that there's no evidence supporting what he sorta picked out of the air, as the truth. He thought of it. It pissed him off. Guess who he takes it out on. That's what scares me, really. It used to be tangible things. Like the laundry, or whatever. I'd mumble my sorries and get my shit done, and everything would be fine. NOW he's got NOTHING. I function at 100%, and NOW he has to make up paranoid bullshit accusations.

Alden sees it. He used to do it almost every day. This is an example from a while back: One of the more notorious ones, where I swear he was actually going to snap and hit me, that one was caused because I left a basket of clothes on top of the washing machine unfolded. I didn't fold the laundry. At 8 pm, he decided he couldn't take it anymore, and threw the laundry at my feet, screaming, berating, hands flying, finger pointing in my face. He comes so close sometimes, I'm afraid one day, he's going to misjudge, and accidentally hit me. I almost want that to happen, because then I'll have a real reason. I never yell back. I used to burst into tears, right at the start, and he'd get it all out of his system, and we'd kiss and make up. That really bad time, that was the first time I sat there, unblinking, and let it wash over me. I just sat there, like a rock, with my arms folded. I told Alden to go in the other room. He was so infuriated, he started picking things off my desk, and hurling them. He grabbed my tower, and ripped it from the cords, and flung it across the living room, smashing this nice dent in the wall. Yeah, Alden sees it.

That's how I cope, though. I just sit, and let him blow himself out. To date, I almost never yell back. The few times I have, it was because he was targeting someone else. It happened when I was on the phone with a friend. Since I was ignoring him storming around me, and carrying on a calm conversation, the person on the phone became the target, and he grabbed the phone out of my hand and screamed at them, nasty, insulting things. Threats. That got me yelling.

Last night, I just had it. All this bullshit superficial stuff he does, to try and make things better. The flowers, the sweet things he's been buying me, all last weekend. The problem isn't solved. The treats, and nice times, it almost makes the really bad stuff stand out in sharp relief. It reminds me of those domestic abuse cases. "I'm sorry I beat the shit out of you baby, I don't know what came over me, I love you, let me back in the house, here I bought you flowers." He's never, to date, laid a hand on me, though. The violence is there. I think he knows that's the line. It's almost like, the nicer he is, inbetween rages, the more intense he goes off. Like, some kind of license to do it, or something.

I'm so tired. I'm so fucking tired of all that. It's like this dark vein of misery, in my otherwise very comfortable life. If it happened less, I could maybe deal with it. I can't keep having my nights, and days ruined like this though. Today, today, I overslept, because he wouldn't let me go to bed till almost 4, and I couldn't calm down enough, even then. I blame him, squarely. Alden has now missed a day of school because of it.

I called the school, and lied about his absence. I feel like shit. I feel like shit for having to do that, having to live this way, and having Alden live this way.

Whose name?

Yeah. Whose name should I put on the back of this ridiculous science project. You guys should know this about me already, I do not "do" his work for him. I'm involved with him while he does his work, but under no circumstances do I do anything besides guide and passively help. I will never tell him answers, or cut things out for him, or tell him where to glue the pieces. He's very self sufficient, when it comes to everyday work.

Last year, they made it mandatory for all students 3rd grade and up participate. THIS year, they're making everyone 1st grade on up participate.

This is 6 year olds, doing exhibits. Fucking mandatory.

It's simple, in idea. They have to do a 'habitat' diorama thing, choosing between the ocean, desert, mountains, forest, etc. Still sounds simple, right?

Find a box. "Alden, find a small box, or a shoebox. You have about 30 in your room. One that isn't too destroyed, please."

After producing and discarding about 10 beaten to shit ones, he comes out with a xerox paper box. "This one" he says. It's the size of well, yeah, it's huge. After an hour of box hunting, and arguing, I relent, and go pick one out for him. I'm already losing the "I'm not going to do it FOR you" battle.

I thought we would cover the outside of the box with his crayoned representation of the ocean, and what he thinks lives there. I offered suggestions, I showed him how to hold the crayon to the side, and use broad sweeping strokes to color the whole paper with blue. He's using huge newsprint. I said "you make two or three ocean murals, fast, just draw a bunch of fish and shells, and coral, and we'll see what we can do with them"

4 hours later.

The arteest was having oceanic block. He made one and a half. I grabbed up some various shades of blues and greens and started making ocean. It's a slippery slope, folks. I didn't draw anything, though, I just filled in the background.

Then, I had to wrap the inside and outside of this box with all this colorful paper. The outside is all mural, it looks nice, and all the surfaces inside but the very bottom are bluey-green swirly ocean, with a sandy colored bottom. But, try to imagine a 6 year old, even a really skilled and creative one, cutting and gluing paper, like giftwrap, to cover the whole inside and outside of a shoebox. Yeah, so I did that too.

They want stuff inside this box now. Interesting stuff.

After wrapping and gluing, I summon the child. I hand him some card stock, and I say "Draw nice fish, like this one *draws an example* big enough to cut out, and color. Draw some things from the ocean, we're going to cut them out" He's doing that now. It's been an hour and a half since I wrapped the box. The arteest has 4 fish, oh, one crab, one axe, and three smily faces. I stolidly refuse to even cut-color one thing.

We've got some frondy looking dried plant material for seaweed. Some playsand for the bottom. As soon as I get paper for my printer, we're gonna print out some nice pictures of coral, and shells and cut them out too.

"Alden's" project is tiring me out.


It really pisses me off, though. Mandatory? MANDATORY. They're going to have a science fair, where these projects are judged and graded. JUDGED. GRADED. He's SIX. I've done the bulk of it. It's all his art, though, and all his ideas. I'm just assembling the thing. But still, jesus christ in a corvette, he's got no interest in competition. He doesn't care if he wins or loses. They're forcing these kids to compete.

My point. A)Science fairs should be voluntary. This is the first time I've ever seen them force kids into it. Young kids.

B) Science fairs should be left to older kids, who can handle something as elaborate as a diorama, or whatever.

C) If he's being forced to participate, don't fucking TELL him what to do. I would have had him try to grow plants in the dark, or something, and write a paragraph on how plants need sun to grow. Draw pictures of the plants, have the seeds there, have some seeds that were sprouted in the sun. That's *just* the speed they're at in science, right now.


Furthermore, I know certain other mothers *cough*Harriet*cough* are spending loads of cash on little toy models and tons of scrapbooking paper, foam cutouts of stuff, etc, at the craft store. I flatly refuse to spend a penny on this. The boy needs to learn to use what he has, and be industrious. We have a megafuckington of craft supplies, and a megafuckington of imagination.




**Disclaimer: I never get this aggravated over normal work. I love helping him with normal projects and school stuff. This is sorta ridiculous.**

A simple thing to remember...

This is for everyone, now. When someone asks you "Can you give me a ride back from the car place, at 10, on Tuesday morning?" And you reply without hesitation "Sure! No problem." Maybe you should hesitate. Hesitate and process the request...write down the time...mentally go over your calendar for that day. Something, anything, so that said requestor (myself, in this case) doesn't leap out of bed Tuesday morning, elated, thinking they have a sure ride to the car place.

I called her to remind her, around 8:30. "Mom, remember around 9:45ish, we're going to Ultimate Audio, so I can get my stuff installed. I just need a ride home."

"10?"

"Yeah, 10."

"Oh, I can't make it, I've got a guy meeting me in Perth Amboy, about the house..."

"Tell him to meet you at 10:30."

"*stammer mumble* I'll give you money, to take a cab, home from the car place..."

"No."

"Well, let's go right now, then. You can drop your car off and leave the keys in it."

"No. I have an appointment at 10."

"But..."

"You said you would. Don't promise me things like that, if you're not sure, I'm really relying on you today."

Then came the discussion about when she promised, how, and why didn't I force her to write it down? Then came resignation.

"Fine, be ready at 9:40 SHARP."

"I was already dressed."



SOMETIMES *I* feel like the parent. She's not EVEN coming to pick me up. Earl got home early, from wherever he goes early in the morning, and she enlisted him.

I wish...

...allergy season were over.

...I didn't have sunburn on my lower back.

...Alden did all his homework last night, rather than hide this one sheet under his placemat, for me to discover upon cleaning the kitchen after he went to bed.

...they didn't force 1st graders to do a science project.

...the new computer were here.

...for an enormous, earthshaking thunderstorm.

...my Blazer weren't rusting.

Mmm

This weekend has been great (not over yet...) But damn. I never get one birthday-day. It's always like Birthweek, for me. Mother's Day falls very close to my birthday, so I get all the time between, as birthday-special-time. I don't plan it that way, it' just happens.

Friday, we did like I said, went out to Noodles and More, for Thai food, then we walked around Redbank. The weather was PERFECT for Redbank, and I feel like even though the place has changed so much, it's still so much the same.

We even went into Earth Spirits. It was cool, because Jocelyn was there, she's a sweet, kind, happy woman. The guy that works there, I don't like him. I feel alternately under his Eye (like a bug under a microscope), when I shop there, and given the coldest shoulder. This store, it's one of those mystical shops, that sells stones, herbs, and tarot cards, and the like. I've been shopping there for about 11 years. Ever since I could get myself to Redbank pretty much. Now, when I was 16, I can understand being scrutinized. Even at that age, I had a friend that would go in there (without me, thank god) and buy up random herbs, to see what smoking them would be like. So, I can fully understand the suspicion of a rowdy teenager in a store like that. But really. The same treatment? After I've been a devoted customer, for all this time (and I've never ONCE smoked any of the herbs I've gotten from there, I swear it). But, it was a mostly pleasant experience. I found a beautiful goddess statue, that I've sorta wanted for awhile, and bought it on the spot, along with a few other things. Jocelyn and I were talking about all manner of things, real estate, Boris her old dog, from way back, Sammy her new dog (that I mistook for Boris, they're both schnauzers and they're identical), the shop's impending move to a few blocks away, etc. Then sourpuss guy walks in, walks behind the counter, and engages Jocelyn in a conversation, placing himself directly between her and I, putting his back to me. How rude is that? I remembered why I stopped coming in there. When she's there, I'm filled with warmth and love, and I want to shop there, and be friends with everyone. When he's there, I feel like walking in the door is a mistake.

Soanyway. I got a sweet new figure, and we had a blast walking around in Red Bank. I wish we didn't run so late, I would have liked to walk around Marine Park, some. It was that nice of a day.

Later on, we went to Portuguese Manor, for dinner. My longtime favorite fancy resturaunt. We spent the hour wait, in the bar, naturally. I ordered a drink I look forward to, between visits, this Brazilian concoction of half a chopped lime, and sugar, sorta pounded together, and this alcohol called cachaca, over ice. It's called Caipirinha. It's really REALLY potent. I ordered one, and Manny, the bartender froze for a second. "Do you know what that is?" I smiled. "Of course." Half the bottle of cachaca went into that drink, seemingly. It's like a really smooth white rum, slightly sweet, and more complex, but with the same kick as 151. Limes, sugar, and superbooze. It's like whoever invented this drink had me in mind :). It took me about 45 minutes to gently sip my way through it. I was going slow, it was tasting so good, and I had this warm glow going. Then I went up and ordered another one. Manny raised his eyebrow. I smiled and put my empty glass on the bar.

Good thing I always order the same thing, every time I go there, because by the middle of that second drink, we got seated, and I was feeling no pain. Me. Two drinks. I know, right? I got the filet mignon, Portuguese Style, which was a softball sized cut of filet, covered with ham, and this rich brown garlic sauce. Served with fried thick cut potato chip things, steamed veggies, and a mountain of yellow rice. It's easily my favorite meal, ever. EVER. This is what I would order for my last meal, if I ever got the death sentence. From the salad, with the house dressing (omg, it's spicy! Like a spicy, sweet, creamy French dressing) to the country-style bread, creamy onion soup, clams with Portuguese sausage (I let the mister have the clams, I dip in the sauce and nibble the sausage), the steak, and the white chocolate and chocolate mousse topped with ganache. Oh yeah, and the half a pitcher of red sangria I drank, when my caipirinha was empty. Every time I go there, it's The Perfect Meal. Dinnergsam.

Logged into the game, for a little bit, when I got home, and got some great birthday wishes from friends. Lots of naked dancing, and nice presents. Had a few more margaritas, too. Went to bed completely smashed, tired, happy. It was most pleasant.


Yesterday was good too. Made the appointment for my big birthday present, all new speakers for the Blazer, as well as an amp. Good times. I'll be dropping the car of Tuesday morning. I can't wait. I love music so much, and I hate having it ruined by a crackly bad speaker. Also, ran out and got crickets, then to the Asian market. Got a whole truckload of fresh veggies, which I came home and cooked into a most alluring Thai chicken soup.

My mom came over last night, to deliver my present, and visit. I hooked her up with some soup, and she LIKED it. My MOTHER. ATE something with LEMONGRASS in it. She's a very plain eater. She doesn't like exotic flavors. She happily devoured chicken, coconut, lemongrass, chili paste, and cilantro. Then she ate a steamed roast pork bun, and a red bean paste bun, on top of it. If THAT's not a testament to my cooking, nothing is.

This morning, I got woken up to a suprise breakfast, the mister went shopping early this morning, and made omelets (for him and the boy, I don't eat eggs) and this skillet stuff he makes, with all the random meats we have in the fridge. (we have a lot, considering how much time we spend at the Ukranian Butcher) so it was fried spicy potatoes, kielbasa, Hungarian sausage, Irish bacon, and normal breakfast sausage, with green peppers, onions, and garlic, and spicy as hell, I love it. He also made a huge fruit salad, with strawberries, pitted fresh black cherries, apple, mango, banana, watermelon, and canteloupe. That was the big suprise, he's never done that before. I loooove fruit for breakfast, it's my favorite thing.

He's really gone all out, to make my days special. It's nice to see.

I'm sitting here drinking a huge glass of ice water, and finishing up my coffee, wondering what he's got up his sleeve for the rest of the day...

They have names!

b. vagans= Scarlett
n. chromatus= Bones
a. geniculata= Lucretia

Thank you Michele!

Wow, I wonder if this is my suprise!

The mister just showed up, with a dozen red roses, and one blue. 13 roses.

Once, I half jokingly said I would run away, with The Tick. I was like "That's all I need, right now, that big blue superhero to show up at my door, with blue roses, and I'm gone" The next morning, I woke up to a boquet of 13 blue roses, and this long letter of "I love you, let's get through this".

It was right after we got engaged, and after we moved in together, only I was so lost-confused-etc, I was staying back at my mom's house for a week, while she was on vacation. Michele was there, that morning, he actually broke into my mom's house, to leave that stuff on the table for me.

So, the blue rose is really meaningful *sniffle* I'm beside myself.

He's being extra super sweet, this week.

It's that time again!

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I have three new baby spiders to name. Huge and black and white, black white and red, and red and black.

Any suggestions?

Sooo...this is 27.

This year's birthday is looking to be very low key, and pleasant. It's a Michele Day, so we're hanging out, getting some Thai food, maybe go on a road trip somewhere. The mister has a suprise for me tonight, so I'm looking forward to that. This is the first year he's actively participating in my birthday, if that makes sense.

Last year, he took the day off, and just sorta got dragged around, while I did all stuff I wanted to do. It was pleasant, and spending time with him -during the season- like that, was a honor in its own right. But, he's never been one to make plans. He's not the "buy a present, wrap it, throw a party, bake a cake, suprise the lady somehow" kind of guy. Generally, he asks in advance, in March sometime what I want. Usually it's some type of electronics. This year, I asked for speakers for the Blazer, since the system in there...sucks. So, normally, that would be it. Dinner, speakers shopping. This year, it's a suprise. I'm interested in seeing what he has cooked up. Oh, he's suprised me once before, that's right. He took me to a concert, the day before my birthday, some years back, that actually, fully was a shock. Maybe I should wear my concert gear, out to dinner...

Either way, today is gonna be great. My mom asked me if I felt old, last night. I didn't, till she asked me. Then, of course I got all manner of shit about my age, in /g last night (Opti, you bastard) But Lucius consoled me. He said "no, you look way younger than 27, you're youthful in everything you do, you're very young at heart. You play videogames! That's SO childish!" (this coming from my steady gaming companion...) He has such a way with words. So, yeah, that made me feel a lot better.

Though, I wonder, at times, what 27 is supposed to look like.

High Adventure

I love hearing from my dad, it makes my whole week. I love, even more, when we're both bubbling over with news, and the conversation flows forever. Sometimes, you know, there's not a whole lot going on, so it's like "how are you?" "good. not much going on here, though." "how are YOU guys?" "decent, quiet, same as usual"

This morning, he called, at 7 a.m. and we *just* got off the phone a few minutes ago. I LOVE sharing great news with them, like the fact that we're going to visit them in December, lots of good stuff going on with the business, Irv's new tattoos, mine, just random little news. They're pretty much the same way, Chris is graduating, Dad's coming here in June, etc etc. Good stuff.

I can't believe Chris is graduating...goddamn I feel old. Hell. I AM old. I'm gonna be 27, Friday. But, my god, I still see Chris as the annoying 6 year old, that he was, when I lived there. College, in the fall. Soon, he'll be moving to the states, and coming to stay with either us, or his relatives down in GA. to go to a tech school.


Yesterday was a Day of Perpetual Motion. Just, out and running from the morning. This whole past week has been, come to think of it. We topped the night off, by going to Mush's shop, and getting Irv some ink. He got my name, and Alden's name, tattooed inside his wrists, with some cool looking vines, all twined up in our names, I'm on his right wrist, Alden is on his left. The print is this sweet looking Celtic style. It's very elegant, but not girly... He also got the signatures around his Anthrax tattoo, from the band, completeing the piece. (he had the old Anthrax logo, the Not! guy. We got their autographs, when we met them, so he wanted them placed around the tat.) He's happy, he never gets a chance to visit Mush's place.

We brought Alden to the place, and he got invited in the room, to watch Mike do a piercing. That was so cool, he explained every step, like Alden was apprenticing. When that was done, Alden came in the room with us, and watched the tattooing procedure. I explained what a privilage it is, for a kid to be in a place like that, and treated with such equality. I mean, what kid gets to witness a piercing? A fun time was had by all. I'll be going in sometime this or next week, to have my greenman worked on. Small doses, for that one...small doses.

Today is looking like it's gonna go in the same vein. I have a few errands to run, after I drop Alden off, but then I have to come right home and wait for my spiders *wiggle with excitement* they're coming in today! The house has to be cleaned, Mush and Kenn are coming over tonight, to discuss the rental agreement. I'm so excited about that, I feel like they're gonna be excellent tenants, they're as worried about the whole "business between friends" thing as I am. Contracts will be drawn up, asses will be covered, they make great money (more than us, probably) So, I think this will be a good thing. Plus, there's the added bonus of having one of my best friends living right next door.

The only yucky thing about that, is I have to file for a pension loan, file for permits, again, get an electrician, and contact my heating guy. Starting the GC business up again is going to be a miniature nightmare for me, considering the time I had with it over the past few years. It's just a hard horse to get back on, even if it is for all the best possible reasons. But, now I have a super motivation. It'll be nice to have that as income, too, once all the dust settles.

See? Life is good. All my entries are boring, and bubbly. I should go stub my toe, or something.

GRARGH what IS it with the dying!?

Just after I finished making that post about the spiders, I cuise over to check on them, and the mouse. The mouse isn't a pet, the mouse is food for Grim, my ball python. We buy a nice rodent, whenever we go to the Snake Pit (because he has good, quality mice, and we get there maybe twice a month) powerfeed the little bugger, and when Grim gets hungry, he's got a nice, fattened, happy, nutritionally complete mousie waiting for him. We always have a mouse in a tank, waiting. Call it a temporary pet, I guess. Makes me heartless to be able to hang on to something for 2 weeks or more, then feed it to my snake, but, it's the nature of things.

Got this mouse, last week.

It's dead.

What. The. Fuck. Fed, watered, normal tank, lots of cottony fluff to hide in. Same like all the rest of the mice I've housed till "feeding time" I've kept some, a month or more. This one just, died.

I'm getting rather frustrated.

Not a good week for the Babies.

Sunday morning, I get up, and go to mist down the spiders. You remember the spiders, right? I blogged about them. My lovelies.

Roady, my mature male OBT is out of his hide, at the edge of his tank. Straaaange....he's usually reclusive, unless he's hunting. I fed him a few days ago, and he didn't eat, there were dead crickets in his tank. I misted his enclosure with water, dripping some on him, too. That normally sends a spider fleeing. Roady...was dead. Poor little orange bastard. When I got him, though, I knew I wouldn't have him forever. First off, he was badly mistreated, missing a leg, dehydrated, living in a takeout container with a cottonball, and no substrate. Bad scene. Secondly, I found out he was male. When males reach maturity, it's only a matter of time, before they die, that's just the way it is. Since I had no idea how long he was full grown for, I had no idea what to expect from his life-span. I had him for 7 months, and he was a good, interesting, vicious pet. It saddens me, but, it doesn't suprise me.

The one that REALLY got to me, was Luci. I fed them all, Sunday, as well. I love watching them eat. Luci and Dulce both have been reclusive lately, but, when I peer into their burrows with a flashlight I can see them. Sunday night, all the crickets I threw in their enclosures were gone (Opti ate something like seven crix!)except Luci's. I shined my flashlight into her hide, to check on her, and I saw something strange, sort of like her underside, or an exuvia or something, like she moulted and it was still in there. I used my tweezers to pick the molt out of her hide, like I always do...and she was half attached to it, dead :( She must have died mid-moult. My poor baby. She was only about an inch across, and just starting to show those striking colors that she's reknowned for. Black, with stark white banding around her legs, and long reddish rusty colored hairs on her abdomen.

So, yeah, that one upset me.

The rest are thriving, though. Opti just moulted AGAIN, I've never seen a spider grow so fast, or eat so much, he's INSANE. He sits in his hide all day waiting for food to rain from the sky, then he pops out like an orange muppet from hell, and dissapears with his prey. Great stuff. Priscilla is fat, and fine, mincing around her tank, like the princess she is. Speck is about half an inch across now, quadrupled in size, from when I got her, and can almost finish a whole cricket, in one sitting. She's starting to get some of her stripey markings, too. Dulce is normal, timid, and doing well. Nasty is...well, nasty.

I placed an order to Swift's last night, I couldn't help myself. I'm getting another Giant White Knee, like Luci, and something called a "Brazilian Red & White" Both tiny babies, at 1/4".

I'm excited about them coming in.

WoW related entry no. 3773

I love being level 60.

I love LOVE PvP. I'm a bloodthirsty bitch.

I love Teamspeak. I love PvP and Teamspeak.

I even love raiding. I love Scholomance. Coolest "haunted house" EVER.

I love socking money away for our epic mounts. I love having something to work towards.

I love this game.

Blast from the Past

I've been thinking about Dan a lot lately. A whole lot. First, it's that time of year. When we were together-but-not-quite, 8 years ago. Secondly, Mush and Kenn hang out with him a lot, so I get second hand Dan news from them. The other day, they told me he got into an accident, and totalled his motorcycle. He made it out with barely a scratch, but by all accounts, he should have been injured terribly. His bike is totalled. I felt TOTAL pangs of sympathy, I wanted to call him, see how he was doing, etc.

Today...so weird...we were driving down Rt. 18, and just as we passed Rues Lane (the very intersection where he had his accident...) Sisters of Mercy "When You Don't See Me" came on. Yes, "our" song. The song he made me listen to, and when I fell in love with it, he gave me the CD. The song whose lyrics he wrote on the card for the first (of many) boquet of thirteen white roses, he sent me. As my "secret admirer" (though, with that song, really how secret can it be? To me, anyway.)

Mush and Kenn are going to be renting the house next door, very soon. Dan will be coming around for sure. Is 8 years long enough? Is there enough water under that bridge, I wonder, that we can be buddies again? I mean, we were friends first, after all. I decided, it wouldn't be terrible, to see him, and say hi, again.

Pop song!

Yeah, over 5 months. I know. No one's here, no one's going to read this. That's refreshing.

Blogging comes from misery. Last year, the year before, they were miserable. Now? I'm happy. No, really. Genuinely, wake up every day smiling, happy. The house is done. The house is DONE. I've fallen into a happy little niche, working, playing World of Warcraft, being a domestic. I go to bed early, sleep soundly, wake up early. The house is clean, dinner gets put on the table every night. It's. Amazing. Like Dan said, the other night. I may as well go write pop songs.

Here it is, here's my pop song entry.

WoW. It's gone past diversionary, it's more like a Life Hobby. It's what I do, when I don't have other things to do. It's what I do when I'm putting off other things. It's a huge thing, for me. I run a guild, now. A real, functioning, huge group of people, with more coming in every day. We do stuff together. We help each other, we have a reputation. I wouldn't actually say I "run" it. I more like tie things together. THEY run it. I just make it happen.

It's a fun thing, though. You guys remember from my earlier posts, maybe, how totally smitten I was by the game. I'm still that smitten, after like 7-8 months. Every day, something makes me go "oooh..." every day, I look forward to logging in and seeing people, and doing things. That's quite a stretch for me. After this long, normally, shit like that becomes a job. I won't say it's been smooth sailing. We've DEFINITELY had turbulence, along the way. All guilds have some degree of drama. Ours was no exception. My motto regarding that? "The problems take care of themselves" and, guess what? They did. We're back to Drama Free living, it's one of the things Out Of Hand is famous for. Good shit right there. So, the game is fun. The people are...indescribable. I'm addicted to the people in the game, less the game. If I played it solo, I would have quit three months ago. I love LOVE the people. Some more than others.

If I start writing here, it's going to be a lot about WoW, simply because it's interesting, to me.

Real life? Same way. Turbulence, a little. Mostly smooth sailing. Alden is the hardest nut to crack right now. He's having a rough time of things, in school. He's "so bright, but he lacks the focus to get his work done" Hello! Where have we heard that before? He aces all his work, when he sits down to do it. Getting him to sit down to do it, however, is its own set of challenges. He's very VERY keyed in to learning, he knows. He just, suprisingly, knows. His teacher says he spends class time playing, screwing with other students, flapping around, fidgeting, drawing, talking...but as soon as she calls on him, bang, he knows the answer. Unfortunately, the OTHER kids, that he's hassling, talking to, flapping in front of...they don't have it so easy. He's a mega distraction. Hell, I know. She doesn't have to tell me that...I LIVE it. He's also very insanely impulsive. Bad. He should be outgrowing that, but he's getting worse. We keep him on a tight schecule, close at home supervision, trying to shape him, at home, into how he should be at school. Focused, competant, quiet, polite. Hah. Hehehe. Yeah, it's a job, in itself.

Harriet's still around, though I see her infrequently. She's been busy working full time lately, so that cuts down on after-school-girly-gossip time. I sorta...miss her. There's a part in my life that's kinda lacking when she's not around. Someone to trade recipes with, talk about "the kids", "the husbands", "the boyfriends", and general gossip about stuff. Just some semi-superficial primal needs, going unmet, when I don't hang out with her. I even miss..dun dun DUN...her drama. Drama when it's someone elses...it's interesting. (Why else do people read blogs? Exactly.)

I get the urge to write. A lot of times, when I shower, or when I drive, the thoughts flow, like they used to. I think "I should bust that blog open, and document this." Heh, yeah. I should, but I don't. Well, today I am, isn't that cool? I'll try to more. Spring is here, and my mind is out of hibernation. I think it has to do with that. The world is awake, now, and my writing centers are, too.

I'll be back. Soon.

It's a good day to start the new year...

Really, it is. It's like the first day of spring out there, 60 degrees, blazingly sunny. You can smell the ocean, too, in that nice way. Not that dank low tide way, but that tangy salty oceany way.

See, I don't think we should start the new year, till spring. It just doesn't make sense,starting fresh, in the dead of winter. Who came up with that?! Spring is a much better time for all that, I think. Call it my calendar amendment #2.

I've got my mind on new beginnings. Things will change this year, I know it. Hell, I'm going to create change.

I feel pretty good about the future, even if I feel a little confused now.