As you may already know from a previous post, I will not have access to a computer tomorrow since I am being the best mom in the world and taking Roxy and her pals to see Jesse McCartney. Since I am going to a concert on Saturday and the Cubs game on Sunday, I figure if I am still alive on Monday I should have something interesting to write about.
Sooooo... try not to miss me too much and have a good weekend!!
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Wellington Avenue
My grandparents moved into a condo on Tuesday. Which in and of itself doesn’t seem that remarkable, but it also means tha the whole family can no longer gather at Grandma & Poppop’s house. At least, not all at the same time. Actually, because most of the grandchildren have kids of their own now, and the aunts and uncles are still all around (for the most part), there really wasn’t room for all of us in their old house, either. But we tried to fit, on occasion. Due to the fact that I am employed full-time and also a single mom – as well as the fact that my home is smack-dab in the middle of their old house in Chicago and their new condo in Naperville, I was unable to help out with most of the moving process (although I talked to Grandma yesterday, and she told me I can come hang pictures next Saturday). Then on Tuesday, it occurred to me that I missed my last chance to say goodbye to their old house. I was a little bummed for about two seconds before I realized why I wasn’t more upset – because to me, Grandma & Poppop’s REAL home was the one on Wellington Avenue.
You see, the house they were moving from on the northwest side USED to be their “new” house. They moved there when I was in my teens (I think), from the infamous house on Wellington. And that is the house I will always think of when I think of their house. That house was the coolest house I knew. It was big, and old, and had two backyards. Every weekend my parents would take my brother and me over to Grandma and Poppop’s house, where we would meet dad’s sisters and their husbands and all the cousins. Occasionally we would go early enough to attend church (yes, I HAVE been in a church!!) at big old St. Francis and hear Poppops sing in the choir. (Alas, the only family member to this day who can carry a tune.) If it was summertime, all the cousins would wreak havoc in the yard (but not the triangle yard, that yard wasn’t for playing!) and argue over who got to sit on the swing. Sometimes Poppops would set up the volleyball net, and we would play volleyball or badminton. Other times, my dad and my Uncle Joe would each grab a mitt and all the kids would play running bases. Mom and Grandma and my three aunts would sit at the patio table, smoking and talking and always ready to yell at us kids if we got out of control. (Only Grandma would NEVER yell.) After a while, we would all go into the house to eat sandwiches on fresh bakery bread, then try to find the jar of Planter’s Peanuts Poppops always had stashed. For dessert there was always a coffee cake, also fresh from the bakery.
After lunch, we would usually go back outside to play some more. Sometimes, my cousin Karyn and I would hang out in the room that connected the two backyards (which was dusty and filthy, but lots of fun!) and start out by trying to clean it, then wind up making mudpies. And since we were girls, we loved going into “Grandma’s” backyard to look at all her flowers and sometimes eat fresh raspberries right off the bush in the corner. When we felt daring, we would sneak into the house and enter the small “apartment” downstairs – in which our Uncle Patty lived. I don’t recall ever actually seeing Uncle Patty, but the thrill of creeping around like cat burglars was something Karyn and I really enjoyed. (I’m sure if we ever had gotten caught, we would’ve been in MAJOR trouble!) We never disrupted his things, or stayed very long – but one day we DID find out one probable reason he was called “Uncle Patty.” While doing an innocent peek under his bed, we found a pair of size 14 ruby slippers like in the Wizard of Oz and a floral parasol. Although at the time we didn’t really understand the concept of cross-dressing, our discovery was enough to make us decide to stay out of Uncle Patty’s apartment and let him have his privacy back.
Grandma and Poppops’ house also had an upstairs, with a small extra bedroom where you got to sleep if you spent the night. And it was right next to the train tracks (not the “el” tracks) so you had to learn to block out the train noise. (Of course, if we were in the backyard and a train went by, we all had to wave, because my Uncle Don was an engineer, and apparently he drove every train.) There was also a larger bedroom where Grandma Lorzel used to sleep. She died, though, so the room just stayed empty. And my cousin Karyn and I used to imagine we would hear her ghost. The coolest part of the upstairs was the little cubbyhole where Grandma and Poppops kept the toys. They had really cool stuff, like the Charlie Weaver doll that made a martini, drank it, and then turned red while smoke came out of his ears. And they had a horse race game, where you had to shoot marbles skee-ball style to move your horse. Only problem with that game was that only four people could play, and my cousins and I weren’t that good at sharing. There was a big rocking chair, too, that Karyn used to love rocking in, and tricked me out of my turn several times back in the day.
The stairs going from upstairs to downstairs were old (like the rest of the house) and creaked very loudly in certain spots, so if you planned on spying on anyone down below, you had to learn to avoid the creaky spots. A difficult task, that wasn’t easily mastered. And to be honest, we usually got tired of spying and wound up just joining the rest of the kids to watch “Wild Kingdom” or “The Wonderful World of Disney” instead.
One part of the Wellington house that didn’t change when the first move took place was my favorite part of all: Grandma’s music boxes. She had more music boxes than anyone in the world. I loved looking at all of them, and when I was old enough to touch them, loved taking them down and playing each one, one after the other. Poppops, on the other hand, enjoyed nothing more than seeing if he could wind up every single music box and have them all playing at the same time. The kids loved this, Grandma and the other adults HATED it. Grandma gave each of us grandchildren one of the music boxes a few Christmases ago, and mine will always be my favorite gift from Grandma.
Yes, the house on Wellington was the house of my youth. And I really think the best part of that house was the love that was in it. There were no family disputes, no one ever had any “convenient excuses” not to be there as usual on Sunday afternoon, no one judged anyone else or worried about anyone else’s choices in life (unless they wanted to help). Everyone got along, always. There was always laughter and smiles that were genuine, not forced. Somehow it seems that over the years, for whatever reason, as the days of Wellington Avenue got further and further away, the family that used to stick together like glue started to come undone. Which is really sad, because it’s one hell of a family. Maybe if we all got a chance to spend one more Sunday together on Wellington Avenue…
You see, the house they were moving from on the northwest side USED to be their “new” house. They moved there when I was in my teens (I think), from the infamous house on Wellington. And that is the house I will always think of when I think of their house. That house was the coolest house I knew. It was big, and old, and had two backyards. Every weekend my parents would take my brother and me over to Grandma and Poppop’s house, where we would meet dad’s sisters and their husbands and all the cousins. Occasionally we would go early enough to attend church (yes, I HAVE been in a church!!) at big old St. Francis and hear Poppops sing in the choir. (Alas, the only family member to this day who can carry a tune.) If it was summertime, all the cousins would wreak havoc in the yard (but not the triangle yard, that yard wasn’t for playing!) and argue over who got to sit on the swing. Sometimes Poppops would set up the volleyball net, and we would play volleyball or badminton. Other times, my dad and my Uncle Joe would each grab a mitt and all the kids would play running bases. Mom and Grandma and my three aunts would sit at the patio table, smoking and talking and always ready to yell at us kids if we got out of control. (Only Grandma would NEVER yell.) After a while, we would all go into the house to eat sandwiches on fresh bakery bread, then try to find the jar of Planter’s Peanuts Poppops always had stashed. For dessert there was always a coffee cake, also fresh from the bakery.
After lunch, we would usually go back outside to play some more. Sometimes, my cousin Karyn and I would hang out in the room that connected the two backyards (which was dusty and filthy, but lots of fun!) and start out by trying to clean it, then wind up making mudpies. And since we were girls, we loved going into “Grandma’s” backyard to look at all her flowers and sometimes eat fresh raspberries right off the bush in the corner. When we felt daring, we would sneak into the house and enter the small “apartment” downstairs – in which our Uncle Patty lived. I don’t recall ever actually seeing Uncle Patty, but the thrill of creeping around like cat burglars was something Karyn and I really enjoyed. (I’m sure if we ever had gotten caught, we would’ve been in MAJOR trouble!) We never disrupted his things, or stayed very long – but one day we DID find out one probable reason he was called “Uncle Patty.” While doing an innocent peek under his bed, we found a pair of size 14 ruby slippers like in the Wizard of Oz and a floral parasol. Although at the time we didn’t really understand the concept of cross-dressing, our discovery was enough to make us decide to stay out of Uncle Patty’s apartment and let him have his privacy back.
Grandma and Poppops’ house also had an upstairs, with a small extra bedroom where you got to sleep if you spent the night. And it was right next to the train tracks (not the “el” tracks) so you had to learn to block out the train noise. (Of course, if we were in the backyard and a train went by, we all had to wave, because my Uncle Don was an engineer, and apparently he drove every train.) There was also a larger bedroom where Grandma Lorzel used to sleep. She died, though, so the room just stayed empty. And my cousin Karyn and I used to imagine we would hear her ghost. The coolest part of the upstairs was the little cubbyhole where Grandma and Poppops kept the toys. They had really cool stuff, like the Charlie Weaver doll that made a martini, drank it, and then turned red while smoke came out of his ears. And they had a horse race game, where you had to shoot marbles skee-ball style to move your horse. Only problem with that game was that only four people could play, and my cousins and I weren’t that good at sharing. There was a big rocking chair, too, that Karyn used to love rocking in, and tricked me out of my turn several times back in the day.
The stairs going from upstairs to downstairs were old (like the rest of the house) and creaked very loudly in certain spots, so if you planned on spying on anyone down below, you had to learn to avoid the creaky spots. A difficult task, that wasn’t easily mastered. And to be honest, we usually got tired of spying and wound up just joining the rest of the kids to watch “Wild Kingdom” or “The Wonderful World of Disney” instead.
One part of the Wellington house that didn’t change when the first move took place was my favorite part of all: Grandma’s music boxes. She had more music boxes than anyone in the world. I loved looking at all of them, and when I was old enough to touch them, loved taking them down and playing each one, one after the other. Poppops, on the other hand, enjoyed nothing more than seeing if he could wind up every single music box and have them all playing at the same time. The kids loved this, Grandma and the other adults HATED it. Grandma gave each of us grandchildren one of the music boxes a few Christmases ago, and mine will always be my favorite gift from Grandma.
Yes, the house on Wellington was the house of my youth. And I really think the best part of that house was the love that was in it. There were no family disputes, no one ever had any “convenient excuses” not to be there as usual on Sunday afternoon, no one judged anyone else or worried about anyone else’s choices in life (unless they wanted to help). Everyone got along, always. There was always laughter and smiles that were genuine, not forced. Somehow it seems that over the years, for whatever reason, as the days of Wellington Avenue got further and further away, the family that used to stick together like glue started to come undone. Which is really sad, because it’s one hell of a family. Maybe if we all got a chance to spend one more Sunday together on Wellington Avenue…
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
The Note
The other night when I got home from the Cub game, I had a pleasant surprise waiting in my mailbox. And it wasn’t even a check. It was a little note squeezed in between the cracks with stickers all over the kid-sized envelope – a note from my almost ten year old daughter Roxy. Apparently she had stopped home sometime between camp and going to her friend’s house for the night (no, not by herself – her friend’s mom had picked her up!) and left me the note. Mentally and physically exhausted from a bottom of the ninth Cub win and a long Pace bus ride home, I sat down to read her note. This is what she wrote:
“Dear Dasi (mom),
I love you so much thank you for my 10th b-day! I will rember (sic) for ever. You are the best mom ever. I might not think that when I’m a teenager but inside I always will. You will be in my life forever. Your (sic) the best mom! I will take care of you till you die! I hope you will always be in my life!!! LOVE YOU SOOOO MUCH!!!
Love, Roxy”
Now, for those of you who have kids, you know that it’s things like this that make you forget that just that morning your child put a dirty glass in the dishwasher with all the clean dishes you were just about to unload, thus spilling milk all over them. And for those of you that DON’T have kids, well, you have to admit, her note was pretty damn sweet.
Being a single mom is definitely not the easiest job in the world, but it’s things like that that make everything worthwhile. Having a neurotic, overstressed Scorpio as a mom can sometimes take it’s toll on my Roxy, but to her credit, she handles it pretty well. I think that even though I may not be June Cleaver or Carol Brady (actually, my parenting skills are more along the lines of Bernie Mac or Roseanne) things seem to be working for us. And you can bet your sweet ass I am saving that note forever. Not just for the nostaligia, but to remind her of two things: One, that she admitted in writing that I am the best mom ever, and also said that even though she may not think it as a teenager, she always will inside; and Two, that she will take care of me until I die. Number two is probably most important, because I really want to be one of those moms whose kid is a rich celebrity and buys her houses and maids and cars and gives them lots of cash. And ALWAYS starts out any acceptance speech, whether for the Nobel Prize, Pulitzer Prize, Academy Award or Grammy by saying, “Mom, I owe everything to you! I love you, Mom!”
You see, the thing is, I AM pretty much the best mom in the world. And I’ll tell you why – that 10th birthday she is referring to? Well, here’s the story behind THAT. This Friday, I am taking the day off and renting a minivan to take her and her four best buddies to the DuPage County Fair for the day. And at 8:00 pm at the Fair, we have fourth row tickets to see Jesse McCartney. (And if you don’t know who he is, go ask a girl between the ages of say 8 and 14.) To be honest, I’m still not sure what exactly possessed me to think this would be a good idea. But the bottom line is, I am now officially the best mom to her and the coolest mom to her friends, and I am kind of enjoying that notoriety. Of course, my sister-in-law is also joining us (since even I am not crazy enough to think I can handle five girls at a pop idol’s concert), so I guess that would make her the best/coolest aunt. A title I think she will enjoy, especially since this whole experience may make her never want to have kids of her own.
Roxy has gotten me more upset than anyone in the world ever possibly could, but she has also made me happier than anyone ever could. She has filled my heart with pride on so many occasions I have lost count. As I watch my little peanut growing into a beautiful blonde young lady, it scares the hell out of me. And sometimes I forget that she is NOT a baby anymore… but at the same time, SHE has to remember that she will ALWAYS be my baby. Her note makes me smile, and it also reminds me that even when I feel like I am severely lacking in the mom department, the most important person in my life feels otherwise.
I never had any idea how one small person could so completely fill your life – until I had my daughter. And the best part is, I don’t even have to share. It’s me and her against the world (thanks to a loser deadbeat who last saw her when she was five months old) and I kind of like it that way. I really feel that because of our situation we are even closer than most moms and daughters. And I hope to God it continues like that. I mean, I’m not stupid enough to think that we won’t have our hills and valleys, but I only hope we handle them with grace and dignity (or at least without killing each other!). For now, I’ll continue to enjoy everything about my angel. And if anything changes – well, I’ll still have her note.
“Dear Dasi (mom),
I love you so much thank you for my 10th b-day! I will rember (sic) for ever. You are the best mom ever. I might not think that when I’m a teenager but inside I always will. You will be in my life forever. Your (sic) the best mom! I will take care of you till you die! I hope you will always be in my life!!! LOVE YOU SOOOO MUCH!!!
Love, Roxy”
Now, for those of you who have kids, you know that it’s things like this that make you forget that just that morning your child put a dirty glass in the dishwasher with all the clean dishes you were just about to unload, thus spilling milk all over them. And for those of you that DON’T have kids, well, you have to admit, her note was pretty damn sweet.
Being a single mom is definitely not the easiest job in the world, but it’s things like that that make everything worthwhile. Having a neurotic, overstressed Scorpio as a mom can sometimes take it’s toll on my Roxy, but to her credit, she handles it pretty well. I think that even though I may not be June Cleaver or Carol Brady (actually, my parenting skills are more along the lines of Bernie Mac or Roseanne) things seem to be working for us. And you can bet your sweet ass I am saving that note forever. Not just for the nostaligia, but to remind her of two things: One, that she admitted in writing that I am the best mom ever, and also said that even though she may not think it as a teenager, she always will inside; and Two, that she will take care of me until I die. Number two is probably most important, because I really want to be one of those moms whose kid is a rich celebrity and buys her houses and maids and cars and gives them lots of cash. And ALWAYS starts out any acceptance speech, whether for the Nobel Prize, Pulitzer Prize, Academy Award or Grammy by saying, “Mom, I owe everything to you! I love you, Mom!”
You see, the thing is, I AM pretty much the best mom in the world. And I’ll tell you why – that 10th birthday she is referring to? Well, here’s the story behind THAT. This Friday, I am taking the day off and renting a minivan to take her and her four best buddies to the DuPage County Fair for the day. And at 8:00 pm at the Fair, we have fourth row tickets to see Jesse McCartney. (And if you don’t know who he is, go ask a girl between the ages of say 8 and 14.) To be honest, I’m still not sure what exactly possessed me to think this would be a good idea. But the bottom line is, I am now officially the best mom to her and the coolest mom to her friends, and I am kind of enjoying that notoriety. Of course, my sister-in-law is also joining us (since even I am not crazy enough to think I can handle five girls at a pop idol’s concert), so I guess that would make her the best/coolest aunt. A title I think she will enjoy, especially since this whole experience may make her never want to have kids of her own.
Roxy has gotten me more upset than anyone in the world ever possibly could, but she has also made me happier than anyone ever could. She has filled my heart with pride on so many occasions I have lost count. As I watch my little peanut growing into a beautiful blonde young lady, it scares the hell out of me. And sometimes I forget that she is NOT a baby anymore… but at the same time, SHE has to remember that she will ALWAYS be my baby. Her note makes me smile, and it also reminds me that even when I feel like I am severely lacking in the mom department, the most important person in my life feels otherwise.
I never had any idea how one small person could so completely fill your life – until I had my daughter. And the best part is, I don’t even have to share. It’s me and her against the world (thanks to a loser deadbeat who last saw her when she was five months old) and I kind of like it that way. I really feel that because of our situation we are even closer than most moms and daughters. And I hope to God it continues like that. I mean, I’m not stupid enough to think that we won’t have our hills and valleys, but I only hope we handle them with grace and dignity (or at least without killing each other!). For now, I’ll continue to enjoy everything about my angel. And if anything changes – well, I’ll still have her note.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
I'm DONE! (For Now, at Least...)
So as it turns out, I didn’t have to call back Mr. South Side at all to find out what he wanted. Because (surprise surprise) since I didn’t call HIM back, he called on my cell and left me another message. Apparently all he wanted to know was where my seats were for the Cub game I was going to that night. (And if you think even for a MINUTE that I was stupid enough to call him back with that tidbit of info, you don’t know me that well at all.) Thank God for caller ID and our receptionist here at the office. I do believe it is time to cut the cord and just freeze him out completely.
I honestly never thought I would find myself in this predicament. Having someone that NEEDY is actually pretty unnerving. Yes, like every woman out there, I would like to be adored, but this is ridiculous. I think the only adoring I need any more is from Roxy and my cats. It’s actually kind of depressing realizing that I am basically throwing in the towel on the whole relationship thing, but to be honest, it’s kind of a relief too. By not actively pursuing any kind of romance, my stress level is back down to where it should be for an overextended single mom. (Which actually is dangerously high to begin with.) And I don’t have to fear what the person I make a date with will turn out to be like in reality, as opposed to in cyberspace. And I can lounge around at home after work and watch tv instead of primping to meet a total stranger.
When I look back on my younger days, I start to wonder if maybe I wasted all my relationship possibilities very early on. For all the jerks and losers I thought I was in love with, there were several really great guys in my life. But every one eventually ended, and whether it was mutual or I got my heart crushed I was always a little sad. (Not sad enough to go psychotic like Mr. South Side, though. And even if there were a VERY FEW times I MAY have gone psychotic, I blame it on my youth. Which Mr. South Side DEFINITELY cannot do.) And I have a lot of really great guy friends that I’m sure would be awesome boyfriends, just not for me. I’ve tried to figure out exactly what the standard is here that I am looking for, and although I have summarized my “ideal” online, I really think even I don’t know what I really want. Maybe there really is someone out there who I will see and instantly click with and just “know” he is the one. But if there is, he will have to find me. I’m done with being proactive.
Maybe it sounds bitchy, but I really don’t feel it’s worth it anymore. Too many people only look at the outside and turn away – and by outside I mean several things, including a single parent… a 30-something woman… an ex-junkie… a woman with a “few extra pounds” (but still working on it!!). The thing that really sucks is that all these things make up who I am, and I won’t shy away from anything about me. Therefore, to the person who judges on individual outward appearances without getting to know the total package, I am definitely someone who gets passed by a lot. Which is why I’m tired of putting myself out there and wasting my time. But as far as I’m concerned, the person who eventually DOES get to know me, and truly steals my heart, will be a damn lucky guy.
And no, Mr. South Side, it is NOT you. Sorry, dude.
I honestly never thought I would find myself in this predicament. Having someone that NEEDY is actually pretty unnerving. Yes, like every woman out there, I would like to be adored, but this is ridiculous. I think the only adoring I need any more is from Roxy and my cats. It’s actually kind of depressing realizing that I am basically throwing in the towel on the whole relationship thing, but to be honest, it’s kind of a relief too. By not actively pursuing any kind of romance, my stress level is back down to where it should be for an overextended single mom. (Which actually is dangerously high to begin with.) And I don’t have to fear what the person I make a date with will turn out to be like in reality, as opposed to in cyberspace. And I can lounge around at home after work and watch tv instead of primping to meet a total stranger.
When I look back on my younger days, I start to wonder if maybe I wasted all my relationship possibilities very early on. For all the jerks and losers I thought I was in love with, there were several really great guys in my life. But every one eventually ended, and whether it was mutual or I got my heart crushed I was always a little sad. (Not sad enough to go psychotic like Mr. South Side, though. And even if there were a VERY FEW times I MAY have gone psychotic, I blame it on my youth. Which Mr. South Side DEFINITELY cannot do.) And I have a lot of really great guy friends that I’m sure would be awesome boyfriends, just not for me. I’ve tried to figure out exactly what the standard is here that I am looking for, and although I have summarized my “ideal” online, I really think even I don’t know what I really want. Maybe there really is someone out there who I will see and instantly click with and just “know” he is the one. But if there is, he will have to find me. I’m done with being proactive.
Maybe it sounds bitchy, but I really don’t feel it’s worth it anymore. Too many people only look at the outside and turn away – and by outside I mean several things, including a single parent… a 30-something woman… an ex-junkie… a woman with a “few extra pounds” (but still working on it!!). The thing that really sucks is that all these things make up who I am, and I won’t shy away from anything about me. Therefore, to the person who judges on individual outward appearances without getting to know the total package, I am definitely someone who gets passed by a lot. Which is why I’m tired of putting myself out there and wasting my time. But as far as I’m concerned, the person who eventually DOES get to know me, and truly steals my heart, will be a damn lucky guy.
And no, Mr. South Side, it is NOT you. Sorry, dude.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
Ok, so I have been hearing from several people how I have to be FIRM and BLATANT and just tell Mr. South Side, in no uncertain terms, that it is OVER. Which is not easy for a girl like me, because I am good-hearted by nature, and I don’t like hurting other people’s feelings. But this is getting absolutely ridiculous, so I decide that it’s time to just lay down the law.
Over the last week, when I was definitely NOT in the mood to deal with anyone, least of all him, I think he called at least three times a day. On Tuesday, which was his birthday, I did the nice thing and called him to say happy birthday. BUT, I ended the conversation by saying, “Well, enjoy your birthday, but I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to call you again.” Subtle. Maybe TOO subtle, because he called me several times over the next two days. Of course, passive-aggressive that I am, I just ignored the phone and didn’t call back. But on Thursday, I called him at lunch and tried very nicely to explain how I felt.
My lunchtime conversation with him had me very gingerly explaining that we lived so far away, and our schedules were so opposite… I continued by telling him that I had a lot going on in my life right now, and really wasn’t in the mood to deal with ANYONE. He asked what was wrong, and I told him there was just a lot of shit in my life I didn’t feel like discussing, but that I just needed my space. After all this, do you know what he said? He said, “Well, ok, call me later, then.” (Pause here to allow me time to bang my head against a wall.) (Ok, continue.) All I said after that was this: “Goodbye.”
I ignored him on Friday, and miracle of miracles, he didn’t call at all on Saturday. But on Sunday I heard Jojo playing on my cell phone and thought “He’s baaaaaaack!” Once again, I ignored it. He left a message asking me to call him, saying I was probably out at the pool or something, so he’d talk to me later. His number came up twice more, before I decided that I should probably call him back so he would leave me alone. When I called him on my way to my mom’s, I AGAIN tried explaining the whole “we’re too far apart – I don’t have time – I’m not sure if this is right” thing, and he basically told me that he understood, and to call him later. When we hung up, I screamed (and scared my daughter), and not five minutes later Jojo was blaring again. Guess what I did? You got it!!! I IGNORED IT. Then I listened to him tell me he thought he would catch me before I got to my mom’s, and to call him later. After a nice dinner, I went home to watch the Cubs (awesome game, by the way) and ignored two more phone calls: one on my cell and one on my land line.
Which brings us to today. While Satan (my boss) was talking to a client, I decided to suck it up and put an end to this whole thing. I called Mr. South Side and laid it all out for him: I didn’t think things could continue with us. We lived too far apart, we had completely opposite schedules, he’s allergic to my cats, I had NO TIME between now and September to even SEE anyone, and come on, in almost two months we had seen each other exactly four times, including the night we met. He asked me if I was seeing someone else, and stupid as I am, I told him no, that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved with ANYONE right now. I told him it wasn’t fair for him because I couldn’t commit, and that I wanted time for myself. I told him he was a nice person, but things just didn’t feel right to me. I told him maybe we were better off just by ourselves.
I thought I did pretty well, but was totally unprepared for what came next. He told me that it was ok, he understood. (BIG sigh of relief!!) That he respected the fact that I needed some time. (Wait a minute here….) That he’ll wait until I have time to see him again. (NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!) I patiently told him that I was busy until AT LEAST September 10th, and he said, “Ok. Well, if you have an hour or so free anytime, give me a call. I can come by and see you.” I told him I highly doubted that would work, because I worked all day, and at night Roxy was home. So he said, “Well, then, call me when you’re out here and we’ll get together.” I was completely at a loss. THIS GUY JUST WASN’T GETTING IT. I wound up just saying, “Yeah, ok, whatever.” And hanging up.
BUT WAIT – THAT’S NOT ALL!! Since I called him from my work phone (stupid, stupid girl) he has now called me twice on my work line. Thankfully, we have a receptionist to screen calls (which means I was conveniently unavailable), so the first time he just hung up and the second he left a message. Right now I am staring at that red blinking light, afraid to see what else he has to say. Oh, hell – here goes nothing. “Press ‘P’ to play the first message” (ok) “Hey dasi, it’s Mr. South Side. Call me back, I just want to ask you something.” WHAT THE F***????? Now I’ve got the guy down the hall at my office laughing his ass off telling me I must’ve REALLY been pretty damn good to have Mr. South Side continue to be so persistent. (Ok, so yeah, I AM pretty fantastic, but PLEASE! Get over it – I AM DONE!!!)
New dilemma – do I call him back to see what he wants?
YEAH, RIGHT!!!!
Note to self: Try NOT to be so awesome at hanging out, unless you are SURE that he is the One. And even then, play it down a bit. Obviously I am too much for most guys to handle.
Over the last week, when I was definitely NOT in the mood to deal with anyone, least of all him, I think he called at least three times a day. On Tuesday, which was his birthday, I did the nice thing and called him to say happy birthday. BUT, I ended the conversation by saying, “Well, enjoy your birthday, but I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to call you again.” Subtle. Maybe TOO subtle, because he called me several times over the next two days. Of course, passive-aggressive that I am, I just ignored the phone and didn’t call back. But on Thursday, I called him at lunch and tried very nicely to explain how I felt.
My lunchtime conversation with him had me very gingerly explaining that we lived so far away, and our schedules were so opposite… I continued by telling him that I had a lot going on in my life right now, and really wasn’t in the mood to deal with ANYONE. He asked what was wrong, and I told him there was just a lot of shit in my life I didn’t feel like discussing, but that I just needed my space. After all this, do you know what he said? He said, “Well, ok, call me later, then.” (Pause here to allow me time to bang my head against a wall.) (Ok, continue.) All I said after that was this: “Goodbye.”
I ignored him on Friday, and miracle of miracles, he didn’t call at all on Saturday. But on Sunday I heard Jojo playing on my cell phone and thought “He’s baaaaaaack!” Once again, I ignored it. He left a message asking me to call him, saying I was probably out at the pool or something, so he’d talk to me later. His number came up twice more, before I decided that I should probably call him back so he would leave me alone. When I called him on my way to my mom’s, I AGAIN tried explaining the whole “we’re too far apart – I don’t have time – I’m not sure if this is right” thing, and he basically told me that he understood, and to call him later. When we hung up, I screamed (and scared my daughter), and not five minutes later Jojo was blaring again. Guess what I did? You got it!!! I IGNORED IT. Then I listened to him tell me he thought he would catch me before I got to my mom’s, and to call him later. After a nice dinner, I went home to watch the Cubs (awesome game, by the way) and ignored two more phone calls: one on my cell and one on my land line.
Which brings us to today. While Satan (my boss) was talking to a client, I decided to suck it up and put an end to this whole thing. I called Mr. South Side and laid it all out for him: I didn’t think things could continue with us. We lived too far apart, we had completely opposite schedules, he’s allergic to my cats, I had NO TIME between now and September to even SEE anyone, and come on, in almost two months we had seen each other exactly four times, including the night we met. He asked me if I was seeing someone else, and stupid as I am, I told him no, that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved with ANYONE right now. I told him it wasn’t fair for him because I couldn’t commit, and that I wanted time for myself. I told him he was a nice person, but things just didn’t feel right to me. I told him maybe we were better off just by ourselves.
I thought I did pretty well, but was totally unprepared for what came next. He told me that it was ok, he understood. (BIG sigh of relief!!) That he respected the fact that I needed some time. (Wait a minute here….) That he’ll wait until I have time to see him again. (NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!) I patiently told him that I was busy until AT LEAST September 10th, and he said, “Ok. Well, if you have an hour or so free anytime, give me a call. I can come by and see you.” I told him I highly doubted that would work, because I worked all day, and at night Roxy was home. So he said, “Well, then, call me when you’re out here and we’ll get together.” I was completely at a loss. THIS GUY JUST WASN’T GETTING IT. I wound up just saying, “Yeah, ok, whatever.” And hanging up.
BUT WAIT – THAT’S NOT ALL!! Since I called him from my work phone (stupid, stupid girl) he has now called me twice on my work line. Thankfully, we have a receptionist to screen calls (which means I was conveniently unavailable), so the first time he just hung up and the second he left a message. Right now I am staring at that red blinking light, afraid to see what else he has to say. Oh, hell – here goes nothing. “Press ‘P’ to play the first message” (ok) “Hey dasi, it’s Mr. South Side. Call me back, I just want to ask you something.” WHAT THE F***????? Now I’ve got the guy down the hall at my office laughing his ass off telling me I must’ve REALLY been pretty damn good to have Mr. South Side continue to be so persistent. (Ok, so yeah, I AM pretty fantastic, but PLEASE! Get over it – I AM DONE!!!)
New dilemma – do I call him back to see what he wants?
YEAH, RIGHT!!!!
Note to self: Try NOT to be so awesome at hanging out, unless you are SURE that he is the One. And even then, play it down a bit. Obviously I am too much for most guys to handle.
Friday, July 22, 2005
I'M BAAAAACK!!
Ok, first I would like to apologize for my blatant disregard for the obvious disappointment I have caused by failing to write in this blog. In my defense, I was in a really bad funk over the past week, and probably wouldn’t have written anything that entertaining anyway. Scorpios are prone to be moody – and this particular Scorpio can take things to the next level, if you know what I mean. But once I decided that there is nothing I can do about the fact that my car needed two new tires and an alignment, or about the pipes from my bathtub that are supposedly leaking into the downstairs unit, or about the camera that got broken at my cousin’s wedding and realized that yes, my life DOES suck at times, but everyone else’s does too, well, the pity party came to an end and I took a page from Joel’s book in Risky Business – “Sometimes you just gotta say what the fuck?”
Anyway. In the midst of my funk I also came to another conclusion – I am one of those people who is just better off on their own. I ended my internet search for the elusive love of my life, after what proved to be a pretty insane journey. Mr. Pilot never responded after his initial e-mail, Mr. Cutie turned out to be too immature and idealistic (yet even after I sent him a very nice “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” e-mail, continued to plead with me to give him a chance, because he really felt a “connection.” All-righty, then, you are now officially “Mr. Pathetic”), and the only really normal nice guy I met took me out for dinner exactly once, and never called again. Suddenly my exciting new foray into the dating world turned out to be depressing, and once again found me reverting back to my old jaded self. AND Mr. South Side obviously CANNOT take a hint. The man is driving me freaking INSANE. If I hear his ring tone on my phone (which I recently changed from “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” to “Leave (Get Out)”) one more time, I will throw my phone against the wall. Ok, I probably won’t do that, because then I would break my phone. But I’d like to, anyway. The other night, since I have not been calling him at all, he left me a message on my voice mail that said only, “You don’t love me anymore.” HELLO?!?!? I NEVER LOVED YOU TO BEGIN WITH!!! Note to self – do NOT continue any kind of relationship with a guy just because you miss “hanging out.” You can “hang out” all by yourself if you really need to, and don’t have to put up with whiny, clingy men. My brother told me I need to confront him directly, that we both need closure. Only problem is, every time I talk to him on the phone, I actually feel sorry for the guy. And I have only seen him FOUR times since we met almost two months ago. I really think that the eight and ten year relationships he told me he was involved in weren’t really relationships at all, I think these poor women were in the same boat I am now and just couldn’t break up with him. They probably just talked on the phone for 8 or 10 years, until the girl finally changed her number or something. Seriously. I really think that.
So once again, I am back to my normal self (or as normal as I can get) and will hopefully not fall into the depths of despair again in the near future. I must say, though, it was really nice knowing that people were concerned about me. As you know from my “fears” blog, I have a real issue with people not liking me. Well, as it turns out, there are pretty many who really do. Like me, that is. Which is a good feeling when you feel like nothing is going right and your life is crap. Although I think some people may have been a bit overly concerned, case in point, when my aunt called me at work and greeted me with “So, your dad tells me you’re suicidal.” (Hey, what truly talented writer HASN’T been suicidal at some point in their life? Of course, usually it is just a front to look dramatic and angst-ridden.) (By the way, I WASN’T suicidal, life is far too interesting to stop being a part of now.)
So there you have it. My first blog after the creative drought. I will try to avoid any further interruptions, but please have patience with me if there are. I’m still only human, after all.
Anyway. In the midst of my funk I also came to another conclusion – I am one of those people who is just better off on their own. I ended my internet search for the elusive love of my life, after what proved to be a pretty insane journey. Mr. Pilot never responded after his initial e-mail, Mr. Cutie turned out to be too immature and idealistic (yet even after I sent him a very nice “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” e-mail, continued to plead with me to give him a chance, because he really felt a “connection.” All-righty, then, you are now officially “Mr. Pathetic”), and the only really normal nice guy I met took me out for dinner exactly once, and never called again. Suddenly my exciting new foray into the dating world turned out to be depressing, and once again found me reverting back to my old jaded self. AND Mr. South Side obviously CANNOT take a hint. The man is driving me freaking INSANE. If I hear his ring tone on my phone (which I recently changed from “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” to “Leave (Get Out)”) one more time, I will throw my phone against the wall. Ok, I probably won’t do that, because then I would break my phone. But I’d like to, anyway. The other night, since I have not been calling him at all, he left me a message on my voice mail that said only, “You don’t love me anymore.” HELLO?!?!? I NEVER LOVED YOU TO BEGIN WITH!!! Note to self – do NOT continue any kind of relationship with a guy just because you miss “hanging out.” You can “hang out” all by yourself if you really need to, and don’t have to put up with whiny, clingy men. My brother told me I need to confront him directly, that we both need closure. Only problem is, every time I talk to him on the phone, I actually feel sorry for the guy. And I have only seen him FOUR times since we met almost two months ago. I really think that the eight and ten year relationships he told me he was involved in weren’t really relationships at all, I think these poor women were in the same boat I am now and just couldn’t break up with him. They probably just talked on the phone for 8 or 10 years, until the girl finally changed her number or something. Seriously. I really think that.
So once again, I am back to my normal self (or as normal as I can get) and will hopefully not fall into the depths of despair again in the near future. I must say, though, it was really nice knowing that people were concerned about me. As you know from my “fears” blog, I have a real issue with people not liking me. Well, as it turns out, there are pretty many who really do. Like me, that is. Which is a good feeling when you feel like nothing is going right and your life is crap. Although I think some people may have been a bit overly concerned, case in point, when my aunt called me at work and greeted me with “So, your dad tells me you’re suicidal.” (Hey, what truly talented writer HASN’T been suicidal at some point in their life? Of course, usually it is just a front to look dramatic and angst-ridden.) (By the way, I WASN’T suicidal, life is far too interesting to stop being a part of now.)
So there you have it. My first blog after the creative drought. I will try to avoid any further interruptions, but please have patience with me if there are. I’m still only human, after all.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Brain Freeze
Guess what? I honestly can think of absolutely nothing to write about today. Which isn’t to say that there isn’t a lot of shit floating around in my head, I just can’t seem to put my thoughts to paper – or as it were, keyboard. So I’m sorry to disappoint, but due to my temporary mental block, this is it for today. Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll be able to somehow… (See?? If you were right here while I was writing this, you would know that I have been trying for the last five or so minutes to come up with the word I’m looking for… and I STILL can’t think of it!!) …somehow…
Sigh. Look, I’ll try to write tomorrow, ok?
Sigh. Look, I’ll try to write tomorrow, ok?
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Then and Now
A friend of mine stopped by the office yesterday, and an interesting subject was brought up. Which I told him would make a good topic for today. At first he got all huffy, but when I told him I would give credit where credit is due, he relented and gave me the go ahead (like I wouldn’t have written this if he had said “no.” Yeah, right!). So, thanks to Jeff, I will now begin.
Jeff was doing an impression for me, and since I know pretty much everything about tv (even old tv), I was able to correctly identify it as Schneider from One Day at a Time. This led to a discussion which I would like to share. Don’t you think it is kind of weird that this perverted so-called landlord/maintenance man was able to just walk into the home of a single mom and her two teenage daughters whenever he felt like it?? I mean, I can remember episodes when the mom was just getting out of the shower, and there was Schneider. And he always seemed to be leering at Valerie and Mackenzie. Gross. Didn’t their mom think that this was kind of inappropriate? I would think that if that happened today, instead of a laugh track, Schneider would be hearing the clink of a prison door. But hey, apparently in the 70’s it was fine and dandy.
And what about probably the biggest 70’s icon of all – Fonzie?? How old was he supposed to be, anyway? We all know that Richie, Potsie and Ralph were in high school, but Fonzie wasn’t. I’m not really sure whether he was supposed to have graduated, or if he was a dropout. Either way, he was supposed to be older, and hence, “cooler.” So there was Fonzie, a twenty-something guy with a leather jacket and a motorcycle. Who lived over the Cunningham’s garage and (just like Schneider) thought nothing of wandering into Mr. C’s home unannounced. But my main problem with Fonzie was the fact that with the exception of Pinkie Tuscadero, all the girls he dated were apparently still in high school. And looked to be about sixteen. Now, if you had a sixteen year old daughter, would you let her go out with a guy like Fonzie? Or would you have him arrested and file a restraining order? And don’t even get me STARTED on the way he treated those poor girls. Expecting them to come running whenever he snapped his fingers. How degrading!!
If you think about it, Fonzie wasn’t even that cool. Sure, he could turn on the jukebox with his fist, but his “office” was a bathroom in a burger joint. Thankfully, he cleared it out before conducting business, but you have to wonder, given the greasy burgers served there, just how (ahem) “aromatic” his office really was. He did have a job – supposedly he was a mechanic. But let’s face it, even though they often showed him in a garage smeared with grease, it didn’t really seem to me that he worked your standard 9-to-5 hours. So I can’t imagine him exactly rolling in dough. Even though he probably lived rent-free by schmoozing the Cunnighams. Just because he had good (for those days, at least) hair and said “Heyyyy” a lot doesn’t make him cool. Then again, he DID win the dance-a-thon…
Going back a bit to the late 60’s, let’s look at the Bradys. Why is it that even though Mike was an accomplished architect, and obviously made a lot of money (hey, they had a maid, right?), he couldn’t figure out a way to put an extension on the house to give the kids their own space? (And don’t tell me he redid the attic, or gave up his den, because we all know those were pathetic attempts to pacify Greg.) The least he could’ve done was add on an extra bathroom or two. (Hell, even MY father was able to out in an extra bathroom in our old house!) And why didn’t the bathroom the kids shared have a toilet? Did you ever notice THAT one? Seriously – there is NO toilet in their bathroom. Weird. Someone ought to have called the health inspector on them.
If it weren’t for Jeff (see, credit again!!) I probably wouldn’t have remembered these things. At least probably not today. Because honestly, I HAVE thought of these things before. Which doesn’t really say too much about me, I guess – other than I really do think too much. And should probably cut back on tv.
SHOULD, but won’t. Oh, well, time for lunch!
Jeff was doing an impression for me, and since I know pretty much everything about tv (even old tv), I was able to correctly identify it as Schneider from One Day at a Time. This led to a discussion which I would like to share. Don’t you think it is kind of weird that this perverted so-called landlord/maintenance man was able to just walk into the home of a single mom and her two teenage daughters whenever he felt like it?? I mean, I can remember episodes when the mom was just getting out of the shower, and there was Schneider. And he always seemed to be leering at Valerie and Mackenzie. Gross. Didn’t their mom think that this was kind of inappropriate? I would think that if that happened today, instead of a laugh track, Schneider would be hearing the clink of a prison door. But hey, apparently in the 70’s it was fine and dandy.
And what about probably the biggest 70’s icon of all – Fonzie?? How old was he supposed to be, anyway? We all know that Richie, Potsie and Ralph were in high school, but Fonzie wasn’t. I’m not really sure whether he was supposed to have graduated, or if he was a dropout. Either way, he was supposed to be older, and hence, “cooler.” So there was Fonzie, a twenty-something guy with a leather jacket and a motorcycle. Who lived over the Cunningham’s garage and (just like Schneider) thought nothing of wandering into Mr. C’s home unannounced. But my main problem with Fonzie was the fact that with the exception of Pinkie Tuscadero, all the girls he dated were apparently still in high school. And looked to be about sixteen. Now, if you had a sixteen year old daughter, would you let her go out with a guy like Fonzie? Or would you have him arrested and file a restraining order? And don’t even get me STARTED on the way he treated those poor girls. Expecting them to come running whenever he snapped his fingers. How degrading!!
If you think about it, Fonzie wasn’t even that cool. Sure, he could turn on the jukebox with his fist, but his “office” was a bathroom in a burger joint. Thankfully, he cleared it out before conducting business, but you have to wonder, given the greasy burgers served there, just how (ahem) “aromatic” his office really was. He did have a job – supposedly he was a mechanic. But let’s face it, even though they often showed him in a garage smeared with grease, it didn’t really seem to me that he worked your standard 9-to-5 hours. So I can’t imagine him exactly rolling in dough. Even though he probably lived rent-free by schmoozing the Cunnighams. Just because he had good (for those days, at least) hair and said “Heyyyy” a lot doesn’t make him cool. Then again, he DID win the dance-a-thon…
Going back a bit to the late 60’s, let’s look at the Bradys. Why is it that even though Mike was an accomplished architect, and obviously made a lot of money (hey, they had a maid, right?), he couldn’t figure out a way to put an extension on the house to give the kids their own space? (And don’t tell me he redid the attic, or gave up his den, because we all know those were pathetic attempts to pacify Greg.) The least he could’ve done was add on an extra bathroom or two. (Hell, even MY father was able to out in an extra bathroom in our old house!) And why didn’t the bathroom the kids shared have a toilet? Did you ever notice THAT one? Seriously – there is NO toilet in their bathroom. Weird. Someone ought to have called the health inspector on them.
If it weren’t for Jeff (see, credit again!!) I probably wouldn’t have remembered these things. At least probably not today. Because honestly, I HAVE thought of these things before. Which doesn’t really say too much about me, I guess – other than I really do think too much. And should probably cut back on tv.
SHOULD, but won’t. Oh, well, time for lunch!
Monday, July 11, 2005
Should've Known Better...
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. When will I ever learn to go with my instincts?? I went out with Mr. South Side last night. And believe me, that was the LAST night last night. “One more chance,” I thought. “He IS a really nice guy, after all.” So I drove all the way out south to meet him. Without going into details (this is a “family” blog, after all) let’s just say things didn’t go the way I had hoped. Yes, we “hung out,” but once again, NO intelligent (or otherwise) conversation, and no real “click.” Plus it is hard to have a “click” when Fear Factor is playing in the background. So I left early, claiming I had to pick up Roxy who was at my cousin’s and get home. And as I shut the door, I also shut the door of possibilities with Mr. South Side. What sucks is that I bought him this really awesome smelling cologne for his birthday (which is next week) – but there is NO WAY IN HELL he is getting it. I will keep it until I find what I am looking for. Or I will just spray it on Bear, my current bedmate. That way I can snuggle with my yummy smelling Bear who expects nothing from me and get a good night’s sleep.
Obviously, Mr. Cop is history as well. I sent him a “kiss-off” e-mail today, basically telling him (in nicer terms, of course) what an asshole he is, and that I am NOT the girl for him. Hopefully he doesn’t have a nasty temper. Oh, well. Too late to worry about that now.
I did, however, send off two more responses-to-responses in the hopes that one of these final two will turn out to be somewhat normal. One is a good-looking guy who is a couple years younger than me, the other a guy who works in patent law and is working toward his pilot’s license. So now I have put myself out there ONE FINAL TIME for Mr. Cutie and Mr. Pilot. But if these two turn out to be just as bad as the last two, I am giving up. Giving up, and leaving my love life to fate. Like I said before, this is just too much damn work. It really shouldn’t be so hard.
Anyway, I think I will make this blog short and sweet today, and maybe write on a different topic later. “The Beginning of the End” is currently on hiatus (for anyone who cares) because I am not “feeling” it at the moment. Hopefully it will return sometime in the near future, when I get back in a nostalgic mood. Later!
Obviously, Mr. Cop is history as well. I sent him a “kiss-off” e-mail today, basically telling him (in nicer terms, of course) what an asshole he is, and that I am NOT the girl for him. Hopefully he doesn’t have a nasty temper. Oh, well. Too late to worry about that now.
I did, however, send off two more responses-to-responses in the hopes that one of these final two will turn out to be somewhat normal. One is a good-looking guy who is a couple years younger than me, the other a guy who works in patent law and is working toward his pilot’s license. So now I have put myself out there ONE FINAL TIME for Mr. Cutie and Mr. Pilot. But if these two turn out to be just as bad as the last two, I am giving up. Giving up, and leaving my love life to fate. Like I said before, this is just too much damn work. It really shouldn’t be so hard.
Anyway, I think I will make this blog short and sweet today, and maybe write on a different topic later. “The Beginning of the End” is currently on hiatus (for anyone who cares) because I am not “feeling” it at the moment. Hopefully it will return sometime in the near future, when I get back in a nostalgic mood. Later!
Friday, July 08, 2005
Where's the Happy Medium??
I guess I should’ve known better, but then again, maybe not. For those of you keeping score – Mr. South Side is still flying in the wind, and as of yesterday, I was pretty impressed with Mr. Cop. But not long after I finished yesterday’s blog, I made some additional discoveries about Mr. Cop, which are none too flattering.
I spoke to him again yesterday afternoon, (twice, actually) and all of a sudden he went from funny as hell to condescending and rude. And he thought nothing of it. I believe his ACTUAL words were, “It’s all about me.” I tried to play it off and see if he was serious, and in giving him the benefit of the doubt, he backed down a little. Now, a bit of background on myself: I am NOBODY’S doormat. I can be very tolerant, and joke around with the best of them, but the minute you start treating me like my opinions, the things I do or what I say are meaningless and (for lack of a better word) stupid – well, to put it bluntly, you can go fuck yourself.
It seems Mr. Cop may have some inferiority issues, based on the fact that he seems bound and determined to make sure I know just how wealthy he is, how EVERYBODY loves him, and how (since he works in the city EVERY DAY) he knows infinitely more than I do about Chicago, and basically every other subject. Case in point: as we were chatting on the phone, I was on my way to pick up a pizza. I told him this, and he asked “From where?” When I told him from Lou Malnati’s, his response was, “Their pizza SUCKS.” Ok, for any of you who know Chicago pizza at all, this is obviously not true. Although, I can respect his opinion, so I was like, “I don’t think so, and neither does my daughter. WE like Lou’s.” HIS response? “Well, you OBVIOUSLY know NOTHING about pizza, especially since you’re not Italian. They have the CRAPPIEST pizza in the world.” This was punctuated by a laugh, which I wasn’t quite sure was meant to indicate “don’t worry, I’m just joking around” or “God you are SO pathetic.” In any case, I dropped it, and the conversation ended shortly after. When I told my friend about this exchange, she said I should have replied, “Well, it’s OBVIOUS you know a LOT about pizza, FATASS.” And yes, I did think that was pretty funny, but not nice at all. Especially referring back (again) to my Plus Size blog. (But did I mention how funny that would’ve been??)
The jury is still out on Mr. Cop, though, I will give him another chance to redeem himself. Next time I talk to him, if he starts that shit, I will tell him point-blank that homey don’t play that. And if he doesn’t like it – whatever. Adios, amigo. Maybe I’ll refer him to almost Mrs. Dentist. After all, it’s not like she hasn’t dumped one fiancée for a better prospect before.
I swear, this whole dating crap is EXHAUSTING. Where’s the happy medium?? On one hand, I’ve got Mr. South Side, who is very nice, but can’t carry on a conversation to save his life and on the other hand, I have Mr. Cop who has PLENTY to say, but may be saying a bit more than I need to hear. See, for those of you who care, THIS is why I don’t put myself “out there,” it gives me a headache. No, scratch that, it gives me a flipping MIGRAINE. And yet here I sit, wondering if I got any other responses from my venture into online dating. It can’t get any worse, can it??
Happy weekend, everyone. Back on Monday. And EJ – make sure you don’t let me down this time.
I spoke to him again yesterday afternoon, (twice, actually) and all of a sudden he went from funny as hell to condescending and rude. And he thought nothing of it. I believe his ACTUAL words were, “It’s all about me.” I tried to play it off and see if he was serious, and in giving him the benefit of the doubt, he backed down a little. Now, a bit of background on myself: I am NOBODY’S doormat. I can be very tolerant, and joke around with the best of them, but the minute you start treating me like my opinions, the things I do or what I say are meaningless and (for lack of a better word) stupid – well, to put it bluntly, you can go fuck yourself.
It seems Mr. Cop may have some inferiority issues, based on the fact that he seems bound and determined to make sure I know just how wealthy he is, how EVERYBODY loves him, and how (since he works in the city EVERY DAY) he knows infinitely more than I do about Chicago, and basically every other subject. Case in point: as we were chatting on the phone, I was on my way to pick up a pizza. I told him this, and he asked “From where?” When I told him from Lou Malnati’s, his response was, “Their pizza SUCKS.” Ok, for any of you who know Chicago pizza at all, this is obviously not true. Although, I can respect his opinion, so I was like, “I don’t think so, and neither does my daughter. WE like Lou’s.” HIS response? “Well, you OBVIOUSLY know NOTHING about pizza, especially since you’re not Italian. They have the CRAPPIEST pizza in the world.” This was punctuated by a laugh, which I wasn’t quite sure was meant to indicate “don’t worry, I’m just joking around” or “God you are SO pathetic.” In any case, I dropped it, and the conversation ended shortly after. When I told my friend about this exchange, she said I should have replied, “Well, it’s OBVIOUS you know a LOT about pizza, FATASS.” And yes, I did think that was pretty funny, but not nice at all. Especially referring back (again) to my Plus Size blog. (But did I mention how funny that would’ve been??)
The jury is still out on Mr. Cop, though, I will give him another chance to redeem himself. Next time I talk to him, if he starts that shit, I will tell him point-blank that homey don’t play that. And if he doesn’t like it – whatever. Adios, amigo. Maybe I’ll refer him to almost Mrs. Dentist. After all, it’s not like she hasn’t dumped one fiancée for a better prospect before.
I swear, this whole dating crap is EXHAUSTING. Where’s the happy medium?? On one hand, I’ve got Mr. South Side, who is very nice, but can’t carry on a conversation to save his life and on the other hand, I have Mr. Cop who has PLENTY to say, but may be saying a bit more than I need to hear. See, for those of you who care, THIS is why I don’t put myself “out there,” it gives me a headache. No, scratch that, it gives me a flipping MIGRAINE. And yet here I sit, wondering if I got any other responses from my venture into online dating. It can’t get any worse, can it??
Happy weekend, everyone. Back on Monday. And EJ – make sure you don’t let me down this time.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
The New Guy
Ok, EJ, time to annoy my brother again. Since I’m sure you’ll see him at softball tonight (good luck, by the way) (as if that will help you sorry bunch of -- oops, my bad. I meant to just stop the paraphrase after “good luck”) and I am equally sure he won’t read this before then, you can update him on his sister’s love life. Which I know really gets under his skin. And I think is really funny.
I still haven’t officially gotten rid of Mr. South Side, but in the meantime, I have met Mr. Cop. This guy is great. We talked on the phone yesterday at lunch, and met after work for a couple drinks. He is very outgoing, and funny as hell. Unlike South Side, Cop can carry on a conversation. Initially, (I am ashamed to admit considering yesterday’s blog) I was a bit caught off guard by his size. Very large. VERY large. But I realized that after spending most of my life dating pretty boys who turned out to be assholes, it was time to start looking at the whole package.
So I walk into the place and we clicked right away. He is actually abrasive as hell, but in a weird way it is a good thing for someone like me. Sarcasm is something I enjoy and use more than your average joe. And the fact that this guy was able to dish it out AND take it really interested me. He also is into 80’s music (which I know will annoy my brother even more), and therefore will not freak out when I tell him I enjoy listening to Winger or Poison or Def Leppard. (It actually made him even more interested in me.) He seemed to know most of the staff at the place we were at, and they treated him well. Apparently, he is a big spender too. (Ha! Soon-to-Be Mrs. Dentist downstairs, eat your heart out!!) As well as being a county cop whose main job is serving warrants (i.e. breaking in doors and hauling in the bad guys – cool), he also owns a property management company.
We spent a couple hours hanging out (and this time that phrase is to be taken literally – no innuendos today!) and finally I had to go pick up Roxy at 9:45. He did an admirable job of trying to convince me to stay out longer, but I stuck to my guns. Mostly because I was tired, too. As much as I enjoyed the company, I’m still not used to being out on a weeknight. (Yes, I am a loser!!) So, he walked me to my car (very gentlemanly), kissed me goodnight (MUCH better than South Side) and when I said “Call me tomorrow,” he replied “Try to stop me.”
I talked to him at lunch again, and he still makes me laugh. This time, though, I will NOT overanalyze. I’ll just go along for the ride and see what happens. For now, I am really enjoying him on a personal level, and that kiss showed definite promise…
As far as South Side goes, I guess sooner or later I’ll have to let him down easy. Or maybe I can just not return calls and act so disinterested that eventually HE dumps ME. That way I can save his ego and not have to deal with any drama. I haven’t decided yet.
Funny thing is, the girl I work with asked me if I had told either of these guys about my blog. HELL NO!! How can I write about someone if they know about it? (With the exception of my brother, of course) Although since I thrive on approval and compliments, I may eventually tell the guy I decide to stay with… of course, this won’t happen until AFTER I delete some old blogs… heh heh heh.
Don’t worry – I’ll keep you posted!
I still haven’t officially gotten rid of Mr. South Side, but in the meantime, I have met Mr. Cop. This guy is great. We talked on the phone yesterday at lunch, and met after work for a couple drinks. He is very outgoing, and funny as hell. Unlike South Side, Cop can carry on a conversation. Initially, (I am ashamed to admit considering yesterday’s blog) I was a bit caught off guard by his size. Very large. VERY large. But I realized that after spending most of my life dating pretty boys who turned out to be assholes, it was time to start looking at the whole package.
So I walk into the place and we clicked right away. He is actually abrasive as hell, but in a weird way it is a good thing for someone like me. Sarcasm is something I enjoy and use more than your average joe. And the fact that this guy was able to dish it out AND take it really interested me. He also is into 80’s music (which I know will annoy my brother even more), and therefore will not freak out when I tell him I enjoy listening to Winger or Poison or Def Leppard. (It actually made him even more interested in me.) He seemed to know most of the staff at the place we were at, and they treated him well. Apparently, he is a big spender too. (Ha! Soon-to-Be Mrs. Dentist downstairs, eat your heart out!!) As well as being a county cop whose main job is serving warrants (i.e. breaking in doors and hauling in the bad guys – cool), he also owns a property management company.
We spent a couple hours hanging out (and this time that phrase is to be taken literally – no innuendos today!) and finally I had to go pick up Roxy at 9:45. He did an admirable job of trying to convince me to stay out longer, but I stuck to my guns. Mostly because I was tired, too. As much as I enjoyed the company, I’m still not used to being out on a weeknight. (Yes, I am a loser!!) So, he walked me to my car (very gentlemanly), kissed me goodnight (MUCH better than South Side) and when I said “Call me tomorrow,” he replied “Try to stop me.”
I talked to him at lunch again, and he still makes me laugh. This time, though, I will NOT overanalyze. I’ll just go along for the ride and see what happens. For now, I am really enjoying him on a personal level, and that kiss showed definite promise…
As far as South Side goes, I guess sooner or later I’ll have to let him down easy. Or maybe I can just not return calls and act so disinterested that eventually HE dumps ME. That way I can save his ego and not have to deal with any drama. I haven’t decided yet.
Funny thing is, the girl I work with asked me if I had told either of these guys about my blog. HELL NO!! How can I write about someone if they know about it? (With the exception of my brother, of course) Although since I thrive on approval and compliments, I may eventually tell the guy I decide to stay with… of course, this won’t happen until AFTER I delete some old blogs… heh heh heh.
Don’t worry – I’ll keep you posted!
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Plus-Size Ponderings
So the other night I was watching “Queer Eye” (which is a vastly entertaining show, as long as you don’t over-watch it) and they helped this 20-something guy in NY who recently lost about 100 lbs. The thing is, this guy was trying to get back into dating, and was pretty bitter about the fact that he was getting a lot of attention from women NOW, since he lost the weight. He wanted to know where these women were when he was heavier, since he was still the same person on the inside then as he was now. Well, the Fab Five pointed out that he probably wouldn’t seek out overweight women either, and that he should get over it. After a brief moment of reflection, the guy conceded that he probably wouldn’t hit on an overweight woman either in the past OR now.
Then I turn on one of my favorite shows, “Rescue Me.” One of the subplots of this show is one where one of the young studly firemen starts dating an attractive yet overweight woman. He catches a lot of shit from the other guys in the firehouse for this, because even though she is a great person, all the men seem to notice is her weight. Fat jokes abound in the FDNY. But the best joke of all is when she dumps the stud, and he realizes that he really does love her. Even though the guys keep making fun of her. (Unfortunately, now he is losing it and stalking her, and I’m not sure I like where this is headed.) I especially like the part where he says to her “But what about the sex?? It was AMAZING, right?? I mean, we really were great in bed!” and she tells him, “No, not really. It was just ok, Mike. Get over yourself.”
Anyway, the point I am making here is that being overweight SUCKS. Because no matter where you look, people are assholes about it. Whether it’s snickering behind someone’s back or using the old “She’s got a GREAT personality” line, people are constantly downing people (women, especially) for not being rail thin or athletically toned. Now, although I haven’t always been overweight, I definitely am now. I’m not sure when or how it happened, but somewhere in the ten years between having my daughter and now, several parts of my body have grown WAY out of proportion to the rest of me. I have been working my ass off (obviously not very well, though, it is still there) four to five times a week at Curves and trying to cut back on my food intake, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever look the way society deems necessary to be accepted as a “not-overweight” person.
When I was younger, I was always thin. Actually, I was average. I was tall (still am, obviously) and because back then kids actually stayed active, I never really gained too much weight. In high school, like most girls, I obsessed about my weight. Even though I was nowhere near overweight, I panicked that I was (gasp) fat because a lot of my friends looked anorexic. Looking back, I realize that I would KILL to have that body again right now. Anyway, I still did nothing extreme to lose weight. In college, I gained the “freshman 15” (or maybe 20) due to pizzas and beer being the staple of my diet. But, being tall, it wasn’t that noticeable. It actually put some curves in places I was glad to have – after all, I wasn’t a kid anymore. Then slowly the weight started creeping up on me.
I think genetically, I am predisposed to storing my fat in my lower half – a guy once told me (trying to be nice, I think) that I looked great sitting at the bar, until I stood up. Pear-shaped, I think you’d call it. Anyway, this was BAD. For the first time in my life, I really started to worry about weight – and for the first time, I actually had good reason to worry. But just in the nick of time, I discovered the ultimate diet and lost a TON of weight pretty quick.
Yes, folks, it’s the crack diet. Kirstie Alley joked about it on “Fat Actress,” but it really does work. The years I spent abusing my body with illegal substances I lost so much weight it was scary. Considering the fact that I NEVER ate, drank only water, and walked everywhere I had to go since I had no car, it wasn’t surprising. Of course, I wouldn’t recommend this diet to anyone. Unless you want to look like Skeletor from the old He-Man cartoons. Or have a death wish. (In which case you won’t need to be thin anyway)
So, once I kicked the habit and again joined the ranks of productive society, guess what happened?? You got it! Slowly the weight came creeping back. I really didn’t think I was eating abnormal amounts of food or anything, but apparently if you starve yourself for a couple years and then start eating normally, your body stores up the food just in case you get stupid and starve yourself again. (I really wish my body would stop it already, I mean, it’s been ten years and I haven’t even come CLOSE to starving again!!)
At first, I convinced myself I was just “getting healthy” again. Because really, I looked like one of Sally Struther’s charity cases for a while. Then I started ignoring the numbers on the scale. Because they pissed me off. Then I decided that the size number doesn’t matter anyway, because who sees them but me?? Finally, I got depressed over the whole thing when I looked in the mirror and realized that I was a far cry from the thin babe I used to be.
Like I said, though, I have been working out. Very seriously now, for about the last six months or so. I can’t do a no carb or no fat diet, because I am a picky eater and would die without certain foods. So I try to just limit, and it’s going pretty well, I think. I’m not a size 10 yet, and I’m really not sure if I’ll ever have a flat stomach or a butt that won’t excite the black men (the bigger the better to them), but I’m trying. At this point, I’ll be happy to just not GAIN anything else.
I know I am not the only one in the world who is overweight, and I am really sick of people being assholes about it. Believe it or not, metabolism DOES affect weight, as does genetics. Sure, I may not have been a triathelete, and therefore my body may have plenty of muscles that aren’t frequently used and therefore not “toned” enough, but I’m trying. I’m sick and tired of people thinking fat equals lazy or that people who are overweight deserve to be that way. And I’m sick of men turning from an intelligent, attractive overweight woman to drool over a pencil thin bubblehead. Society will continue to promote this anorexic look, and people will forget about the Rubenesque Era where curves were beautiful, and they will raise their eyebrows in shock when you tell them that Marilyn Monroe, the “perfect sex goddess” was a size 14. But I’m here to tell you that whether or not I lose another 20 pounds, I’m happy with who I am.
And I hope that someday it won’t be so taboo to have a few extra pounds. As far as I’m concerned, it’s more of me to love.
Then I turn on one of my favorite shows, “Rescue Me.” One of the subplots of this show is one where one of the young studly firemen starts dating an attractive yet overweight woman. He catches a lot of shit from the other guys in the firehouse for this, because even though she is a great person, all the men seem to notice is her weight. Fat jokes abound in the FDNY. But the best joke of all is when she dumps the stud, and he realizes that he really does love her. Even though the guys keep making fun of her. (Unfortunately, now he is losing it and stalking her, and I’m not sure I like where this is headed.) I especially like the part where he says to her “But what about the sex?? It was AMAZING, right?? I mean, we really were great in bed!” and she tells him, “No, not really. It was just ok, Mike. Get over yourself.”
Anyway, the point I am making here is that being overweight SUCKS. Because no matter where you look, people are assholes about it. Whether it’s snickering behind someone’s back or using the old “She’s got a GREAT personality” line, people are constantly downing people (women, especially) for not being rail thin or athletically toned. Now, although I haven’t always been overweight, I definitely am now. I’m not sure when or how it happened, but somewhere in the ten years between having my daughter and now, several parts of my body have grown WAY out of proportion to the rest of me. I have been working my ass off (obviously not very well, though, it is still there) four to five times a week at Curves and trying to cut back on my food intake, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever look the way society deems necessary to be accepted as a “not-overweight” person.
When I was younger, I was always thin. Actually, I was average. I was tall (still am, obviously) and because back then kids actually stayed active, I never really gained too much weight. In high school, like most girls, I obsessed about my weight. Even though I was nowhere near overweight, I panicked that I was (gasp) fat because a lot of my friends looked anorexic. Looking back, I realize that I would KILL to have that body again right now. Anyway, I still did nothing extreme to lose weight. In college, I gained the “freshman 15” (or maybe 20) due to pizzas and beer being the staple of my diet. But, being tall, it wasn’t that noticeable. It actually put some curves in places I was glad to have – after all, I wasn’t a kid anymore. Then slowly the weight started creeping up on me.
I think genetically, I am predisposed to storing my fat in my lower half – a guy once told me (trying to be nice, I think) that I looked great sitting at the bar, until I stood up. Pear-shaped, I think you’d call it. Anyway, this was BAD. For the first time in my life, I really started to worry about weight – and for the first time, I actually had good reason to worry. But just in the nick of time, I discovered the ultimate diet and lost a TON of weight pretty quick.
Yes, folks, it’s the crack diet. Kirstie Alley joked about it on “Fat Actress,” but it really does work. The years I spent abusing my body with illegal substances I lost so much weight it was scary. Considering the fact that I NEVER ate, drank only water, and walked everywhere I had to go since I had no car, it wasn’t surprising. Of course, I wouldn’t recommend this diet to anyone. Unless you want to look like Skeletor from the old He-Man cartoons. Or have a death wish. (In which case you won’t need to be thin anyway)
So, once I kicked the habit and again joined the ranks of productive society, guess what happened?? You got it! Slowly the weight came creeping back. I really didn’t think I was eating abnormal amounts of food or anything, but apparently if you starve yourself for a couple years and then start eating normally, your body stores up the food just in case you get stupid and starve yourself again. (I really wish my body would stop it already, I mean, it’s been ten years and I haven’t even come CLOSE to starving again!!)
At first, I convinced myself I was just “getting healthy” again. Because really, I looked like one of Sally Struther’s charity cases for a while. Then I started ignoring the numbers on the scale. Because they pissed me off. Then I decided that the size number doesn’t matter anyway, because who sees them but me?? Finally, I got depressed over the whole thing when I looked in the mirror and realized that I was a far cry from the thin babe I used to be.
Like I said, though, I have been working out. Very seriously now, for about the last six months or so. I can’t do a no carb or no fat diet, because I am a picky eater and would die without certain foods. So I try to just limit, and it’s going pretty well, I think. I’m not a size 10 yet, and I’m really not sure if I’ll ever have a flat stomach or a butt that won’t excite the black men (the bigger the better to them), but I’m trying. At this point, I’ll be happy to just not GAIN anything else.
I know I am not the only one in the world who is overweight, and I am really sick of people being assholes about it. Believe it or not, metabolism DOES affect weight, as does genetics. Sure, I may not have been a triathelete, and therefore my body may have plenty of muscles that aren’t frequently used and therefore not “toned” enough, but I’m trying. I’m sick and tired of people thinking fat equals lazy or that people who are overweight deserve to be that way. And I’m sick of men turning from an intelligent, attractive overweight woman to drool over a pencil thin bubblehead. Society will continue to promote this anorexic look, and people will forget about the Rubenesque Era where curves were beautiful, and they will raise their eyebrows in shock when you tell them that Marilyn Monroe, the “perfect sex goddess” was a size 14. But I’m here to tell you that whether or not I lose another 20 pounds, I’m happy with who I am.
And I hope that someday it won’t be so taboo to have a few extra pounds. As far as I’m concerned, it’s more of me to love.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
The Current Mindframe
Here’s hoping you all had a happy and safe 4th. Personally, my friend thinks I may have scarred my daughter, but I think she knew I was kidding. See, she asked during the fireworks how long they would last, and I told her either when the sun comes up, or the guy setting them off caught on fire – whichever came first. She didn’t really respond to that, and obviously they ended before the sun came up. I guess I need to learn that kids aren’t real good with some of my humor. Anyway.
I’m still up in the air about Mr. South Side. Haven’t seen him since last weekend, which is fine. But now I find myself getting upset with him if he doesn’t call when he says he will, or if he doesn’t sound happy enough to be talking to me. Which is ridiculous, since I’m not even sure if I want this to continue or not. I think this is why I have gotten so comfortable being single – I hate what happens to me when I am faced with relationship possibilities. I tend to turn into someone I don’t even know, and frankly, don’t really like too much, either. Skittish? Maybe. Overanalytical? Definitely. Psychotic? Well, I won’t ADMIT to that…
I really don’t remember being this way when I was younger, maybe because back then I didn’t really care too much about the long-term. And even though I’m not actively looking for a potential husband (God forbid), I do have to remember that as I get older, there are less and less fish in that big ole sea out there. Which, I think, is what freaks me out. Or not. Who the hell knows? To be honest, I have absolutely NO idea what the hell I am doing or why I play these stupid mind games with myself (which, unlike solitaire, I really can’t cheat at), all I can figure is that maybe deep down I am a masochist and am enjoying this whole process in some warped way. And, of course, hanging out. If I give up entirely, no more hanging out.
Then, just to mix it up a little bit, I had a very funky dream last night. This dream starred moi (of course), Joe Perry (who is my fantasy person to hang out with), and my ex, Kevin (from my miniseries). Before you all get ahead of yourselves, there was NO kinky threesome going on in this dream, I think there was a lot of symbolism, though. I was working for Aerosmith, and Joe handed me a stack of glossies to autograph for him to send out to fans. He asked me to do about 500. It kind of pissed me off, I mean, I wasn’t even sure how HE signed his name, so I asked him to sign one or two to show me. He made a big production of it, like I was really bothering him. Then he left, leaving me with all these stupid pictures. But instead of signing them, I went to his house and met his wife and daughter. Then their doorbell rang, and there was Kevin, standing on their front steps with a delivery. I was really surprised to see him, and told him we needed to talk. He told me I shouldn’t want him, that I needed someone more intellectual. I insisted that it was HIM I wanted, and asked him if he was clean (yes), if he was going back to school (yes) and if he had a job (obviously yes). So he came inside, and Joe Perry’s wife told me they were going out of town for the weekend, and Kevin and I could use their house to get reacquainted (Apparently Joe didn’t fire me for not signing the pics). All I can guess from this dream is that I am more F***ed up than I realized. Or that black cherry Smirnoff Twisted V’s really mess with my brain.
I did get a couple interesting e-mails from my internet dating venture – although I’m not sure how wise it would be to start adding more drama to my life right now. Oh, what the hell? At least I can’t say my life has been boring, right? And maybe at the very least I can make some new friends (although there’s nothing wrong with my old ones, of course). Anyway, I know I have been all over the place in today’s blog, but that’s kind of my mind frame at the moment. Hope you made some sense out of all this, or at least got a good laugh from my insanity. Until tomorrow then (or later, whenever I next feel inspired)!
I’m still up in the air about Mr. South Side. Haven’t seen him since last weekend, which is fine. But now I find myself getting upset with him if he doesn’t call when he says he will, or if he doesn’t sound happy enough to be talking to me. Which is ridiculous, since I’m not even sure if I want this to continue or not. I think this is why I have gotten so comfortable being single – I hate what happens to me when I am faced with relationship possibilities. I tend to turn into someone I don’t even know, and frankly, don’t really like too much, either. Skittish? Maybe. Overanalytical? Definitely. Psychotic? Well, I won’t ADMIT to that…
I really don’t remember being this way when I was younger, maybe because back then I didn’t really care too much about the long-term. And even though I’m not actively looking for a potential husband (God forbid), I do have to remember that as I get older, there are less and less fish in that big ole sea out there. Which, I think, is what freaks me out. Or not. Who the hell knows? To be honest, I have absolutely NO idea what the hell I am doing or why I play these stupid mind games with myself (which, unlike solitaire, I really can’t cheat at), all I can figure is that maybe deep down I am a masochist and am enjoying this whole process in some warped way. And, of course, hanging out. If I give up entirely, no more hanging out.
Then, just to mix it up a little bit, I had a very funky dream last night. This dream starred moi (of course), Joe Perry (who is my fantasy person to hang out with), and my ex, Kevin (from my miniseries). Before you all get ahead of yourselves, there was NO kinky threesome going on in this dream, I think there was a lot of symbolism, though. I was working for Aerosmith, and Joe handed me a stack of glossies to autograph for him to send out to fans. He asked me to do about 500. It kind of pissed me off, I mean, I wasn’t even sure how HE signed his name, so I asked him to sign one or two to show me. He made a big production of it, like I was really bothering him. Then he left, leaving me with all these stupid pictures. But instead of signing them, I went to his house and met his wife and daughter. Then their doorbell rang, and there was Kevin, standing on their front steps with a delivery. I was really surprised to see him, and told him we needed to talk. He told me I shouldn’t want him, that I needed someone more intellectual. I insisted that it was HIM I wanted, and asked him if he was clean (yes), if he was going back to school (yes) and if he had a job (obviously yes). So he came inside, and Joe Perry’s wife told me they were going out of town for the weekend, and Kevin and I could use their house to get reacquainted (Apparently Joe didn’t fire me for not signing the pics). All I can guess from this dream is that I am more F***ed up than I realized. Or that black cherry Smirnoff Twisted V’s really mess with my brain.
I did get a couple interesting e-mails from my internet dating venture – although I’m not sure how wise it would be to start adding more drama to my life right now. Oh, what the hell? At least I can’t say my life has been boring, right? And maybe at the very least I can make some new friends (although there’s nothing wrong with my old ones, of course). Anyway, I know I have been all over the place in today’s blog, but that’s kind of my mind frame at the moment. Hope you made some sense out of all this, or at least got a good laugh from my insanity. Until tomorrow then (or later, whenever I next feel inspired)!
Friday, July 01, 2005
To Sue or Not to Sue
Sometimes I just really wonder about people. I just had a little old lady call me here at the office asking me if we would handle her case. Apparently she ordered some shoes through the mail, and when she received them, she put them on to wear around the house. You know, to break them in. Anyway, according to her, when she took off the shoes, her one foot was all bloody and the toenail on her big toe was coming off. She told me she went to her doctor right away, and he put her in the hospital immediately. She claims they may have to amputate her toe. I asked her if there was something in the shoe, or if it was defective in some way... her answer? "No, nothing like that, dear. They were just a little too small."
Now you know why I love my job.
What makes people think that they can sue anyone for anything?? Sigh. Sometimes I really think that money IS the root of all evil. (I wouldn't know personally, since I don't have too much myself) But if the thought of getting rich quick can make a sweet little old lady try to sue a shoe company for her own choice to order the wrong size shoes, God knows what it can do to the really warped people. Wait, yes, I do know, because I DEAL WITH THEM EVERY DAY.
There was also the guy who wanted to sue the owner of the bar he was in, a premises liability case (supposedly). THIS guy said that he fell in the bar and hit his forehead on the pool table, splitting open his forehead and requiring several staples to repair it. I asked him if he had been drinking, since being impaired may affect his potential claim. His response? "Of course! It was quarter beer night!" Then I asked him how he tripped. He said he came back from the bathroom and tripped over a pool cue that was lying on the floor near the pool table. (Ok, possible liability here... management shouldn't leave pool cues lying around... give the guy the benefit of the doubt...) Was this pool cue in plain sight of the bartender, if the bartender happened to look that way? Yes. Now comes the payoff question (and answer) - does he know how the pool cue got there? Yup. He set it there before he went to the bathroom and forgot about it. Case closed.
People, do me a favor. Hire a lawyer if you have a legitimate claim. But you can't sue someone for your own stupidity. And if you have to question whether or not your injury was caused by stupidity - it probably was, so DON'T CALL A LAWYER. You will wind up on someone's blog looking like an idiot.
God bless America - and Happy Fourth. I'll be back on Tuesday.
Now you know why I love my job.
What makes people think that they can sue anyone for anything?? Sigh. Sometimes I really think that money IS the root of all evil. (I wouldn't know personally, since I don't have too much myself) But if the thought of getting rich quick can make a sweet little old lady try to sue a shoe company for her own choice to order the wrong size shoes, God knows what it can do to the really warped people. Wait, yes, I do know, because I DEAL WITH THEM EVERY DAY.
There was also the guy who wanted to sue the owner of the bar he was in, a premises liability case (supposedly). THIS guy said that he fell in the bar and hit his forehead on the pool table, splitting open his forehead and requiring several staples to repair it. I asked him if he had been drinking, since being impaired may affect his potential claim. His response? "Of course! It was quarter beer night!" Then I asked him how he tripped. He said he came back from the bathroom and tripped over a pool cue that was lying on the floor near the pool table. (Ok, possible liability here... management shouldn't leave pool cues lying around... give the guy the benefit of the doubt...) Was this pool cue in plain sight of the bartender, if the bartender happened to look that way? Yes. Now comes the payoff question (and answer) - does he know how the pool cue got there? Yup. He set it there before he went to the bathroom and forgot about it. Case closed.
People, do me a favor. Hire a lawyer if you have a legitimate claim. But you can't sue someone for your own stupidity. And if you have to question whether or not your injury was caused by stupidity - it probably was, so DON'T CALL A LAWYER. You will wind up on someone's blog looking like an idiot.
God bless America - and Happy Fourth. I'll be back on Tuesday.
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