Since I couldn't possibly make it up on a good day, y'all want to hear the latest about DtR!?? Of COURSE you do.
My assignment yesterday was to cover this one fire department that was giving a little boy a whole bunch of gifts to lift his spirits after he'd been bitten by a dog, so I'm sitting there with the chief and his crew getting backround on the sitch when I asked the little boy's name. The chief said "so and so." I thought, "Huh. That's DtR's last name, and we're in the area where DtR lived," so I asked what street they live on. The chief said, "such and such," so I asked if the boy's mother's name is Whosit and, well, whaddya know!?? I was like, holy shit, I haven't seen these people since DtR and I broke up 15 years ago, how weird is THIS going to be, right?
Not one bit, oddly enough. The little boy, who's a little doll, went out to talk to the firemen, and I walked up to Whosit and said "Fucking Whosit," and she squealed and was like, "OhmiGOD! How ARE you!?? Blahblahblahblahblah!" And so after the firemen left, she, her husband and I shot the breeze for awhile. Hope y'all are sitting down, because here's the big news: DtR's married again. Got himself a youngin' this time -- she's 23 to his going-to-be-39 -- and, according to Whosit, may have been divorced about an hour before he got remarried again. Also, while she loves her brother, he's a lying sack.
No. Get out. Imagine my sur-prise. (yawn)
So I told her before I left that mark my words, he's going to read my story, and I'm going to have an e-mail sitting in my box by time I get out of bed.
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I was sitting here in the office where the view's obstructed from the giant plum tree the landlords have yet to prune this summer, and there's this gurgling noise like it's raining, but I couldn't see anything, and then when I went into my room to see if I could hear it there, I couldn't. So, I was like nah, it's not raining, but then I looked out the window and saw that the streets are wet and there are puddles with raindrops. Strange. It's gotta be raining.
Except it's not raining:
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Remember how I was all excited about my new bag? Yeah. All of a sudden, I'm kinda sorta bugged out, because it's a bag that was a new style for Fall 2004. I mean, I still love it and all, but dude, Fall 2004.
Is that shallow?
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but this? Is retarded.
Lookit
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Yeah, because it worked so well when when his other girlfriend did it: Lookit
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(she says, dropping to her knees like in those cell phone commercials, then beating her head on the floor.)
Tell me something: Why is it that I can't have just ONE DAY where I have no responsibilities other than what I want to do -- which, in this case, was just sitting around the house doing nothing but drinking Pepsi and watching TV after a morning story and a nice lunch with Poppy!?? I was in for the night when I finally decided to answer Mother's seventh call of the day; she called to tell me that she needed pills picked up. (Before anyone jumps on my shit gets the wrong idea, it's a medication that she didn't absolutely, 100 percent need until Sunday, and believe me, I know aaaaaall about her meds and what she needs immediately and what she doesn't.) Oops, I forgot, along with the appointment I made at Marathon to have them look at my tire, which got really low on Thanksgiving, but Ok, I'll get them, I said, to which she promptly starts going on about how she's soooo worried about my tire and how I need to get that looked at before winter sets in, wonkwonkwonkwonk, then asks if I would then pick her up a pack of Orbit gum along with her meds because she doesn't want my aunt to complain about her breath tomorrow when they go out for lunch. (I almost said "Obit." How's THAT for a Freudian slip!?). Well, I got caught up in AMW -- again, she doesn't need these pills until tomorrow -- so as I'm picking them up, I get my eighth call of the day. I call her back:
Me: I'm on my way; I'll be there in five minutes.
Her: Did you get you get the gum?
Me: ... shit. I'll stop at the gas station.
Her: I TOLD you to get me gum.
Me: I said I'll stop at the gas station. It's not that big a deal. Really.
I get there, and she tells me to grab the last piece of pumpkin pie. As I'm putting whipped cream on it, she hands me her checkbook to write out her rent check -- you know, the one THAT ISN'T DUE FOR ANOTHER WEEK, because it must be done RIGHT NOW. Sigh. Where's a pen? I ask, and then she's all like, "I don't know what I did to you." I tell her, "Nothing," but she gets all whipped-puppy like. Ok, yeah, I DID say that she should call in the pills today; I just didn't sweat it because she said she had one to take in the morning and wouldn't need it until Sunday.
Just one lousy day to myself, is all I ask. Is that so wrong?
And THEN there's TOG, who gets all pissy with me because, as we were having a little saucy talk over e-mail, I kid that he's talking to some hot chick online. (CONTEXT: Without getting into details -- shutUP, you -- I was asking what he was doing home when he COULD be with me, unless he was talking to some hot chick online.) The correct (and funny) response to that would be "The only hot chick I'm talking to is you," regardless of whether I was or wasn't, or to just not say anything at all. But no, he gets all, "See? You gotta kill the mood," and I'm all, "Um ... wasn't trying to ..." and then he tells me he's going to bed because he's falling asleep. Oooooo-kay, then. Fine time to tell me that's a sore spot; that'll REALLY encourage me to indulge in saucy talk the next time, but whatever.
Stupid boys and their periods ...
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Found out yesterday that the best part of the ball happened just as I was making the mad dash to my car.
Each year, the chamber gives out "of the Year" awards to cops, paramedics and firefighters, and the dude who took over the Lake County Convention and Visitors Bureau, Speros Batistatos, was chosen to hand out the firefighter awards, right? Well, I'm told by several people that as ol' Speros took the stage to annouce the recipients, he scolded attendees who were still browsing at the silent auction table to sit down and that "wasn't going to tell (them) again"; after all, these men deserved everyones' full attention. That's right: He got up on stage with a microphone and scolded grown men and women to sit down. Needless to say, the grown-ups didn't take too kindly to being scolded at an event for which they paid $100 per couple.
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Am I the only person who finds it sad and wrong that this jackass thinks nag racing with Mandy Moore is a magic trick?
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Did y'all see this about how Marilyn Monroe REALLY died, allegedly?
Lookit
Pardon the pun, but holy shit.
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Just got a call from Tara: Her father-in-law died today. From what they can tell, Mr. Kingston went out to the garage about 4:30 this afternoon to get something, and it happened then -- either he fell or had a heart attack or aneurysm or whatever kills people all sudden-like. When Sean found him, he was blue.
I was over at Tara's and Sean's last night; his older sister had a Tastefully Simple party, and we were hanging out and wrapping it up when Mr. and Mrs. Kingston stopped over on their way to church. We walked upstairs and complimented Tara on her redecorating acumen with the bathroom and laughed at how Sean is quite the redecorator himself with his direction in the Master bedroom. Then we came downstairs and, as Mr. K was pulling out his wallet to pay the sister for the stuff Mrs. K bought, I went up to him like, "Hey! since you're giving it away over here ..." And he laughed and gave me five, and then did it again to make 10. Then they went to church.
Needless to say, Sean is a basketcase right now, and Tara's not doing too much better.
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Just when I thought I wasn't going to have talk about Crackhead anymore, I get this: Her one dealer friend? Wants to shut me up.
Like that?
The story goes that Crackhead said the guy "heard" from his "cop friend on the force in which I live" that I was asking about him, and that if she didn't shut me up, he'd have to "take care of it." Well, she was like, "I don't even talk to her," but she saw to it that I got word. Translation: When I reported the burglary, I told the detective that the reason she was even out here in my area is because she was hanging out with some dude in town. So, the cops probably came to his house looking for her, and he got pissed and bitched at her about it. I mean, seriously, the town force here isn't that big that it would likely even have officers in cahoots with dealers. What the fuck is she talking about?
Yawn.
Nevertheless, this guy allegedly called my uncle/her dad looking for me, so I'm going to talk to my uncle tomorrow and see if he brings it up. If he does, I'm then going to have him call the cops and verify it so I can file a complaint. That way, if I end up dead or beaten within an inch of my life, it'll be less work for them.
Just kidding. Sort of.
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I need a new bathroom.
No no, the condition is fine; I've just had the same shower curtain and accessories ever since I moved in, and even though they're cool, I want something different. I added a bunch to my wish list, so if you see anything you like, buy it for me. Heh.
So back to the whole introspection business, Poppy and I waxed philosophical by the pool yesterday, wondering how it was that her former beau (whose Sims name, incidentally, is Seth Cotis, who we've come to learn is a YOOGE icon out there on the Interbunny) got to where he did. We always knew he was a brittle diabetic, and we also knew that he didn't take care of himself like he should've, especially when it came to the drink. Always the life of the party, that one, but often at the expense of himself, clearly. Anyway, we got to talking about what would've happened if they'd have stayed together or even if he'd have ended up with someone else without his partying proclivities -- would he have slowed down? Would he have accepted his illness and taken better care of himself? You know, like the Gwenyth Paltrow movie with the glass doors: How would one different move, one different phrase, one different thought change the landscape? Is the universe predetermined or free will? Personally, I'm of the opinion that we all have the free will to do whatever and then the universe takes care of the rest exactly how it's supposed to be. Don't know if there's a fancy name for the philosophy, but there you go.
Anyone else have a thought about this?
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Got an e-mail from my little friend Kate; we were talking about purses when she hit me with the news that she's getting married. In September.
To a guy she met in April.
The first thing I did when I saw this e-mail? Called her and said, "You're WHAT!?!?!?" to which she replied with a laugh, "Why did I know I was going to get a quick response from you on that?" And I growled my usual "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm" that I do when I've been hit with dubious news.
(She knows I'm blogging about this, btw, so I'm not talking out of school or anything. And no, she's not knocked-up.)
So I heard her out about why she feels the need to this, and she said that ultimately when it comes down to it, if she described why it felt so right, it would lose all meaning. She also said that they were thinking about doing it in March, but that fiance's sister's getting married in April, and she had an aneurysm that she was going to get upstaged, so then I said, "So you can't wait until AFTER APRIL!?!?" and she said "Well, yeeeeah." There was also stuff about why should they pay $900 apiece for their cribs when they're already living together practically (reasonable), but that his parents wouldn't let them live together without being married (not their business since he's, like, 26) and that his parents got married quickly and have been married happily for 38 years. So then I told her that there are at least three marriages I know of right now that happened just as quickly that are either on the verge of petering out or already have, and are you SURE you REALLY want to do this, because odds like that? Not promising. But she swears this is what she wants. So I told her that she was 21 and that once I get over the initial shock, I'll be supportive and wonderful. And she said she understood my concerns and everything. It was fine.
But man! Three months!?!?!
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So of course now that I've decided I'll deal with DtR, I don't hear from him today at all.
I didn't have time to go through the whole exchange between us yesterday, but basically, he said he wanted to make amends and that he's become a different person and so on and so forth, and that while his recollection of the figure he owed me was different, he wasn't necessarily going to argue with me. So I asked "What's the catch?" because you KNOW there's always a catch within everything we do whether we want to admit it or not, but he swears there isn't one. Even gives me his cell digits and says I can post them wherever I want if I don't believe him (which leads ME to believe he's found ol' Chez Broad here, and that's ... fine, I guess, but the digits do pan out). I write back and tell him that he'd gotten my attention and that I wasn't about to wreak havoc with his wife and family because, as we all know, I have enough crap at any given time without having a hostile wife killing my buzz. And then today, I told him the rest of the week was problematic so could we perhaps do it next week at some point. That's where it's been left. Now, of course it's only been one day and there are a million legitimate reasons why he may not have responded, but I don't trust him.
And see, that's kind of the problem, here. It's like, I get forgiveness and have a rather large capacity for it, as some of y'all know, but I'm having a time with this one. I mean, like I said, this goes way beyond the stupid shit you deal with after you break up with someone when you're in your early 20s. There was abuse, both emotional and physical, although I'm still loathe to even call the latter "abuse" because when it happened, I honestly didn't realize that's what it was until I found out months later that he attempted the same thing on a friend of mine he was trying to bed, except she was strong enough to fend him off. (THERE'S an interesting one for all you analyzers out there. Emotional abuse is beautiful bitch, ain't it?) And believe you me, I realize I don't have to do a DAMN thing if I don't want to, and won't. It's just a really hard thing for me to get my head around.
Besides, I've already thought about all the things I need to do with the money, and if that's yanked out from under me, I'm going to be sorely pissed. Not surprised in any way, shape or form, but pissed.
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Ok, so I totally didn't take Snidgey's advice and went ahead and popped off at DtR; said that if he gives me the $950 he owes me, we could talk about mending fences. I mean, as Wad said as he reconfigured my Palm earlier, if I were to piss him off, what would I lose? Nothing, right?(Sorry, Dix, and after you praised me for my restraint.)
Yeah, except I wasn't counting on him saying that he wants to PAY ME BACK.
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I get this e-mail from DtR wanting me to cover an event. I'll give him an "A" for the suck-up factor, but the only reason I'm not going to add any of my own pithy comments is because my ass is dragging from the crackhead incident. But feel free to add your own.
Wait ... what!??<
Have y'all seen this yet!?
Crispity Christ on a cracker.
What the hell is WRONG with this stupid casino? I mean, they're online, so it's not like they can show off their purchase unless they post the shit on their sight ... oh, wait. They're going to go on TOUR with it, kinda like the Jim Rose fucking Freakshow. Goody.
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Talking to a subject for a story tonight, and she was telling me about the restaurant located next door to her that she did some work for. Guess what the restaurant's name is? Before I tell you, bear in mind that the woman, and the restaurant, are in Gary.
The name?
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If I've managed to block out as many spammer dicks as humanly possible with my Blacklist -- and I do a run-through as least once a day -- then why do they keep trying to come back 2, 3, 10 times a day? I just looked at my activity log, and there they are, like birds against a streak-freak window. Just sayin'.
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I've spent the better part of the last 45 minutes perusing this site (lookit) of which the author trolls baby name BBSes and just SKEWERS her findings. It's fucking HILARIOUS. To wit:
Beautiful Welsh names (girls)
Aelwen(fair brow)
Arwen(Fair)
Briallen(primrose)
Drudwen(precious)
Ceindrych(Elegant, fair)
Ceiros(Cherries)
Cerian (to love ) Ce pronouced as KEE
Crisiant( crystal)
Faleiry (welsh form of valerie)
Fflur( flower)
Eiddwen Eira, Eiry (snow)
Enfys (rainbow)
Eswen(strength)
Eurwen(fair and golden)
Gwennant(fair stream)
Gwennog(smiling)
Gwylan(seagull)
Gwyneira (white snow)
Haf(summer)
Heulwen(sunshine)
Iorwen(lord, beautiful)
Llio Meinir(maiden)
Meinwen(slender n fair)
Melangell(sweet angel)
Saeran( an irish saint)
Tegan(beautiful)
Wynne(fair, blessed)
BOMB WALES NOW! Seriously, take any one of these words, put "Marie Johnson" behind it and try not to laugh. Now imagine the kindergarten teacher trying to say Fflur on the first day of school. That's right. ...
"Put Marie Johnson behind it"!?!? Comedy TITANIUM, y'all.
This reminds me of when my pal Laura, before she had her darling chitlins, would call me when she got her class rosters before the first day of school. Fast forward one year to Open House, and she encountered a parent who inSISTED her daughter's name is pronounced, "Tatiana." But how is it spelled? "Titania." And she wasn't kidding, folks.
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If I, someone who most days can barely afford the lifestyle to which she's accustomed, can afford my own blog with pretty skins, shouldn't fuckin' Rosie O'Donnell be able to, too!?? I mean, come ON.
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Now? The spammer dicks are still spamming my pings, but they're leaving numbered sites THAT DON'T GO ANYWHERE. That ain't very bright, is it?
(flips arm against shoulder) Der der der der der deeeerrr der.
Speaking of not very bright, apparently there's a new study out that talks about about how obesity shortens lifespan. No. Get out. Imagine my sur-prise. Yawn.
Oh, for those of you who haven't caught Homegirl Snidgey yet today, you HAVE to read this entry of hers: Lookit. Not only does she talk about the grossest thing ever, she ties in a certain NWI icon, which made me laugh and laaaaauuuuugh. The rumors are true, man.
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Clearly, this little monster is skewing the test results to screw with the people who get perfect scores, because there is NO WAY that I got anything less than 100 percent in ALL of these categories. A 72 percent "Expert" score on this? "British" or "American" spellings or not, 72 percent MY ASS. [Horked from Wad, whose degree is in COMPUTERS.]
Wait ... what!??<
Is it just me, or does Maya Keyes' coming-out speech sound disingenuous?
I mean, sure, I admit I might've heard that out of context, but it just sounded to me like the polite version of, "Ok, I'm really not sure if I like box or dick, but box sure is fun, and look how MAD it makes my dad! And I STILL get my Ivy League college for free! Look at me! Woo!" And honey, if that's your shtick, you're NOT HELPING. Again, I'm all about it if she's gay. I'm just saying if she's not, this is a shitty thing to be doing to the rest of the community.
While I'm on my social soapbox, did y'all see this? Got it over at Mac's. Someone please enlighten me, because that? Is bullshit.
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I haven't mentioned the guy who wrote me from prison yet, have I? Yeah, see, that's one of the bad things about having your name in the paper: People can find you and write you in care of the paper. From prison. I haven't seen the note yet, but Tara tells me that he -- and I'm not going to name him, because it somehow seems wrong -- sent me a Christmas card with a letter in it asking me to help him with job hunting after he gets out or something. As if I would be any sort of expert on the subject. Anyway, he said that he wouldn't bother me again if he doesn't hear from me, but any kind of human contact is greatly appreciated. (I'll bet.)
So, if responding would be opening a can of fucked-up that I really don't want -- and I REALLY don't -- is it wrong for me to feel bad about it?
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This morning, I dreamt that BFKAS and I were taking classes at my elementary school that was really my high school (!?), and that she and I were arguing about my confronting her about her giving me up. So then the next day, Crazy Aunt (BFKAS's sister) calls me and tells me that BFKAS called Quickly, a section in the Post that allows readers to call in and sound off about their bullshit, and left a comment clearly directed at me -- you know, because it's all about me, especially in my dreams -- that went like this: "Your mother told you the man who raised you wasn't your father, and now you're bothering me about it? How dare you!"
I'm guessing that while the meds have put my anxiety back in check, not so much on the unresolved anger -- which, of course, they're not supposed to do anyway, but I can pretend, right?
Meanwhile, I'm having a somewhat of a dilemna before there's even reason to have one. Remember when I crashed over at Jill's and her fiance's a few weeks ago? And I talked about how Jill's been trying to convince me to buy the house when they move? Ok, so there's no way that even if I did get a mortgage, I'd be able to afford it, so I jokingly asked last week if they'd consider a "rent to own" deal, and Jill was like, "Yeah, I think that could be arranged."
Now, we haven't talked figures yet, so I don't know if I could even afford to do it. My problem, though? I love my crib.
Yeah, I know that everyone says you're supposed to own property and that why would you pay someone's mortgage for them when you could pay your own. But this the first place I ever lived outside my folks', and as far as they come, it's an awesome place: Quiet neighborhood mostly, right near major arteries so I can get to where I'm going easily (provided there's no rotten construction, of course) and near tons of fast food. The house, on the other hand, is a great house (three bedroom, two deck, giant yard and a fireplace) in a neighborhood I've always aspired to live in, but the neighborhood is also off the beaten path, about 20 minutes from where I am now.
Again, none of this is going to happen for at least another eight months to a year, and it may not happen at all if I can't afford it. But what if I can?
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Sweet Jesus.