This morning I got this email. Short and to the point..
YOU LOVE ME NOT.
I NEVER HEAR FROM YOU ANYMORE.......
So this good friend just wanted to inform me that I suck. Okay..noted.
But in my defense, NO ONE hears from me anymore so I think she should just chill the fuck out..
or take the hint.
I do not want to be heard from. I simply want to be left alone. Why is it that people think you need to be "cured" of that? As if reading a book or listening to an ipod without interruption is somehow a very sad thing that must be rectified immediate before life ends as we know it?
How does one respond to an email such as this? Errrrr...
I do kinda love you but don't want to actually have to hang out with you which is what a call would lead to?
Set up a lunch that I will either cancel at the last minute or go to, nod, smile and laugh at the right moments to get me off the hook for another month or so?
I am just not in the mood for people. I am in the mood to garden and remove waxy buildup. I am in the mood to take some long walks with the dogs and play Bejeweled on line.
I am in the mood to make a quick dinner, do the dishes and crash...
But I am not in the mood to exchange social pleasantries with anyone under any circumstances!
Since I can't say that...you never know who you might need to borrow money from in the future, I guess I am going to have drinks tonight with a friend.
June is bustin' out all over All over the meadow and the hill! Buds're bustin' outa bushes And the rompin' river pushes Ev'ry little wheel that wheels beside the mill!
I am going to go bankrupt with all the graduations, weddings, birthdays and anniversaries next month.
However, it wouldn't be so bad if all I had to do was write a check. I can deal with that.
No, the problem is I keep getting fucking INVITATIONS requesting my presence at this events.
There are two types of people in this world. Those that are social and those that wish everyone would leave them alone in their dark and cool cave.
Guess which one I am?
So the thought of mingling for three straight weekends isn't on my list of "yippie" moments. It isn't that I don't like these people. They are all okay from afar. I just don't give a shit about their future plans or where they are going on their honeymoon. Geez..I don't even care about my own future plans (further than figuring how to get out of these g-d damn events.)
Regarding the two graduation ceremonies, I did manage to get out of those.
"If you think I am going to sit on some hot bleachers for three hours to clap to your kid for 30 seconds, you're out of your fucking mind. What time is lunch afterward?"
See, tactful and to the point. Who said I don't know the social graces. Humpf!
My baby brother is turning 40 so I need to figure out a gift for that. I will let his friends purchase the obligatory Depends, Geritol and Denture Cream.
Maybe a suped up Hoveround.
Of course they had to throw Father's Day in for good measure so I can attempt to figure out what to get the guy that has everything and if he doesn't, he doesn't want it.
On acounta it's June! June, June, June Just because it's June, June, June!
This morning I got severely behind schedule by hanging over the ole porcelain pony for 15 minutes as my body rejected the four sips of coffee I had consumed for breakfast.
This is the fourth time in two weeks I have made the kid late for school as my body betrayed me.
If I was actually having sex, I would think I was knocked up. However, since the last male junk I saw was almost three months ago and my tampax supplies have been depleted since then, I think I can rule that out.
I would like to blame the few pounds I have gained on a bun in the oven but alas, it was more like chocolate cookies in the oven with a big glass of milk.
The inventors of that prepacked cookie dough should be given an award for all the pleasure it has brought into the lives of single women everywhere...but I digress.
So as I start my day with a dull ache in my belly, I half wish I didn't cuss out my last doctor's office staff even though they did have it coming. How inept does a group of people have to be to not lose test results once but twice and then forget that you actually had them done in the first place?
Pretty fucking inept, huh?
After all the trouble, my tests could have at least been abnormal so I could sue their fucking asses but alas, I am fit as a fiddle.
If you don't count that pesky puking upon awakening thing.
Since I am far too ill to consider doing any of this paperwork on my desk, I am off to catch up on your blogs. Have a happy week.
Sometimes being a total blob is good for the soul.
Even if it is hell on the width of the ass.
I did nothing these past few days but watch movies and the rain. Florida hasn't been living up to its reputation as the sunshine state this past week. If the weather predictors are correct, the sun won't be shining this coming week either.
Really, I don't mind the rain. I like opening the windows wide and listen to the echos of the thunder. The kid is going a little stir crazy because she can't ride her new electric birthday scooter or go in the pool with her friends. I haven't been in the mood to have every kid in the neighborhood in either. "Why don't you play at THEIR house for a change"? I asked.
"Oh, their parents don't want the noise and mess."
Ahhh. I see.
So today I dropped her off at a school friends house that are always more than willing to have my angel over to mess up their house.
God Bless Um...
In the meantime the older kid who is going to lose his kid status in two months by turning 21, is whining about his lack of transportation. As if I can pull a nice new, fulling insured vehicle out of my ass.
He's gone through three cars since he has had his license. One he totalled and the other two he drove to a very painful death with them leaking their life blood onto my driveway. Three free cars and he has burned through all the people that his sob story might work on.
He says he can't afford his rent, books, insurance and a car payment...
Oh...in that case, let me go out to my money tree and supplement your income by an extra thousand bucks a month.
Sucks growing up kiddo.
So, that about sums up my boring weekend. Back to work tomorrow to listen to my full grown kids whining about how they are so under appreciated at their jobs and by their coworkers.
What does it say about my life that at this point, I am looking forward to it?
Okay, last chance. If you don't want to read this weak sappy nauseating post, I suggest you click out now.
Still here? Well, you've been warned.
I admit it, I am a weeny when it comes to love. All my strength and resolve goes out the window and I behave like a teenager that writes I heart U 4-Eva all over my science notebook.
I have been in heart with someone for several years now as some of you kewl kids know and I fear there is a good chance that I will never see or hear from him again. We’ve had our ups and downs…and downs….and downs…. I was hoping he was attempting to get his own mind and life straight before adding a new family to it.
The major issue with all of this is I had this whole future thing planned out with him figuring prominently. When I took the ole scissor out and started clipping, those plans no longer worked.
So at 40 plus years old, I need to figure out what comes next.
SCM moved back in so he could pay some bills and perform baby sitting duties. We aren't intimate and behave like room mates. Lately that hasn’t been going so well with his temper, his lack of self control and his inappropriate behavior. I was biding my time but DING..time is essentially up.
It was so much easier to think the guy was going to swoop in and save the day and that doesn’t seem so likely anymore. I gave him the ole “shit or get off the pot” ultimatum and the pot seems to have been sadly lacking in doodie for the past week. I don't blame him all that much. He has trust and insecurity issues that I thought he could overcome. It is impossible to convince someone that your feelings are honest and true if they keep having doubts.
I played the single parent role with my son and also with my daughter for the year and a half when SCM lived elsewhere and although manageable, it wasn't much fun. Though the worst part is the night. Sleeping alone was bearable because I saw it as a temporary situation but now that one side of the bed is going to be empty for eternity, it is going to take some getting used to. (As well as a lot of batteries).
I love you guys but you can keep the “You’ll find someone else” platitudes. I tried to move on from this a couple of times and I realized that it took me 40 years to find the right fit and I don’t anticipate finding it again. Honestly, I don't want to. I am fine alone and before now preferred it. In time I can learn to again.
I am not looking for sympathy either. I am simply writing this shit down to distract myself from the yucky lump in my throat and boulder in my tummy while waiting for a decison on his part that may never come.
Okay, whine over. Please return to your long weekend, BBQs, sand castles and corn on the cob.
I am going to try to learn how to sleep in the middle of the bed.
Hard alcohol is the only thing you put in your body that actually comes with a story. It's like, 'You want some tequila?' 'No, dude, the last time I had that....' It doesn't happen with anything else. 'Do you want some jelly beans?' 'No. The last time I had jelly beans, I ended up with my pants around my ankles, face down in the mall. Seriously, dude, I can't even smell the black ones. Just get them out of here.'
How true is this?
Being shit faced every weekend lost its appeal for me a long long time ago but the memories remain. Even if one attempts to forget them, there is always a so called friend that shared the evening that is more than happy to remind you for their own amusement and that of others.
One night in particular stands out for me.
I was in my late 20s and single again after being married to number one son's father for five years. I had a work friend that was also single and we had our partying routine down to a science. We would start on Thursday night which was ladies night in town, get drunk, stumble into Denny's at 2am, drink coffee to sober up, take a cat nap and go to work.
Only to begin it all again Friday night.
It is only now that it occurs to me that the reason all my terrible stories happened on Friday nights instead of Thursday or Saturdays was because the lack of sleep combined with the infusion of alcohol contributed greatly to my idiocy.
One Friday night my friend and I decided we would head downtown to Church Street Station. At that time it was still a hot spot with the street blocked to traffic, many drinking establishments as well as performers and kiosks along the sides of the road.
There was also an old train that served as a historical monument of sorts.
Somewhere between kamikazes and jello shots, I got in my marinated mind that I wanted to see if I could start the train. Or at least sit in it and play engineer.
If you glance up, the picture of the train I posted is very similar to the train I attempted to break into. Notice the very narrow front windows.
In my wasted state, I must have thought my ass was less narrow than those windows.
And I got stuck.
Of course initially that was the funniest thing in the world to us. Although my friend continued to laugh, it soon became clear that I was in quite a fix. To make matters worse, the laughter was drawing a crowd.
Since my friend had yet to concede the idea, she starting pushing at my ass still trying to get me IN. Not only that but she recruited a couple of guys from the on lookers to assist.
I am laughing, they are pushing and then...silence.
Apparently a cop on horseback had come over to find out what all the fuss was about.
Fortunately, he was able to pull me out by my feet without having to call for any kind of assistance. He scattered the on lookers and notified me, in a big scary cop way, that if he spotted me on or around Church Street Station again, he would take me to jail.
I have never gone back.
That is my story and I am stickin' to it. Anyone else want to share their drunken adventures?
The sweet tingling of the ice cream truck bell sounds from down the block. I am ten years old with two quarters in my pocket and my mouth is already watering for the starched uniformed Good Humor Man to turn over my treat. My biggest dilemma is choosing whether I should get a Strawberry Shortcake or the brand new ice cream that has actual hard chocolate attached to the stick in the center.
The ring ring ring gets louder and conscious seeps slowly in. My crusted eyes peer at the red numbers of the clock radio. 5:45am.
“Someone better be fucking dead,” I said as I picked up the phone.
“Well if it isn’t, some wrong number is really pissed at you right now. Who the hell is this?”
“It’s Joe, I just game into the office before heading over to the hospital and the office is flooded.”
“What exactly do you mean by flooded?” I asked wide awake now.
“Flooded as in a blanket of water covering the floors and pouring out of the ceiling onto the counters which in case you’ve forgotten, is where you keep all the computers,” Joe offered.
Always the wit, even in crisis.
“Fine, I’ll page the building manager and be right down.”
He was there when I arrived explaining that a pipe had burst two floors above us and weren’t we fortunate that we weren’t as bad as them?
Yeah, real lucky.
So this has been a week full of water removal, floor fans, insurance agents and not knowing if sparks will fly anytime something is plugged into an electric outlet.
I haven't received a chain letter via the post office for years. Most of this kind of crap is forwarded via email these days which makes it easy to click the delete button and risk never meeting my true soul mate or having my ears turn green and fall off.
I love living dangerously.
However, I received a chain letter through snail mail yesterday and I have decided to participate for two reasons..
One, it seems like a fun idea and two, I don't want to risk the wrath of the good friend that sent it to me by tossing it.
The premise is a paper back book forwarding club in which ideally you end up receiving 36 books of your own for the one you mailed out. I have decided to not send this to people that aren't interested and have decided to throw it out to you kids. I thought it would be interesting for my friend to receive books from out of state and I am thinking this is a great way to connect with your blog friends from around the country and around the world.
If you want to play, send an email with your name and address to firstname.lastname@example.org and I will send the instructions to you.
Tomorrow I need to blog about the damn pipe bursting in the floor above my office suite and how great my new carpets look under two inches of water. It is an odd feeling hearing my shoes squash with every step I take.
How the hell did I end up with an assistant who insists on talking over me?
And why is it that I feel I am being rude when I shout...
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Okay, I only shout the f bomb in my head but it seeps out of every pour during any conversation that I must have with her.
Our exchanges generally go something like this...
Me: Jan, I heard from Mr Jones this....
Jan: Ok, I'll call him back and tell him blah blah...
Me: No wait..what I need is for y...
Jan: No problem, he is working on those contracts and I will ask him to blah blah..
Me: Well, that is fine but what I'd really like to kn....
Jan: You'd really like to know when they are going to be ready.
Me: CAN I PLEASE GET MY THOUGHT OUT OF MY MOUTH BEFORE YOU TALK OVER ME?
I understand that she wants to feel good about herself by coming up with the answer to what needs to be done before I ask her. But unless she begins taking better telepathy classes, it ain't gonna happen.
I suck as a blogger. I am not real big on zoning into my sharing place so unless I have a beef, you kids aren't hearing from me.
Honestly, I have been so busy being fucking boring that I got nuttin' for ya.
Work is a place full of 40 year old children that tattle, spread gossip and smack each other down verbally. I am attempting to follow Roosevelt's immortal words, "Speak softly and carry a big stick" but I want to knock their pointy heads together and throw them to the unemployment lines and Craiglist help wanted ads.
SCM is living happily on the other side of the house. I see him a total of four hours a week which is four hours too much. He still irritates the shit out of me but I can put up with anything for four hours..
Well, maybe not watching FOX News or having anal sex. Which essentially are the same thing...Either one and I am getting fucked in the ass.
My mother is as bat shit insane and successfully building on her psychosis on an almost daily basis. Makes for some rather interesting phone calls to and from my siblings determining who's turn it is to be on the A list and who is due back on her shit list. We need to keep the cycle going for all involved.
The older brat is still claiming independence accompanied by his weekly calls of how he is going to starve to death if I don't take him out for a good meal at his favorite restaurant immediately. I think he is working and going to school. With his expertise of telling me what I want to hear, who the fuck knows? He could be running hookers out of Havana for all I know.
As for little brat, I am spending far too much time keeping her away from her "bestfriend" that resides across the street. They have been friends for six of their ten years of life. Originally I was playing good little liberal by encouraging the friendship between this motherless, (she left the state when she got knocked up by her affair partner), Fatherless, (he is in prison on drug charges and beating the shit out of his own mother) grandma raised soul. I thought my brat could actually be a good influence on her.
But as so often happens, it turned out that being bad it sooo much more fun. She's a sneaky little shit and encourages my daughter to do things that I already rejected. Together they are toxic and I am over it. I still feel sorry for her but I prefer to do it from afar and not while she is talking my daughter into riding bikes two miles down a busy road to get ice cream when they both know my wonderful kid isn't supposed to leave the block. (Best friend can do whatever she wants. Zero supervision)
So as you can see, dear kids, Christine is a barrel of boring.
Lucky for me, I am too busy to be depressed about it.