A quickie

This will be a little flighty because I'm on a small break at work while I'm waiting for some files to upload. But I haven't really posted much of anything in a while - many thanks to The Thing for distracting you with his/our story. Which brings me to Item #1...

1. The Thing promises that Part 3 will be ready for me to post by Friday night.
2. Work completely sucks. The deadline from hell is more hell-ish then normal. They decided they (The Evil Client) didn't want to wait until March for all of the information so they are making us put out an earlier package...today...about 50 minutes ago to be exact. Fuck 'em. I just had surgery...
3. I had my post-op appointment with the doc Monday night. He says he is not surprised to find that I am still trying to recovery from the surgery because in the process of my tubal he found scar tissue on my ovaries which required a lot more poking around in there then he normally does. A week later, I'm still bleeding, I'm still swollen enough that I've been standing at work with my pants unzippered beneath long sweaters all week, and my cooch is beautiful bruised shade of brownish-yellow. Attractive, no? But, as my doc pointed out, he did get some wonderful pictures of my ovaries so it was all worth it. It's a good thing he's a hottie.
4. I'm madly in love with The Thing and if I could find a way to convince him to move up here to be with me, I'd do it.
5. The Boy had a near death experience yesterday. It happened when I opened up his report card. Two D's and Two F's. He would need straight A's for the rest of the year in order to pass into the 11th grade in the Fall. The Boy has an IQ of 163. Could someone please explain this to me? And if you say 'teenage angst' I'll stick a fork...you know...
6. I have found that when push comes to shove, The Paperweight is not entirely evil. Being left with no other options, I had him take me to the surgery last week. He was wonderful, held me while I bawled my eyes out in the recovery when none of the pain meds would work and fetched me whatever I wanted. He then proceeded to take me home, put me in bed, and take care of everything else. He took care of the kids, kept me supplied in water, crackers and Percocet, spent the night on the couch so that he'd be there if I needed anything, and took care of the kids the next morning.
7. Two days later, he asked to borrow $350 from me so he could pay his taxes. I said he wasn't entirely evil.
8. Though Hottie Gyn would disagree. He's still so angry at The Paperweight for walking out on me and the kids that he wouldn't speak to him at the hospital. Doc told me at the appointment Monday that he didn't show Paperweight the 'wonderful' pictures of my ovaries either because he didn't think Paperweight 'deserved to see them'.
9. I think I broke something on the computer...um...
be back later...

Part 2 of 3

Um, yes...you read that correctly. While I'm finally posting another installment, you will have another waiting period before you get the ending. But, you have to forgive My Thing because he has been really busy at work and then spent three days taking care of me and besides he's really cute and really good in bed...
Um, yeah. Nevermind about that.
Though, he is.
And I get to sleep with him.

Oh, yes...the story. For those who missed Part 1, as a present for my blog's 1 year Anniversary last week, The Thing agreed to write a post for me. I told him he could make the topic anything he wanted and being the completely adorable romantic that he is, he chose to describe, in his own words, the night we met.

And please don't give me too much shit about my own pitiful description about the night we met and how I left out all the juicy details. You're hearing them now, and that's what matters, isn't it?
Besides, he tells it so much better anyway....

Part 2:

Taller Girl is standing behind me, just to my left. She is standing awfully close. Is she crowded? I move up slightly… let her get a good look at MY back.

I think to myself, she’s just being polite; probably had already touched Thing 2’s elbow too – letting us both know she’s made the trek all the way from the back of the bar.

I get back to the show. The band is good. The drummer looks like she hasn’t eaten in a month, but damn if she doesn’t sing well. The band rocks on.

Then, for whatever reason, I get this silly thought in my head - “I think this girl likes me.” I can’t imagine why. I wasn’t dressed up, I don’t remember saying anything remotely charming and I certainly was in no way, flirting with her back there at the bar.

But regardless, I now felt that I’d “won” something. Was this a victory within some kind of male dominance battle that I wasn’t even consciously participating in? (I should point out that at no point during the evening, did I get the vibe that Thing 2 was interested in the Taller Girl whatsoever or that I was behaving “inappropriately”.)

I smile for a moment.

But then I realize I can’t remember her name. Great. She’s “chosen” me and I can’t remember her name. Remembering anything - other than watching for the 1 AM deadline we’d given the cab driver to come pick us up - was not part of the plan.

I turn to my left and gently scream “Where’s your friend?” into her ear. She cups her mouth, draws into my ear and says something. The only thing I can hear is a hammer - mentally whacking my brain - as I try to remember who the hell is standing next to me. I nod. The band rocks on.

Now I have to use the bathroom. But I hesitate. If I leave, will the space next to her - where I now stand - be here when I get back? And why was I so concerned about that all of the sudden?

I wait as long as I can, swallow the last of my beer and quietly scoot off to the right of the stage. I stand at the urinal, staring at the scribble on the wall, hoping something would appear that jostles her name from my head. I can’t believe I can’t remember her name. Or how many kids she has. Or what she does for a living. Or what her back looks like.

I come back and she’s right where I left her.

“I’m going to get a drink – anyone want anything?” I announce to/ask Thing 2 and Taller Girl. Thing 2 says “No thanks” and Taller Girl says “I’ll come with you”.

So we head back through the crowd, and find Shorter Girl right where I’d last seen her – next to the bar. She is sober and her husband is even more so. I order another drink. Taller Girl, Shorter Girl and her husband pass. We all talk. I hope that Shorter Girl calls out Taller Girl’s name so I can latch onto it but it doesn’t happen. I never make it back to Thing 2 or the band.

Thing 2 eventually comes to the back. His timing is perfect - it’s almost 1 AM and our scheduled cab ride is approaching. I feel bad that I left him up at the front so I volunteer to go outside and wait for the cab so that both of us don’t have to.

I grab my jacket and head out into the cold. It’s 1AM and there’s no cab waiting for us as promised. I walk up and down the street to keep warm, but still no cab. I send a couple of text messages to Thing 2 – most of them are detailed fantasies about me having sex with his mom. It’s cold. I’m happy. I think a girl likes me.

It’s 1:15 and I still don’t see our cab, so I head back inside.

My phone vibrates. It’s a text message from Thing 2, who is standing just to my right. Probably something about him having sex with my mom. It’s not.

“Taller Girl wants your phone number.”

I look up from my phone, embarrassed. Taller girl is smiling. Her friend sent me the message from Thing 2’s phone. I wasn’t expecting that.

Fauve’s note: Neither was I. Shorter Girl (who I have blogged about before, calling her Girlfriend) did not tell me what this text message said until after she hit Send. The ‘smile’ of mine was more out of embarrassment then anything else. However, considering how things turned out, we buy Shorter Girl/Girlfriend presents often. Seriously.

The next few minutes involve me pulling out a business card and writing my cellular phone number on the back of it. As I do, I think to myself: “You told her you don’t live in Pittsburgh, right?” She does the same. I turn the card around and see her name. Of course: Taller Girl. Why couldn’t I remember that?

Thing 2 meanwhile has gotten back his phone, has gone outside and tries to call the cab company to see where the fuck our cab is.

Shorter Girl announces that she and her husband have to get going and it was a real pleasure meeting blah blah blah blah blah. I wait for Taller Girl to get up, put on her jacket and leave with them. That doesn’t happen. The couple leaves.

Moments later, Thing 2 comes back to the bar and says, “The cab is here.” I turn back to the bar where Taller Girl is still sitting; she’s still not wearing her jacket.

“Hey.”, I say then pause for what seems like minutes, “Would you like to come and hang out with Thing 2 and I at his place?”
I cringe, knowing the answer will be either “I’d love to but I can’t tonight” or “I should probably be getting home.”

She pauses for what seems like hours.

“Sure.”

TO BE CONTINUES….

Mmmm percocet good.....

I'm here. I'm alive. Sore and whimpering, but alive.
The surgery went well; was uneventful, except that it hurt a lot more afterwards then I thought it would. Thank God for percocet. But I'm up and kicking now!
Um, yeah right...up and kicking = sitting up at the computer once in a while and able to now take care of a few things around the house. Though I will be returning to work tomorrow.
Note the excitement in my tone...

Actually, there are a few good stories I can tell related to my time off, surgery, and things that have happened around here because of those things. Alas, I'm way too fucking tired to write any of that stuff coherently at the moment. Besides, I know you are waiting for the second half of The Thing's story anyway. Which [insert evil laughter here] you're going to have to wait another day or two to read...though, before you lynch me, let me point out that I am just as anxious to read it as you are. Apparently, The Thing is still in the process of writing & editing Part 2 and won't let me have or even read it until he's done. However, he has promised to give it to me tonight or tomorrow.
Good thing you guys love me, eh?

A year in review...and saving the best for last...

While most people might be inclined to think 'wow, it's been 1 year since this blog was started....already?!?!' Where as I, on the other hand, have been thinking, 'it's only been a year?!?!'

So much has happened, so much has changed...and I now have more then 2 people who read my blog. Since so many of you were not here in the beginning, let's take a little walk down memory lane, shall we?

I originally started this blog because I was in an absolutely miserable marriage, I was extremely unhappy in every way, and had absolutely no one I could talk too. This was my venting spot and also the place where I hoped to learn, through self-discovery, how I could survive my marriage and possibly even be happy again. Ironically, within a week of starting this blog, my husband, The Paperweight, put on his coat one night and simply walked away.

But I still had you, faithful readers, who 'watched' me go through it all. We've been together through tough times, trying to work things out, clairity, self-discovery, and the day I finally decided it was over and even the resulting bitterness.

You were there, dear reader, as I tried to find myself again, as my parent's rejected that idea and me along with it, and of course
all of The Paperweight's bullshit.

We even got to share the experience of watching me enter the wonderful world of dating again. You were there for my first date in a decade and a half, my learning to keep my options open and my first shot at romance. You were there when I dumped guys and watched as I was dumped.
And we learned together that it was because someone wonderful was coming along...
You helped me through my fears...
And watched as I fell in love...

::sigh:: yes...my love, The Thing... [insert sappy love song of your choice here]
Or, you can read all about it in his own words [grin]
Yes, as an Anniversary treat for both you & I, The Thing agreed to write a post for me. I told him he could make the topic anything he wanted; complete free reign. He chose to describe, in his own words, the night we met...

It is quite long because he is much more detailed in the account then I was (and he tends to be way more honest so be prepared, lol) and will need to be posted in more then one section. Here is Part 1:

I go to Pittsburgh a lot. It is one of my favorite places to visit. Top 5 reasons:

• The drive up is a great chance to catch up on the recent music I’ve bought or Stern show episodes that I’ve missed.
• I get one step closer to packing up my shit and moving into one of the wonderfully worn, incredibly inexpensive, large old homes. Well built, lots of brick and glass block windows and no two look alike.
• No shortage of GetGo’s and Sheetz’s.
• It has 2 fantastic music stores – Paul’s and Jerry’s. Hours of time can be wasted in either place.
• It’s pretty close to home.

I hadn’t been to Pittsburgh for a couple of months, when I took a trip there at the end of October.

The reason for this trip was quite non self-serving – to spend some time with my very good friend, Thing 2, who was recently dumped by his girlfriend. His (ex) girlfriend is also my cousin. Despite the blood relation with my cousin, I actually had a closer relationship with Thing 2 that grew over the 11 years that the two of them were together (11 years?! Wow!)

Although Thing 2 and my cousin had split (she dumped him) over a month prior, I hadn’t been able to grab a free weekend to make the trip to see either one of them. Then one day, Thing 2 emailed me out of nowhere. His message omitted any text, just a link to a web site. It was for a band he’d recently been turned onto - an all girl band. HOT. I listened to their music and liked it. I told him so. He mentioned that they had a gig the following weekend at a small bar in Pitt and he really seemed interested in going. I very rarely turn down an invite to see live music – even if it is in a city 3 hours away – so I told him I’d head up and we’d go check out the show.

I came up to Pitt late Friday evening, just in time to catch up a little with Thing 2, have a couple of beers and then go to bed.

As Saturday evening approached (about an hour or two before we had intended to leave) I suggested we cab it over and back from the bar. This seemed entirely appropriate since the Pittsburgh PD is known for cutting little slack with regards to both under-the-influence driving and not making a complete stop at a stop sign. And after all, the whole (underlying) reason for the weekend was to celebrate (he was DUMPED remember? I have to put a positive spin on it for his sake!):

• Thing 2’s singlehood,
• His emergence from the house after a month or more of not really going out,
• To see a good band
• And an unspoken desire on my part to have him meet a girl that night – someone to distract him and let him know there’s life beyond his recently-deceased relationship – someone to make him say to me “Hey, look, would you, um, mind sleeping in your car tonight so I don’t have to attempt to be quiet when I’m having sex with this girl”

After 4 attempts to book a cab for the night (two laughed when we told them we wanted a cab for that night, the other two didn’t even pick up their phones), we finally got through to one that put us on hold for 20 minutes before we were able to talk to something that was not a recording. We were getting close to our scheduled departure time.

And for the 1st time in a long while, it was gonna just be me and Thing 2 hanging out – no girlfriend appendages to tug on our arms an hour into arriving at the bar – begging to leave because the “band sucked” or there was “no scene” or they didn’t have any good beer on tap or whateverthefuck. It was gonna be great.

The place is empty when we arrive; it is a rather long building – with the bar on the right, a few bar-stool tables on the left and the stage all the way in the back. Thing 2 goes to the bar to get drinks and I walk up to the very front of the stage, stand there alone for a few minutes, staring. It was so quiet in the place. Was this all the crowd this band was going to draw that night? Then I remembered it was only 9pm. And that it was an all-girl band. OF COURSE people would show up for that. Hell, I drove 3 hours for this shit. I’m sure there were at least 30 Pittsburgians that had got over the depression of the prior Sunday’s Steelers loss and were ready to DRINK AND ROCK OUT.

We sit down at one of the bar-stool tables and talk for a while before the 1st band goes on (Thing 2’s “band” was 3rd/headlining). Very, very good stuff -- but not enough to get either of us up from our comfy seats and lose our close proximity to the bar.

Shortly after the 1st band ceases playing, 2 girls come into view from the back/right of me or the front/left of Thing 2. At least I think they are girls, I am only able to make out 20% of their bodies as I am staring primarily at their backs. Perhaps they didn’t know I was sitting at the same table. Hm. I overhear the shorter of the 2 girls say to Thing 2, “So me and my friend have a bet,” (insert sighing, eye-rolling and jealously here) “how old are you?” What I will recount as trite conversation now ensues between the 3 of them until a driver’s license is soon produced. Commence giggling. Note: neither myself or Thing 2 is giggling.

[Fauve's note: I think he was drunk because I've never giggled in my life! um, yeah]

I was about to fake-cough in order to get a little attention over here when I noticed that I could now see 30% of their bodies (maybe it was my cologne that was finally attracting these 2 girls?). The shorter one: “We’re celebrating my friends divorce”, referring to her friend, the taller of the two. I manage to eek out a “Congratulations” and soon learn that the taller one had been with her husband for 11 years (the same amount of time Thing 2 was with my cousin) and that she had 2 children. “Way to go, Thing 2”, I think to myself, “That didn’t take long” (for him to meet a girl). The 2nd band was getting ready to go on, so the girls make their way back to the bar area. I look at Thing 2, shrug my shoulder and sniff my underarm to make sure I applied deodorant that evening.

Band 2 goes on. I like them too, though not as much as Band 1. My beer glass is empty. If I recall, I can pay a girl at the bar a couple of dollars and she’ll refill it for me. I get up and ask Thing 2 if he wants another drink. I look down at his still-full glass. He says “No,” and I start to walk away, “but you should probably ask those girls if they want a drink”. I look at him. “Those girls that IGNORED me for most of their recent visit?” Yeah. They are going to get a drink, but not from me.

As I weave my way through a couple of groups of people that are between our table and the bar, I come to a clearing where I can see the bar in full view. It’s packed. I’ll have to double park somewhere I guess. Then a space opens up -- right next to the Taller Girl. I slide in sideways, facing her (100%) and pull out my wallet. What a sucker. “Can I get you a drink?”, I ask. She says “yes” and BAM! There’s her drink. Just like magic. Amazing what $2 buys in a bar in Pennsylvania.

I decide to be polite and ask her more about her divorce and her children. Polite, meaning, it’s clear that this girl is “Thing 2’s”, perhaps I would be able to “talk up” my friend. We talk about each others work, how Band 2 was not that great (even though I liked them) and then more about her kids/ex-husband. Her friend, the shorter one (who was there with her husband) tells me to get Thing 2 and bring him over (by this time, I was away from our table for 15 minutes already). I do. He does.

As Band 3 starts to rock out, it’s clear to me that
1. I want to be closer to the stage ‘cause them girls is rockin’ out sumpin’ fierce and
2. It’s a great time for me to bail and leave Thing 2 to Taller Girl. So I announce my departure to the group. Thing 2 decides to join me.

So we head up front and fall in love with each band member. Oh, the music’s real good too.

10 minutes later, I feel a hand touch my left arm or elbow – I turn to see Taller Girl standing next to me with a smile.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back then we didn't have these fancy birth control methods. Like pulling out.

Yeah, I've been pretty quiet lately. Forgive me? What about for a cookie? I make excellent cookies. Or a big wet kiss? ::smooch::
I'll give you the Reader's Digest condensed version...

I am working on the deadline from hell. Pretty standard in this business, true, but Jesus wept! If anyone in this office actually thinks we are going to meet this one they need medication. Or a big smack. Or, of course, a fork in the head.

Next Wednesday is the one year anniversary of this blog. I'd love to tell you that I have an incrediable post all ready to go, but I would totally be lying. While I have given it some thought and put some things in motion, that too may be one deadline that doesn't happen.

Next Wednesday is also the day that I am scheduled to have surgery. I'm getting my tubes tied. Yes ladies and gentlemen, there will be no more Fauvelings added to the clan. I have The Boy and The Girl...any thing more would be tempting fate. And she's really been good to me lately so who am I to get greedy?

And I'm headed to The Thing's tomorrow afternoon to spend the weekend. So as much as I love you guys...I plan on being otherwise occupied...

De-lurking follow up

De-lurking Week has come to an end and I, for one, think it was successful. Successful = I met new people, found some cool new blogs, and no one told me to sit down and shut up. Yeah!

So in case you weren't paying attention, I'm giving a big shout-out...wait...I'm over 30, can I say shout-out? Come to think of it, I don't think I was cool enough for that when I was under 30...um...can I say, 'give you some props" ? Yeah, I so can't pull that off either...How about
"Here's a big ole list of people who visit my site and you should go check out their blogs because they deserve it after coming here to read this dribble and while some of them don't have blogs I'll just list their names because...well, because I can"
Has a nice ring to it, eh?
Word...peace out...

Karen
Amy
Karamia
Sparkmonkey
SonjaB
angela marie
ordinarygirl
lemming
loon
Steve(technically, it's the 4 yr old you have to stay away from. The Boy could totally outgross you in the mutilation department...of course, you could just show him that video of you and your stepson. That would totally win. snort)
genkileslie
Thumper
Christi
Kristi
Used*to*be*me
flea
David
slick
Contrary
Surfie
Madison
Kmum
Lizzie and Jakes Grandma
Michelle
Coolchick
Deborah (btw, yes, The Thing does have a brother, but I haven't met him yet. And from what I hear...you ain't missin much)
Jane
Imp
jc
Been there, done that
Kenna b
Kelly

Fork in the Head Friday; The peace, love and great big dope edition

Yes, it's been much too long since I've done a Fork in the Head Friday, but it's back baby!

This Friday's Fork in the Head goes to The Boy's teacher I saw in the grocery store last night.
I was waiting in line at the deli counter with a few other customers. The Boy and The Girl had long since deserted me to wander through the store out of sheer boredom. There was a gentleman beside and slightly behind me - now to be known as George Costanza because that's who he resembled; short, stocky and balding - who was standing just a tad too close, but was otherwise minding his own business. A short time later, I could hear the kids returning from behind me when I heard George say, "The Boy! I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?" I turned to see The Boy looking down, kind of shuffling his feet and mumbling something…
Ah, the typical "omg there's a teacher and my mom's going to talk to him and I'll die from embarrassment" behavior……

George and The Boy continued on with this 'conversation' for a couple more minutes, both of them taking the occasional glance at me. However, not one of them presented an actual introduction as to who this man was…The Boy I can forgive because he's 15. George? Well, I'm sure he felt awkward because I know that he didn't know who I was. I get that a lot.

I think I've given (but not positive) a physical description of The Boy before. Just in case I haven't, or for those that missed it, my son is huge. He's currently 6' - 2" tall and 190 lbs. Yes, he does play football and looks older then his age. I, on the other hand, am no where near either one of those measurements. Also, working against me (or for me, depending on the case), is the fact that I had The Boy when I was obscenely young. It is not all uncommon for people to think The Boy and I are siblings. We get that a lot, in fact. So I think part of George's lack of introduction came simply because he wasn't sure of my relationship to The Boy.

But I've completely digressed and this has really nothing to do with anything, especially nothing to do with why George now has a fork protruding from his head. This reminds me of that joke:
How many kids with Attention Deficit does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Want to go ride bikes?

[snort]

Okay seriously now…where was I?
Oh yes, so we finally got our order from the deli and proceeded to go through with the rest of our shopping. I quickly question The Boy who confirms that George is a teacher but an old one from Middle School a couple years ago. Within minutes, George was once again following behind us and starts again to talk to The Boy. George then asks the standard adult/teacher question, "So what are your plans after high school?"
The Boy: "I'm going to the Air Force."
George: "You don't want to do that."
The Boy: "Yes, I do." George: "At least wait until the war is over"
The Boy: [pondering whether or not he can throw The Girl at George, distracting him long enough to get away]
George: [looking at me] "You are not going to allow him to do that, are you?!?!"

Reminder: I have never seen this man before in my life and as far as he knows, I still have no fucking clue who he is. And this is the first time, in fact, he has ever actually spoken directly to me in my life. Got that? Okay…

Me: [being totally PC/nice because my children can hear me] "I will support my son no matter what he chooses to do"
George:
Well, George goes in to what would best be described as a tirade. It starts with comments about the senselessness of the war, continues on into a political rampage, digresses into how you can never really tell who 'the enemy' is anymore and ends abruptly when I ask The Boy to remove The Girl from the area because of George's vivid descriptions of trip wires that "cut the legs clean off of our men" and sends them all home badly maimed and he can't believe that anyone would want to join the Service.
Me: [smiling at George] Regardless of whether or not I agree with your points or who 'the enemy' is, The Boy will have my full support to do what he thinks is best.

And I quickly walked away to find, and hug, both The Boy and The Girl.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I do not discuss politics. Ever. I believe that is even in my profile. You will never know where I stand because, personally, not only do I think it is no one's fucking business, but I also don't see the point of "political discussions". Because, you know, they are never discussions. They are propaganda filled arguments on who is right and who is wrong and both sides do it ad-nausea until it digresses into nothing but name-calling and playground bullying. And don't you dare tell me 'We are just debating' or 'I don't do that' because you're lying. If you discuss politics, you've done it. Know how I know? Because if people could actually sit down and discuss their different beliefs in a reasonable and calm manner, there wouldn't be more then one political party. Do I vote? Yes. And if you really want to know, I’m registered as an Independent. Not really surprised, are you?

And here was George, invading my already limited time with my children with his political opinions. Did I agree or disagree with him? Doesn't matter. Do you know why? Because it didn't matter to him when he started to speak to me. I could have been all for what he was saying or simply stabbed him in the…well, you know…for being on the 'other side' for all he knew. And, there is the whole freedom of speech thing too, I have to take in to account. Good old George here has the right to say whatever he wants, just as I have the right to say what I want.

For me, I choose to say, your political opinions being whatever they are:
1) Don't ever talk about mutilation in front of my 4 year old.
2) Don't ever tell me what I should or should not allow my 15 year old to do with his life.
3) Do not ever say a negative word about the men and women who serve in our military. Regardless of anyone's thoughts on war, a veteran has saved your life…more then once…

Does fear fill every inch of my body when I think of The Boy in the military? Fucking right, it does. What am I? Stupid? No, I'm his mother. A mother who has watched her son grow into the kind of man who wants to do what he thinks is best. A man who would put his life on the line for his fellow man. "These things we do that others may live"….This, I have to allow….

To comment, perchance to meet...

Seeing as my blog is not yet a year old, this is my first participation in De-lurking Week. I'm always happy (and okay, totally surprised) when I find out that people actually read my blog. All you have to do is show yourself...leave a little note or even just a hello in the comment section to let me know you were here. So go on, make me happy. Hasn't my life sucked enough? And here you are...and I'm asking just this one little favor... Besides, in the words of the wise Sheryl, remember, if you don't leave a comment, you're letting the terrorists win!

In other news:
My appointment went fine yesterday. No foot odor, hottie doctor is as cute as ever, and no restraining order was filed against me.
I spent this past weekend at The Thing's house. It was wonderful, as always. But I think if he gets any more adorable I may be in serious danger of becoming a totally disgusting schmoopy girl.
The Paperweight is still alive. I'm looking into the voodoo doll that LoisLane brought to my attention.

Guess who gave herself a pedicure last night?

I have an appointment on Monday. Wish me luck...

The Thing and I were discussing this slightly neurotic (his word, not mine) behavior he has where he can never get to work on time because he changes his mind 50 times about what he wants to wear that day. The behavior itself doesn't bother him that much. However, he's seen me get ready for work in the morning (I can be out the door 15 minutes after waking) and he was questioning whether or not his slightly neurotic behavior would annoy me.
Personally, I've seen this 'routine' before and not only is it absolutely hysterical, but down right adorable. Besides, I'm not his boss so why should I care? But anyway...I started to tell him a little about my weird foot thing. He already knows that I'm 'uncomfortable' with him (or anyone) going anywhere near my feet (omg, the first time we had sex he kissed a couple of my toes and I wanted to fucking die). So I think that made him feel a little better thinking that I have 'quirks' as well...of course, he doesn't realize (yet) that I am way beyond slightly neurotic and into the totally range when it comes to my feet.
Perhaps the next time he's worried about it I'll send him the 'fears' post...
Or not...

New Year's Resolution

Since it's already January 3rd, you can tell that I've been avoiding this topic. I debated whether to do a whole 'new year' post at all. It seems like everyone has blogged one, in one form or another, and I loathe to be like everyone else. Not to mention that it's just too easy - a 'gimme' topic, if you will. Besides, and this is the most important reason, I had no resolutions planned this year.

I've spent the last year changing and growing for Christ's sake, whether I wanted to or not. I was forced to change for my own survival and the survival of my children; both physically (being able to support and raise two children on my own) and emotionally (having the kids adjust and turn out relatively normal, plus my own emotional survival. While my self-esteem was never the best, can you imagine the blow of being totally rejected by an abusive asshole? Seriously…how much must one suck to not be able to earn common courtesy from one's spouse? Yeah, yeah…shuddup…I know this is completely inaccurate, not to mention just a whole bowl full of wrong…but this is how I felt for many months. Deal with it. I did.)
So in between surviving and trying to re-build my self-esteem, I was faced with the taunting task of just trying to figure out who the hell I was and what I wanted out of life. I had spent the majority of my life trying to be, become, or otherwise adjust to what The Paperweight wanted.

In the past year, I've changed everything from the clothes I buy (stuff I like to wear in lieu of buying what I knew The Paperweight liked on me), to the products I use (The Paperweight couldn't stand the scent and forbade me to wear it), to the music I listen too (if you weren't in to Ted Nugent or The Rolling Stones, you were just a big pussy in The Paperweight's book). I wasn't always a complete wus but the first two years of our marriage we did nothing but fucking fight…which, when he finally got to the point where he was at a loss for words, is when the abuse started. It got to the point where it was just easier…it was easier to throw away the lotion, buy a pair of blue jeans from Wal-mart and stand beside him at the Ted Nugent concert (4 Nugent concerts, to be exact. I should get a fucking medal).

So when this new year was approaching and everyone around me, both online and in real life, began discussing change and resolutions I actually cringed. The old standards I'm ignoring - like quitting smoking; been there, done that, tried it again, forgot about it. Seriously? The 3lbs added un-needed stress….which leads to the other common resolution, to lose weight. We won't even go there. For anyone who doesn't know, which would be just about every single one of you, my weight is something I pay particularly close attention too. There is a whole story and journey involved, but I'll save that for another day, if anyone actually says they give two shits about hearing about it. Anyway, I've done nothing but change and grow for months…do I really need to fucking plan on doing it now just because I someone brought me a new desk calendar?

Fuck no.

At least…
That's what I thought…
Until this morning…

This morning, I decided that my New Year's Resolution is to pray more. In fact, it is to pray every single god damn day. More specifically, to pray that The Paperweight gets hit by a Mack Truck. Or, perhaps, that his 40 year diet of steak and butter finally catches up with him and he drops dead of a heart attack. Hell, I'd even settle for spontaneous combustion. I'm not picky.
For many years I believed in Karma…what goes around, comes around…and yet that fucker continues to waltz through life with not a care in the world…So I'm tired of waiting for Karma to kick in and am taking a more active roll by praying to as many gods as I can find via the internet. It is my goal to pray, wish and hope him, quite literally, to death.

And if this doesn't work I'm buying a voodoo doll…and stabbing it in the head with a fork…