The NEW WOMAN

I had an experience last night I don't think I have ever had before. 

B and I were heading out to dinner and stopped by the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for him. He walked up to the counter. I was wandering in the vicinity; that's what I do when shopping, I can't help it. I heard the pharmacist ask, "Oh, is this for (insert the ex wife's name here)?"

And I felt strange and awkward. He told her it was for him, but I still felt a little dirty and out of place. 

They knew him there, he's been going for several years, and it's only natural that they would assume he was picking up something for her. It's not likely that he has told him he is divorced. It's very likely he still picks stuff up for her because he's nice like that. 

But it still made me feel a little funny. I walked up and stood close. Human reaction; "He's not her's anymore, he's mine."  I imagine in their eyes though, I was the interloper. They may even think him a cheater. I know it doesn't matter what they think, if they thought anything at all (um, this is a small town. Everyone thinks something, trust me.)

I was glad to get out of there. Bound to happen, I know, I'm sure it won't be the last time. But that doesn't mean I liked it. 

Passive Aggressive Theater

I am currently trying to make sure that in the history of stubborness, mine is legendary. LEGENDARY, I tell you.

Each day, I grow more and more frustrated with my living situation. You know, the one I said I wasn't allowed to bitch about anymore. I can't help it. Especially knowing that her departure date is now sometime between March and April. 

How did two months stretch into nearly four? Hw is it that I have not said anything? 

I have learned that I can be bought. Not only did I put myself in this situation for the love of money (really, it was so I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck because I don't have any cushion, but as long as we are being dramatic...) But I have stayed in it because of that sweet golden carrot. 

One more month? sure, I can suck it up. Except that the assumption is that she can take her time getting out as long as I am paid for my time. And I have not corrected her. 

I need to. NEED TO REALLY BAD. I no longer want to be at my house. The smell of dogs hits my nose as soon as I walk in. It isn't because the place isn't vacuumed all the time, it's because there are TOO MANY animals in this house. Words I never thought I would say now exit my mouth every day. 

Friday night, I got home and the house was empty. For the first time in months, it felt like my house. And I knew I needed, for my own sanity, to tell her it's time to go. The first part of March. I need my space back. 

Have I done so? Nope. Instead, I do little things to try to annoy her. The turtles need more water because the tank is too loud? I'll get to it eventually. Dining table is a little too piled with my paperwork? I will get to that eventually too. Same with the dead flowers on the table. Eventually. 

She asked me to clean up a bit the other day. Eh. It looks fine.

This is not the way to handle things, I know. And I need to be a grown up. But I don't feel like it right now. It's so much easier to just be messy...

Broken

I have been diagnosed with a broken picker.

While that sounds like a fancy way to say that my finger is broke, know that the diagnosis didn’t come from a doctor, but from my supervisor who, after 8 months of hearing stories about them men that I do and have dated, decided that I just don’t know how to pick good ones. My picker is broken.

Following hot on the tails to this announcement, Tony, a coworker who has been nicknamed “The Angry Mustache” by another coworker, announced that he could tell me where to go pick up good men. According to his daughters, construction sites, apparently, NOT bookstores are the best places to find good guys. After all, only geeks hang out in bookstores.

Never mind that I have a boyfriend and although he has his issues, he treats me well and we enjoy each other’s company. I have my issues too. But should it so happen that it doesn’t work out between us, I’ll be sure to head to my nearest construction site to strut myself and maybe catch myself a good man who doesn’t spend time in bookstores.

Worth every ache

The other night, B came over for a visit. We decided to hop in my car and see where the night took us. (we rarely spend time at home since the only quiet places are the bedroom and the office. Well, and the bathroom but who wants to hang out in there?) We stopped for dinner and then got on the freeway.

B mentioned casually that he really wanted to go to the batting cages sometime but that he didn’t know where they were.

It just so happened, that I got lost one day and found them. So I showed him where they are. (It’s a really cool spot, cages, food, beer…) And we decided to hit a few. Or, I should say, he hit many, and I swung a lot. Mostly, though, I just watched.

I don’t think I have ever seen him ooze that much joy. His face? Was lit up. He looked 10 years younger in that batting helmet. (Not that he looks old by any means) It had just been too long since he indulged in a good batting session.

We’ll be going there again. I would gladly learn to actually hit the balls, and I want to encourage him to do the things he loves. I’ve been trying to get him back on his skateboard but he says he’s too old. I say, at 34, there’s no such thing. That’s what pads are for. I’m even willing to go to the skate park with him. I can skate there too. And yes, B, I will wear bootie shorts and fishnets. It’s good practice for me to get off the rink and play on the ramps. It’s something we can do together. And it’s good for his soul to do the things he loves.

I think it’ll stop making him feel so old…

That's what it's there for

Several months ago, I noticed a need among my Derby League. There were a couple of girls who would occasionally fall upon hard times and need a little assistance. Single moms. Young people. Generally broke ass bitches. Sometimes, you just need a little help.

So I started a food closet for Derby Girls with the open invitation that any girl needing a little food, TP, soap, whatever, could pull a little out and not have to worry about food while she worried about other things.

Although they don’t know it (contacting the other leagues in town can be tricky) the closet is open to any Derby Girl who needs food. It’s stocked on donations from the other girls in the league and sometimes, from outside sources as well.

I am amazed every time I open those cabinets, how quickly they filled up. It isn’t just me putting the occasional box of Mac and Cheese in there.

So all the girls have to do, really, is let me know they need something, and they can come over and get stuff. No one else really has to know. I received a message yesterday asking for a bag from the closet for a newer girl. Single mom, she’s been with us for less than a month.

I was happy to bring her a bag full of stuff, with extra minding for what her son might like to eat.

It’s not what she was expecting when she was told I had some “paperwork” for her after practice last night.

The tears in her eyes told me that she never expected such a gift from a woman who could barely remember her name. (I’m bad, I know. It takes me awhile)

At that moment I knew I had done the right thing in gathering the food. It doesn’t take up any cabinets I would be using; those ones are at ceiling height. It didn’t hurt me to take 5 minutes to put a bag together.

Such a little bit of effort for such a big smile of a reward. I’m glad to have helped. That’s what it’s there for.

Proof of insanity

I have come to the conclusion that the Cookie Thief is actually insane.

Forget the part of the story where he was foolish enough to try to steal my cookie. (He”s loving the fact that I’m off the junk food since that means he gets my share)

This morning the announcement was that Obama is going to shut down GITMO. That he is going to let all those guys free. The worst of the worst, apparently, are housed there.

I reminded him that they can’t let them free unless they have somewhere to go. That they cannot come here and they aren’t welcome in any other country. Until they have somewhere to go, they cannot go free. That, apparently, is not the point.

Then he came in talking about it again. But this time, I am more prepared.

"It’s a 120 day pause in proceedings while the systems set in place by GWB are looked at. Yes, all the men pleaded guilty. The judge overseeing the proceedings gave his okay", Says I.

We had the following conversation:

CT: The judge is a Hippy!
ME: Well then you’re on crack!
CT: I’m not on Crack!
ME: Then maybe the judge isn’t a hippy.
CT: I’m always right
ME: I would tend to disagree with that
CT: You can’t disagree, it’s a fact!
ME: I can do whatever I want.

Based on the fact that he thinks he’s always right about everything, even though I have seen him wrong, I have declared him insane. Please send a strait jacket. Two, actually, since I think it would be cool to have one. Then again, I might need it if he doesn't shut up about it.

Bradendamus:

"There will continue to be infinitely more idiots in the world than ways for them to die."

Tales of a Cookie Thief

I'm not sure if I have mentioned the Cookie Thief, my most recent coworker addition (I think in November or December, but, whatever) and the only man (or woman) in my building who was foolish enough to ask if I was gonna eat my cookie. My bosses? figured out within a week that cookies are the way to my heart.

The Cookie Thief is an odd duck. Sometimes we have very interesting conversations about very intelligent things, and sometimes, he drives me crazy.

Today he drove me crazy. Now, I don't talk politics very often and that's mostly because I have learned not to. There are just some people in this world who have their opinion and there isn't another. CT's opinion today was that it is Barak Obama's fault that the stock market took a down turn today. Never mind that it's been up and down like crazy lately. I announced that if tanks when I fart. While he tried to back up his reasoning about various wonders of GWB, with what he referred to as fact, I pointed out that technically I don't have to believe in anything unless I see it for myself, something I consider frequently when offering opinions about things. If I didn't see it and experience it, it might not be true.

Mostly, I was being obnoxious. Partially I was trying to prove a point. Just because he says it's so, doesn't mean it is. (by the way, I have decided that the moon may be made of cream cheese because it's white. I don't know that it isn't because I have not tasted the moon. No, I would NOT like to taste YOUR moon cheese. eeew)

After coming and going from my office all day spouting the same doomsday crap about how Obama is going to run us into the ground, I finally announced that I didn't want any more politics in my office. That they were stressing me out. I didn't mention the part where they were keeping me from working. So he and another coworker with whom I don't always agree, turned to the theory that the world will end.

The name Nostradamus came up.

I have a particular dislike of the predictions of Nostradamus.

You see, he predicted an earthquake. (according to my step dad. I've never read his predictions and therefore cannot say whether he did.) That earthquake was supposed to be "the big one" (heh. I said big one...) and California was supposed to fall into the sea. It was May 1993.

I was 15 and had been on backstage crew for my high school musical. The one W was lead in. The one where he once kissed me backstage in between scenes. Just a little kiss, but EVERYTHING to a 15 year old with a crush. I thought I would fly away.

I only got to crew one night though. My parents made me go out to the desert property to wait for the earthquake. Out to the middle of the desert where we would be safe from falling buildings. How I envied Seester who was old enough to announce that she would take her chances in the city. I wanted to stay behind with her. My responsibilities to the play were nothing. My desire to attend the cast party fell on deaf ears.

At the predicted time on the predicted day, I sat on a bench and waited. For an earthquake that never came.

Fuckin Nostradamus.

I told my coworkers the shortened version of this story. They started to argue. I kicked them out of my office. And emailed B.

I would like to introduce Bradendamus. Who will now be my personal Soothsayer. And I shall pass along his predictions to you. Complete with sound effects.


"In 15 days, I predict a dog will eat something out of your trash, and not clean up after himself..."

**sound of thunder**

And:

"And your roommate will leave bits of her clothing you do not want to see around for your consternation."

**boom**

These things have to be recorded somewhere, right? (yes, the sound effects are his...)

Member of the club

It’s official, and now I have to stick to it. I’m really going to miss pancakes and bacon, but I think as long as it’s an occasional treat instead of a weekly stuff fest, I should be okay.

I figured it out today, 2 pounds a week for 9 weeks will put me at goal. I made a pretty little graph. I offered to send it to B, but he didn’t think he was interested in joining in my neurosis. The important thing is that I asked him to support me in my attempts to lose weight by not tempting me with yummy treats. We have a tendency to go to dinner and cap it off with ice cream or a milk shake. I think that any lifestyle change has to be supported by the people around you. Especially the person you’re dating.

So here it is. The Plan.

I’m going back to one treat per week. That’s sweets, alcoholic beverages, soda. I can only have one. Not one of each, so I will pick wisely. And savor it all the more.

I’ll be eating more fruits and veggies. Less in the breads and pastas, although I have not really been eating too many of those. Brown rice instead of white. I already eat lean meats. Haven’t had a bratwurst in months. Mmm. Bratwurst. Veggies cannot mean gorging myself on carrots either. Apparently, they have a lot of sugar in them. I think I have been pretending they are good for me and that I didn’t know that. No wonder they taste so good…

Smaller portions. No more stuffing myself until I can’t move. I do that a lot. I’m taking in way more than I should.

More exercise! I realize that for most people 4 hours of hard skating a week is a lot. But if I am going to be serious about losing, I need to add a bit more. So I’m pulling out the hula hoop. 15 minutes per day, or at least I will try. Hit the Marina more often, even if not on skates, my friend Dimebag Cheryl has started walking there and it would be fun to join her. I can always grab the dogs and run around with them for a little bit each day. They would certainly like it and maybe they will be too tired to get into the trash.

Support Groups

I have joined a support group. Or at least applied for entry. Thanks to Chickie, who showed me the way to shrinking piggies where i will be (Oh Please Pick ME!) chronicling my attempts at weightloss. I'm pretty sure I tried to do that once before on my own but THIS time, I will actually have weekly weigh ins and everything. I dug my scale out of the garage but the battery died and since I don't have any money until Thursday (at least) the battery will have to wait. We have a scale at work though. I will be using that. RIGHT IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY. They all think I'm nuts anyway so, oh well.

But any blog with bacon in it's header is a blog I want to be a part of. So, it looks like I will be posting there too. If they let me in the club.

So, why don't I have any money until Thursday, you ask? after all, I get paid every week, right?

Well...I changed banks. And since my bank was two hours away I took my free Saturday last week and drove there to close the account. Apparently, that's a bad thing if you have direct deposit. Oops. If I had thought of that on Thursday, my wonderful friend of what, 18 years? that works at the old bank could have redirected it for me. But I was too late. It got rejected and now I have to wait for payroll to cut me a manual check.

Kinda screws me extra considering the roommate still hasn't paid rent. But she gave me $20 bucks so I could drink Friday night (my two drinks were bought for me so I still have the twenty. sweet!) and another 20 for helping her scrub down a fridge that had survived the fire. (AND she helped me wash my car! it goes fast when there are two people working on it!) I keep telling myself that everything will be fine and as long as I don't run out and buy that skirt that I saw at Hot Topic (It was on clearance, but I can't be spending on that right now!) And I get my dang insurance paid, I should be fine. Excepting he cable and electricity, of course...

And no Randy I won't be cutting my hair or doing anything to my boobs, so my attributes will be fine. I am thinking of offering skate cleaning for derby girls for a small fee. Except Derby girls are notoriously broke...I like taking the skates apart and getting them all clean and pretty though so as soon as I figure out the logistics, I'm going to try. I think I'll get more of a crowd than offering $15 foot and hand rubs which was my other bright idea this week. Every little bit counts. Right?

Everything will be fine...Everything will be fine...Everything will be fine...Everything will be fine...Everything will be fine...Everything will be fine...

You Can't do that on the Radio

This was actually typed up on Friday but I didn't get to it until today.

I had an 80’s kid moment this morning (I seem to be having those a lot these days what with the Sesame St. reference and all. I think it might be a sign of age)

Someone was keying the mic on their radio which means that I was getting an odd stereo version of a lift rising and falling. Since we rely on our radios for communication, I hit my button during a break.

“Oh…Battery Tech!”

And suddenly I was sent back in time to hours spent in front of the television watching “You Can’t Do That on Television”. To the part where they would pop in and out of lockers telling each other jokes and such, which, I know now, was a rip off of “Laugh In”, but if you’re a kid who grew up in the 80’s, you are way too young to remember “Laugh In” (which, was also one of the inspirations behind the genius that is Sesame St. But I digress)



“You Can’t Do That on Television”. Where kids were smarter than the adults. Where you got green slime dumped on your head for saying “I don’t know”. Where the actors said funny things like “Oot” and “Aboot”. It wasn’t until many years later that I understood that they were Canadian. It’s no wonder I have a deep appreciation for all things Canada. I even own a copy of “Canadian Bacon” (It’s HAM. Sorry, was channeling T. Apparently, some clever marketing executive tricked all us silly Americans by telling us that in Canada, they call ham something different when it’s on pizza. A pig, by any other name, is just as tasty) It wasn’t until a couple of years after that when I discovered the wonder that is Alanis Morisette. Who I still have not managed to remember on the show, but apparently, she was there. She just wasn’t singing, she was hiding in a locker waiting for Ryan Reynolds to come along with his dashing good looks and incredible abdominals. And, er, if you have ever read his blog, he’s pretty funny too.



In other news, if you are going to drink pink lemonade out of your coffee cup, rinse it out before you put more coffee in. This has been a public service announcement.


And one more for your viewing pleasure before I head to bed, I found this on youtube too. It's fantastic for it's 80's dance video madness. I am especially fond of the part where Alanis makes the dancer smell her finger and really? It's kind of worth seeing it through to the end for the titty dance.

Cop Out and Coward

We are halfway through the month and the roommate has not paid her rent. I need to say something. This is rediculous. When she asked if I could wait until her student loan went through, she didn't say it would come through around the 25th.

The dogs get into the trash constantly now. Several times a night. I'm tired of picking it up. THERE IS GARBAGE ON MY FLOOR and I am too tired of cleaning it up to do anything about it. I come home to this every day. Kitchen, bathroom, both. No matter how much I clean, the mess reappears in minutes. I know it's because they are bored and lonely because they do it when I am home too. You would think this would make me want to come out of my rooms but I stay in here where it smells like mint and oranges and there is no prevailing sound of breathing.

It's also wrong that I'm not going to feed them before I go. But I am relied upon for this. And that isn't right either.

Sadly, I am far too passive aggressive to say anything. So I stew in silence and writing.

Look over there! -->

i realize that for some people, a 7 out of 10 isn't so good. in this success driven society, anything less than perfect isn't good enough.

Don't get me wrong. I probably would have cried if I had gotten a 10. And after five minutes of scrolling through all the 8.whatevers, I finally just searched my dang blog. I don't remember what page it was on. I stopped looking at 20-something.

No, the point isn't what my rating is. It's that I got rated. That someone wandered over to my corner of the blogoverse and took a look. And liked it enough to make a note. I don't advertise myself, I rarely tell anyone I have a blog (and yet, they find it...) and yet someone found it. And rated it. And told me they rated it so that I could brag to you all.

I'll call that success...

Perspective

You elect the senator to office you think will do the best job. The one that best represents your issues and beliefs.

When that senator does something good, you don't say anything. You're happy. Things are going your way.

When that senator makes a move without consulting your feelings on a subject you care about, and the outcome isn't what you want, you write a strongly worded letter of displeasure. Stopping just short of calling that elected official to step down. Reason has nothing to do with it, you, are not happy. IT doesn't matter that there was a job to get done, you wanted to be a part of the process.


I feel like the senator right now. It's tempting to step down. All I wanted was to get the job done. Every time I try to get the job done, I get called out for not taking full advantage of the democratic process. Even though time constraints dictate that some decisions need to be made without a vote. Even though fully taking advantage of the process means that you have to move ahead in order to have a finished project to present.

I'm frustrated.

I'm sure I will feel better tomorrow. And I know I'm being vague, but anyone who has been in a position where they were in charge of something, knows this feeling.

It's like I tried to email B today.

"Do what you fell in your heart to be right. You'll be criticized for it anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't"

Thank you, Eleanor.

Survival of the Maji

DO you remember that story, the Gift of the Maji where a woman sells her hair to buy a pocket watch for her husband but he sells his watch chain to buy her combs for her hair?

I have passed the uncomfortable stage in my finances and am now looking for a second job. Perhaps I would not be feeling so uncomfortable if my roommate would pay her rent. Either way, something has to change with me and I am willing to suffer for a bit to be more comfortable. We have all heard this tune before.

So I went to Starbucks. Hiring freeze. Fuck. I'm still going to apply though.

Plan B. See Craigslist.

Where I found this...

Click Here

And I remembered the story. And how crappy I look.

And I thought, oh god, not that.

There's a difference, damnit.

Disclaimer:
Roommate, if you read this, please know I don't intend to harm, only vent. It's the way I handle it and I'm much nicer for it.


That said...

I am beginning to think my roommate doesn't know the difference between roomie and wife. Perhaps I am such good wife that the lines get blurred. I don't know, I have never been married. Except for Wifey. but that's different. She doesn't ask anything of me except my friendship, and that I happily give without complaint. ever. Truly, I am blessed.

SO. Just before Christmas, roomie asked me if I would use my amazing womanly sewing skills to mend her favorite jeans since they are all the pants she has since her other pants burned up in the fire. I spent quite a lot of time mending them, sewing up the air conditioning, even though I thought to myself that since they were wearing at the seams, perhaps they should be retired and new (or used) ones bought. One pair, as per request was patched with a heart and sewn with embroidery thread to make them prettier. The complaints when I was done were few, but they existed.

I'm not sure if I have mentioned the part of the story where she wanted me to cook her beef stew a day or two before I drove to LA for Christmas. Life got so busy right then with last minute preparations, gift making,and visits with B that I was unable to, but I still thought it a little strange.

I was praised highly last week for cleaning house. Really, I just brought it up to the standard I would keep it if I had more time and it weren't overwhelming considering the amount of creatures in the house. It briefly and gloriously smelled like windex and cleanser in here. About 10 minutes later, there were muddy paw prints in the kitchen and about 15 minutes later, it smelled like dog again. But HEY! I can clean any time I want! It looked great in here! (so said she. and B, dang him, backed her up. I don't think he realized how annoyed I was by the conversation)

I have another pair of pants to mend. They have been sitting for a week. Maybe I will get to them tonight...

Last night it was, "Hey! Make us some Pina Coladas!" But I didn't want to. Despite her asking, despite her telling me that they taste better when I make them. Despite her frustration when I scooped myself some ice cream instead. I told her that if she wanted one, he should make it. She tried to convince me that I wanted some too, And once she did make some, she tried to convince me to have a taste. I still refused. I can be, to put it gently, VERY stubborn.

Very.

Very.

Stubborn.

She also asked that if I made breakfast this morning, if I would make some eggs for her. To that I agreed. She noted that I will stuff myself with pancakes but not eat eggs. I don't like eggs. They make me feel sick. They don't bother me in pancakes. Or other cakes. But alone? nasty. But I was willing to scramble her up a couple if I made breakfast this morning. She wasn't up so I make orange-chocolate chip scones. They were tasty. They will still be tasty for breakfast tomorrow. She got up and made coffee for us.

Today? The question was, "What are you making for dinner?"

I explained that I didn't know. That B wanted to hang out tonight and I didn't know if that included dinner.

This is an odd pickle I have landed myself in...

She is far more demanding than any boyfriend (or roommate) I have ever had. D would say, "the house looks good" if I cleaned. C appreciated it quietly (if I remember correctly, I don't remember him mentioning it either way. Which was fine because I LIKED cleaning that house. it was easy). T preferred to be the one cooking...He never really said, but I could tell. That's okay, he never has to eat my cooking again. (He did like my baking and candy.)

pickle.

Journey into my psyche

People wonder sometimes why I smile all the time...

SO, I'm driving around the warehouse today changing out dirty dustmops because that's what I do when I'm not ordering toilet paper. Remember, I am important.

Suddenly, this song pops into my head.



hmm. I'm not sure where it came from but SUDDENLY I decided that it's a terrible song. Suppose you're in Kindergarden and you all start singing about how you have two eyes, one two, and they're both the same size and suddenly you realize that yours AREN'T the same size! Suppose you look kind of like this...



only you know, with hair...

I'm not sure about you but I'm not sure my 5 year old psyche could handle it! And What about Cyclops children? Doesn't this song discriminate against them?



in my mind I heard this little 5 year old cyclops call out to the teacher, "Miss Whateveryernameis! I've only got ONE!!"

(by this time, mind you I was putting the toilet paper away)

And I was suddenly reminded of my grandmother who, some of you know, only had one. Boob. She only had one boob due to mastectomy (she was very candid about how they whacked her boob off) and I thought,

Oh My Goodness!

If you had a criminal who only had one boob, would they be a Uniboober?

Would they run around pressing it against windows and leaving round bulls-eye nipple marks? The police officer would say, "Chief, we've had another uniboobing"

I giggled every time I looked at a window.

I'm not really sure why I am still left alone...

Amazing

It's amazing how quickly insecurity sets in and how much I want to pull into my shell like a turtle and scuttle away. How quickly I start telling myself that I can use extra time to focus on other things like business.

How quickly I feel like a bonehead when everything turns out okay and how fast I remember moments like these when they don't.

I'm worried at how hurt I am by the 12 yr olds admission that she wants her parents back together. I had been wandering around under the false assumption that she would be happy that her dad is happy. I know she is too young to have that level of maturity. But I'm not feeling logical right now.

As usual, a lack of communication makes me apprehensive. Which means I care more than I wanted to admit to myself.

Which means I will be hurt again if he decides to martyr himself for the kids; decide he shouldn't date because it takes his attention from them or because they don't want him to. They know of me as his "friend". I'm okay with that. But they're young, not stupid. And they are his world. Don't get me wrong, it would hurt to walk away too.

He's got a lot going on, a lot to take care of. So the logical part that screams through in times like these? is shaking her head and rolling her eyes. again. Because how many times have I blogged this post? And how many times will I continue to do so?

Go ahead and slap your forehead now

B is dealing with his ex legally; and has told her that unless she makes decisions that are healthy for the kids, he's taking them. It's ugly but I'm proud of him. And wasn't really sure what to say when he told me the 12 year old wants her parents to get back together. Which is NORMAL I know. But it still hurt my feeling a little even though it had nothing to do with me.

The roommate may be on for another month, which is good for my bank account and questionable for my sanity. I have the option of telling her no. But she just saved me all sorts of cash on my phone/internet/cable bill and is looking into saving me more so I am feeling extra friendly. Why, yes, I can be bought with money and compliments! By agreeing, I lose my license to bitch and complain... Which, I can't help but love to bitch and complain but being as that I fell in LOVE with my cousin's WII (even though my MII is fat...) And um...I broke the vacuum. Wore that poor little critter out. It lasted awhile considering it's a $60 walmart vac and I've had it for three years or something; I would recommend it to anyone who doesn't need to vacuum every day. But if I'm gonna have furries, and I too, am furry with all this hair, (on my head, of course) I need a pet vac. And the Dyson has come highly recommended. I found it on sale for $350. Same as the WII at wal mart last night. Ok, the WII wasn't there, but the tag was.

With a Dyson I could get the dog hair off the couch, wouldn't have to buy a slip cover AND I would be able to sit on it again. She's a lot less touchy when she hasn't been drinking.

That would be another month and a half before I can get a pup of mine own. The longer I wait on that the better though.

It's amazing

How yesterday's blog became today's conversation. And how i had the courage to tell him the thinks I was thinking and how I still don't know its going to end up but he's willing to try tough love on her instead of kid gloves. Because her bad decisions? affect us all and it's not fair and dangerous to them. Him, the kids. And she knows better, or so he says, but I am beginning to think she either hasn't got the smarts or the strength to make a change.

Maybe I don't either, based on the fact that I am still trying.

Crossroads?

I could be that I have spent far too much time driving and far too little time laying around on my couch (covered in dog hair at the moment) but I fear I am at a crossroads and I'm not certain which direction I should turn.

I know my family would tell me to turn and run. They already give me "that look".

The drama level is up again and although I don't have a front row seat, it still affects me and I'm not sure if I should tell him to call me when he decides to force her to stand on her own two feet or keep standing behind him.

I'm not sure if I want to spend the rest of my life watching him go to her rescue. And as the time grows near for me to decide I am ready to meet the children, I'm not sure I want to watch her hurt them with her selfish behavior. (She was "low" at the 6 yr. olds birthday party last night which means it was a stressful night for all. not fair for anyone; especially the kid) I'm not sure if I want to spend the rest of my life disliking someone (I don't like that I dislike a woman I have never met...) and know that I am stuck with her if I want to stick with him.

And I have a feeling that I wouldn't be nice to her if she tried her antics around me; which is not way to grow the esteem of her children or her ex husband. I guess what I am trying to say is that I am not prepared to be the bad guy. I'm already turning in that direction just by expressing my opinions. They aren't nice. And I haven't expressed the worst of them.

I find myself staring at my big girl panties and remembering a day nearly 4 years ago when someone sat me down and we had the talk. And it broke my heart. And it forced me to change in very big ways. How I still wish things had turned out differently even though I know they turned out the way they had to. Over the years, I have wished he had stood behind me while I grew. I was ready to grow, ready to change, and now I have the opportunity to uphold that ideal for someone else. And I don't know which of my two choices is the right one. For either of us. Because while he says he wants things to be different, he has the kids as a reason to keep them the same.