Untitled (Cause I'm Just Too Lazy to Think of a Catchy One)

Ok, I know I said I'd need time, but I guess I'm done wallowing. I am one of the ONLY people in our building actually at work today, so I brought my Marah CD (ha ha, Satan! I am LISTENING TO MUSIC AT WORK!!) and figured that the best thing I could do for my psyche would be to post something. Actually, since my last post, I've had good news and (more) bad news. First the good news - my friend's little girl checked out ok. After a lot of very painful testing on the poor thing, everything (so far) came back negative. Apparently she has all the signs of a tumor on her brain - but no actual tumor. Very strange, but they have her on medication and has follow up visits with a neurologist just to monitor her. So keep with the thoughts - just in case. But I saw her myself yesterday, and she's the same happy kid she's always been. And? My cousin had her fourth (yes, FOURTH, I know, she's heard all the snide comments about that - sometimes from me ! ;) ) baby yesterday - an adorable little girl named Naomi Joan. Who will possibly go by "Mimi," that hasn't quite been decided yet. Anyway, so those were the good news tidbits.

Then when I was talking to one of Lexie's OTHER friend's mom (who, I guess, would actually be considered MY friend) she told me that a girl from Lexie's class' mom died suddenly right before Christmas. 45 years old - massive heart attack with no warning. This woman was really involved with the school and with her kids - her 10 year old daughter (who's in Lexie's class) and her 7 year old son. I knew her from doing "parent things" at the school and from birthday parties of our daughters' mutual friends. She was a really nice lady. Apparently, she was home with the kids and went to lie down. When the kids tried to wake her, she wouldn't wake up, and when their father came home from work, they told him that mom must be really tired because she wouldn't wake up. I can't even imagine being a little kid and losing your mother right before Christmas. Or at all. Again - gratitude. Life is really a gift, and it's taken for granted so often.

Ok, no more dwelling on things I have no control over. Let's talk about my music again, since I'm sure there may be some of you who have never heard of Marah. Let me just say - THEY ARE AWESOME!!! And guess what? I found them through blogging. Monica commented on my blog a few months back, and as I do with anyone who comments, I checked out her blog. She is very talented and funny, and her husband just happens to be in Marah. So I checked them out. Love LOVE LOVE them. I haven't really stopped listening since I bought their CD a few weeks ago. Check them out - you won't be sorry. I'm really surprised they're not bigger than they are - but hey, that could change, and I wouldn't be surprised if it did sooner rather than later.

Also, since I have had such tumultuous thoughts lately, I have been having the most BIZARRE dreams I have had in a looooong time. Allow me to share my demented subconscious nocturnal brain activity. Two nights ago, I dreamt I was going to a sex shop with Kevin, of TBOTE fame. But we had to go through like a dozen different doors and hallways to even get INTO the shop. And I was getting really frustrated, but he kept insisting it would "be fun," so I followed him through door after door after door until we came to a pitch black room. I was like, "WTF?" And I realized it was so dark I couldn't even see Kevin anymore, so I called out to him and no one answered. Then when I tried to leave, I couldn't find the door. I was kind of scared, but also a little pissed off. Because I was looking forward to "hanging out." (And if you don't get that obscure reference, then you haven't been reading my blog long enough!) End of Dream One. The following night I dreamt that I was having a family party and I borrowed a long table from some stranger. We were at a forest preserve or something, and I couldn't get this table to open up. Finally, I forced the legs open and was able to set up the table, but it kept collapsing. So we left it alone until the end of the party, and when I went fold up said table again, I watched in horror as the words "NEXT TIME SOMEONE WILL DIE" were carved into it by an invisible hand. I woke up just a tad bit freaked out, and I don't think I will ever borrow a haunted table from a stranger. Then last night - I dreamt I was walking back to my old apartment in the city, and I had a pocketful of cash and my mail. (Definitely a dream, I never have a pocketful of cash!!) I had my hand in my coat pocket holding onto the cash, but I pulled it out to open my front door, and this shady looking guy brushed past me and grabbed all my cash and my mail. I ran after him, screaming and crying because that money was apparently a lot of money, and of course you know how I feel about mail, and as HE was running, the wind blew a lot of the money away. I was trying to pick up random bills, but it seemed all I kept finding were singles. I kept crying, holding a handful of singles and too tired to run, when someone came up to me and handed me my mail. Here's the weird part (ok, so the WHOLE DREAM is weird, but this is REALLY weird!!) - it was Amanda!! And I was like, "Hey! You're Amanda!" and she was like, "Yeah, I was hoping you'd recognize me because I'm moving to Frankfort (which, by the way, is in Illinois, but is NOWHERE NEAR my home, old OR new, so I don't know why my mind chose Frankfort) and I don't know anyone here." And she gave me my mail and we sat and talked and even though I lost a crapload of money, I felt better. Then we went looking for the rest of my money. Don't know if we found it, though, because I woke up.

See? I TOLD you my mind was messed up!!! But in any case, I am feeling better mentally, although my neck and shoulders are KILLING me so I took a few Advils. But that, my friends, is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that a new year is coming, and I look forward to reading 2006 blogs and writing 2006 blogs and HOPEFULLY, life will go on an upswing and I will have plenty of good material! For now, maybe another TBOTE chapter is in order... no promises as to how soon - but after that dream... maybe someone's trying to tell me something! ;)

Happy New Year if I slack off tomorrow - and everyone BE SAFE, ok?? I don't want any more bad news!!

Friends Indeed

Oh, my wonderful blogger buds! Thank you for all your responses after my last post. It really meant a lot to know that I'm a) not crazy and b) still liked. (You all know how insecure and paranoid I can get!!) Anyway, I apologize for not being more faithful on the posting and commenting fronts, but I find myself stumbling over a bit of the post-holiday blues.

The holidays themselves were wonderful, don't get me wrong, but there have been several incidents which just aren't helping my psyche. In fact, they are really bringing me down. Because it is my nature to be overly concerned for people I care about. Add to that the fact that I will pretty much cry at anything remotely sad (for instance, the end of "The Little Mermaid," and sometimes those cotton commercials) and I wind up a walking basket case. I was just talking to my father on the phone and mentioned that I was thinking of getting a dvd recorder to transfer all my VHS tapes to dvd's, and he blasted me for not waiting until after I see him for our Christmas (we're getting together on New Year's - you know, divorced parent syndrome). Now, I know he was just kidding, but of course, I started to cry. Because of the other things on my mind, mostly, but getting yelled at, even jokingly, when I am feeling low will start the waterworks instantaneously.

Of course, he felt really bad, and I really didn't mean to make HIM feel bad, but when I explained to him why I was down, he was a bit more mellow. See, right now Lexie is at a good friend's house. This family is awesome, I met them a few years ago when Lexie started bowling and we got really close. The kind of people you are soooo grateful to have in your life - just all around "good people." Well, their daughter who is Lexie's age is having a spinal tap done as we speak. And even though I know it could be nothing, it's scary as hell. "Swelling on the brain" is what the doctors are saying now, but they aren't sure from what. Hence the (very painful for a kid) spinal tap. I keep thinking that things like this just aren't supposed to happen, especially not to good people.

And one of my brother's friends - a great guy who I have known forever as well - his wife's mother passed away suddenly just before Christmas. Buried on Christmas Eve. Again: good people. Why?? I just don't get it. I suppose really there is nothing to "get." I suppose we are just supposed to accept these things and go on... but it's really hard.

I do know that besides making me sad, things like these also make me even more grateful for everything I have in MY life, and realize that every day is a gift. You never know what's just around the corner. You have to blow off the little things and thank God you have the strength to handle what IS on your plate.

Someone brought in champagne and oj to work today... and Satan isn't in yet. I can't help but think that it's a sign - mimosas can sometimes do wonders for stress. (ONE mimosa - I'm not sitting here getting plowed, don't worry.) Anyway, I think I will finish my mimosa and try to get some work done. But I knew I owed you all an explanation. Hopefully things will all work out ok, any prayers anyone can offer would really help. In the meantime, if you don't see me in cyberspace as often in the next couple of weeks, I apologize in advance. But I promise to work on getting back into writing ASAP - I just need a little break, is all.

NOT Imaginary Friends

When I was really little, probably about four or so, I had an imaginary friend. Her name was Ann and she was the best. She liked the same things I did, only came around when I wanted her to, and never was mean to me. Now, let me clarify for you – I was quite well aware that Ann was not REAL. I knew that she existed only in my imagination. But since even then my creativity was one of my strongest assets, she was as real as anyone could be – to ME, at least.

My older cousins would tease me mercilessly whenever I saw them: “Is ANN with you? Where’s ANN today?” And I would blush and stammer and say she stayed home. I didn’t like them making fun of me or my imaginary friend, it was a real sore spot for me. Ann hung around until about the time I started first grade, when I met a REAL girl who ultimately replaced my imaginary friend. Her name? Ironically: Ann.

The reason I’m telling the story of my imaginary friend is because lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve regressed back to that time. Since I started blogging, I’ve had the opportunity to correspond with plenty of people through my blog and theirs. And I LOVE it. Blogging not only gives me the opportunity to write whatever is on my mind but it also allows me to socialize in cyberspace. People like Amber, Hope, Becki, Kendra, Alice, Amanda, Kiki, Tim, Tom, Marissa, Cheryl and Miladysa frequent my blog and I frequent theirs. From reading their daily missives, I feel a connection – otherwise I wouldn’t bother to read. They make me laugh, they make me think, they make me really FEEL. But I have never laid eyes on ANY of them in the real world.

Yet I can be sitting around with my family or coworkers or what-have-you and share a story I read on one of their blogs like it was told to me in person by an old friend. And when I finish, I invariably get the old “So, who is (insert blogger’s name here) anyway?” When I explain the situation – non-bloggers just don’t get it. Kind of like my cousins didn’t get Ann. And then I start feeling a little weird, because let’s face it – it IS kind of strange.

How is it that I have come to feel so close to people I have never even met? Ok, I know Miladysa has told us that she fell in love with Sir Hubby over letters, but this is different. I feel as though I’ve known most of you all for YEARS, and feel comfortable enough to share pretty much anything with you. All this from reading and writing on the computer. If anyone had told me last year that my circle of friends would expand so greatly – but with people whose voices I probably wouldn’t recognize if phone numbers were ever exchanged – I’d have said they were nuts. Because HOW can you be friends with someone who, for all practical puropses, ISN’T REALLY THERE? Ok, so I read faithfully, and comment, but I also read lots of Steven King and James Patterson and Jackie Collins, but I don’t consider THEM friends. And they have websites, too. So technically, I can log on to their websites and write stuff to them and pretend that we’re buds… ok, maybe not. THEN people would REALLY think I was weird. Or delusional. (Hell, maybe if I did that, though, I could get a nice, restful vacation in some room with padded walls…)

I may or may not recognize most of you from your pictures – actually, passing on the street, probably not, but if there were a planned meeting or something, I’m sure I’d recognize most of you. But my blogger pals are spread across the entire country (and even across the pond!) – and I don’t get to travel much. So will I ever meet any of you? Maybe. Maybe not. I’d LIKE to, to be sure, because sometimes I feel closer to some of you than I do to people I come in contact with on a day-to-day basis. There are times when I’ll see something, or do something, and think, “Gee, (insert blogger’s name here) would LOVE this!” And those times are happening more and more frequently. But instead of picking up the phone like I would do for REAL people, I wait and post on my blog. So my question is this: am I totally insane? Because I can’t help but think that my imaginary friend Ann is still hanging out somewhere and laughing at me, since I now have a great bunch of friends who “aren’t there” either.

Honestly, I am not trying to be rude or insulting here, quite the contrary. Logically, I know that each and every one of you is a real person, with a real life, but is it normal to so look forward to reading new posts and getting comments and getting lost in the world of blogging? Am I losing touch with MY reality here? Or are there others out there like me who wish that someday we could just have a big party IN PERSON and TELL stories instead of WRITE them?

You know, this whole thing would’ve been so much easier if none of you had any talent, wrote like shit, and didn’t say anything I could relate to. Because then I wouldn’t really care. But the bottom line is that you’re all awesome and I don’t regret getting caught up in blogging at all. And who knows? Maybe someday we WILL come face to face – and if we ever did, I know for sure it would be a blast.

But it still seems really weird sometimes… doesn't it?

The Beginning of the End, Part 16

One of the things that I was beginning to learn was that when you are involved with someone, three can definitely be a crowd. Matt had gotten used to he and Kevin living alone before I had arrived, and although in the beginning we all managed quite well, once we were cooped up in a one room motel everything changed. I began to resent Matt and vice versa. Kevin seemed to be the only one unaffected by our cramped living quarters, which seemed odd since he was the one who spent the most time there.

Matt worked the swing shift at the casino, which meant he was leaving for work usually around the time I was coming home. And once he had a few drinks after his shift and stumbled home at about 4:00 am, he would turn on the lights and the tv and act like it was no big deal. Sometimes it wasn’t – like when we were partying. But more often than not, I would be trying to sleep and would wind up cursing him out under my breath. Kevin, on the other hand, slept like a rock and nothing disturbed him. After an hour or two, Matt would shut everything off and go to sleep. Leaving me wide awake with only a few hours before I had to leave for work.

It started to really get to me, but I didn’t want to confront him and upset Kevin. I tried to politely hint that some people couldn’t sleep as easily with the tv on, and Matt ignored me. I tried heavy sighs when he would come barreling in late at night. He ignored me. I even tried unplugging the tv once, hoping he would get the hint, but all THAT did was make him curse and bang around until he found the outlet. Finally, I decided to fight fire with fire.

One morning about an hour after Matt had gone to bed, I decided to just get up, shower, and blow dry my hair. Now, I NEVER used the blow dryer on my hair, I usually just let it air-dry. But this was war. Knowing that Matt had probably JUST fallen asleep, I turned that bad boy on high and nonchalantly left the bathroom door open as I dried my hair.

It only took about five minutes before Matt started yelling from his cot, “I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!”

I yelled back over the dryer, “Oh, really? Gee, I’m sorry. But I REALLY have to dry my hair.”

“GODDAMMIT!! TURN THAT THING OFF!”

Well, I DID turn it off, and I also finally lost my cool. I blasted him for being so inconsiderate when he came home at night and told him I could make as much noise as I wanted, too. The two of us stood there yelling, face to face, until Kevin finally woke up as well and intervened. It was obvious that the “best friend” and the “girlfriend” were not working out in the world of cohabitation. Kevin came to my defense and implied that maybe Matt COULD be a little quieter… to which Matt yelled some obscenities, grabbed a few things, and left.

Kevin and I just stood there looking at each other for a minute or so, then we both started laughing. “He’ll be back,” Kevin predicted. I sighed. “I know.”

It was a nice change having the whole room to ourselves, but Kevin was right. After only two days, Matt came knocking on our door.

“Ok, I think I have an idea,” he started.

We listened as he suggested getting a bigger room, one that would give each of us more space. He had even found a place off the main strip that was more a HO-tel than MO-tel that was reasonably priced.

“But still, one room is one room, no matter HOW big it is,” I stated rationally. “Do you think you could at least TRY to keep it down when you get home?”

Matt looked from me to Kevin and back again. “Ok, I’ll try,” he agreed. “But no more hair dryers!”

We went to check out the hotel Matt had found, and he was right. It WAS a lot nicer, with two queen sized beds, and it was also closer to both the casino he worked at and the Olive Garden. And it had a phone in the room. It totalled out to $40 more a week, which at the time seemed easy enough to come up with. Kevin actually had an interview set up at the casino where Matt worked, so if the job went through we’d be gravy.

We all packed up our things and coaxed Schmauser out from under the bed. An hour later we were happily ensconced in our new home.

Since I had somehow managed to have two days off in a row (moving day being the first) and Matt didn’t have to work until late the next day, we decided to pool our resources and celebrate our new home. Kevin tried and failed to reach his “guy.” Then Matt informed us that he had met someone who he was pretty sure could get us something. Apparently this guy was pretty well-to-do, and had partied with Matt before (without me and Kevin? I thought, feeling insulted). So Matt made the call, and shortly thereafter there was a knock at our door.

Mike turned out to be a big guy of about 30, probably about 6’6” or so, with a solid frame. But in spite of his size, he was very quiet and unassuming. I liked him immediately. Kevin and Matt liked him, too, probably because after Matt introduced everyone, he sat down and pulled out a huge baggie of coke. I sat in the opposite chair at the small table and watched Mike as he pulled out the cooking utensils to solidify the drug in order to smoke it. Kevin (being the control freak he was when it came to partying) tried to offer his “chef” services, but Mike declined. Slowly and methodically, he cooked up the powder, dumping out a good sized rock and starting on more powder.

“So, Mike, buddy,” Kevin said, leering at the growing pile of rocks, “how about a starter hit?”

Mike looked up from his project and said calmly, “Not till I’m done.”

It didn’t bother me that Mike was taking his sweet time, but Matt and Kevin were tweaking hard. I actually found it interesting watching him boil, swirl, and dump producing a perfect rock every time. Kevin on occasion would wind up pouring out an oily mess, but not Matt. Solid perfect rocks every time.

Finally, the baggie was empty, and Mike asked if anyone had a pipe. Both Kevin and Matt thrust their respective pipes in his line of vision, and Mike took them both. He loaded up the first one and handed it to me. “Ladies first,” he said gallantly, even lighting the lighter for me.

I sucked deeply on the pipe and tried to ignore the frustrated looks of Matt and Kevin. The rush was smooth and fast, and reaaaaally good. I didn’t know if Mike had cooked it better, or if it was just different quality stuff, but this high had my whole body tingling. As I exhaled, I watched Mike do his hit, and saw his body relax as he exhaled. Finally, he gave the pipes back to Matt and Kevin, and rationed off a small chunk for each of them. They took their turns, and immediately began doing their “thing,” which I had become accustomed to.

Mike watched with interest. “What are they doing?” he asked.

Kevin and Matt were on the floor, rifling through the shag carpeting. Every once in a while, one of them would pick up a small crumb, examine it, and toss it aside.

I shrugged. “They do that when they get a good buzz going. They’re looking for rocks.”

Mike looked at the table. “But there’s a ton here on the table,” he said with confusion.

“I know that. And so do they,” I replied. “But for whatever reason, they feel the need to look for any piece that MAY have fallen off or something…”

Mike suddenly grinned. “Hey guys!” he called. Matt and Kevin looked up from their spots on the floor. “Want to look for something? Look for THESE.” And I watched in amazement as he broke off three big pieces and PING! PING! PING! threw each piece in a different direction on the floor.

Kevin and Matt’s jaws dropped, while I started laughing. “What’d you do THAT for?” Matt whined.

“Now you have something to look for,” Mike replied logically.

And look they did. While they looked, Mike shared some more hits with me and we talked a lot about our lives. I told him about growing up in Chicago, and meeting Kevin, and finally moving to Reno. He told me about growing up in Wisconsin, moving to Reno as a teenager with his dad, starting a construction business and becoming independently wealthy. His dad had passed away over the last year, and he started partying, in his words, “kind of to deal with stuff.” Then he asked me what made me start. I wanted to tell him that I, too, had some tragedy in my life that made me turn to drugs, since that somehow seemed to make it ok, but I didn’t. I just kind of shrugged and said, “I guess Kevin did.” He looked at me and narrowed his eyes, then nodded. He didn’t say a word, just gave me another hit, which I took gratefully.

Kevin and Matt never found what they were looking for on the floor, and I started wondering if Mike and I would ever find what we were looking for in life. Because in talking to him, and hearing the hollowness and sadness in his words, I realized that maybe we ALL were looking for SOMETHING… but it was obvious we wouldn’t find it in a baggie or a pipe.

Yes, it was obvious, but it didn’t stop me from continuing to search there.

MINE!!

Ok, for those of you who don’t know, I work in a large office building that is managed by Company X, and have worked here for going on 5 years. All the offices on our floor are pretty much separate companies, but we share the same kitchen on our floor. Most of the people are really nice, and I tend to at least say “hello” to anyone I pass in the halls or run into in the kitchen. This is because I am a pleasant person and not a bitch. Most everyone will say “hi” back, even if they don’t know me or I don’t know them. Common courtesy, you know?

So we have established that on our floor, every person I have crossed paths with is at the very least courteous. Which is why I am so frustrated and perplexed right now.

You see, since I have worked in this building, I have been bringing my own bottled water to work. We have no water cooler, and although Company X does provide their own bottled water, they charge $1 a bottle, which to me is ridiculous. So I buy about a case of bottled waters a week at Costco for like $4 a case, which runs about 13 cents a bottle. (Yes, I am frugal, at least with some things…) And every day, I bring in 5 or so bottles and stick them in the crisper drawer in the fridge in our community kitchen. For five years I have done this, and have had no problems. I just put a note in the drawer as well indicating that this water belonged to dasi, and it was left alone.

Well, after a five years, this sign had become pretty beat up. So I took it out of the drawer two weeks ago and tossed it, with every intention of making a new one. Then, as you know, Lexie got sick, and I was out for almost a whole week. When I returned, I strolled into said kitchen with a bag of four waters (since I knew I still had a few left in there), opened the fridge, and discovered to my horror that SOMEONE HAD TAKEN ALL OF MY WATERS. Ok, so I had been gone a week. And so the sign was gone. But does that give someone the right to just TAKE something that DOESN’T BELONG TO THEM??? I was ticked. But I figured that maybe it was an accident, maybe someone thought the water was Company X’s and therefore was for anyone. You know, since I tossed the sign and all.

So I put in my four water bottles, shut the fridge, and went back to my office. There I sat down, pulled out a sheet of blue copy paper, and with my permanent marker wrote “THIS IS NOT COMPANY X’S WATER. IT BELONGS TO A TENANT. PLEASE DO NOT TAKE!!!” Then I went back to the fridge and put it in the drawer with my four lonely water bottles (I usually have at least seven in there at any given time). The rest of the day was uneventful, and yesterday when I came in I had brought a generous supply of water – about eight bottles.

Stashed those bad boys in the fridge, went to work, and after I finished my first bottle, I went to get another. I opened the fridge, and SOMEONE HAD TAKEN THREE OF MY WATERS!! I couldn’t believe it! EVEN WITH MY SIGN THERE!! So I went and told one of the managers of Company X. She apologized, said she couldn’t imagine WHO would do such a thing, but she would replace my three waters with three from Company X. So I grudgingly accepted, but I was still ticked off at whoever was pilfering my water.

This morning, I come in and find three Company X waters on my desk. Along with the three I brought in myself, and the one left in the fridge, there were now seven bottles in that drawer. I drank one, which should’ve left six. When I went to get a second, there were only FIVE. WHAT THE FUCK???? Ok, maybe I miscounted… let it go. Finish that water, go to get another… Three left. THREE?!?! SOMEONE TOOK ANOTHER ONE.

Now, like I said, there is a HUGE SIGN WRITTEN IN PERMANENT MARKER actually COVERING the bottles in the drawer. Which means that whoever is taking them is actually LIFTING up the sign to get them. ASS!!! ASS!! ASS!! ASS!! MY WATER! NOT YOURS!!!!! I am beginning to get homicidal here. And I’m trying to plot ways to catch this jerk in the act.

As far as I’m concerned, there would only be three excuses this Water Thief could use that would pardon him or her:

1. Illiteracy (which I find hard to believe in an OFFICE BUILDING)
2. Doesn’t speak English (and if this is the case, they should DEFINITELY learn)
3. Blindness (but I’ve seen no evidence of any seeing eye dogs anywhere, so this is doubtful)

Actually, those excuses wouldn’t even pacify me. Because it is JUST PLAIN IGNORANT to take something that ISN’T YOURS. I think I learned that when I was, oh, say, TWO????? Grrrrrrr!!!

After some discussion with my co-worker, I have decided that I will now have to actually write my name on each and every bottle. But to be honest, I’m not even sure that will work. If they bypass the sign, will a name tag stop them? I guess I’ll find out. Maybe I’ll put one in there with no name and fill it with vinegar. Heh.

Family Christmas Party

As I have mentioned previously, this past Saturday was my family Christmas party. Every year, I have a great time. This year was no exception. I love getting together with my family, I've always been close with all of them.

Obviously, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I had my camera with me. And I got a lot of great pictures. Then Lexie swiped it while I was busy drinking Black Cherry Twisted V's and took about 100 MORE pictures. Which brought the grand total to about 140 or so pictures. I know, it's insane. But I love love love pictures, especially ones I'm not in. Funny thing is, though, my one cousin Stevie (oops, I mean STEVE. He is almost 30, after all) kept trying to avoid the camer, because he "didn't want to wind up on my blog." Well, guess what? For all his hiding, he posed with me and Lexie for what turned out to be one of the ONLY pretty-good pictures I have of myself. So guess what, Steve? YOU'RE ON THE BLOG!! HA!!!

A lot of my pictures also contain very cute small children. Because our family members invariably produce ADORABLE offspring. I bought little gifts for the youngest ones, and obviously my taste is dead on, because they all LOVED their gifts! See how happy my cousin Karyn's son Bennie is with his little monkey? He was making monkey noises at it and everything!! And yes, Karyn is pregnant - with her FOURTH child. But don't worry, Kar-bear, I won't make any *cough* you're nuts *cough* rude comments here! And look at how sweetly my cousin Mike's son Sam is looking up at him. Sheer adoration for dad. (Someone should tell Sam how his dad used to torture his Aunt Karyn and I when we were kids.)

Now, as I mentioned before, Lexie got a hold of the camera, so we also have about three dozen pictures of Kendall, who Lexie is partial to. Can't blame her, really, Kendall is a cutie. And the only girl baby of the bunch - so far... who knows who's lurking in my sister-in-law's belly there?? I hadn't seen Sarah since my birthday (which was only a month ago - but seems longer!) and there have apparently been some "big" developments since then!! But she looks really good, and as you can tell, my brother is pretty happy too. And looking snazzy in sapphire, may I add.

There were two highlights of the evening, first my cousin Rich and his wife Kris announced that they are adopting a baby boy from Russia. I think that is sooooo wonderful, and they are going to be great parents. Everyone was really excited, and wished them well through the whole process. I don't know much about it, although I'm sure any adoption process can be really grueling, but well worth it. How cool is that??

Second, my cousin Emily got up and read a brief description of her family's gift to my grandparents. But before I tell you what it is, a little family history. See, my grandfather (Poppops) is in his 90's and is a very proud German. Although EVERY YEAR there is a family picnic hosted by the Bychowski's. When questioned why our German family picnic was hosted by the Bychowski family, and whether or not we were, indeed, Polish as well as German, Poppops tends to get very defensive and explains that we are NOT Polish, the Bychowski's took our family in during "The War" and became LIKE family to us. End of story. No one really ever believed him, and it's always been a fun way to tease Poppops. So anyway, Emily proceeds to read this document which states that Grandma & Poppops are going to have their genes researched through the National Geographic society, and the results will be posted online for everyone to see. And that the world will finally know, once and for all, whether or not there is any Polish blood coursing through our German veins. Obviously, the entire family cracked up, except for Poppops, who as you can see looks a little nervous in my opinion. Someone had better make sure he doesn't try to switch his DNA.

Yep, it was a great party. And guess what? Cousin Tom decided to go the more traditional route and have beef and pasta rather than raccoon and goose. Wise choice, I say. And the Twisted Christmas carols went over as well as can be expected, since hardly anyone could hear them over all the socializing anyway. Yep, I've got a pretty great family - and they look good too, dont'cha think?

I Think You Meant to Call Bill Gates...

Ok, guys, I plan on posting about the family Christmas party a little later (complete with pictures!) but I was compelled to share this little tidbit first…

I left my desk to get a bottle of water, and when I returned, I had a voice mail. I’m pretty sure it was a wrong number, but in any case, the actual message had me contemplating the possible IQ of the caller. This is what the guy said:

“Hello, yes, my problem is that my pointer is all the way to the right on my screen, and I want to get it back to the center. But my mouse is all the way to the left on the pad, and if I move it any more to the left it will be off the pad. So how do I move the pointer back to the middle of the screen? Please call me back as soon as possible, thank you.”

Ok, even though I am not an IT specialist, I am pretty sure I know the answer to that one. Unfortunately, the guy also forgot to leave a phone number. Go figure.

Yay for Randal - NOT!

So as you all know by now, I am a tv junkie. Which means that I OBVIOUSLY watched the "Apprentice" finale last night. And witnesssed the rise and fall of one man on national tv. No, not The Donald. The OTHER moron - Randal.

If you don't watch the Apprentice or haven't seen anything on the current "controversy," allow me to fill you in: basically, this whole season centered around two main contestants - Rebecca and Randal, both of whom had an unexpected twist of fate (Randal lost his grandmother, Rebecca broke an ankle) and both of whom Trump continuously praised. Throughout the season, there were "shockers" - Trump fired groups of people rather than just one at a time. Any moron could see where this was leading; due to the mass firings, you just KNEW there would be two hirings. Or so it seemed.

In the finale they had all the usual BS, and honestly I was rooting for Randal from the start, until it became clear there would be two winners. Then I was happy for them both, because honestly, the two of them complimented each other. Randal had all the fancy degrees and "experience" (I put that in quotes because he only had experience since he was ten years older), Rebecca had the drive, determination, and ability to make things work. Trump told the two of them he had two projects available, and asked Randal which he would choose. Rebecca graciously replied that she would be more than happy to run the other project. Ok, everyone's happy - we know where this is going.

Then suddenly, Randal turned into Egotistical Cro-Magnon Man. He started saying things like, "Mr. Trump, I RUN companies, she only WRITES about them" and "Look at her record - 1 and 2. I had NO LOSSES at all." In the meantime, Rebecca, true to her admirable character, commented that she "had the utmost respect for Randal" and thought he did a remarkable job. When pressed, she only said that she thought Randal may be too much into details to see the big picture, but that ultimately she thought he was very well-qualified. Randal, on the other hand, sliced and diced poor Becky.

Ok, so I was getting a bit uncomfortable at Randal's behavior, after all, I really LIKED this guy. He was everyone's buddy, everyone's pal, and was fair and honest. But now he was like a different person. Then came the moment of truth. Trump said, "Randal, you're HIRED." Randal got up and shook hands with everyone and preened onstage, until Trump asked him to sit down again. When he did, and the audience quieted down, he asked Randal, "So Randal, if you were in my position, wouldn't you hire Rebecca as well?" To which he replied, "No."

WHAT???? Mr. Egomaniac continued on to say "This is 'The Apprentice' not 'The Apprenti'" (moron - there is no such word, he should've been fired instead just on principle) and "Only the best should win" (well, maybe not that EXACTLY, but that's what he implied). Trump shrugged and commented, "Ok, then, but I could've been convinced very easily" (translation: "I was planning on hiring you both, asshole, and now I need to find someone else to head up that second project. You really fucked me up on national tv"). Rebecca just sat there with a smile plastered on her face, but you just KNEW my girl was plotting ways to sabotage Randal's up-and-coming "career." (Maybe she managed to get some questionable photos during their stay in the penthouse... one can only hope!)

Personally, I really think that what Randal did was mean and selfish. There were two TOTALLY different jobs available, and come on, what would he have lost if he said, "Yeah, hire her too?" Oh, wait - male ego here - HIS PRIDE. Of course, silly me!! No man ever wants to SHARE! He needed to be NUMBER ONE!! Screw the fact that she worked just as hard as he did, HE WON. So Donald picked him first - SO WHAT?? HE NEEDED TO BE THE ONLY WINNER. Arrogant, selfish asshole. I hope his project crashes and burns.

But wait - that's not all!! I may be getting myself in big trouble here by saying these things about Randal. Because apprarently this is all a RACE ISSUE. Yes, Randal is black. And Rebecca is white. It seems there are people out there who actually believe that the only reason there were going to be two positions filled was because they didn't want a BLACK winner. WHAT????? Come on, you have GOT to be kidding me. I am so sick and tired of people blaming everything on black and white. Look, people, we are in the 21st century here. GET OVER IT. I will be the first to admit that there are definitely plenty of racists out there, but in all fairness there are black racists too. And I'm pretty sure those are the people crying "Poor Randal! All because he is BLACK and those MEAN WHITE PEOPLE won't let him be the only Apprentice!" WHATEVER.

Bottom line: It's a frickin' tv show, albiet one that gives someone a great opportunity. It's not about race, or gender, or even fairness, apparently. Yes, people should talk about it, because Randal was a selfish ass. But they shouldn't talk about it like it's the start of the next civil war. Can you imagine? Race riots over The Apprentice for crying out loud? Give me a break.

Anyway, that is what's on my mind today, so if you don't watch "The Apprentice" or really don't care, my apologies. But I had to get it off my chest.

Stupid Randal.

TBOTE - Chapter Links

Thanks to Hope's suggestion, I have managed to put a sidebar up with links to every chapter of "TBOTE." That way, if anyone missed the first several chapters (which wouldn't surprise me, because I was a blogging NOBODY when I started!) you can check them out.

On a related subject, please be patient with upcoming chapters - Reno got dicey amd I am having a bit of difficulty deciding just how graphic I should be. Personally, it is really hard to put some of this down for anyone to read, but in my heart I know that I need to be as honest as I can be and get everything out. I really think it's good catharsis, and something of a closure for me as well. After all, no matter how hard I try to forget, sometimes it's more important to remember...

"From, Lexie"

Well, Lexie still isn't up to par, so we are home again today. Which means I absolutely CANNOT take the 22nd off. I left a message for my friend whose kids I was supposed to watch asking her to call me so I can explain. Hopefully she will be more understanding than Satan would be and will still let me bring Lexie over for the three days during the "after Christmas week" as originally planned. Although I'm pretty sure she will be. She's a good friend.

Anyway, thanks to Cheryl, Lexie has found a new favorite website. She has been entertaining herself on it nonstop (when she isn't playing Texas Hold 'Em - I kid you not - she's damn good, too...) and has made something to share with all my blogging buddies. So, this is from Lexie. Enjoy.

I'll be back tomorrow.

The Beginning of the End, Part 15

I honestly don't know exactly how I made it through that first day of training. But thankfully, I did, and when the day was over all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. Training was to continue for the rest of the week, and hopefully within the month I would have my own waitressing station. The three other people training with me seemed really nice, and what I could tell from the general atmosphere this was a pretty good place to work. I left after the three hours were up and started my walk home.

Kevin was still asleep when I got there, but rather than disturb him by climbing into the bed, I collapsed on the sofa. When I woke up, it was almost 7:00 pm, and the tv was on. I sat up and saw Kevin sitting on the floor next to me. "Hey, babe," he said. "How was your day?"

I groggily told him that it went ok, but that I had no intention of repeating the night before. He sat next to me on the couch and reassured me that it wouldn't happen again. We spent the rest of the night just watching tv, and got to bed at a decent hour. We were both feeling much better the next day, and Kevin drove me to work, promising that we would go shopping after I got home to get my uniform clothes.

I was really enjoying being at the Olive Garden, the people were friendly and liked me for who I was. None of them knew Kevin, or Matt, or anything about my past. I was happier than I had been for a while. Things at home would seesaw, sometimes Kevin would disappear for a day or two, then come home with more drugs. Matt found a job at a local casino, and would also disappear for days on end. I tried my best to be the stable one in the household, but I never turned down the opportunity to get high.

It was like I had two separate lives, one at work and one at home. And I wasn't sure which person was the real me. Was I the sweet, friendly girl from Chicago everyone liked at Olive Garden? Or was I the junkie who sat around getting high for hours on end? The lines were starting to blur as Kevin forged a relationship with one of the main dealers in town and began getting more and more shit more and more frequently.

On days when I worked the lunch shift, I would walk home from the Olive Garden in the hot sun and stop at 7-11. Once there, I would grab a Super Gulp cup, fill it three-quarters with lemonade at the fountain, and also buy a flask of vodka to add to the mix. These were the days I knew I would be partying, so I would allow myself to start early and finish early, so as not to disrupt work.

One day when I came home, the condo seemed especially quiet. I couldn't figure out exactly why, until I noticed that the corner where the tv had been was now empty. Kevin was quick to explain that his dealer took it for trade, and that we would get a new one soon anyway. I was pretty upset, until he passed me the pipe and all my anger disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The tv was never replaced, in fact, it was shortly after that that we received the eviction notice. All the money that Kevin had supposedly had "saved up" was gone, and he hadn't paid the rent in months. I screamed at him and demanded to know why he never told me, and once again he soothed me with calm words and drugs.

"It'll be ok, babe," he said. "So we stay in a motel for a while. Just think - no utilities to worry about. And free clean sheets and towels." I didn't think this was funny at all, but I loved him too much to doubt him. So he wound up selling all the furniture (or should I say, pawning it) and early one morning before the sheriff could arrive, Kevin, Matt, Schmauser and I left the condo.

We found a cheap motel with a double bed for Kevin and me and a folding cot for Matt. I was too embarrassed to admit to my coworkers that we had lost our home, so instead I told them our phone was temporarily disconnected and I would be unreachable for a while. The motel was farther from the restaurant than our home was, so I insisted that Kevin manage to pick me up as well as drop me off every day.

It was because of this that my two worlds started to collide. Since I had no "set in stone" hours, Kevin would come to pick me up and if I wasn't finished, he would sit at the bar, have a drink, and wait. If nothing else, Kevin was very personable, and it wasn't long before he had won over most of my coworkers. Everyone loved his quick smile and joking comments. No one knew about his habit, or mine, for that matter, and we both continued to hide it well. Another thing no one knew was that Kevin still hadn't found a job and Matt and I were paying the motel bill AND the partying tab.

I started to pressure Kevin about finding a job. It was too much, I complained, to expect Matt and I to pay for EVERYTHING. Kevin liked to point out that in the beginning, HE was the one who paid for everything, but that argument only worked against Matt. I had started working practically the minute I arrived, and didn't have to depend on him EVER. He and I would fight about it, and then just as I would be ready to just leave and go back to Chicago, he would apologize and swear that things would change. And he was right - but the changes definitely weren't for the better.

Sick Day

Now, before you get all "Oh, poor Dasi! She's not feeling well!" let me remind you that I am a single mom. Therefore, as all single moms know, a "sick day" NEVER means that you yourself are sick. Oh, no. We do not get the luxury of staying home when WE are sick. When a single mom gets sick, she drags her pathetic butt into work and graciously passes her disease on to all her fellow coworkers. Because we know that sick days must be reserved for the all important royalty of the household - our kids.

Last night Lexie came home from her friend's house and said she had a sore throat. A little alarm went off in my head since she just got a note sent home from school last week saying there had been a case of strep in her classroom. But I crossed my fingers and turned up the humidifier at bedtime, hoping for the best. No such luck. This morning, along with the sore throat, she also had a stomach ache and a fever, so we went to the doctor. Rapid strep test came back positive, so she's on penicillin and off school tomorrow as well.

Ok, so I have to admit, sometimes it's kind of nice staying home when I'M not sick, because then I can just lounge around and watch tv and pretty much do nothing except mother my child. But then again, I know that using this time severely limits my future days off opportunities. For example, taking these two days off still leaves me with seven available days to use between now and June, which is actually pretty good. A little more than a day a month, according to my calculations. But the problem is, I have already requested December 22 off (well, ok, I requested it off in my mind and haven't actually asked Satan yet) because I am watching a friend's 3 kids that day since her husband will be watching Lexie for three days during winter break. And I just KNOW that when I DO ask Satan for that day off, he will give me the Evil Eye and imply that I have NO RIGHT to ask for another day off since I just took two other days. Even though Lexie was sick. But I will have to explain that I ABSOLUTELY MUST have that day off, or I will not be able to expect these people to watch Lex for three days if I can't hold up my end of the bargain.

You see, Satan fooled me when he hired me. He acted all "good dad" and interested in Lexie. He actually has a son a year older than Lexie, so you think he would be more understanding. Ummm... NOT!! This is because Mrs. Satan is a stay-at-home mom, so he doesn't quite grasp the concept of single-parenting. If Lexie has some school thingy during the work day, do I get to go? HELL NO. Not unless I, say, give up my 1/2 hour lunch for a week. If Lexie is sick past my allotted sick day time, I get lectured about going over said sick time. On the flip side, if I dare to use like three days in my first month of my "vacation time year," I get the old "Are you SURE you should be using so much time so early? What if your daughter gets SICK?" Of course, he takes two three week vacations with his family a year, coaches soccer and leaves early every Wednesday and Friday in the spring and summer, and also pads holidays by a few days. Oh, and? Like last Thursday when we got the first "big snow" of the season RIGHT before rush hour? He left at 3:30 (obviously expecting myself, M, and the other attorney to stay) while commenting "I'm going home before the roads get too bad." Thanks, Satan.

Ok, here's the thing, I REALIZE he busted his butt to get where he is today and to have his own office, but a little compassion and understanding go a LONG way. I don't expect him to look the other way if someone is taking advantage of vacation or sick time, and I don't expect him to let me leave early every week for some school thingy. But I DO expect him to be a bit less condescending. After all, I am a grown woman, and he isn't all that much older than me.

Ok, done venting. Have to go make some soup for my strep-y little girl now. It's times like this I wish I had published a book or something. J.K. Rowling had the right idea - she is my Single-Mom Role Model (even though she's married now). Since I'll be caretaking tomorrow as well, hopefully I'll have time to write on a different subject: one I've been lax in. Won't tell you any more, don't want to get you TOO excited...

Stay healthy, everyone!

Dream On

So my brother calls me at work yesterday in between business meetings in Florida. A pleasant surprise, since he has been gone five days a week for the last month, we haven't been able to chat as often. (Well, actually, I couldn't really chat at work, either, since Satan was there, but we got in a few minutes.) Anyway, after the initial "so, what's up's" he says this: "Hey, do you know what that yellow stuff is inside acorns? There's a TON of them out here, and they're really fun to stomp on... but when I do, all this yellow stuff comes out." This from my 34 year old brother with a pregnant wife. My response? "You know, Bob, you're definitely going to be a pretty fun dad." Yes, people, as they say, pretty much ANYONE can be a dad. On a more serious note - I can't wait for this baby. And although I tease him incessantly about the fact that his maturity level will probably be right on track with his child's (thank God for Sarah), I know he truly will be a great dad.

On to my main subject. Today is the day. The saddest day EVER. Today is the day that my Joe will be playing guitar with his buddy Steve on stage RIGHT HERE IN CHICAGO and I won't be there. It still hurts. Although not as much, because guess what? They came to me in my dreams last night.

I kid you not. I had the most awesomest, wonderful dream, although in actuality it was pretty bittersweet. See, I am the type of person who usually has very vivid dreams, and tends to remember them. Usually. And I dream about famous people a lot too. Actually, this isn't the first time I have dreamt about Joe, but THIS dream - it seemed more like an out-of-body experience. I swear. Anyway, in my dream, I was in this house with a bunch of people I didn't know. Apparently there was a party going on, and apparently it was the night of the concert, because I was not really getting into it (hey, maybe it was CHERYL'S party!!). So there I was, walking around like a zombie while everyone else was having fun, so I decide to leave and go outside and take a walk.

When I get outside, I realize I am right next to the United Center, where the concert is playing. (Is that where you live, Cheryl???)There are a few people standing around, and then all of a sudden, I see Steve Tyler walking up, wearing the same shirt as he wore the day my cousin and I saw him at Joe's on Weed after the last time we saw him in concert. So of course, I am freaking out, because he is just walking up to the arena and hardly anyone is near him. He looked over at me, and I run up and put my hand on his shoulder and start telling him how I REALLY REALLY wanted to go to the show, but that I had to sell my tickets, and it was my birthday (it wasn't, of course, I don't know why I lied to him), and I was sorry I couldn't be there. Basically babbling. And he smiled at me, told me not to worry, they'd be back, and kissed me on my right cheek. I was THRILLED! Then he walked into the building.

As I turned to go back to the party, I saw HIM. My Joe. He was walking up to the arena as well, with hardly anyone bothering HIM, either. (And Billie was nowhere to be seen - yay!) So I go up to my Joe, and give him the same spiel. Only I link arms with him, and he is ok with that, and we walk up to the stadium door together, me babbling like an idiot, and him just laughing and nodding. When we get to the door, he looked at me and said, "I'll play a song for you. See you next time!" And then JOE kissed me on my LEFT cheek!! I about DIED!!

I went back to the party and told everyone how I got an aero-kiss on each cheek, and didn't even care that I wasn't at the concert anymore. Because they told me they'd be back, and Joe was playing a song for me. Then I woke up.

You know, you'd think those guys would've given me a VIP ticket or something... especially since Joe said he was going to play a song for me. What good is that if I'm NOT THERE?? Oh, well, it WAS only a dream after all... or WAS it??

Either way, I still plan on bumming out and drinking and listening to my CD's later tonight, after I get home from shopping with my mom. So if anyone has IM and wants to give me reasons why this is a GOOD thing - e-mail me the info. Maybe some chatting will make me feel better. But let me tell you - next time they're in town, I'M GOING. No matter WHAT!!!!

Christmas with the Carver

Oooooh, I have the MAJOR creeps now! Ok, let me first say that I REALIZE that tv is not real, but The Carver on “Nip/Tuck” has got to be the scariest dude on television!! He has his own blog (not on blogspot though, so you know he’s not TOO smart, lol!) and it is complete with videos. I just was on his blog, and it said he was “online now,” but try as I might, I couldn’t get through to IM him. Apparently I am not the only weirdo in this world who wants to IM a fictional psychopath.

For those of you who actually watch “Nip/Tuck” and know what I am talking about, here is the link to The Carver. I’ve found in my vast experience that there are two types of people in this world: those who watch “Nip/Tuck” and those who don’t. Those who DO totally get into it, because it is an AWESOME show, and those who don’t, well, let’s just say they don’t get it. I highly recommend that everyone watch that show at least once, but if you watch it once, be warned – you’ll get hooked.

Ok, I’m going to try to get my heebie-jeebies under control and stop thinking about the Carver, since it is not fair to those of you who don’t watch (but again – YOU TOTALLY SHOULD). Final thought on the subject – it’s Merrill. I’m telling you. Watch the videos, and you tell me…

Anyway, I think the best way to stop having creepy thoughts about getting my face slashed is to totally change the subject. And hello? Christmastime! THAT certainly isn’t scary! Well, it is if you haven’t started shopping yet or have no money or are afraid of reindeer, but whatever. My point is, that for the most part Christmas is a fun time. I know I just posted recently about the family party, and about my fun CD’s, but it’s my blog and if I want to do Christmas again, I can.

There is a radio station here in Chicago that plays Christmas music 24/7 from Thanksgiving to Christmas, which is pretty cool, to a point, but it’s also nice to be able to change the station if you want to. So I usually listen to it in the car on my way home from work. And the other day as I was listening to “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” I found myself befuddled. There I was, singing along and being all joyful and merry, when I realized that apparently the people who wrote this song tell “scary ghost stories” at Christmas. Now, I don’t know about you, but our family has yet to tell “scary ghost stories” at Christmas. I brought this up to Lexie, who at ten is pretty wise. She pointed out that “A Christmas Carol” could probably be construed (although she didn’t use that word, she is, after all, only 10) as “scary” since there are actual ghosts in it. But I don’t know, the song says “STORIES,” plural, so what are the other ones?? I mean, does this particular family toast marshmallows (another weird thing – who toasts marshmallows at Christmas? Actual lyrics: “There’ll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting…”) and tell scary ghost stories on Christmas Eve while the rest of the world is eating cookies and reading “The Night Before Christmas?” Sounds more like a campout to me. But hey, what do I know? All families have their own quirky traditions, I guess. Only, not everyone gets to advertise them in actual Christmas carols. If anyone else ever found those lyrics strange, please let me know. Better yet, if anyone actually DOES toast marshmallows and tell ghost stories at Christmas, let me know as well. I’ll conduct my own little survey here.

So, after the whole “WTF?” situation wound down, I found myself wondering why the radio never plays “Hardrock, Coco and Joe.” I LOVE that song. But in doing some research, it turns out that this song is apparently a “Chicago-only” song. I can remember growing up and watching the video (well, old film, actually, but I digress) every morning during the Christmas season. It was shown during Garfield Goose and Ray Rayner, and for those of you in any place OTHER than the Chicagoland area, those were the most awesomest kids’ shows in the world. Cuddley-Duddley RULES!! (Ha ha ha ha ha. You all have NO CLUE what I am talking about. Oh, well, you’ll just have to trust me on that.) So even though this was a local song, you’d think they’d play it on local radio, right? Wrong!! They don’t! But guess what? Lucky for you (and me) I found a link to the film & song, so we all can enjoy this Christmas Classic whenever we want. Now, one word of warning – this is one of those songs that sticks in your head and plays FOREVER, so make sure you will have access to other songs shortly after listening to this to kind of counteract the effects. Then again, if you’re like me, you may ENJOY humming this song for the rest of the day at work or wherever. Plus, as an added bonus, it drives other people CRAZY. Because one of two things will happen: 1, they will know the song and get it stuck in their head as well, or 2, they will have never heard of the song, and go nuts trying to figure out what it is.

Well, there you have it. The Carver and Christmas. Yin and Yang. Evil and Good. And I don’t care if he ISN’T real, he’s still scary as hell. And HE probably toasts marshmallows and tells ghost stories at Christmas – in fact, I’d almost be willing to bet on it.

Not My Fault...

But it wasn’t my fault… Her stomach churned as she hung up the phone, her ears still ringing from the angry accusations and verbal abuse.

It really wasn’t my fault.

She had come home for winter break during her freshman year of college, anxious to meet up with her best friend and the rest of the “gang.” When she walked into the corner bar, she spotted them at a table in the back.

Her best friend jumped up and hugged her warmly, then introduced her to her boyfriend. She had heard a lot about him during late night phone calls.

“Do you realize he would do ANYTHING for me? I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger. I gave him a chain, you know, for his birthday last week, and the clasp broke and it fell off in my car.”

She looked at him and smiled, surprised at how blue his eyes were, and how a dimple appeared in his left cheek when he smiled back.

“Well, I found it, and never told him. I returned it for my money back, and then asked him about it. He felt so guilty when I told him that it cost me almost two weeks’ wages!” Her laugh echoed over the phone lines.

She sat down to join them, sharing laughs and drinks with the other guys. She and her best friend were the only girls, but with the exception of him, she had been buddies with the three other guys for years.

He was quiet for a while, then asked, “Anyone up for pool?” She watched as his muscles flexed under flannel when he pushed himself away from the table to stand. Her best friend replied with an irritated wave of the hand. “You know I hate pool.” Then she turned. “Why don’t you play?”

She felt her face flush but tried to act nonchalant as she stood to join him. One of the other guys came as well. The three of them fell into a relaxed conversation, about pool, and school, and the upcoming holidays. She laughed a lot, and caught him looking at her when she did. She wasn’t used to the attention, best friend was always the one who got all the guys.

“By the way, I copied some of your poems and gave them to him. You should have seen how impressed he was with MY writing. You don’t mind, do you?”

Of course she didn’t. Most of her poems were written to a ghost-love anyway, the really personal ones she didn’t share. She knew it wasn’t the first time best friend had plagarized her work.

“You’re up.” His voice brought her back to the game. He had a deep, velvety voice, and it gave her chills. She took her shot, sank the ball, and won the game. Her other friend let out a whoop, and he just smiled at her. When she smiled back, he gave her a wink.

When they returned to the table, best friend stood up and linked her arm with his. “You were gone so long,” she pouted. “Now I have to go home.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, hugged her, and suggested they all meet again the next night. With a wave she was out the door.

Eventually, the other three guys also left, leaving her alone with him. He asked her questions about college, and talked about his time in the service. She found him very interesting, and easy to talk to. Until he brought up best friend.

His eyes flashed as he asked her about her true feelings regarding best friend. Ever loyal, she defended her friend, trying to ignore the clips of remembered conversation buzzing in her head.

“He’s just so stupid, but God is he gorgeous! I love a guy who kisses my ass…”

She wished she had gone home earlier, when best friend did, because now her heart was pounding and she felt somehow guilty just for talking to him. With a stammered excuse, she got up and left, ignoring his “Will I see you again tomorrow night?”

When she fell asleep that night, she saw his deep blue eyes and heard his laughter in her dreams. She awoke with a smile, but quickly came back to reality. Best friend’s boyfriend. Not hers. There were lines that just shouldn’t ever be crossed.

Going against her better judgement, she met the same crowd at the same place that evening. Only this time, the electricity in the air was palpable. To her, at least. They played pool again, only this time his arm brushed hers several times during the game. And every time she looked up, it seemed he was looking at her. She tried to chat with best friend and get her to pay more attention to him – because it seemed that the more best friend ignored him, the more he paid attention to her. Once again, best friend left early, only this time, it was her intention to leave too.

As she got up, he grabbed her arm and said, “No – stay.”

She looked at best friend, who had been halfway out the door. Best friend turned and looked first at him, then at her. With an arrogant shrug, she said, “Fine. Stay with him. Apparently he needs to get his ass beat in pool again.”

But she knew that wasn’t why he had asked her to stay. She watched best friend leave, best friend who never even considered her competition in the man department. Best friend who had decided she liked certain guys on a whim, usually after she had liked them first. Best friend who never missed an opportunity to subtly put her down, especially in front of other people.

Was that really a best friend? She wondered. What, exactly, did she owe her anyway?

She sat down with him, and their conversation began innocently. She spoke of her writing, and her desire to continue doing so. “You wrote the poems, didn’t you?” he asked. “Best friend could never write like that.”

She didn’t audibly respond, but she nodded reluctantly. She really didn’t want to cause trouble, but since he already knew…

“And the chain? I could swear I lost it in her car – she found it, didn’t she?”

She saw the anger and hurt in his eyes as he came to this realization, and she put her head down. Best friend had lied to him, over and over, and here she was confirming it. “Yes.” Her answer was so soft, he had to lean closer when she said it. And after she did, she felt his hand under her chin, lifting her face to his. She looked into the eyes that haunted her dreams the night before and their lips met in a kiss that felt so right.

“When I read her poems, I thought I was falling for her,” he said, “when really I was falling for you.”

How should she respond? For once, she had gotten the guy, not best friend. For once, someone had seen through best friend’s charade and had seen into her soul. Part of her knew it still wasn’t right, but she allowed herself to fall anyway.

He told her he loved her, and that she was a special person. He made her feel special, and loved. He took her places physically she had never been. But always in secret. He swore that one day, he would end it with best friend, that they could be together forever. And she believed him, because she knew he would never lie.

For two weeks they stayed late at the bar, savoring their secret romance. For two weeks best friend was blissfully ignorant – not thinking for a minute he would ever be interested in her. Until the phone call came.

“You fucking BITCH! How could you?”

She felt her heart constrict, couldn’t form the words she wanted to say. She listened as best friend continued her tirade: he had come clean, admitted that she had seduced him, promised it would never happen again, never cared about her at all… The words were like knives to her heart. They couldn’t be true. But best friend continued her attack by saying she had better never show her face at the bar again, because everyone hated her now – EVERYONE. She was a lying, conniving slut and she never wanted to see her again. “I’m sorry,” she managed through hot tears, not believing that these words were being said about her…

Best friend hung up on her, and then she tried to call him. She had to hear his voice tell her it wasn’t true, that best friend had made it all up, that she was just jealous… But when he answered, his voice was cold. “Don’t call me again. Best friend found out and she’s really pissed. We’re over. You never should have come on to me in the first place.”

She sat holding the phone and looking at the receiver as if it were an alien. The sound of the dial tone told her he had hung up on her also, turned on her… and now she had no one.

But it wasn’t my fault.

It really wasn’t my fault.

Cryin'

Ok, it is a saaaaaaad day. No more Aerosmith, no more Lenny. I will not be eight rows away from my Joe, almost able to feel the sweat drip off him as he jams on his guitar. No, some dude from California will be instead. I was unable to find anyone to join me, and got a response on the tickets today. Almost double what I paid for them. Yes, to the commonfolk that would sound wonderful, but to the TRUE Aerosmith fan, it is bittersweet.

I have to keep reminding myself that not only did I double my money, I also saved about $80 I would have spent on t-shirts (would’ve HAD to get Lenny AND Aerosmith, of course), $30 I would’ve spent on parking, $10 I would’ve spent on gas, about $40 or so I would’ve spent on refreshments… and after all, it IS the Christmas season and I COULD use the money…

Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh, Joe!!!!!!! When you look out at Section 113, Row 8, remember I TRIED to be there!! If you ever leave Billie, I’ll STILL be waiting! My heart is breaking but I had to do what was best – for everyone involved. Besides, Lexie has a birthday party to go to the next morning at 10:45 am, and had I spent the night with the Bad Boys of Boston, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get up to take her, or hear the alarm, for that matter since I would’ve been SO CLOSE to the speakers. Oh, the PAIN!!!!

All I know is that they had damn well better have another tour within the next year or so. Because if by some cruel twist of fate it turns out that this is their LAST TOUR EVER, I swear I will do myself in. No matter what anyone tries to do to stop me. So if anyone needs me this Saturday night, I will be home listening to my Aerosmith CDs and drowning my sorrows in Smirnoff Black Cherry Twisted V’s.

(Ok, people, now is the time to console me and make me feel better…)

I Don't Want to Miss a Thing

So, my house looks very pretty, and I hardly had to rearrange any ornaments. This was mostly due to the fact that Lexie hung only about ¼ of the ornaments before deciding it looked “good enough.” Therefore, I hung the rest, and was able to arrange them accordingly, while she sat on the couch and played Nintendo DS. Which, I guess, is how it should be.

Anyway, so now I have a pretty house and the Christmas season is in full swing, and I have even finished pretty much all of my Christmas shopping. So I should be in a happy Christmas mood, right? WRONG! Know why? I’ll tell you why.

First of all, I am totally swamped with work, but have no desire to actually DO any of it. (which explains why I am blogging during working hours.) Yet I know that it has to get done eventually. The one huge issue right now is about (literally) 1000 pages of medical records I have to summarize for one client. Who, as far as I’m concerned, we shouldn’t even represent anyway. Without breaking attorney/client privilege, let’s just say that if you are on a motorcycle and illegally pass someone on the right who has stopped to let another car turn left, and then said car turns left and strikes you as you impatiently pass without even checking oncoming traffic – well, it’s your own damn fault. And I wouldn’t give you a dime. So I’m probably summarizing these stupid records for nothing, anyway.

Second, due to unfortunate circumstances, the person who was going to go with me to see Aerosmith on Saturday can’t make it. And told me this on Friday. I have tried several other people, who (due to various reasons, all of which I understand) can’t make it either. So now I am faced with a conundrum of epic proportions. Do I go to the concert by myself and try to sell the other ticket at the stadium? Would people look at me and think I am a total loser if I do so? Or do I just stay home and kiss the $300 I spent on the tickets goodbye? I’ve already posted them for sale on craigslist and Stub Hub, but since it is only five days away I am pretty sure no one will buy them. (At least not for face value, and there is no way in HELL I am taking a loss. I’d rather go myself.) I actually thought about taking Lexie for about five minutes, since I have seen people with children at past Aerosmith concerts, but then I realized that it probably isn’t really good parenting to bring my daughter to see the Rock God that her mother lusts after. (Joe Perry, NOT Steven Tyler. I like him too, but am DEFINITELY not physically attracted!) Besides, there usually is pretty colorful talk going on during the show, both between songs and in the lyrics.

This whole thing really bums me out, because I LOVE Aerosmith. I’ve seen them every time they have been in town for the past five years or so, and they put on an awesome show. It would kill me to miss it, especially since I’ve got really great seats. But I’ve really run out of people to invite.

So, there you have it. Right now, I am having a blue Christmas. I am sure that Tom’s party next Saturday will cheer me up, but if I wind up sitting home this Saturday looking at my pretty lights and listening to Aerosmith on my stereo, I will be a sad, sad girl indeed. BWAHHHHHHHH!!!!

A Brief Weekend Post

So here I am, actually sitting at HOME writing a blog. The only thing is, my computer isn't really fixed yet. Ha. I'm technically not even supposed to be using the internet, since this stupid hard drive is so jam-packed with viruses, but I figure since the Geek Squad is coming back to fix (again) this godforsaken thing, if I DO happen to screw it up more it won't be so bad. I think. Then again, they may come back out and say, "HEY!! You went on the internet and picked up fifty jillion more viruses, and we're not going to fix those!" and stomp out. Oh, well, I'll find out on Thursday.

As I type, Lexie is hanging the ornaments on the Christmas tree. It's a beautiful thing. I assembled it (since I have no desire to deal with a REAL tree) and hung the garland, and told her the ornaments would be up to her. She was thrilled. Of course, I will probably rearrange most of them after she goes to bed, since I am anal that way. (HEY! STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER, LEXIE!!!) What I really meant to say was that I'm sure she will do a BEAUTIFUL job and I wouldn't THINK of moving a single ornament. Heh.

I also bought two new Christmas CDs in the spirit of the upcoming Family Christmas party. This year, it is being hosted by one of my very favorite cousins, Tom, and his wife Carolyn. According to Tom's invite, we will be cat juggling, playing Pin the Tail on Poppops (our 92 year old grandfather), performing Feats of Strength (as seen on Seinfeld - we also celebrate Festivus), bobbing for shot glasses, and spitting eggnog. He is planning on serving the very traditional meal of raccoon and goose, and setting the traps and shooting the geese himself. And of course, I know that some time during the evening there will be a rousing game of Pass the Pigs, which is another family tradition at ALL family gatherings, not just at Christmas. Anyway, as you can plainly see, this will be no ordinary Christmas gathering. Therefore, I specially purchased two "Twisted Christmas" CDs. I highly recommend them. Right now, "Didn't I Get This Last Year?" is playing. It also has "Walking Around in Women's Underwear," "I Am Santa Claus" (to the tune of "I Am Iron Man" by Ozzy), "The Twelve Pains of Christmas," "We Wish You Weren't Living With Us," and one of my all-time favorites - "Grahbe Yahbalz Like Michael Jackson - (fa la la la la la la la la)."

Needless to say, Christmas is definitely one of my favorite times of year. That said, I now need to spray my tree so the boys don't try eating it. You'd think that after seven years, the moronic cats would realize that plastic pine needles are really not that tasty. Anyway, check out that CD, and if anyone is up for a good raccoon dinner, let me know and I'll try to fanagle you an invite. Happy Holidays!!

Oh, Baby!

While listening to the latest news about psychotic people paying ginormous amounts of money for the X-Box 360 this holiday season, I found myself snickering at the memories of a similar “must-have” craze that I succumbed to: the never-ending Quest for Beanie Babies. It’s true, there aren’t many similarities between the self-proclaimed King of Video Game Systems and the mini bean-filled plush creatures, but there is one undisputed common denominator, and that is that in the height of the craze each had a limited supply and a HUGE demand.

For me, it all started innocently enough. Actually, my brother inadvertently started the ball rolling by getting Lexie a little white stuffed seal. This was back in 1995 when few people had even heard of the Ty Corporation, let alone Beanie Babies. Since Lexie was just a baby, like a good mom I tore off all the tags (gasp!) and let her chew on it and drool on it and gurgle happily.

One day my mom asked, “Isn’t that a Beanie Baby?” I said I had no idea. We took the wet lump of fur out of my daughter’s chubby little hands and examined it. “Yeah, I guess it is,” I replied, after checking what I soon learned was known as the “tush-tag.” “Oh, those are so CUTE!” my mom exclaimed. “All the ladies at work are talking about them. They have them in the hospital gift shop. I think I’m going to buy some more.”

And so it began. Over the course of the next two years, my mother and I became beanie fanatics. It started very slowly, with her or I picking up the random “cute” beanie here and there. I actually even bought a spider beanie for the guy I was dating at the time (he was kind of a spider freak) (I was going to say “he was a spider man” but that made me giggle). We had teddies, and dinosaurs, and dogs, and cats, and butterflies, and bees, and birds, and bulls… the list was endless. Initially, we had no idea WHY we kept buying them, it was like a sickness. Until we found out that people were paying BIG MONEY for certain beanies.

It was early 1997 when this astounding fact was brought to our attention. The newspapers were LOADED with dealers willing to pay “TOP DOLLAR” for beanies. Skeptically, I contacted one of the dealers and asked him what he was paying for beanies. “Whattdya got?” he snarled over the phone. I started rattling off some of the older creatures, and I could tell he was hooked. “Come out to my shop at (whatever the address was). I’ll be there tomorrow night until 8:00. Bring the beanies, and we’ll talk.”

I felt like I was part of some covert operation, and I informed my mom that we had an appointment to meet with a beanie buyer. “Is this legal?” she asked me with worry tingeing her voice. I rolled my eyes. “Mom, they’re STUFFED ANIMALS, for God’s sake.” “Well, I know, but I mean, we only paid like $5 apiece for them, isn’t this like scalping?” The dollar signs were already dancing in my head and I scoffed at her fears. “You can’t scalp stuffed animals. Only tickets. Anyway, just think – even if he pays like $20 each, we’re making four times our money!”

Eventually, she was just as excited as I was. We carefully put Chops the Lamb, Bumble the Bee, Flutter the Butterfly, Steg the Stegosaurus, and Tabasco the Bull into a large shopping bag and set off to find our Destiny. When we arrived at the store, the proprietor greeted us with a serious expression. Then he took out a board covered in black velvet and told us to “put the goods on there.”

One by one, I placed the beanies on the board. I tried to watch his expression, but he kept it blank. His eyes narrowed as he picked up first one, then the next, and on down the line as my mom and I nervously waited. Finally, he spoke. “Well, this here Tabasco has no hang-tag,” he began, “so I can’t even use him. But the rest seem to be in pretty good condition. Of course, the bee has a small wrinkle in the hang-tag, but I’d be willing to take it anyway. So I’d be willing to take those four off your hands for you.”

I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, I asked, “Ok, but for how much?” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, like I said, with the bend in the one tag, I could probably give you only (drum roll, please) $500 for the four of them.”

My first instinct was to check my mom and make sure she hadn’t fainted. After that, I quickly said, “DEAL!” and took the cash and ran. In hindsight, I realize I jumped too quickly, but $500 for four stupid stuffed animals we paid a total of $20 for? Who WOULDN’T take it?

On the ride home, we gloated and laughed and talked about how we would pay Lexie’s college tuition with Beanie Babies. In the months that followed, we became even more sucked in. We bought the Beanie Baby magazines to check market value (turns out we could’ve held out for way more on the four that we sold, but live and learn). In one magazine, I found out that the spider I had given to my now-ex-boyfriend was selling for a cool $1200. When I called him up and casually asked, “Hey, remember that spider I gave you for Valentine’s Day?” I learned a valuable lesson – NEVER give a guy anything cutesy that you think he’d like. He’s a guy, and he won’t like it. He’ll pretend he does, and then do what this guy did with the now priceless stuffed spider – lose it. “WHAT????” I yelled. He couldn’t understand why I was so upset, after all, it was only a stuffed spider. Since I had no intention of telling him I had inadvertently given him a $1200 gift, I lied and said Lexie missed it and wanted it back, and if he ever found it… “Yeah, ok.” Of course, he never did.

We bought every new beanie that came out, and put all the older ones in ziploc bags to protect their quality. Lexie wasn’t allowed to play with ANY beanies anymore. The seal she had gotten from Uncle Bob? $800. But since I cut off the tags and she chewed on it for a few months, it was now essentially worthless. My mother and I became lunatics when it came to beanies. I’d call her from my cell while on my way to work downtown and inform her “My guy says they’re getting a new shipment in today. They’re charging $7.50 apiece and only giving one style per customer, but I say we do it.”

We called my aunts in California and asked them to find the styles we couldn’t. Had I been blogging back then, I probably would’ve been begging all of YOU to find me unattainable beanies as well. It was a horrible, horrible disease.

We staked out Beanie Conventions with our shopping bag full of rare Beanies. Other addicts would follow us nonchalantly, finally sidling up to us and mumbling, “What’s in the bag?” This would then lead up to knowing smiles and careful bag openings. “I’ve got a Righty the Donkey here, see? And he’s mint. I can do you for $250.”

“No way, he’s not worth more than $100!”

“That guy over there? He just offered me $300, but I like you better. $275.”

“$275? You just said $250!”

“Changed my mind. Take it or leave it.”

With the defeated look of the addict who can’t help herself, the buyer reached into her large pocketbook and adjusted her bifocals before counting out the money. She adjusted her grey wig and took the prized donkey, but not without muttering “Thief” as she hobbled away on her cane. My mother and I loved every minute of it.

Then one day it happened. We were still buying, but no one else was. The conventions started dwindling, and the magazines were no longer in print. Ebay was getting no bids higher than $2 for ANY style beanie. And we knew it was over.

Did we get rich off beanies? Hell, no. Sure we made a killing selling SOME of them, but we probably spent most of the proceeds buying more. And more. And more. As it stands now, my mom has about four huge tupperware containers FULL of the horrid beasts. And Lexie still has a couple Hefty bags full as well. Sometimes when I am feeling extra nostalgic, I will find a beanie and tell Lexie about Mom and Grandma’s adventures. But not that often, because now I feel pretty stupid.

But boy, if they ever make a comeback, I’ll be ready!!

When I Can't Sleep...

This is what went on in my head last night while I was lying in bed and couldn’t sleep:

Wow. That was a really good episode. I probably shouldn’t have stayed up to watch the whole thing. Oh, well. It’s only, what? 11:30? So, say, almost seven hours of sleep. That’s plenty. Man, Christian is unbelieveable. But it was SO vintage Christian to be acting that way. And the Carver? I think it’s that Bobbolitt guy. I THINK. Wait, did he die last season? Hmmm. I can’t remember. I’ll have to check online tomorrow at work. And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming, or the moment of truth in your lies, when everything seems like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive. Why do I like that song? I thought it was more romantic… Oh, wait, that’s right. It’s the first part that’s romantic. I’d give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow, you’re the closest to heaven that I’ve ever been and I don’t want to go home right now.. . And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life, cause sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t want to miss you tonight. Yeah, that’s pretty. I really like that song. They played that at Danny’s wedding, and I wanted to cry. How silly of me. Uh, oh. 11:54. Maybe I’ll change the alarm. Yeah, I can wake up at 6:45 and still have plenty of time. Ok, then. Hmmmm. I have to go pee. But I’m cold. Oh, the hell with it. I’d better go… Ok, back under the covers. Why are my feet so cold? This is crazy! Come on, flannel sheets, warm my feet up! Wow, only a week from Saturday is the concert. What should I wear? Probably what I wore for my birthday. Yeah, I liked that. I wonder if I can sneak my camera in. Better not, just in case. I don’t want them confiscating it. Besides, it’s hard to focus with all the lights and movement. Let’s see, the concert is the day after payday… how much money should I bring? I definitely need a new t-shirt. And I want to get a Lenny Kravitz one too. That’s probably about $80 right there, at least. Oh, hell, I’ll just bring the charge card. But ONLY for the shirts. Screw it, I don’t want to worry about money now. I HAVE to get to sleep! 12:20. Damn. Stop looking at the clock. That’s why you can’t sleep, dummy. I could stay awake just to hear you breathing, watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you’re far away and dreaming, I could spend my life in this sweet surrender, I could stay lost in this moment foreeeeeeeverrrrrrrr… Oh, I really hope they play that song. But that song makes me sad, too. Bet it wouldn’t make me sad if I had a boyfriend, though. Then again, what if we broke up? What if I thought of that song with my boyfriend and then we broke up and every time I heard that song I thought of him? That would really suck. Because I REALLY like that song. And that would so totally ruin it for me. Ok, this is just wrong. It is almost 12:45. Why can’t I sleep? Ok, maybe I’ll take a unisom. Let’s see. Shit, it says that I should allow at least 8 hours sleep time. I don’t have 8 hours. I have – let’s see – 6? Ok, I can move the alarm up to 7, I guess. That gives me about 15 more minutes. What if I take this though and I don’t wake up when the alarm goes off? That would be bad. Lexie would probably freak out if she couldn’t wake me up. Oh, please! I’ll wake up. This is ridiculous. Just take the stupid thing… There. Ok. Think sleepy thoughts. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. No, I’m not. I’m wide frickin awake and I don’t know why. It’s that damn Nip/Tuck. I should NOT have watched that right before bed. Too much adrenaline useage. Sigh. What will I write on my blog tomorrow? I wonder if anyone commented on yesterday’s. Did I comment on everyone’s yesterday? Uh, oh, I don’t think so. I’m slacking off. I wonder if Slacker is mad at me for sympathizing with that woman. I hope not. I just felt bad for her since she lost her son. That choking game is insane. Lexie had better never do that. I’d kill her! Well, maybe not, that kind of defeats the purpose. I can’t think of anything to write tomorrow. You’d think I could come up with SOMETHING while I’m just lying here. Maybe I’ll write about the family. Or my friend who was like that pathetic chick on Nip/Tuck last night. I love my blog. I love my blog friends. They probably think I’m weird. They probably think I am a big loser with no life. Oh, well. I don’t care, I like them anyway. How insane is it that I can actually imagine hanging out at a huge blog convention with people I’ve never met before? Ha! A big blog convention! Like a big DOG convention. Or big FROG convention. Or big SMOG convention. Hey, we could have it in LA, then! Ha! This stupid pill isn’t working. It’s just making me feel loopy. My brain is swirling around and around. I think I’m getting dizzy. But I still can’t sleep. Ok, back to the blog convention. That would be fun. At least, I think so. Just a bunch of strangers hanging out and drinking and having fun. Wait, that’s kind of like just going to a bar, isn’t it? Wellll, not REALLY, because a blog convention wouldn’t really be STRANGERS… Whatever. Like it would really happen, anyway. Right. Besides, where would we go? If Linda still had a blog we could all go to Cozumel. That would be fun. And exotic. I like exotic trips. I want to take a vacation. Lexie wants to go to Universal Studios. So do I. All my life I’ve wanted to go on that “Jaws” ride. I have a feeling it’s going to be a huge letdown after all these years. But I still want to go. Maybe in a couple of years. Got to pay those bills, first. And get new windows. Lexie’s room feels like it is inhabited by an evil presence. I have never felt a room so freezing cold. Good thing I’ve got my king-size bed for her to share. Otherwise she’d be sleeping on the couch. No way she could sleep in there. She’d die of pneumonia. Ok, it CANNOT be 1:30. NO WAY. I am going to be sooo tired tomorrow. That’s it. No more thinking. Just SLEEP, dammit. Ok, go….. Can’t do it. All right, time to go to extremes. Let’s count back from 100. No, a MILLION. Just in case. Ok. One million. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety eight. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety seven…..

CAN Money Buy Love??

I just read a post by Jill singing the praises of The Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love” (Pun intended). I really enjoyed it, but I also felt compelled to comment that although I agreed with the sentiment, I knew there were plenty of people who didn’t. Case in point: Mrs. Dentist.

Mrs. Dentist used to be my downstairs neighbor, and she became my downstairs neighbor because a good friend of mine was dating her and she needed a place to live. She was moving here from Peoria, and it just so happened the place below mine was unoccupied and the owner was looking to rent it out. Initially, we hit it off well. She was a few years younger than I, but our daughters were the same age. She was very giggly and almost TOO friendly, but I figured that was just how she was. A Costa Rican exotic beauty, she had the long dark hair and big dark eyes, and a body that I (admittedly) was jealous of. While she dated my friend, he painted the entire place for her, helped her move in, and (I discovered later) supplemented her income to help pay the rent. My friend was an all-around nice guy, good-looking and smart. How he got sucked into her life is beyond me, probably had something to do with (ahem) s-e-x.

Anyway, about two months after she moves in, she breaks up with my friend, leaving him devastated. And a week later he and I go to dinner, ostensibly to get his mind off of her. Two things happened that evening that opened my eyes to this woman: First, when I went downstairs to tell Lexie I was leaving (yes, Lexie still hung out with her daughter at that point and I still trusted her to watch Lex) a guy who works on the floor of my work building was sitting in her living room. An OBNOXIOUS guy that nobody likes. BUT, he owns his own company, and therefore looks good on paper. (I say he looks good on paper for a reason – remember that comment, I’ll get back to it later.) In her kitchen was a vase holding a dozen long-stemmed roses. Mr. LGOP gave me the old “SMALL WORLD! Har-de-har” obnoxious greeting and after finding out I was going to dinner, told me I should try this place in the mall, which is where he and Ms. Neighbor went on their first date a few months ago. A FEW MONTHS AGO? She and Good Friend just broke up a WEEK ago…! With an uneasy smile, I left. Then, when I met Good Friend, he proceeded to tell me that they had been discussing marriage and right after he suggested a prenup (he is quite comfortable but supports two kids from his previous marriage) she broke up with him. Hmmmmmm. Without breaking his heart more by telling him about Mr. LGOP, I convinced him she wasn’t worth it.

Ms. Neighbor, in the meantime, tried feeding me some BS about how Good Friend wasn’t who I thought he was, he had problems, he was too needy – and she needed stability (translation – cashola, maybe?). Mr. LGOP was buying a house for them and she told me they would be moving out soon. And when they did, she would be able to quit her job and continue to pursue her MD online. (I kid you not, she told me she was going to med school ONLINE. Who knows, maybe she is…?) In the meantime, Mr. LGOP starts practically living in her place after only a couple weeks, supposedly because he gave up his rented place until “their house” was ready. Next thing you know, Neighbor Kid announces her, her mom and Mr. LGOP are going to Vegas next month because they are getting married. And that’s when I started having major issues.

Lexie started telling me how every time she went over there, Ms. Neighbor would tell her and Neighbor Kid to “watch tv” while she and Mr. LGOP went into her bedroom to “study.” With the door closed. And Neighbor Kid told Lexie that she had to go to bed every night at 7:30 because her mom had “things to do.” I don’t THINK so. Then Lexie starts asking me questions, like, “So, mom, if you meet a guy, he’ll have to own a big house, right?” Ummm, no…. “But he’ll have to at least be able to AFFORD a big house, right?” Ummmm, WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM?? “Well, Ms. Neighbor says you should never date a man who can’t afford lots of stuff. And who has LOTS of money.” Oh, REALLY? I spent a lot of quality time debunking that myth and explaining to my daughter that it is WRONG to use a man for money, and that LOVE is what is important. That it is perfectly ok for a woman to be independent and on her own, that you don’t NEED a man to be special or to take care of you, and you CERTAINLY shouldn’t date a man ONLY because he has money. Her response? “That’s not what Ms. Neighbor says.” AAARRGGHH!! Explaining to a ten-year-old the sugar-daddy premise is NOT easy, and I had to tread carefully, since she WAS still friends with Neighbor Kid, who I actually felt sorry for. I think she finally understood, and swore she would wait for true love rather that settle someone she wasn’t happy with, but who was weatlhy. “After all, mom, you’ve been alone, like, FOREVER!” Yay, Lex, thanks for reminding me.

Ok, so remember when I said Mr. LGOP only “LGOP?” Turns out he was in it past his eyeballs. Everything he bought her was charged, and he was drowning in the bills. The house fell through, and the puppy he bought Neighbor Kid had to be returned. He lost his office space in our building, and was scrambling to make ends meet. So what happened next? Did the Vegas wedding proceed? Surprise, surprise! HELL NO! She kicked him to the curb faster than you could say “Show me the money!”

The next poor sap was Cute Neighbor’s buddy. Now, he was warned, but didn’t listen. Exotic Ms. Neighbor giggled and batted her eyelashes just enough to get him to send her flowers and take her out. After a few weeks, she asked him to help her pay her credit card bills. When he refused (apologetically, though, the moron), she started avoiding him.

Enter Mr. Dentist. The guy who she claimed she had “known forever.” Hard to believe since she just moved up from Peoria less than a year ago and had been married to a Jehova’s Witness (Neighbor Kid’s dad) since age 18 (oh, and he was 33 – they divorced when he decided that rather than spend his trust fund, he wanted to save it, preach, and live with his parents in their basement). Mr. Dentist is the epitome of a dentist – skinny, geeky, mute. (I swear, I don’t think I ever heard him talk.) But he practices in an affluent suburb and has a huge house in said suburb. Never married, no kids (i.e. – no strings attached!) and in his late 40’s. Oh, and? Ms. Neighbor informed Cute Neighbor’s Friend, HE paid ALL her credit card bills. It wasn’t long before Neighbor Kid was once again telling Lexie how they were going to be moving into a HUGE house with a jaccuzzi and a backyard and they would have LOTS of money and her mom would never have to work again. Only this time, she was right. Mr. Dentist married Ms. Neighbor in a quiet backyard wedding about four months after they started dating, and now, three months later, she is pregnant.

So I ask you – CAN money buy love? Apparently Mr. Dentist thinks so. And for that matter, so does Mrs. Dentist. Maybe they really ARE happy, but from her track record, I can’t see that being the case. Although happiness to Mrs. Dentist is probably way different than happiness to most people. Happiness to her is material things, whereas happiness to me is something you can’t put a price tag on.

Sure, I admit, there have been times where I wonder if maybe she IS right… maybe it WOULD be easier to just settle for some rich, boring, ugly dude who will worship me and take care of me… I wouldn’t have to worry about bills ever again, Lexie could have everything she’s ever wanted, I could live in a nice house with lots of room, take vacations every year… But then I realize that it’s just not ME. I could never settle like that, and to me it wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Moneybags, either. Why shouldn’t HE have the true love, too, instead of some tramp lusting after his bank account?

If I fall in love with someone who happens to be comfortable, I’d consider it a perk. But not a necessity. Because I agree with you Paul – money CAN’T buy love.