Now that I am sufficiently sober again (actually, I was sober again on Sunday, but I had no time to blog until now) I can write about what I want to. All that babble about being noncommittal? Possibly true, but not something I feel like discussing now. Maybe later. And just to clarify - no, I did NOT get business cards printed out with my blog address on them. I am WAY too cheap to do that. I did, however, write my blog address on several of the thousand leftover business cards from my days as a Tastefully Simple consultant. The original plan was to give them to the friends who seem to have a hard time remembering anything starting out "www," but as the drinks flowed I was basically passing them out to whoever happened to stop by our table. (I may have even left a few on the table after I left, come to think of it...) Now, I did not do this because I am some kind of freakish egomaniac, I did it because I really enjoy it when people read my work. Simply (and very cornily -is "cornily" a word? Now it is...) put, it makes me happy to see my statcounter numbers rise. AND - "TBOTE?" You, my faithful readers, are the sole input and critique I have on what could possibly be my ticket out of Hell someday. Plus, unlike when I write JUST for myself, I feel an obligation to add chapters on a fairly regular basis. This is very very good - because I have a nasty habit of leaving things unfinished.
So anyway. I also wanted to apologize to all the bloggers I have linked on my site. I have been sorely lacking in the comment department, and I want to assure you all that this is not because I haven't been reading. If you are linked on my site, I read your blog daily. And obviously enjoy it, or I wouldn't bother. I am too old and set in my ways to do things I don't enjoy (except work, of course, and I am trying hard to get out of that as well...). I appreciate the comments I receive, and promise to work harder on sharing my thoughts on yours. I haven't forgotten any of you, my cyber-buddies, so once again, I reiterate my humble desire to be forgiven for my lackadaisical attitude toward commenting.
Finally - to all of you out there who are reading because you found this site by accident, or you found a business card with the blog address on it, or you took a chance and checked out a link from someone else's blog - thank you for stopping by. And I hope I can hold your attention - for a while, at least.
So that's about all I've got for tonight. More fun filled posts to come, and more TBOTE (very soon). AND - more comments from yours truly. I PROMISE.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Nonsense...
So what do I do now? Now that I've handed out cards with my blog address to both friends and strangers alike tonight? Do I write about how much fun I had and fill the post with funny anectdotes about the evening or do I continue to be true to myself and write about how I TRULY feel? Either way, it obviously isn't going to happen tonight, since the alcohol in my system isn't allowing me to type properly... so maybe sleeping on it will help me to organize my thoughts. In short - I DID have a great time tonight... good friends, good buzz, good laughs... but on a deeper level, once again, I am left to ponder my own state of affairs... another friend getting married, for the second time... while I remain single - albeit by choice. Is there something about me that just screams "NONCOMMITTAL" or am I just that undesirable???
Between my last post, which honestly took a lot out of me emotionally, and the party tonight, I honestly think that I need some time to analyze my personal thoughts and organize then into a proper post. Now obviously isn't the right time, since I can still feel the alcohol buzzing in my head and I am continuously backspacing to correct my spelling errors. Maybe tomorrow I will once again be able to put my thoughts onto paper - or post them into cyberspace, as the case may be, but for now, I will go to bed and try to make sense of the jumble in my brain...
Between my last post, which honestly took a lot out of me emotionally, and the party tonight, I honestly think that I need some time to analyze my personal thoughts and organize then into a proper post. Now obviously isn't the right time, since I can still feel the alcohol buzzing in my head and I am continuously backspacing to correct my spelling errors. Maybe tomorrow I will once again be able to put my thoughts onto paper - or post them into cyberspace, as the case may be, but for now, I will go to bed and try to make sense of the jumble in my brain...
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 22
Shelley tried to talk to me about Kevin but I shut her down completely. “He changed his mind, and I don’t want to talk about it,” I informed her. And I took a long chug from my beer.
The party was loud and the room was electric. I moved from person to person, socializing more with my coworkers in that one night than I had since my first day on the job. I forgot about Kevin, and concentrated on me. I was wearing my light blue jeans (with a belt holding them up since I had lost so much weight) and a soft pink fuzzy sweater that whose V went just low enough to suggest, but not low enough to broadcast. I had my hair down from the usual ponytail I wore at work, and had put on just enough makeup to hide the shadows under my eyes and add some healthy color. The beer was buzzing in my head as I laughed and flirted and thoroughly enjoyed myself.
“Dasi, come on, I’ll take you home,” Shelley urged as I grabbed another beer.
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m having fun. Screw Kevin, I don’t need him. Leave if you want, but I’m staying.”
“Hey, Dasi, don’t leave yet! It’s early!” One of the hosts from the restaurant, Jesus, put his arm around me with a laugh.
“See, Shelley, I’ll be fine. Jesus will take care of me,” I slurred, feeling the beer more and more every minute. I wasn’t used to drinking so much, but I also didn’t want to stop. It was making the painful memories of Kevin’s apathy blur around the edges. If he didn’t care, then neither did I. I could have fun without him. I didn’t need him.
Shelley sighed, then gave me a hug. “Just be careful. And slow down with the drinking. You’ll regret it in the morning,” she warned.
I just laughed. I didn’t care anymore, didn’t care, didn’t care. I watched her leave, and turned around to mingle some more. As I did, I lost my balance and stumbled.
“Whoa!” Jesus said as he grabbed my arm to catch me. “Are you ok?”
I straightened up and blinked. The room suddenly seemed too crowded, too loud. My head was spinning and I was having a hard time focusing. “I think so,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just sit down for a minute.”
I weaved over to one of the long tables that was unoccupied, and collapsed into a folding chair. I laid my head in my arms on the table and took several long, deep breaths. “Hey, Dasi, you look a little green – you ok?”
I looked up. It was Angelo, the infamous singing waiter. I was actually beginning to feel a little less queasy, and I smiled at him valiantly. “Just taking a little break,” I informed him. “Can you get me another beer?”
Angelo laughed and obliged. Two minutes later, I was nursing yet another malt beverage, determined to keep having fun and show Kevin once and for all. A few more people came over and talked to me, but I was beginning to fade. It was like I was there, but I wasn’t – the faces and the voices and the music all blended together and started spinning in my head until I couldn’t even focus. I started to stand up, to excuse myself, and found Jesus helping me.
“Come on, Dasi, some friends and I are going to leave. We’re gonna get some shit and have a real party. You wanna come?” he said, already steering me toward the door.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Yeah. Let’s party. Maybe that will help…”
The thought of doing a hit caused my heart to start beating a little faster. I convinced myself that if I could just get one good hit, the spinning and the nausea and the confusion would stop. My body wasn’t used to the alcohol overload, and I was sure some coke would put me on an even keel. And I still didn’t want to go home to Kevin, especially not like this. One hit, just one, and I would straighten myself out and be able to go home and show Kevin how much fun I had without him.
Jesus had managed to get me my coat and put it over my shoulders. He walked me outside, where we were joined by a group of his friends. They all were speaking in Spanish, and I had no idea what they were saying.
“You wanna get high?” one of them said in accented English.
I nodded my head, barely able to keep my eyes open as Jesus held me up. “Yeah, just one, though, I need to go home.”
I heard laughter and got confused. What was so funny? I tried to focus, but allowed myself to be led by whoever it was that was now holding my arm. We walked in the cold for what seemed like forever, at one point crouching low next to a van. “Stay down! We gonna get something for you!” I did as I was told, but felt as though the whole experience was something I was watching rather than living. Finally, I was led up a flight of stairs and into an apartment.
Jesus helped me with my coat and sat me down in a chair. “Are you ok, Dasi?” he asked, this time with genuine concern.
I tried to focus on him as best I could and answered, “Sure,” with a weak smile.
The truth was, I felt sick to my stomach, dizzy, and confused. I wasn’t sure where I even was, and had no idea who any of Jesus’ friends were. I no longer even wanted to party, I just wanted to go home to Kevin, home to my bed. I had been stupid to act the way I did, overindulging to prove a point. To prove what? I thought to myself. That you can get drunk by yourself? Bravo.
I stood up on shaky legs and took a deep breath. “Thanks, Jesus, and thank your friends, but I really think I should go home now. I don’t feel so well.” I looked around. “Could you find my coat, please?”
Jesus nodded and walked away. I held onto the chair for support and tried to regain my composure. Loud Mexican music played in the apartment and assaulted my ears. The other men were speaking in Spanish and looking at me with lecherous grins, and I tried to smile and act nonchalant while I waited for Jesus to return.
One of the men came up to me and put his arm around my waist. He was taller than I was and had a menacing look in his eyes. “Hey, mamacita, come on and join us. Have a drink, loosen up.”
I tried to politely decline, explaining that Jesus was just getting me my coat and I really needed to get home.
“But you say you want to party,” he replied, tightening his grip. “We want to party, too.”
He turned to the others and rapidly said something in Spanish. One of the men got up and brought over a can of beer.
“Here, mamacita,” he said, holding out the can. “You need to relax. Have a drink. Have a big drink.”
I shook my head. “No, thank you,” I said nervously. “Really, I don’t want any more to drink, I just want to go home.”
I scanned the room for Jesus, but he was nowhere in sight. The beer can was thrust up to my mouth, and I could feel the liquid splashing my lips. I involuntarily drank from the can, opening my throat to what I thought was beer. But the beer had been emptied and replaced with tequila. I heard laughter as I felt the alcohol making its way back up my throat, and the strong arms that held me whisked me off to a bathroom. I retched and gagged and threw up over and over, while a strange man held my hair back and whispered in Spanish. When I had emptied my body of all that had been left in it, I felt weak and scared, and felt a tear making a path down my cheek.
“I want to go home,” I moaned.
“No, mamacita, you want to party. Remember? And it’s party time…”
He roughly dragged me into a dark room, and threw me on the floor. I could hear the music and the people outside the room talking and laughing, and I started to cry for real. “NO!” I yelled, as he came at me in the dark.
“Shut up, bitch,” he snarled, slapping me hard across the face.
I whimpered in pain, and struggled as hard as my weakened body would allow. I felt him pulling at my sweater, felt his hot breath on my skin, heard him muttering in Spanish. “No, no, no, no…” I sobbed, shaking my head from side to side. He ignored me.
I felt his hands moving down to my belt, and became more hysterical. “NO! STOP! HELP ME!” I screamed. He used his knees to pin my arms to the ground and hit me in the face over and over. “Shut up, bitch! Shut up, bitch! Shut up, bitch!”
I felt as though I was losing consciousness as he ripped open my jeans. I could taste blood in my mouth, and wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Crazily, I bucked and cried and tried to stop what I knew I couldn’t.
Just as he hit me another time, the door opened. I arched my neck and tried to see behind me as I screamed. There, in the glow of the open doorway, stood Jesus. I was crying uncontrollably and yelled, “JESUS! HELP ME! PLEASE!” Jesus stood frozen. He made no move in any direction. “Please, Jesus! He’s hurting me!” I begged.
The man yelled something in Spanish, and I watched in shock as Jesus took a step backwards out of the room and closed the door. I wanted to vomit as I realized that my only hope of escape had just literally shut the door on my pleas. My head pounded from fear and intoxication and the beating I had taken and I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and willed the nightmare to end. Jesus, I thought despondently, how could you just leave like that? I felt as though I was actually listening to the blood rushing in my head, and tried to concentrate on that rather on the unthinkable violation that I was unable to stop. And it was at that point, mercifully, that I blacked out.
The party was loud and the room was electric. I moved from person to person, socializing more with my coworkers in that one night than I had since my first day on the job. I forgot about Kevin, and concentrated on me. I was wearing my light blue jeans (with a belt holding them up since I had lost so much weight) and a soft pink fuzzy sweater that whose V went just low enough to suggest, but not low enough to broadcast. I had my hair down from the usual ponytail I wore at work, and had put on just enough makeup to hide the shadows under my eyes and add some healthy color. The beer was buzzing in my head as I laughed and flirted and thoroughly enjoyed myself.
“Dasi, come on, I’ll take you home,” Shelley urged as I grabbed another beer.
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m having fun. Screw Kevin, I don’t need him. Leave if you want, but I’m staying.”
“Hey, Dasi, don’t leave yet! It’s early!” One of the hosts from the restaurant, Jesus, put his arm around me with a laugh.
“See, Shelley, I’ll be fine. Jesus will take care of me,” I slurred, feeling the beer more and more every minute. I wasn’t used to drinking so much, but I also didn’t want to stop. It was making the painful memories of Kevin’s apathy blur around the edges. If he didn’t care, then neither did I. I could have fun without him. I didn’t need him.
Shelley sighed, then gave me a hug. “Just be careful. And slow down with the drinking. You’ll regret it in the morning,” she warned.
I just laughed. I didn’t care anymore, didn’t care, didn’t care. I watched her leave, and turned around to mingle some more. As I did, I lost my balance and stumbled.
“Whoa!” Jesus said as he grabbed my arm to catch me. “Are you ok?”
I straightened up and blinked. The room suddenly seemed too crowded, too loud. My head was spinning and I was having a hard time focusing. “I think so,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just sit down for a minute.”
I weaved over to one of the long tables that was unoccupied, and collapsed into a folding chair. I laid my head in my arms on the table and took several long, deep breaths. “Hey, Dasi, you look a little green – you ok?”
I looked up. It was Angelo, the infamous singing waiter. I was actually beginning to feel a little less queasy, and I smiled at him valiantly. “Just taking a little break,” I informed him. “Can you get me another beer?”
Angelo laughed and obliged. Two minutes later, I was nursing yet another malt beverage, determined to keep having fun and show Kevin once and for all. A few more people came over and talked to me, but I was beginning to fade. It was like I was there, but I wasn’t – the faces and the voices and the music all blended together and started spinning in my head until I couldn’t even focus. I started to stand up, to excuse myself, and found Jesus helping me.
“Come on, Dasi, some friends and I are going to leave. We’re gonna get some shit and have a real party. You wanna come?” he said, already steering me toward the door.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Yeah. Let’s party. Maybe that will help…”
The thought of doing a hit caused my heart to start beating a little faster. I convinced myself that if I could just get one good hit, the spinning and the nausea and the confusion would stop. My body wasn’t used to the alcohol overload, and I was sure some coke would put me on an even keel. And I still didn’t want to go home to Kevin, especially not like this. One hit, just one, and I would straighten myself out and be able to go home and show Kevin how much fun I had without him.
Jesus had managed to get me my coat and put it over my shoulders. He walked me outside, where we were joined by a group of his friends. They all were speaking in Spanish, and I had no idea what they were saying.
“You wanna get high?” one of them said in accented English.
I nodded my head, barely able to keep my eyes open as Jesus held me up. “Yeah, just one, though, I need to go home.”
I heard laughter and got confused. What was so funny? I tried to focus, but allowed myself to be led by whoever it was that was now holding my arm. We walked in the cold for what seemed like forever, at one point crouching low next to a van. “Stay down! We gonna get something for you!” I did as I was told, but felt as though the whole experience was something I was watching rather than living. Finally, I was led up a flight of stairs and into an apartment.
Jesus helped me with my coat and sat me down in a chair. “Are you ok, Dasi?” he asked, this time with genuine concern.
I tried to focus on him as best I could and answered, “Sure,” with a weak smile.
The truth was, I felt sick to my stomach, dizzy, and confused. I wasn’t sure where I even was, and had no idea who any of Jesus’ friends were. I no longer even wanted to party, I just wanted to go home to Kevin, home to my bed. I had been stupid to act the way I did, overindulging to prove a point. To prove what? I thought to myself. That you can get drunk by yourself? Bravo.
I stood up on shaky legs and took a deep breath. “Thanks, Jesus, and thank your friends, but I really think I should go home now. I don’t feel so well.” I looked around. “Could you find my coat, please?”
Jesus nodded and walked away. I held onto the chair for support and tried to regain my composure. Loud Mexican music played in the apartment and assaulted my ears. The other men were speaking in Spanish and looking at me with lecherous grins, and I tried to smile and act nonchalant while I waited for Jesus to return.
One of the men came up to me and put his arm around my waist. He was taller than I was and had a menacing look in his eyes. “Hey, mamacita, come on and join us. Have a drink, loosen up.”
I tried to politely decline, explaining that Jesus was just getting me my coat and I really needed to get home.
“But you say you want to party,” he replied, tightening his grip. “We want to party, too.”
He turned to the others and rapidly said something in Spanish. One of the men got up and brought over a can of beer.
“Here, mamacita,” he said, holding out the can. “You need to relax. Have a drink. Have a big drink.”
I shook my head. “No, thank you,” I said nervously. “Really, I don’t want any more to drink, I just want to go home.”
I scanned the room for Jesus, but he was nowhere in sight. The beer can was thrust up to my mouth, and I could feel the liquid splashing my lips. I involuntarily drank from the can, opening my throat to what I thought was beer. But the beer had been emptied and replaced with tequila. I heard laughter as I felt the alcohol making its way back up my throat, and the strong arms that held me whisked me off to a bathroom. I retched and gagged and threw up over and over, while a strange man held my hair back and whispered in Spanish. When I had emptied my body of all that had been left in it, I felt weak and scared, and felt a tear making a path down my cheek.
“I want to go home,” I moaned.
“No, mamacita, you want to party. Remember? And it’s party time…”
He roughly dragged me into a dark room, and threw me on the floor. I could hear the music and the people outside the room talking and laughing, and I started to cry for real. “NO!” I yelled, as he came at me in the dark.
“Shut up, bitch,” he snarled, slapping me hard across the face.
I whimpered in pain, and struggled as hard as my weakened body would allow. I felt him pulling at my sweater, felt his hot breath on my skin, heard him muttering in Spanish. “No, no, no, no…” I sobbed, shaking my head from side to side. He ignored me.
I felt his hands moving down to my belt, and became more hysterical. “NO! STOP! HELP ME!” I screamed. He used his knees to pin my arms to the ground and hit me in the face over and over. “Shut up, bitch! Shut up, bitch! Shut up, bitch!”
I felt as though I was losing consciousness as he ripped open my jeans. I could taste blood in my mouth, and wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Crazily, I bucked and cried and tried to stop what I knew I couldn’t.
Just as he hit me another time, the door opened. I arched my neck and tried to see behind me as I screamed. There, in the glow of the open doorway, stood Jesus. I was crying uncontrollably and yelled, “JESUS! HELP ME! PLEASE!” Jesus stood frozen. He made no move in any direction. “Please, Jesus! He’s hurting me!” I begged.
The man yelled something in Spanish, and I watched in shock as Jesus took a step backwards out of the room and closed the door. I wanted to vomit as I realized that my only hope of escape had just literally shut the door on my pleas. My head pounded from fear and intoxication and the beating I had taken and I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and willed the nightmare to end. Jesus, I thought despondently, how could you just leave like that? I felt as though I was actually listening to the blood rushing in my head, and tried to concentrate on that rather on the unthinkable violation that I was unable to stop. And it was at that point, mercifully, that I blacked out.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Update...
Yes, I know that many of you out there are probably thinking, “Gee, I wonder how Dasi is doing… I wonder if Satan found her blog and fired her or if she just went postal and ran out screaming or something… Or maybe he is better this week…” And then there are probably several of you who are just thinking, “I don’t really care about her job – there was no new Chapter last week, and I am PISSED.” Well, to all of you, I say this: First of all, I am better after having spent a relaxing weekend visiting my new nephew and attending yet another baby shower. Which is not to say I like my job any better. I have absolutely no fears that Satan will ever find (let alone read) my blog, since he is not that computer savvy. And really, even if he did, I would consider it divine intervention and not really care if he fired me. I kept my cool for the rest of that day, and am sitting here today trying to just avoid any interaction with him. I have about a zillion copies to make, so I figure that is good for at least an hour or two out of his line of fire. He hasn’t yelled or condescended yet today, although it IS only 10:30. So who knows. And as for the next Chapter of “TBOTE,” I realize there has been a longer than usual intermission, and I apologize. If I had any sense at all, I would stay up until 3 am every night writing chapters just so I could finish and get the hell out of here… but the creative process is sometimes slow.
Yeah, bull. The creative process is actually stuck. Because Satan rattled me so much last week, I had a hard time focusing. But I will soon, I promise. Either today or tomorrow. I pretty much already have it written in my head – so I just have to wait for the opportunity to transfer it into blog form…! Anyway – that is the brief update for those of you who care. I really appreciate all the sympathy and support – I believe there will be another blog in the near future about why I feel TRAPPED in this job even though Satan is like the biggest asshole in the world. Believe it or not, there are good things about my job. And it’s not even the job or the clients or my coworkers I hate – only Satan. Anyway, I think I’ll go make copies now.
Yeah, bull. The creative process is actually stuck. Because Satan rattled me so much last week, I had a hard time focusing. But I will soon, I promise. Either today or tomorrow. I pretty much already have it written in my head – so I just have to wait for the opportunity to transfer it into blog form…! Anyway – that is the brief update for those of you who care. I really appreciate all the sympathy and support – I believe there will be another blog in the near future about why I feel TRAPPED in this job even though Satan is like the biggest asshole in the world. Believe it or not, there are good things about my job. And it’s not even the job or the clients or my coworkers I hate – only Satan. Anyway, I think I’ll go make copies now.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
I STILL Hate Satan
Perfect. JUST FUCKING PERFECT. I realize that normally I keep this blog “family friendly” and refrain from actually typing curse words in their entirety, but today, believe me, I need to use the word FUCK. Because I am stressed out, pissed off, and need to vent. Or else I think I may cause an aneurysm.
My co-worker had been out sick for the last two days, leaving me to fend for myself with Satan. No biggie, I’ve done it before. But he has been a TOTAL FUCKING ASSHOLE both days. And there is ABSOLUTELY NO CHANGE TODAY. M is back in the office, and for whatever reason, he is treating her like a fucking queen, and me like the red-headed stepchild. And to top it off, she just got flowers delivered from a client. Like I said, JUST FUCKING PERFECT.
For the last two days (three, including today) I have gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the sarcasm dripping from Satan’s mouth when he spoke to me. Or should I say AT me, since he really doesn’t EVER speak TO anyone. I TRIED to not get upset when he condescendingly told me I “didn’t know what I was doing” yesterday because I failed to ask a potential client whether the moldy trailer he got sick in was actually OWNED by the building company he worked for. Wait – actually I DID ask him that, but when I told Satan ‘yes,’ he condescendingly said “Are you SURE? Because you know, SOMETIMES they are contracted out.” I told him, yes, he told me it was owned by the company, and he gave me the “you-are-such-a-stupid-pathetic-girl-and-I-am-SO-SUPERIOR” look, not saying a word, just staring, until I finally mumbled, “ok, so I’ll ask again” which is when he decided to lecture me (much like a small child) on how I shouldn’t pretend to know what I am doing, when I OBVIOUSLY don’t. Dismissed.
Back to the potential, who told me (again) that yes, the trailer was owned by the company, NOT contracted out. I reported this back to Satan, who was like “Ok, whatever. Tell him I’ll call him back.”
That was yesterday. The day before was just basically dumping file after file on my desk, having me do work that he suddenly decided had to be done IMMEDIATELY. Even though I have a damn good docketing system and always get my work done expeditiously. I pointed out politely that some of these things were on my calendar for the next day or the next week, and he responded, “Well, I want them done NOW.” Which, of course, threw off the work I had already docketed to do that day.
Today, I came in for a fresh start. Actually, EVERY day I try to just forget about anything that went wrong the day before and just do the ‘I won’t let him get to me today’ mantra. I had to bring in the old icky monitor to be shipped back to the factory (yes, I FINALLY got my pretty new monitor!) and took a whole minute of company time to tape it closed. Out of his cave comes Satan. “What are we shipping?” he asked. I told him it was just something I had to return, and I needed to tape it closed. *GLARE* I shrugged it off. He walked away. I brought it up front to be picked up, and was told by the receptionist since it was a Fed Ex Ground, I needed to call and have a pickup scheduled. So I went back to my office, and did so. It was an automated system, and I was on for literally 30 seconds and had punched in all the info. As the voice told me they were getting my confirmation number, Satan slammed a file on my desk and glared at me. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded. I was trying to hear the number, and told him, “One second, please, let me just get this…” and wrote down the number and hung up. He said, louder, “WHAT CLIENT WAS THAT ON?” I said, “I’m sorry, it wasn’t a client, the receptionist told me I had to schedule my pickup myself, so-” “DO NOT MAKE ME WAIT WHILE YOU ARE ON A PERSONAL CALL. HANG UP!! Now, I need you to blah blah blah…” I could feel my face flushing. What I WANTED to say was “Well, ASSHOLE, if you hadn’t DROPPED the monitor I had delivered here LAST MONTH, I wouldn’t even BE returning THIS stupid monitor, so THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, TECHNICALLY!!!” Of course, I didn’t.
A few minutes later, M was chit chatting with her boyfriend, with Satan in earshot. After a few more minutes, she hung up, and he asked her, “So, how is B anyway? Have you two been watching the Olympics?” WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? She talks to her boyfriend and gets a friendly conversation, I try to make a two minute call to have the monitor he FUCKING BROKE picked up, and I get YELLED AT???? Ok, deep breaths…
Lest you think I am overreacting and that Satan isn’t as bad as I make him out to be, allow me to point out a few additional Satan-Facts:
** He settled a $7 million dollar case right around Christmas a few years ago, and got just under $3 million for his fee. Both my co-worker and I had put in a lot of work on this file as well. What did we (the ONLY support staff, may I add) get for Christmas that year? A $100 gift certificate. Oh, AND a box of Florida oranges.
** He gave the receptionist a restaurant gift card for Christmas that had a zero balance. She didn’t find out until AFTER she had eaten dinner with her boyfriend and tried to pay.
** He makes his wife cry – often. One time he yelled at her in the office in front of us, because she took the 35 mm film out of the boxes before she put it in the supply cabinet and therefore, he couldn’t find it. Apparently, if it is not in the bright yellow boxes, dumbass doesn’t recognize it.
** He chastized the associate attorney (who is older than him and a great guy) for speaking to a client about her case without discussing it with HIM first. Apparently, even though the associate does all the work on the files AND goes to all the court dates, he can ONLY speak to certain clients with Satan’s permission. Which he CLEARLY did not have for this particular one. “And I’ve DISCUSSED this before with you, J”
** He ALWAYS walks up while you are talking to a client and tries talking to you at the same time. Loudly. Saying things like “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO HIM?? WHAT IS HE ASKING?? PUT HIM ON HOLD!!” Just so you can explain what the gist of the conversation was and he can either a) tell you you are a complete moron and to put the call through to him, or b) say “oh, ok” and walk away, leaving you to explain to the client what all the yelling was about.
** When I asked to take a week of my vacation time to go to my brother’s wedding in Hawaii, he told me I shouldn’t take so much time off so early in my calendar year (which starts in June – the wedding was in August) since “your daughter always gets sick and you can’t go over your three weeks’ vac/sick time.” Yet he takes off three weeks over spring break for one family vacation, and two weeks in the summer for another family vacation, and of course, whenever the hell else he wants, since he’s the boss. Which I get, but DON’T tell me I can’t take vacation time that’s coming to me, and DON’T throw the fact that I’m a single mom in my face.
I could go on forever, but I won’t. And ok, before my brother logs on and comments how “at least you can still blog during business hours” I REALIZE this. I am very aware that I DO get away with a lot as far as sneaking on the computer and when he is gone I pretty much do a lot of nothing, BUT I pay for that with my self esteem every day he IS in the office. I have been in this business for over ten years now, five in this office alone, and I resent being treated like an idiot or a child. DON’T talk down to me. DON’T sneer in my face. DON’T reprimand me for stupid things that are so insignificant they shouldn’t even matter.
No wonder I have active rosacea (face flushing due to stress) and chronic tightness and pain in my shoulders. It’s amazing I don’t have an ulcer. I need to get my book finished and published. PLEASE buy it when I do, so I can leave this godforsaken job forever!!
I think I will listen to Eminem’s “Puke” on the way home. Maybe singing that will make me feel better. Or MAYBE some nice “poor Dasi” comments will help, too. Not that I’m trying to pressure any of you, of course…
I HATE SATAN.
My co-worker had been out sick for the last two days, leaving me to fend for myself with Satan. No biggie, I’ve done it before. But he has been a TOTAL FUCKING ASSHOLE both days. And there is ABSOLUTELY NO CHANGE TODAY. M is back in the office, and for whatever reason, he is treating her like a fucking queen, and me like the red-headed stepchild. And to top it off, she just got flowers delivered from a client. Like I said, JUST FUCKING PERFECT.
For the last two days (three, including today) I have gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the sarcasm dripping from Satan’s mouth when he spoke to me. Or should I say AT me, since he really doesn’t EVER speak TO anyone. I TRIED to not get upset when he condescendingly told me I “didn’t know what I was doing” yesterday because I failed to ask a potential client whether the moldy trailer he got sick in was actually OWNED by the building company he worked for. Wait – actually I DID ask him that, but when I told Satan ‘yes,’ he condescendingly said “Are you SURE? Because you know, SOMETIMES they are contracted out.” I told him, yes, he told me it was owned by the company, and he gave me the “you-are-such-a-stupid-pathetic-girl-and-I-am-SO-SUPERIOR” look, not saying a word, just staring, until I finally mumbled, “ok, so I’ll ask again” which is when he decided to lecture me (much like a small child) on how I shouldn’t pretend to know what I am doing, when I OBVIOUSLY don’t. Dismissed.
Back to the potential, who told me (again) that yes, the trailer was owned by the company, NOT contracted out. I reported this back to Satan, who was like “Ok, whatever. Tell him I’ll call him back.”
That was yesterday. The day before was just basically dumping file after file on my desk, having me do work that he suddenly decided had to be done IMMEDIATELY. Even though I have a damn good docketing system and always get my work done expeditiously. I pointed out politely that some of these things were on my calendar for the next day or the next week, and he responded, “Well, I want them done NOW.” Which, of course, threw off the work I had already docketed to do that day.
Today, I came in for a fresh start. Actually, EVERY day I try to just forget about anything that went wrong the day before and just do the ‘I won’t let him get to me today’ mantra. I had to bring in the old icky monitor to be shipped back to the factory (yes, I FINALLY got my pretty new monitor!) and took a whole minute of company time to tape it closed. Out of his cave comes Satan. “What are we shipping?” he asked. I told him it was just something I had to return, and I needed to tape it closed. *GLARE* I shrugged it off. He walked away. I brought it up front to be picked up, and was told by the receptionist since it was a Fed Ex Ground, I needed to call and have a pickup scheduled. So I went back to my office, and did so. It was an automated system, and I was on for literally 30 seconds and had punched in all the info. As the voice told me they were getting my confirmation number, Satan slammed a file on my desk and glared at me. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded. I was trying to hear the number, and told him, “One second, please, let me just get this…” and wrote down the number and hung up. He said, louder, “WHAT CLIENT WAS THAT ON?” I said, “I’m sorry, it wasn’t a client, the receptionist told me I had to schedule my pickup myself, so-” “DO NOT MAKE ME WAIT WHILE YOU ARE ON A PERSONAL CALL. HANG UP!! Now, I need you to blah blah blah…” I could feel my face flushing. What I WANTED to say was “Well, ASSHOLE, if you hadn’t DROPPED the monitor I had delivered here LAST MONTH, I wouldn’t even BE returning THIS stupid monitor, so THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, TECHNICALLY!!!” Of course, I didn’t.
A few minutes later, M was chit chatting with her boyfriend, with Satan in earshot. After a few more minutes, she hung up, and he asked her, “So, how is B anyway? Have you two been watching the Olympics?” WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? She talks to her boyfriend and gets a friendly conversation, I try to make a two minute call to have the monitor he FUCKING BROKE picked up, and I get YELLED AT???? Ok, deep breaths…
Lest you think I am overreacting and that Satan isn’t as bad as I make him out to be, allow me to point out a few additional Satan-Facts:
** He settled a $7 million dollar case right around Christmas a few years ago, and got just under $3 million for his fee. Both my co-worker and I had put in a lot of work on this file as well. What did we (the ONLY support staff, may I add) get for Christmas that year? A $100 gift certificate. Oh, AND a box of Florida oranges.
** He gave the receptionist a restaurant gift card for Christmas that had a zero balance. She didn’t find out until AFTER she had eaten dinner with her boyfriend and tried to pay.
** He makes his wife cry – often. One time he yelled at her in the office in front of us, because she took the 35 mm film out of the boxes before she put it in the supply cabinet and therefore, he couldn’t find it. Apparently, if it is not in the bright yellow boxes, dumbass doesn’t recognize it.
** He chastized the associate attorney (who is older than him and a great guy) for speaking to a client about her case without discussing it with HIM first. Apparently, even though the associate does all the work on the files AND goes to all the court dates, he can ONLY speak to certain clients with Satan’s permission. Which he CLEARLY did not have for this particular one. “And I’ve DISCUSSED this before with you, J”
** He ALWAYS walks up while you are talking to a client and tries talking to you at the same time. Loudly. Saying things like “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO HIM?? WHAT IS HE ASKING?? PUT HIM ON HOLD!!” Just so you can explain what the gist of the conversation was and he can either a) tell you you are a complete moron and to put the call through to him, or b) say “oh, ok” and walk away, leaving you to explain to the client what all the yelling was about.
** When I asked to take a week of my vacation time to go to my brother’s wedding in Hawaii, he told me I shouldn’t take so much time off so early in my calendar year (which starts in June – the wedding was in August) since “your daughter always gets sick and you can’t go over your three weeks’ vac/sick time.” Yet he takes off three weeks over spring break for one family vacation, and two weeks in the summer for another family vacation, and of course, whenever the hell else he wants, since he’s the boss. Which I get, but DON’T tell me I can’t take vacation time that’s coming to me, and DON’T throw the fact that I’m a single mom in my face.
I could go on forever, but I won’t. And ok, before my brother logs on and comments how “at least you can still blog during business hours” I REALIZE this. I am very aware that I DO get away with a lot as far as sneaking on the computer and when he is gone I pretty much do a lot of nothing, BUT I pay for that with my self esteem every day he IS in the office. I have been in this business for over ten years now, five in this office alone, and I resent being treated like an idiot or a child. DON’T talk down to me. DON’T sneer in my face. DON’T reprimand me for stupid things that are so insignificant they shouldn’t even matter.
No wonder I have active rosacea (face flushing due to stress) and chronic tightness and pain in my shoulders. It’s amazing I don’t have an ulcer. I need to get my book finished and published. PLEASE buy it when I do, so I can leave this godforsaken job forever!!
I think I will listen to Eminem’s “Puke” on the way home. Maybe singing that will make me feel better. Or MAYBE some nice “poor Dasi” comments will help, too. Not that I’m trying to pressure any of you, of course…
I HATE SATAN.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Tandy
So here's a picture of Tandy from my post of the other day...
This picture was actually from his headshot sheet - he was doing some modeling way back then as well... If by some weird twist of fate anyone DOES recognize him or knows whether he is alive or dead, let me know, ok? Then maybe these dreams will stop...!
This picture was actually from his headshot sheet - he was doing some modeling way back then as well... If by some weird twist of fate anyone DOES recognize him or knows whether he is alive or dead, let me know, ok? Then maybe these dreams will stop...!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valentine's Day
Usually on Valentine’s Day I wear black and play Scrooge in February. This year, however, I have become more laid back. I find it hard to be grouchy today – in all honesty, my super-cute little baby nephew may have a lot to do with that. But I also think it goes beyond my happiness at becoming an aunt.
I think this year, I have become more philosophical about the whole thing. Rather than player-hate and pretend to gag at the sight of PDA’s on this February 14th, I find myself genuinely happy for the people who have been lucky enough to find their Mr. or Ms. Right. And even for those who just have a Mr./Ms. Right Now. It’s nice to know that love exists in the world, especially with all the hate you see every day in the newspapers and on the television. Now, do I wish I could find that elusive love of my life? Of course. Have I come close? Probably. But the bottom line is that I’m also terrified of finding my “soulmate.”
Why? What a stupid question! If I were to find my soulmate, my life would change drastically. And that scares me. See, for 30-some odd years I have been on my own. Independent. Making my own rules. With the exception of a few years during “TBOTE” I was always in charge of my own destiny, if you will. And having someone infiltrate my domain… well… I’m not too sure how I feel about that.
I know, I know, it sounds utterly ridiculous, but I LIKE watching way too much tv. And I LIKE walking around in my underwear after showering (ok, so that may not have to change with a guy in the picture…). I LIKE hogging ALL of my king size bed, and stretching out without kicking someone. I enjoy not having to check with someone else when I make plans. I like not wearing makeup and wearing my hair in a ponytail as often as possible. I like not having to worry about cleaning my house every single day – and only washing the kitchen floors when I start to stick to them. I like earning my own money, and spending my own money, and not having to answer to anyone for any of it. I like buying junk food at the grocery store if I want, and I like making dinner at 6:00 or 8:00 depending on my mood. I ADORE my cats, and my daughter, and my family, and my friends – and there is a chance that this infiltrator may not. Because really, not everyone gets along with everyone all the time.
So – do I remain in my cozy little cocoon of a life and concentrate on what I have and am comfortable with? Or do I put myself out there to find other things I sometimes wish I had, like:
Someone who will call me on my cell and ask me how long before he sees me… Someone who will help Lexie with her homework and make both of us laugh… Someone who can sit quietly and watch SOME of my favorite shows with me – but who will give me shit about the stupid ones and give me better things to do instead… Someone who listens to me when I’ve had a bad day and tries to cheer me up… Someone who actually enjoys joining me at family gatherings and outings with friends, and remembers everyone’s name… Someone who tells me I’m beautiful even when I don’t feel like I am… Someone who makes me feel safe and warm and not crowded in my king size bed at night… Someone whose eyes see straight through to my soul…
It’s a toss up. But in any case, rest assured I will NOT spend this Valentine’s Day like I did the one in college. Which was spent drinking a bottle of Apple Schnapps shot by shot and writing down a toast for each and every shot. (The list was actually very humorous, although a bit illegible near the end…) I think I will spend this one being happy for those who have already found true romantic love, and being grateful for those I love unconditionally – my family, my friends, and, of course – my cats.
(And speaking of those I love – if you haven’t already – scroll down to see my NEWEST LOVE – Erik!!)
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
I think this year, I have become more philosophical about the whole thing. Rather than player-hate and pretend to gag at the sight of PDA’s on this February 14th, I find myself genuinely happy for the people who have been lucky enough to find their Mr. or Ms. Right. And even for those who just have a Mr./Ms. Right Now. It’s nice to know that love exists in the world, especially with all the hate you see every day in the newspapers and on the television. Now, do I wish I could find that elusive love of my life? Of course. Have I come close? Probably. But the bottom line is that I’m also terrified of finding my “soulmate.”
Why? What a stupid question! If I were to find my soulmate, my life would change drastically. And that scares me. See, for 30-some odd years I have been on my own. Independent. Making my own rules. With the exception of a few years during “TBOTE” I was always in charge of my own destiny, if you will. And having someone infiltrate my domain… well… I’m not too sure how I feel about that.
I know, I know, it sounds utterly ridiculous, but I LIKE watching way too much tv. And I LIKE walking around in my underwear after showering (ok, so that may not have to change with a guy in the picture…). I LIKE hogging ALL of my king size bed, and stretching out without kicking someone. I enjoy not having to check with someone else when I make plans. I like not wearing makeup and wearing my hair in a ponytail as often as possible. I like not having to worry about cleaning my house every single day – and only washing the kitchen floors when I start to stick to them. I like earning my own money, and spending my own money, and not having to answer to anyone for any of it. I like buying junk food at the grocery store if I want, and I like making dinner at 6:00 or 8:00 depending on my mood. I ADORE my cats, and my daughter, and my family, and my friends – and there is a chance that this infiltrator may not. Because really, not everyone gets along with everyone all the time.
So – do I remain in my cozy little cocoon of a life and concentrate on what I have and am comfortable with? Or do I put myself out there to find other things I sometimes wish I had, like:
Someone who will call me on my cell and ask me how long before he sees me… Someone who will help Lexie with her homework and make both of us laugh… Someone who can sit quietly and watch SOME of my favorite shows with me – but who will give me shit about the stupid ones and give me better things to do instead… Someone who listens to me when I’ve had a bad day and tries to cheer me up… Someone who actually enjoys joining me at family gatherings and outings with friends, and remembers everyone’s name… Someone who tells me I’m beautiful even when I don’t feel like I am… Someone who makes me feel safe and warm and not crowded in my king size bed at night… Someone whose eyes see straight through to my soul…
It’s a toss up. But in any case, rest assured I will NOT spend this Valentine’s Day like I did the one in college. Which was spent drinking a bottle of Apple Schnapps shot by shot and writing down a toast for each and every shot. (The list was actually very humorous, although a bit illegible near the end…) I think I will spend this one being happy for those who have already found true romantic love, and being grateful for those I love unconditionally – my family, my friends, and, of course – my cats.
(And speaking of those I love – if you haven’t already – scroll down to see my NEWEST LOVE – Erik!!)
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
Monday, February 13, 2006
I'M AN AUNT! I'M AN AUNT!! I'M AN AUNT!!!
THAT is what I WANTED to write earlier, but go figure - my brother wanted to tell certain people himself BEFORE they read it on my blog. Yeah, WHATEVER!! So my sister-in-law went into labor while Lexie was spending the night at 1:30 am Saturday night - and she had my NEPHEW, Erik, at 3:16 pm on Sunday. The most beautiful little boy in the world is 8 lbs., 11 oz. and 21 inches long. Just in case you were wondering.
And I am so totally NOT biased - check him out for yourself and TRY to tell me he isn't the most AWESOME little guy ever!!!
Yup, I think Sarah and Bob outdid themselves this time. Oh, and did I mention I'M AN AUNT???
You may now begin with the "HE'S SO CUTE!!" comments. And I expect A LOT of them.
And I am so totally NOT biased - check him out for yourself and TRY to tell me he isn't the most AWESOME little guy ever!!!
Yup, I think Sarah and Bob outdid themselves this time. Oh, and did I mention I'M AN AUNT???
You may now begin with the "HE'S SO CUTE!!" comments. And I expect A LOT of them.
Backup Blog
I want to blog - but I can't. At least, not about what I WANT to blog about. Not yet, anyway. But I guess that TECHNICALLY I can blog, I'm just a little too distracted to think of a subject.
Hmmm.
There, see? It only took two seconds for me to think of something else. And what did I think of, you ask? Tandy. Tandy the gay waiter from Red Lobster where I used to work about, oh, 16 or so years ago. Why did I think about Tandy, you ask? Because I KEEP DREAMING ABOUT HIM. ALL THE TIME. Sometimes I will go without dreaming about him for a couple months, then BAM! Another Red Lobster/Tandy dream. We were really good friends when we worked there, Tandy was a RIOT. I swear, every girl should have a funny gay friend. They are better than girlfriends in many ways. At least, Tandy was. He pointed out all the hot guys I missed when we were out in public (and argued over whether they were straight or gay), listened to my boyfriend woes, and was an AWESOME drinking buddy. He never (well, almost never) flirted with my boyfriends or got really catty and talked behind my back. With Tandy, everything was pretty cut and dried. He told it like it was, and didn't care what people thought. I loved that about him.
The last time I saw him, he had just moved in with his boyfriend Ramon who was an anesthesiologist and lived in a penthouse in downtown Chicago. They had a pedigreed Persian cat and Ramon bought Tandy fresh orchids flown in daily. He also bought him a really nice black Blazer. When I asked Tandy with a pout why I couldn't find a guy like that, he laughed and said, "Because, darlin', they're all gay!" with his Indiana hick drawl.
The scary thing is, I have this nagging feeling that Tandy may be dead. Because in every dream, I am SO HAPPY to see him, and I always ask him for a phone number where I can reach him. In most of the dreams, he tells me, "You don't need a phone number. I'm fine, and I'll keep in touch with you, don't worry." Sometimes I cry in my dreams, and tell him about the other dreams, and that I think he's dead. In those dreams, he just smiles at me and says nothing. All these dreams are freakishly real, like I'm back at Red Lobster working as a waitress, and I see all the people I used to work with forever ago. It's just like I've traveled back in time or something, but it all seems so normal. And I'm really happy to see everyone else, but I keep looking for Tandy. And when I find him, he's always smiling and laughing and telling me he's fine.
I looked him up online a couple times, and actually found a phone number and address. In Fort Lauderdale, FL, which would DEFINITELY be a place I could picture Tandy living in. But the number is disconnected, and when I mailed a letter it came back stamped "Unknown." I even went so far as to look up the last name "Tryon" in Terre Haute, Indiana - his hometown. I sent out copies of a letter to EVERY Tryon listed basically saying I was an old friend of Tandy, and really wanted to get in touch with him... if anyone could give him MY address or phone number or let me know how to get in touch with him, yada, yada... And nothing. I tried looking in the obituaries, but there doesn't appear to be a listing for him - at least, not that I was able to find.
So what do you people make of this?? Am I totally crazy?? Or is there still some psychic connection with my old friend Tandy who I haven't seen in a decade and a half? WHY do I keep having these dreams? And WHY do they make me so damn sad? I think I have some pictures of Tandy at home. Maybe I'll try to scan them onto this blog tomorrow. MAYBE someone out there knows him. Worth a shot, right?
Hmmm.
There, see? It only took two seconds for me to think of something else. And what did I think of, you ask? Tandy. Tandy the gay waiter from Red Lobster where I used to work about, oh, 16 or so years ago. Why did I think about Tandy, you ask? Because I KEEP DREAMING ABOUT HIM. ALL THE TIME. Sometimes I will go without dreaming about him for a couple months, then BAM! Another Red Lobster/Tandy dream. We were really good friends when we worked there, Tandy was a RIOT. I swear, every girl should have a funny gay friend. They are better than girlfriends in many ways. At least, Tandy was. He pointed out all the hot guys I missed when we were out in public (and argued over whether they were straight or gay), listened to my boyfriend woes, and was an AWESOME drinking buddy. He never (well, almost never) flirted with my boyfriends or got really catty and talked behind my back. With Tandy, everything was pretty cut and dried. He told it like it was, and didn't care what people thought. I loved that about him.
The last time I saw him, he had just moved in with his boyfriend Ramon who was an anesthesiologist and lived in a penthouse in downtown Chicago. They had a pedigreed Persian cat and Ramon bought Tandy fresh orchids flown in daily. He also bought him a really nice black Blazer. When I asked Tandy with a pout why I couldn't find a guy like that, he laughed and said, "Because, darlin', they're all gay!" with his Indiana hick drawl.
The scary thing is, I have this nagging feeling that Tandy may be dead. Because in every dream, I am SO HAPPY to see him, and I always ask him for a phone number where I can reach him. In most of the dreams, he tells me, "You don't need a phone number. I'm fine, and I'll keep in touch with you, don't worry." Sometimes I cry in my dreams, and tell him about the other dreams, and that I think he's dead. In those dreams, he just smiles at me and says nothing. All these dreams are freakishly real, like I'm back at Red Lobster working as a waitress, and I see all the people I used to work with forever ago. It's just like I've traveled back in time or something, but it all seems so normal. And I'm really happy to see everyone else, but I keep looking for Tandy. And when I find him, he's always smiling and laughing and telling me he's fine.
I looked him up online a couple times, and actually found a phone number and address. In Fort Lauderdale, FL, which would DEFINITELY be a place I could picture Tandy living in. But the number is disconnected, and when I mailed a letter it came back stamped "Unknown." I even went so far as to look up the last name "Tryon" in Terre Haute, Indiana - his hometown. I sent out copies of a letter to EVERY Tryon listed basically saying I was an old friend of Tandy, and really wanted to get in touch with him... if anyone could give him MY address or phone number or let me know how to get in touch with him, yada, yada... And nothing. I tried looking in the obituaries, but there doesn't appear to be a listing for him - at least, not that I was able to find.
So what do you people make of this?? Am I totally crazy?? Or is there still some psychic connection with my old friend Tandy who I haven't seen in a decade and a half? WHY do I keep having these dreams? And WHY do they make me so damn sad? I think I have some pictures of Tandy at home. Maybe I'll try to scan them onto this blog tomorrow. MAYBE someone out there knows him. Worth a shot, right?
Friday, February 10, 2006
Proceed With Caution
Ok, I just found this picture while rifling through one of my several junk drawers... Presenting - The Loser. Now, keep in mind I was still in the throes of drug addiction when I was with him, and looking at this picture even gives ME the creepy-crawlies... if this isn't a good "Just Say No" campaign, I don't know what is.
I apologize in advance to anyone who just ate, has a fear of "Skeletor" from the old He-Man cartoons, or is simply extremely sensitive to scary looking things.
Thank God Lexie takes after me. And remember - DON'T DO DRUGS. Unless you want to sleep with ugly people, too.
I apologize in advance to anyone who just ate, has a fear of "Skeletor" from the old He-Man cartoons, or is simply extremely sensitive to scary looking things.
Thank God Lexie takes after me. And remember - DON'T DO DRUGS. Unless you want to sleep with ugly people, too.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 21
Not another word was ever mentioned by either myself or Marc about the events of that night. In fact, Marc wound up moving out only a week after he moved in. He had found another friend to stay with – someone who had a little more room than we had. He still came around, and we still partied together, but the tension was gone. And Kevin never knew.
The days began to blur together, every day a repeat of the previous one. Work, party, sleep. Work, party, sleep. The only problem was that there never seemed to be enough time to sleep. I was becoming physically exhausted and more dependent on the drugs to keep me going.
Summer turned into fall, and soon it was Thanksgiving. With no money to get home for the holiday, and since both our work schedules were pretty busy, we stayed put. While Kevin went out to score, I heated up some spaghetti-o’s on the hot plate. As I ate my Thanksgiving meal alone in the motel room, I felt a pang of homesickness. My family was probably watching football and eating turkey, while I spent the day with Chef Boyardee. I pushed the melancholy thoughts to the back of my mind and instead tried to concentrate on the next holiday – Christmas. I was going home for Christmas thanks to my parents, a plane ticket would be waiting for me at the airport on the 22nd. I was looking forward to seeing my family and old friends, and although I was disappointed Kevin wouldn’t be joining me, I understood that he couldn’t afford to go. All our money went to the room and partying, saving for a plane trip was something that just seemed laughable.
I was shaken from my daydreams by the sound of Kevin barreling in the room. “Happy Thanksgiving, babe!” he said with a grin, pulling out a larger-than-usual bag of coke. “Let’s get started!”
And so went my first Thanksgiving in Reno.
The next day at work, my fellow employees were buzzing about the big Christmas party. It seemed that every year, there was a huge party held in a local hall, with dinner and an open bar. The restaurant would be closed for the evening just so everyone could attend.
“But I’m going back to Chicago,” I told Shelley.
“How early?” she asked. “The party is two weeks before Christmas. Management knows that a lot of people out here are ‘transplants’ and keep that in mind around the holidays.”
My spirits lifted. “Really? Great! Then I’ll definitely be there!”
“It’s really a good time,” she told me. “Last year, Angelo climbed on one of the tables and sang ‘O Holy Night.’”
I laughed at the image of the stout Italian waiter belting out the serene carol. Angelo was one of a kind.
“You’re going to bring Kevin, right?” Shelley asked.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure. He might have to work.”
“Oh, tell him to take the day off. It’s fun!” she pleaded. “And it’s better than locking yourselves in that damn motel room all the time.”
I looked away. Shelley was no fool, and had commented more than once on the subtle changes only a friend would notice – the lost weight, the jitters, the dark circles under my eyes. She covered for me when I came in late, and helped me out when I needed “just a few extra bucks.” But she didn’t like it, and tried often to get me to commit to quitting.
“We’ve been cutting down…” I said meekly.
Shelley snorted. “Yeah, right.” With a sigh of exasperation, she put her hand on my arm. “Look, Dasi, I know it’s hard. But getting out and doing things will make it easier. For you and Kevin. And honestly it really is fun.”
“Ok, I’ll try to get him to come,” I sighed.
“Yay!” Shelley clapped her hands like a little girl. “Shit, I’ve got to get breadsticks to table eight. Later!”
I watched her practically skip back to the kitchen and laughed to myself. Shelley was such a good person, and she really gave a damn about me. About me and Kevin, actually. She was right. Maybe going to this Christmas Party would be just what we needed to start being more social, and to cut down on the drugs.
When I got home that night, I brought it up to Kevin.
“You know I hate those things. I don’t even know anyone,” he whined.
“Oh, come on, Kev! You do too! You know Mike, and Shelley, and Angelo…” I drifted off, watching him roll his eyes.
“I think I’m working.”
“You don’t even have your schedule for that week yet. How could you think you’re working?” I said with frustration.
He shrugged. “Well, because I usually do work on Saturday nights.”
“So request the night off,” I pleaded. “Please, Kevin? I don’t want to go alone.”
“I’ll think about it.”
But the night of the party, Kevin decided not to go. I got dressed in angry silence, while he made excuses.
“It’s your work party, after all. You’ll have fun without me.”
“Whatever,” I replied frostily.
“Oh, come on, babe! I promised Matt I’d meet him for a drink.”
I glared at him. “You knew I wanted you to come. You even took the day off.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don’t feel comfortable with those people.”
My eyes narrowed. “You don’t feel comfortable with ‘those people?'” I mimicked. “Why, because they’re not junkies?”
Kevin didn’t say a word. And I was so angry, I stormed out the door and into the night without waiting for him to.
My eyes burned with tears I refused to release. I was going to have fun with or without him, I didn’t need him anyway. Let him go out with Matt. I didn’t care.
But the fact was, I did care, and it really hurt me that he was so damn stubborn.
The walk to the hall took longer than I expected, and when I arrived, the party was already in full swing. Shelley noticed me immediately, and her face clouded with concern when she saw I was alone.
“He’s not coming?” she asked, steering me towards the bar.
“Nope,” I replied. “But so what? Let's get a drink.”
The days began to blur together, every day a repeat of the previous one. Work, party, sleep. Work, party, sleep. The only problem was that there never seemed to be enough time to sleep. I was becoming physically exhausted and more dependent on the drugs to keep me going.
Summer turned into fall, and soon it was Thanksgiving. With no money to get home for the holiday, and since both our work schedules were pretty busy, we stayed put. While Kevin went out to score, I heated up some spaghetti-o’s on the hot plate. As I ate my Thanksgiving meal alone in the motel room, I felt a pang of homesickness. My family was probably watching football and eating turkey, while I spent the day with Chef Boyardee. I pushed the melancholy thoughts to the back of my mind and instead tried to concentrate on the next holiday – Christmas. I was going home for Christmas thanks to my parents, a plane ticket would be waiting for me at the airport on the 22nd. I was looking forward to seeing my family and old friends, and although I was disappointed Kevin wouldn’t be joining me, I understood that he couldn’t afford to go. All our money went to the room and partying, saving for a plane trip was something that just seemed laughable.
I was shaken from my daydreams by the sound of Kevin barreling in the room. “Happy Thanksgiving, babe!” he said with a grin, pulling out a larger-than-usual bag of coke. “Let’s get started!”
And so went my first Thanksgiving in Reno.
The next day at work, my fellow employees were buzzing about the big Christmas party. It seemed that every year, there was a huge party held in a local hall, with dinner and an open bar. The restaurant would be closed for the evening just so everyone could attend.
“But I’m going back to Chicago,” I told Shelley.
“How early?” she asked. “The party is two weeks before Christmas. Management knows that a lot of people out here are ‘transplants’ and keep that in mind around the holidays.”
My spirits lifted. “Really? Great! Then I’ll definitely be there!”
“It’s really a good time,” she told me. “Last year, Angelo climbed on one of the tables and sang ‘O Holy Night.’”
I laughed at the image of the stout Italian waiter belting out the serene carol. Angelo was one of a kind.
“You’re going to bring Kevin, right?” Shelley asked.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure. He might have to work.”
“Oh, tell him to take the day off. It’s fun!” she pleaded. “And it’s better than locking yourselves in that damn motel room all the time.”
I looked away. Shelley was no fool, and had commented more than once on the subtle changes only a friend would notice – the lost weight, the jitters, the dark circles under my eyes. She covered for me when I came in late, and helped me out when I needed “just a few extra bucks.” But she didn’t like it, and tried often to get me to commit to quitting.
“We’ve been cutting down…” I said meekly.
Shelley snorted. “Yeah, right.” With a sigh of exasperation, she put her hand on my arm. “Look, Dasi, I know it’s hard. But getting out and doing things will make it easier. For you and Kevin. And honestly it really is fun.”
“Ok, I’ll try to get him to come,” I sighed.
“Yay!” Shelley clapped her hands like a little girl. “Shit, I’ve got to get breadsticks to table eight. Later!”
I watched her practically skip back to the kitchen and laughed to myself. Shelley was such a good person, and she really gave a damn about me. About me and Kevin, actually. She was right. Maybe going to this Christmas Party would be just what we needed to start being more social, and to cut down on the drugs.
When I got home that night, I brought it up to Kevin.
“You know I hate those things. I don’t even know anyone,” he whined.
“Oh, come on, Kev! You do too! You know Mike, and Shelley, and Angelo…” I drifted off, watching him roll his eyes.
“I think I’m working.”
“You don’t even have your schedule for that week yet. How could you think you’re working?” I said with frustration.
He shrugged. “Well, because I usually do work on Saturday nights.”
“So request the night off,” I pleaded. “Please, Kevin? I don’t want to go alone.”
“I’ll think about it.”
But the night of the party, Kevin decided not to go. I got dressed in angry silence, while he made excuses.
“It’s your work party, after all. You’ll have fun without me.”
“Whatever,” I replied frostily.
“Oh, come on, babe! I promised Matt I’d meet him for a drink.”
I glared at him. “You knew I wanted you to come. You even took the day off.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don’t feel comfortable with those people.”
My eyes narrowed. “You don’t feel comfortable with ‘those people?'” I mimicked. “Why, because they’re not junkies?”
Kevin didn’t say a word. And I was so angry, I stormed out the door and into the night without waiting for him to.
My eyes burned with tears I refused to release. I was going to have fun with or without him, I didn’t need him anyway. Let him go out with Matt. I didn’t care.
But the fact was, I did care, and it really hurt me that he was so damn stubborn.
The walk to the hall took longer than I expected, and when I arrived, the party was already in full swing. Shelley noticed me immediately, and her face clouded with concern when she saw I was alone.
“He’s not coming?” she asked, steering me towards the bar.
“Nope,” I replied. “But so what? Let's get a drink.”
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Of Mothers and Daughters
On Sunday afternoon, my mother drove out for a visit. I made sure the house was somewhat clean (because, well, you know – it’s MOM) and was just getting ready to sit down when the buzzer rang. Lexie let her in, and our visit began.
First, I burned a CD for her. She had recently seen “Walk the Line” and borrowed her friend’s soundtrack. Since I now had my pretty new computer, I graciously offered to perform this invaluable service for her at any time. After I burned the CD, I wrote out all the names of the songs on the little paper thingy in the case and also wrote the name of the CD on the CD itself in permanent marker. Next, I showed her the pictures from the baby shower online, and offered to let her pick out which ones she wanted prints of. (Well, actually, Lexie helped her pick out the prints, I just did the finalizing once she did.) So in one hour, she would have her very own set of baby shower pictures waiting at Costco.
Now, this is where things get interesting.
I would like to go on record as saying that I LOVE MY MOTHER VERY VERY MUCH. We talk probably several times a day on the phone, and are very close. Generally, Lexie and I will drive out to her place in the city (about a 25 minute drive) almost every weekend. And we don’t mind, we love doing it. Mom is an easy person to hang with. Usually. But I digress.
So anyway, at this point, we are just about ready to go out to lunch. I had suggested Lone Star, because I had a taste for a good steak. Lexie got all “but I really want somewhere that has breakfast” and I put my foot down and told her no. Mom was ok with Lone Star, but you could tell she also wanted to appease her granddaughter (which is why Lexie brought it up again when she did – we had already HAD that discussion BEFORE my mom arrived, and I had said no). ANYWAY. I convinced mom that Lexie would be FINE, and it didn’t always have to be about her. So – begin tension.
Then as I’m shutting down the computer, Lexie walks up with an orange and asks me to “start it” for her. Ok, um – LUNCH?? I reminded her we were leaving in like five minutes, and she got all pouty. So I said, “Fine. You know what? Eat the orange. Because I want to stop somewhere quick first, and I don’t want you to STARVE.”
Ok, here comes the good part, so pay attention:
Mom: Where are we stopping?
Me: Nowhere. (Rolling my eyes trying to indicate I don’t want to say in front of Lexie)
Mom: But you just SAID we were stopping somewhere. I just want to know WHERE we are stopping.
Me: A clothes store. For Lexie. (See, I actually wanted to stop at this new resale shop called Plato’s Closet just to see what they had for Lexie – and Lexie had told me previously she would NEVER buy anything from there. Hence, by not mentioning the name, I was avoiding a huge whiny complaining session.)
Mom: WHAT clothes store? Like JC Penneys? Can I buy something?
Me: NO, MOM! IT’S A KID’S CLOTHES STORE!
Mom: Well, WHY can’t you tell me the name??
Me: I’D JUST RATHER NOT SAY RIGHT NOW, OK?????
(Ok, at this point, I could feel my face flushing as it does when I am getting frustrated or angry. But I am trying hard to control it.)
Mom: You DON’T have to yell at me! I just don’t understand WHY you can’t tell me what store it is!
Me: LOOK, MOM, I AM TRYING TO SAY THAT I REALLY DON’T WANT TO SAY THE NAME RIGHT NOW, OK???? YOU can’t buy anything there, it is for LEXIE, and I just would RATHER NOT SAY THE NAME!
Mom: (Huffy) WELL! I never said I wanted to buy anything! I just ASKED the name! If you WANTED it to be a surprise, you should’ve just SAID you wanted it to be a surprise!
Me: I TRIED TO SAY I DIDN’T WANT TO SAY THE NAME!! YOU WOULDN’T LISTEN!! (Deep breath) Look, I don’t need this. Just forget it. We won’t go.
Mom: Noooooooo. We’ll GO. Just because I drove ALL THE WAY OUT HERE…
Me: (?????) Ok, MOM? PLEASE DON’T START. PLEASE. All I wanted was to have a NICE day, and now we’re YELLING at each other and this whole thing is RIDICULOUS!
Mom: Yes, it IS ridiculous. And you get WAY too crazy. Just LOOK at you. After I drove ALL THE WAY OUT HERE.
Me: MOM!! WHA???? OK, THAT’S IT. YOU CAN JUST GO HOME IF THAT IS HOW YOU’RE GOING TO BE. I’M NOT DEALING WITH THIS ALL AFTERNOON!! ALL I WANTED WAS A NICE DAY, AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME I’M CRAZY!!
Mom: Look at you! You need a tranquilizer, or something…
(then Mom goes into the bathroom)
This conversation ended when she did that. But when she came back out, I tried to calmly explain to her that all I wanted was for us to have a nice day. That this was stupid, yelling over the name of a store. And that I just thought she should listen to me a little more and not push my buttons.
Mom: Do you hear yourself? “I I I.” Everything is about YOU!
Me: Know what? I can think of something I’d like to say that ends in “you!”
Mom: WHAT DID YOU SAY??
(Ok, yes, I crossed the line and therefore reverted back to childhood by responding thusly)
Me: nothing.
The woman was like a pitbull with a chihuahua in its grip. She WOULD NOT LET IT GO. We drove in silence. I had to first stop at an ATM, so I found one I had to go into just to give us each a break. I left her chain smoking in the car with my daughter.
When I got back I realized that even those few minutes helped. The whole thing WAS utterly ridiculous, and I really did not want to ruin the rest of the day. So I stuck my toe in the water.
Me: So, have you talked to Bob since the other day?
Mom: (puff) No.
Me: So how’s your friend Joyce doing?
Mom: (puff) Ok.
I shook my head.
Me: Well, ok, then, when you decide you want to talk, let me know. Because I’m at least TRYING here. So, are we still going to lunch or what?
Mom: I guess so. I mean, whatever YOU want to do. We'll go wherever YOU want.
I couldn't win, so I shut the hell up.
After sulking a few minutes longer, the thaw came. And by the time we got to lunch, all was forgotten. And honestly? IT WAS FRICKIN STUPID!!! All that yelling over what?? NOTHING.
The day ended on a happy note, no more yelling. But that night, when Lexie and I were lying in bed, we had our own conversation.
Lexie: Mom?
Me: Yeah?
Lexie: Grandma DID say she wanted to buy something. Even though she told you she didn’t. I heard her.
Me: (sigh) I know, Lex.
Lexie: And what was up with the whole, “I drove ALL THE WAY HERE” thing?? WE drive by her all the time!
Me: (sigh) I know, Lex.
Pause.
Lexie: Know what’s funny, mom?
Me: What, Lex?
Lexie: When you and Grandma were yelling, it kind of sounded like you and ME.
Me: Yup, kiddo, I guess it’s a mother/daughter thing.
Lexie: And the daughter’s always right.
Me: Yup. I mean – WAIT A MINUTE!
(Snickering on Lexie’s side of the bed.) But she’s right – it IS a mother/daughter thing. You love each other to death, but you drive each other crazy. And without that craziness? Life wouldn’t be the same.
And by the way? I SOOOOO do NOT need tranquilizers!!!
First, I burned a CD for her. She had recently seen “Walk the Line” and borrowed her friend’s soundtrack. Since I now had my pretty new computer, I graciously offered to perform this invaluable service for her at any time. After I burned the CD, I wrote out all the names of the songs on the little paper thingy in the case and also wrote the name of the CD on the CD itself in permanent marker. Next, I showed her the pictures from the baby shower online, and offered to let her pick out which ones she wanted prints of. (Well, actually, Lexie helped her pick out the prints, I just did the finalizing once she did.) So in one hour, she would have her very own set of baby shower pictures waiting at Costco.
Now, this is where things get interesting.
I would like to go on record as saying that I LOVE MY MOTHER VERY VERY MUCH. We talk probably several times a day on the phone, and are very close. Generally, Lexie and I will drive out to her place in the city (about a 25 minute drive) almost every weekend. And we don’t mind, we love doing it. Mom is an easy person to hang with. Usually. But I digress.
So anyway, at this point, we are just about ready to go out to lunch. I had suggested Lone Star, because I had a taste for a good steak. Lexie got all “but I really want somewhere that has breakfast” and I put my foot down and told her no. Mom was ok with Lone Star, but you could tell she also wanted to appease her granddaughter (which is why Lexie brought it up again when she did – we had already HAD that discussion BEFORE my mom arrived, and I had said no). ANYWAY. I convinced mom that Lexie would be FINE, and it didn’t always have to be about her. So – begin tension.
Then as I’m shutting down the computer, Lexie walks up with an orange and asks me to “start it” for her. Ok, um – LUNCH?? I reminded her we were leaving in like five minutes, and she got all pouty. So I said, “Fine. You know what? Eat the orange. Because I want to stop somewhere quick first, and I don’t want you to STARVE.”
Ok, here comes the good part, so pay attention:
Mom: Where are we stopping?
Me: Nowhere. (Rolling my eyes trying to indicate I don’t want to say in front of Lexie)
Mom: But you just SAID we were stopping somewhere. I just want to know WHERE we are stopping.
Me: A clothes store. For Lexie. (See, I actually wanted to stop at this new resale shop called Plato’s Closet just to see what they had for Lexie – and Lexie had told me previously she would NEVER buy anything from there. Hence, by not mentioning the name, I was avoiding a huge whiny complaining session.)
Mom: WHAT clothes store? Like JC Penneys? Can I buy something?
Me: NO, MOM! IT’S A KID’S CLOTHES STORE!
Mom: Well, WHY can’t you tell me the name??
Me: I’D JUST RATHER NOT SAY RIGHT NOW, OK?????
(Ok, at this point, I could feel my face flushing as it does when I am getting frustrated or angry. But I am trying hard to control it.)
Mom: You DON’T have to yell at me! I just don’t understand WHY you can’t tell me what store it is!
Me: LOOK, MOM, I AM TRYING TO SAY THAT I REALLY DON’T WANT TO SAY THE NAME RIGHT NOW, OK???? YOU can’t buy anything there, it is for LEXIE, and I just would RATHER NOT SAY THE NAME!
Mom: (Huffy) WELL! I never said I wanted to buy anything! I just ASKED the name! If you WANTED it to be a surprise, you should’ve just SAID you wanted it to be a surprise!
Me: I TRIED TO SAY I DIDN’T WANT TO SAY THE NAME!! YOU WOULDN’T LISTEN!! (Deep breath) Look, I don’t need this. Just forget it. We won’t go.
Mom: Noooooooo. We’ll GO. Just because I drove ALL THE WAY OUT HERE…
Me: (?????) Ok, MOM? PLEASE DON’T START. PLEASE. All I wanted was to have a NICE day, and now we’re YELLING at each other and this whole thing is RIDICULOUS!
Mom: Yes, it IS ridiculous. And you get WAY too crazy. Just LOOK at you. After I drove ALL THE WAY OUT HERE.
Me: MOM!! WHA???? OK, THAT’S IT. YOU CAN JUST GO HOME IF THAT IS HOW YOU’RE GOING TO BE. I’M NOT DEALING WITH THIS ALL AFTERNOON!! ALL I WANTED WAS A NICE DAY, AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME I’M CRAZY!!
Mom: Look at you! You need a tranquilizer, or something…
(then Mom goes into the bathroom)
This conversation ended when she did that. But when she came back out, I tried to calmly explain to her that all I wanted was for us to have a nice day. That this was stupid, yelling over the name of a store. And that I just thought she should listen to me a little more and not push my buttons.
Mom: Do you hear yourself? “I I I.” Everything is about YOU!
Me: Know what? I can think of something I’d like to say that ends in “you!”
Mom: WHAT DID YOU SAY??
(Ok, yes, I crossed the line and therefore reverted back to childhood by responding thusly)
Me: nothing.
The woman was like a pitbull with a chihuahua in its grip. She WOULD NOT LET IT GO. We drove in silence. I had to first stop at an ATM, so I found one I had to go into just to give us each a break. I left her chain smoking in the car with my daughter.
When I got back I realized that even those few minutes helped. The whole thing WAS utterly ridiculous, and I really did not want to ruin the rest of the day. So I stuck my toe in the water.
Me: So, have you talked to Bob since the other day?
Mom: (puff) No.
Me: So how’s your friend Joyce doing?
Mom: (puff) Ok.
I shook my head.
Me: Well, ok, then, when you decide you want to talk, let me know. Because I’m at least TRYING here. So, are we still going to lunch or what?
Mom: I guess so. I mean, whatever YOU want to do. We'll go wherever YOU want.
I couldn't win, so I shut the hell up.
After sulking a few minutes longer, the thaw came. And by the time we got to lunch, all was forgotten. And honestly? IT WAS FRICKIN STUPID!!! All that yelling over what?? NOTHING.
The day ended on a happy note, no more yelling. But that night, when Lexie and I were lying in bed, we had our own conversation.
Lexie: Mom?
Me: Yeah?
Lexie: Grandma DID say she wanted to buy something. Even though she told you she didn’t. I heard her.
Me: (sigh) I know, Lex.
Lexie: And what was up with the whole, “I drove ALL THE WAY HERE” thing?? WE drive by her all the time!
Me: (sigh) I know, Lex.
Pause.
Lexie: Know what’s funny, mom?
Me: What, Lex?
Lexie: When you and Grandma were yelling, it kind of sounded like you and ME.
Me: Yup, kiddo, I guess it’s a mother/daughter thing.
Lexie: And the daughter’s always right.
Me: Yup. I mean – WAIT A MINUTE!
(Snickering on Lexie’s side of the bed.) But she’s right – it IS a mother/daughter thing. You love each other to death, but you drive each other crazy. And without that craziness? Life wouldn’t be the same.
And by the way? I SOOOOO do NOT need tranquilizers!!!
Monday, February 06, 2006
Blah.
My head is all fuzzy and my nose is all runny and although I had an idea of what I wanted to write today, between Satan piling on file after file until I swear the file cabinets must be empty and my total lack of ability to string together a coherent thought (proof: this is probably the most rambling run-on sentence in existence) I find myself instead apologizing for being (apparently) sick and incapable of performing my daily blogging duties - which also include commenting where appropriate.
I appreciate your understanding.
I appreciate your understanding.
Friday, February 03, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 20
I tried to ignore the fact that Marc continued to stare at me all night, even with Kevin in the room. Being high just made me more flustered, and finally I couldn’t take the friendly banter Marc and Kevin were tossing about anymore. I got up and went into the bathroom, turning the cold water on in the sink. I splashed my face and lifted my head to face the person in the mirror.
Looking back was a girl with disheveled bleached blonde hair, glassy blue eyes, and flushed cheeks. He must be nuts, I thought to myself. I sat on the toilet and tried to come down. Deep breaths. I closed my eyes, but I kept seeing Marc’s face. I tried to concentrate on something else, anything else, when a knock on the door made my eyes snap open.
“Babe? You all right in there?” It was Kevin, actually sounding concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. “Just trying to come down. I really need to go to bed.”
“Well, Marc left, so you can come out and go to sleep if you want.”
Marc left. Thank God! I exited the bathroom and walked the few feet to the bed. Kevin was already lying on his side. I crawled in next to him and hugged my pillow. I just wanted to sleep, to forget this night had ever happened. And I did sleep, but the memory remained lodged in my brain.
The next morning when I woke up, I was careful not to wake Kevin as I got ready for my lunch shift. I was pretty sure Shelley was working, and really needed a girlfriend to discuss the situation with. Kevin didn’t budge as I re-set the alarm to wake him in time for his 2:00 shift, and I smiled as I watched him sleep. This was the man I loved. Not Marc. I felt a lot more confident about my true feelings as I walked to work. I managed to push Marc out of my mind entirely and even forgot about discussing things with Shelley.
When I finished my shift, I realized it was a little earlier than normal. If I hurried, I would be able to catch Kevin before he left for work. I quickened my pace and hummed to myself as I got closer to home. Last night’s encounter with Marc was all but forgotten. Until I reached home, unlocked the door and opened it to a sight that made my heart drop like a ton of bricks.
Marc was sitting on the chair at the desk with his feet resting comfortably on the edge. His face lit up when I walked in, and he swung his feet to the floor and leaned toward me. “Hey, Dasi, how was work?”
I blinked. Marc never came this early, and Kevin had to leave for work in ten minutes. Kevin. Where was Kevin? I turned toward the bed and it was empty. Schmauser was attempting to crawl under it, as if he wanted to escape whatever was going to happen. I turned back toward Marc just as the bathroom door opened.
“Hey! You’re home early!” Kevin came up and gave me a kiss, and then put his arm around me. “I’m glad, because even though I already said yes, you should probably hear it from me…”
I looked at Kevin in confusion. What the hell was going on?
“See, Marc got kicked out of his house last night. So I told him he could crash here for a while.”
WHAT? NO WAY! The voices screamed in my head. But not a word came out of my mouth. Marc smiled smugly, and even gave me a wink. “Looks like we’re roomies, Dasi,” he said, eyes twinkling.
Kevin gave me a peck on the cheek and grabbed his jacket. “See, Marc? I told you she’d be fine with it.” He looked at me and laughed. “Marc here thought you might be uncomfortable if he stayed.”
I smiled, the kind of ridiculous “who me?” smile that I felt would surely make Kevin suspicious. But Kevin was completely oblivious to everything.
“Anyway, I told him you’d be fine, I mean, we’re all friends, here, right?” With those parting words, he was gone. Leaving me alone in the room with Marc.
Marc came up behind me as I stared at the closed door. “He’s right, we ARE all friends…” he said, moving my hair away from my neck and softly kissing it.
The tingly feeling swept over my body and I sighed involuntarily. Marc took that as a signal to continue.
“So here we are, all alone… I’m not scheduled tonight, you’re done for the day… and Kevin is working till 10:00…” Another kiss. More shivers. “So what do you propose we do for the rest of the day?”
Against my better judgment, I turned to face him and brought my lips to his. We devoured each other hungrily, hands roaming and hearts pounding. I knew it wasn’t right, but it felt so good to be so bad…
After what seemed like hours but what was only minutes, Marc began to unbutton my shirt. I moved my hands over his. “No,” I mumbled through our kisses. “Marc, I can’t.”
“Sure, you can,” he responded. “Dasi, I love you. Kevin will never know. Not until we’re ready to tell him. I made you a promise, and I meant it.”
I shook my head and pulled away. “No, no, no. I can’t do this,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I turned my back to him and fixed the few buttons he had managed to undo.
Marc sighed. “So what, that’s it then? A few stolen kisses when he’s not around?”
I wanted to cry. Marc sounded so angry and hurt, but I couldn’t DO this. I wasn’t sure HOW I was feeling, but in my heart I knew that even if I did choose Marc, I would have to do things the right way.
“Marc, listen,” I said gently. “I care about you. Really. And, ok, there is DEFINITELY chemistry. But…”
“But you won’t leave Kevin.”
“This can’t happen again. You can stay here, but this CAN’T happen again.”
Marc nodded. “He’ll hurt you, you know,” he said bitterly.
I could see the frustration in his eyes. And it occurred to me that Marc didn’t necessarily want me, he just wanted someone. He was jealous of Kevin and a lonely soul. I bit my bottom lip and watched as Marc sank into the chair by the desk.
“He won’t hurt me,” I said quietly. “And if he does, I’m calling you to kick his ass.”
Marc looked up and chuckled. Then he shrugged. “Well, hey, you know where to find me…”
I felt the tension leaving the air as we both laughed. Then there was a moment of uncomfortable silence as we both avoided each others’ eyes. I decided to break it.
“You’re a great guy, Marc,” I said. “I really don’t want to lose your friendship.”
“You won’t,” he assured me. Then he stood up. “Think I’m gonna go out for a while.”
I watched him leave and sat down on the bed. I really didn’t think I needed to worry about him ever telling Kevin, and I knew I never would. Schmauser jumped up on the bed next to me, and I petted him absently.
“Hey, Schmau,” I said. “I hope I did the right thing…”
Looking back was a girl with disheveled bleached blonde hair, glassy blue eyes, and flushed cheeks. He must be nuts, I thought to myself. I sat on the toilet and tried to come down. Deep breaths. I closed my eyes, but I kept seeing Marc’s face. I tried to concentrate on something else, anything else, when a knock on the door made my eyes snap open.
“Babe? You all right in there?” It was Kevin, actually sounding concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. “Just trying to come down. I really need to go to bed.”
“Well, Marc left, so you can come out and go to sleep if you want.”
Marc left. Thank God! I exited the bathroom and walked the few feet to the bed. Kevin was already lying on his side. I crawled in next to him and hugged my pillow. I just wanted to sleep, to forget this night had ever happened. And I did sleep, but the memory remained lodged in my brain.
The next morning when I woke up, I was careful not to wake Kevin as I got ready for my lunch shift. I was pretty sure Shelley was working, and really needed a girlfriend to discuss the situation with. Kevin didn’t budge as I re-set the alarm to wake him in time for his 2:00 shift, and I smiled as I watched him sleep. This was the man I loved. Not Marc. I felt a lot more confident about my true feelings as I walked to work. I managed to push Marc out of my mind entirely and even forgot about discussing things with Shelley.
When I finished my shift, I realized it was a little earlier than normal. If I hurried, I would be able to catch Kevin before he left for work. I quickened my pace and hummed to myself as I got closer to home. Last night’s encounter with Marc was all but forgotten. Until I reached home, unlocked the door and opened it to a sight that made my heart drop like a ton of bricks.
Marc was sitting on the chair at the desk with his feet resting comfortably on the edge. His face lit up when I walked in, and he swung his feet to the floor and leaned toward me. “Hey, Dasi, how was work?”
I blinked. Marc never came this early, and Kevin had to leave for work in ten minutes. Kevin. Where was Kevin? I turned toward the bed and it was empty. Schmauser was attempting to crawl under it, as if he wanted to escape whatever was going to happen. I turned back toward Marc just as the bathroom door opened.
“Hey! You’re home early!” Kevin came up and gave me a kiss, and then put his arm around me. “I’m glad, because even though I already said yes, you should probably hear it from me…”
I looked at Kevin in confusion. What the hell was going on?
“See, Marc got kicked out of his house last night. So I told him he could crash here for a while.”
WHAT? NO WAY! The voices screamed in my head. But not a word came out of my mouth. Marc smiled smugly, and even gave me a wink. “Looks like we’re roomies, Dasi,” he said, eyes twinkling.
Kevin gave me a peck on the cheek and grabbed his jacket. “See, Marc? I told you she’d be fine with it.” He looked at me and laughed. “Marc here thought you might be uncomfortable if he stayed.”
I smiled, the kind of ridiculous “who me?” smile that I felt would surely make Kevin suspicious. But Kevin was completely oblivious to everything.
“Anyway, I told him you’d be fine, I mean, we’re all friends, here, right?” With those parting words, he was gone. Leaving me alone in the room with Marc.
Marc came up behind me as I stared at the closed door. “He’s right, we ARE all friends…” he said, moving my hair away from my neck and softly kissing it.
The tingly feeling swept over my body and I sighed involuntarily. Marc took that as a signal to continue.
“So here we are, all alone… I’m not scheduled tonight, you’re done for the day… and Kevin is working till 10:00…” Another kiss. More shivers. “So what do you propose we do for the rest of the day?”
Against my better judgment, I turned to face him and brought my lips to his. We devoured each other hungrily, hands roaming and hearts pounding. I knew it wasn’t right, but it felt so good to be so bad…
After what seemed like hours but what was only minutes, Marc began to unbutton my shirt. I moved my hands over his. “No,” I mumbled through our kisses. “Marc, I can’t.”
“Sure, you can,” he responded. “Dasi, I love you. Kevin will never know. Not until we’re ready to tell him. I made you a promise, and I meant it.”
I shook my head and pulled away. “No, no, no. I can’t do this,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I turned my back to him and fixed the few buttons he had managed to undo.
Marc sighed. “So what, that’s it then? A few stolen kisses when he’s not around?”
I wanted to cry. Marc sounded so angry and hurt, but I couldn’t DO this. I wasn’t sure HOW I was feeling, but in my heart I knew that even if I did choose Marc, I would have to do things the right way.
“Marc, listen,” I said gently. “I care about you. Really. And, ok, there is DEFINITELY chemistry. But…”
“But you won’t leave Kevin.”
“This can’t happen again. You can stay here, but this CAN’T happen again.”
Marc nodded. “He’ll hurt you, you know,” he said bitterly.
I could see the frustration in his eyes. And it occurred to me that Marc didn’t necessarily want me, he just wanted someone. He was jealous of Kevin and a lonely soul. I bit my bottom lip and watched as Marc sank into the chair by the desk.
“He won’t hurt me,” I said quietly. “And if he does, I’m calling you to kick his ass.”
Marc looked up and chuckled. Then he shrugged. “Well, hey, you know where to find me…”
I felt the tension leaving the air as we both laughed. Then there was a moment of uncomfortable silence as we both avoided each others’ eyes. I decided to break it.
“You’re a great guy, Marc,” I said. “I really don’t want to lose your friendship.”
“You won’t,” he assured me. Then he stood up. “Think I’m gonna go out for a while.”
I watched him leave and sat down on the bed. I really didn’t think I needed to worry about him ever telling Kevin, and I knew I never would. Schmauser jumped up on the bed next to me, and I petted him absently.
“Hey, Schmau,” I said. “I hope I did the right thing…”
Thursday, February 02, 2006
In Lieu of...
I seem to be having a bit of trouble organizing my thoughts and getting the next chapter of TBOTE churned out. Obviously, I know WHAT is going to happen next, I just can't seem to find the right words to get it started. Don't worry, though, it WILL come, especially since the sooner I get it finished, the sooner I may possibly be free of Satan!
Anyway, in lieu of the next chapter, I figured I'd give you all something fun to do. My Beautiful Aunt Dolores sent it to Lexie, and she was gracious enough to allow me to share it with my blog buddies. If you get to Level 4, there is supposedly some big musical thingy, so you need sound - and I suggest if you are doing this at work, you wait until the boss isn't around! I still can't get past Level 3, apparently you can't touch the sides at all or it goes right back to the beginning (but not "of the end" - HA!). Have fun, and I promise to try to get the next chapter out soon!
Anyway, in lieu of the next chapter, I figured I'd give you all something fun to do. My Beautiful Aunt Dolores sent it to Lexie, and she was gracious enough to allow me to share it with my blog buddies. If you get to Level 4, there is supposedly some big musical thingy, so you need sound - and I suggest if you are doing this at work, you wait until the boss isn't around! I still can't get past Level 3, apparently you can't touch the sides at all or it goes right back to the beginning (but not "of the end" - HA!). Have fun, and I promise to try to get the next chapter out soon!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Stuck in a Rut
So a few minutes ago I was sitting at my computer, eating cake and researching liposuction. And guess what? IT’S FRICKIN EXPENSIVE!!! How all these seemingly average people on Nip/Tuck were able to afford it is beyond me. Of course, apparently you could go for the “discount liposuction,” but then you would probably be butchered by someone like Merrill Bobolik (who I STILL think is the Carver – I don’t care what FX says) and wind up having to pay double to get yourself back to where you started.
Also? There is like a minimum 1-3 week recovery time. And I just don’t have that kind of time to “recover.” Satan would NEVER let me take off work for that long, to begin with, and letting Lexie run the house? Not. Some of those before and after pictures looked damn good, though. I’m jealous.
So I take another bite of my cake and I ponder my situation: I want to be thinner, really I do, but I just don’t have the money or the time for this surgery thing. I suppose they may have financing or something, but there would still be the time issue. What to do, what to do?
I lick the frosting off my plastic fork and wonder exactly how many crunches it would take to get my abs to look the way I want them to. I was doing really well for a few weeks, then lost my drive and quit the crunches. I suppose I could start them again.
And I hadn’t exactly been regular with my Curves visits either, for that matter. Honestly, I was trying, but something always seemed to come up. Like the day I just had the worst craving for a Lou Malnati’s pizza. There would’ve been no time for me to get the pizza AND go to Curves. No siree.
I just don’t understand WHY these extra pounds won’t go away. It’s not like I don’t try… I mean, didn’t I only get ONE double cheeseburger instead of TWO at McDonald’s the other day? And I SO could have taken more of the leftover cake from Bob and Sarah’s shower – but I DIDN’T. (And the two pieces I DID take weren’t even that big.) Is it MY fault that Lexie wanted popcorn chicken from KFC for dinner the other day? I was only trying to be a good mom…!
You know what? This is all BRIESEN’S fault. She is my friend/Curves worker. She hasn’t called me at all to find out where I have been. So yeah, Briesen, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!! I think I’ll go to Curves just to yell at her. And then I’ll start working out again, get back on track. Oh, wait, she doesn’t work on Wednesdays. Hmm. Guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Damn her! I COULD go in anyway, I guess, but if I do, then she’ll be all like, “Well, you were here YESTERDAY, so why would I call you?” so maybe I’d better wait. Yeah, I think I’ll wait another day.
Four more months until swimsuit and shorts season. That really sucks. Four short months. I’ll never make it. Think I’ll go have another piece of cake.
Also? There is like a minimum 1-3 week recovery time. And I just don’t have that kind of time to “recover.” Satan would NEVER let me take off work for that long, to begin with, and letting Lexie run the house? Not. Some of those before and after pictures looked damn good, though. I’m jealous.
So I take another bite of my cake and I ponder my situation: I want to be thinner, really I do, but I just don’t have the money or the time for this surgery thing. I suppose they may have financing or something, but there would still be the time issue. What to do, what to do?
I lick the frosting off my plastic fork and wonder exactly how many crunches it would take to get my abs to look the way I want them to. I was doing really well for a few weeks, then lost my drive and quit the crunches. I suppose I could start them again.
And I hadn’t exactly been regular with my Curves visits either, for that matter. Honestly, I was trying, but something always seemed to come up. Like the day I just had the worst craving for a Lou Malnati’s pizza. There would’ve been no time for me to get the pizza AND go to Curves. No siree.
I just don’t understand WHY these extra pounds won’t go away. It’s not like I don’t try… I mean, didn’t I only get ONE double cheeseburger instead of TWO at McDonald’s the other day? And I SO could have taken more of the leftover cake from Bob and Sarah’s shower – but I DIDN’T. (And the two pieces I DID take weren’t even that big.) Is it MY fault that Lexie wanted popcorn chicken from KFC for dinner the other day? I was only trying to be a good mom…!
You know what? This is all BRIESEN’S fault. She is my friend/Curves worker. She hasn’t called me at all to find out where I have been. So yeah, Briesen, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!! I think I’ll go to Curves just to yell at her. And then I’ll start working out again, get back on track. Oh, wait, she doesn’t work on Wednesdays. Hmm. Guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Damn her! I COULD go in anyway, I guess, but if I do, then she’ll be all like, “Well, you were here YESTERDAY, so why would I call you?” so maybe I’d better wait. Yeah, I think I’ll wait another day.
Four more months until swimsuit and shorts season. That really sucks. Four short months. I’ll never make it. Think I’ll go have another piece of cake.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)