Monday, December 17, 2007

On Being Hot

Last Saturday night, our company had its annual Christmas, oops, HOLIDAY party at Harrah's. Being as it was our very last one, a few of us decided to wear tiaras in honor of this very bittersweet occasion. So, donning our made-in-China tiaras on top of our festively coiffed hair, we made our way into the ballroom.

The party was...dead. I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact that it was, indeed, our last party together. That, or the fact that just weeks before we had been handed our pink slips instead of the Christmas bonus we were expecting. Either way, the few employees that bothered to show up were milling about dejectedly, while sucking on their five dollar beers.

After eating our lukewarm turkey and our watered down cranberry sauce, the Tiara Girls decided to dance. We didn't care that the DJ was the suckmeister of the airwaves. We just wanted to let off steam.

So there I was, on the dance floor with my "date," when a guy from the shipping department decided to join us. We had ourselves a jolly little threesome right there on the dance floor. All of a sudden, Shipping Boy leans over and yells in my ear "Your crown is HOT!" As if to emphasize my hotness, he waved his waist-long length hair as if it was a dancing exclamation mark. I thanked him, and continued dancing.

A few minutes later, he leaned forward again and yelled "I like dancing with two girls!" I said "Hey! Me, too!" He shook his hair again, and lurched some more on the dance floor.

When the next song started, he leaned into me again. This time he shouted "Your choker is SO HOT!" I thanked him. Then he shook his hair and did a few Elaine Bennis moves before shouting at me again. This time he said "You're so freakin' hot on the dance floor! I like the way you dance!" I thanked him again, and in reply he shook his hair like a wild man. Then all of a sudden he started to laugh, and he shouted at me again. This time he said "You know what? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR FREAKIN' NAME!"

I told him that was okay...after a glass of wine, I don't even know my own freakin' name.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The Year That Shouldn't Have Been

I think I've said it every year since I've been here in Reno: This year totally sucked. So, is it me or is it Reno? Seriously folks, inquiring minds want to know.
To top off a fairly stress-filled year, I returned from the Thanksgiving holiday to find I'd been layed off. However, unlike several of my co-workers, I am one of the "lucky" ones who gets to hang around long enough to help transfer clients and files to the company that bought us out.
After hearing this news, I received a link to a news article in our local paper that stated Reno is not the place to be looking for a job in the year 2008. It further stated that companies are not hiring, and those that hired this past year are letting people go. So, good luck to me in finding a job, eh?
Which brings me to my next point: I was told by an outplacement agency that my best chance for being hired and moving on would be to relocate. But guess what? Homey can't relocate because SHE JUST BOUGHT A HOME. And, since no one is buying homes these days it looks as if I'm stuck.
So just start calling me Debbie Downer, because apparently nothing I've written in this journal during 2007 has been uplifting. And it doesn't look as if 2008 will be any better...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


Pink is one of my absolute favorite colors. Oh, my new house has barely any pink...but that doesn't mean I don't love it.

When my hairdresser up and left the state last month, I felt lost. She made me an appointment with another hairdresser in the salon, and promised me she was good. Saturday, I went to Crush with some trepidation...what would happen to my hair?

The "new" hairdresser put me at ease almost immediately. She was very friendly (and tall! Really, really tall!) and sat me down at her station. I noticed her jet black hair had a patch of pink at the crown. She asked me if I was going to stick to the same color and I said Yes...but would streaks of pink go with it? She said yes so vehemently I knew I had to do it.

Of course, my pink isn't as pink as her pink...but I had taken her pink as a sign to go ahead and do it. I've been thinking of getting pink streaks in my hair for months, but felt I was too old. However, at the psychic fair, I saw a woman in her 50's with pink on her crown (that must be a new thing), and thought "if she can have a blob of pink in her hair, I can have pink streaks!"

And I love it.

Oh it's pretty subtle. With the exception of one streak that is a little chunkier than the others, the effect is barely noticeable. I was feeling really good about my hair, that is, until I called my mom.

When she asked me what was new, I couldn't help but bubble on about my new pink streaks. And then I heard it. The disapproval when she said "Oh Pamela." But, of course she couldn't leave it at that. She had to go on and on ("How old are you going to be this week? And do you really think pink hair is appropriate for your age?"). I heard my dad say something in the background and my mom said "She's got pink hair." I said "It's not just has some pink highlights." My mom just sighed, and I had hoped that was the end of it, but she brought it up a total of three times during our conversation, chastising me each time for opting for pink.

So, I guess it doesn't really matter how old I'm going to be this my mom's eyes, I'll always be the girl who does something stupid.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Line in the Sand

I know. I have a million and one things I need to update this journal with...I simply have not had the energy or inclination to do so. However, I had a heart-tugging conversation with Todd last night, so I have all kinds of stuff jumbled up in my head that I need to see "on paper" (or in this case, screen) to start to make sense of it all.

WARNING: This post contains rambling thoughts, run on sentences, and rabbit trails.

This weekend was the Psychic Fair. When I saw the list of readers, I realized that none of my favorites were going to be there, so I made an appointment with Carrie at The New Pathways for a reading. The earliest I could see her was Tuesday (last night), as she doesn't keep as full a schedule as she once did.

However, at the Fair I was surprised to see Eugenia, a woman I met while taking Risting classes. She is an excellent reader, so I got a reading with her. Long story short: I received two readings in a span of three days, and both basically said the same things (only in different ways).

I asked about my job (and I won't go into that now...that's for a separate post if I have time) and of course my relationship. But this time, I didn't ask about what would happen between Todd and me. This time I asked if there was new love on the horizon. I have finally realized that it is time to move on.

Eugenia said that she saw that I needed to be single for a while, but that there was love in my future. And solid love at that. Carrie did not talk about being single for a while; only that there was new love, but that person wouldn't come into my live until around March of next year. Both said it was time to move on, that the cards revealed that I wasn't loved the way I needed to be loved in this current relationship (duh).

This post isn't really about the readings, though, so I won't go into more detail about those. This post is really about how I was hit with a brick of reality this past week...the readings only served to affirm what was going on in my head already.

Let me first say that I love Todd. I can't imagine living without him, and I probably won't. I think we will be in each other's lives for the duration. However, I just cannot be the "go to" girl anymore.

Facts: he has been dating other women for over a year. He has an online slash phone sex slash hot email relationship with at least one girl that I know about, and from the looks of what I found on one of his profiles, he might even have more than that. And the hardest fact of all: he has been telling me - sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly - for nine years that I am not really the woman that he wants or needs. So, with all of these facts, why is it that he doesn't really understand that I want to put up a boundary now?

Anyway, after these two readings, I realized that mentally, I've moved on. That doesn't mean that I don't occasionally feel overwhelmed with sadness. Or that I'm glad the relationship is on its way to the trash bin. Or that I'm jumping for joy. It simply means that, after nine years of being told over and over again that if only I was more sexual, more this, more that, everything would be fantastic, I realize that even if I was all of that, I still wouldn't be what he wants. BECAUSE HE DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WANTS.

And that became clear to me when I looked at his online profile again last week. He had this whole list of what he is looking for in a woman, and it was so not me (as I believe I've whined about before in this journal). Only, this time instead of taking it personally, I realized that he probably doesn't really know what he wants. Or perhaps it is that he doesn't know what sort of relationship is good for him. I think he just threw something out there that was such the opposite of me because "me" didn't work for him.

So how does this go back to Todd and our conversation last night? some point he said that it didn't appear to him that I missed him, at least not in the way that he missed me. And I said that I think that's because mentally, I've just moved on. And that hurt him. And I feel bad that what I said hurt him and perhaps surprised him as well. But what I don't get - what I totally don't understand - is why he would think that I want to continue being in relationship limbo with him - especially after nine years. At some point, it becomes time to move on.

In a perfect world, he would love me. Period. With no ifs, ands, or buts. With no "if only's." But he doesn't. And he never did. He always wanted me to be different. And I'm not.

At some point, he also said that I totally don't understand what's going on with him and this girl - that it is so not serious or something like that. But that's not the point, really, is it? The point is he HAS this girl in his life. He visits with her every day online. He sends her gifts. He engages in phone sex with her. He tells her in email how much he desires her. He even told her that he has marked her as his, and gave her a choker to wear to remind her that she is his. So...not serious? Perhaps. But having a girl on the side doesn't do anything to pull us together.

So, yes, perhaps because of the way he thinks (due to Asperger's) he is able to look at this clinically or in a more detached way...but I can't. And I can't be second fiddle. Or even if I'm first, I don't want some other girls hanging out in the periphery. I am totally and completely monogamous. That is no surprise. I've not ever hid that. I've proclaimed it loudly and proudly.

I'm not saying I have been the perfect mate. I probably haven't been. I'm not a nurturing person, and I know he needs that. I need vast amounts of time alone. I am not the best communicator about my feelings. And yet, while I am lacking in some areas, I feel that I did not get credit for the areas that I tried to change - just for him. And even though I changed some wasn't enough.

I'm sick of not being enough.

I want someone to think I am enough. I want someone to accept the type of love I have to give.

I am sorry that he's hurt by my wanting to move on. And it hurts me as well to move forward without him as my boyfriend. However, for my own peace of mind, it simply is time.

I shouldn't feel guilty about that.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Hell To Pay

Let me ask you, single women of the world, would you REALLY want to carry on a conversation with someone nicknamed "Hell To Pay"? Doesn't that name just connote someone who is divorced, and spends all his spare time trying to get revenge on his ex-wife?

Well...that's what it sounds like to me, anyway.

I'm one of those chicks who signs into Acme Dating Service and forgets to sign out. So, last night while I was sound asleep, curled up with the dogs I'm house-sitting and my 16-year-old cat, some guy decided to message me. Instead of the usual niceties, the first line I see in the IM when I sit in front of my computer this morning is "What the hell is up with your blog?" (Speaking strictly of my Acme Dating Service blog, because you all know this blog rocks!)

The next well-written line was "Well?" That was followed by a "Never mind."

Never mind is right. Who wants to chat with an aging, combative, and obviously bitter man? Not me...and I'm imagining not many of you.

I am glad I wasn't in front of my computer when that friendly little missive was sent my way.
Fellas: let this be a lesson to you. If you really want to chat with a woman, try being nice. And if you really want to meet someone... I mean really... then try a neutral nickname.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Where are the tears?

All day yesterday, I held back tears. I'm surprised I was so successful in holding back, because I was only working on four hours of sleep. It's amazing what one can do when one really tries.

I counted the hours until I could go home - not so much to get some rest, but mostly so I could cry. After I clocked out, I couldn't get to my car fast enough, for I knew I could cry in my safely and loudly in the car. However, on the drive home the tears didn't come. My eyes did get watery a few times, but no real tears. So, then I counted on having time to cry at home.

I wasn't able to, though, because shortly after I walked through the door, Todd came downstairs and started getting dinner together for the both of us. He had gone to the store and bought us both salads, because he wanted to have dinner with me. When I asked why, he said "because I enjoy having dinner with you."

Is that true or not? Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I've learned, though, and should have come to expect is that every time we call it off (well, that makes it sound like it happens a lot - basically, we've been on two breaks and there were about three other times I tried to make a break of it during our 9 years together, but he convinced me that he loved me, so I stayed) he is extra attentive.

Yesterday, he called me about three times at work to make sure I was okay. Then he bought us dinner. Instead of forcing me to take a cat over to my new place (he's dying to get rid of the cats), he seemed to realize that I really needed some sleep, so instead of bugging me, he encouraged me to go to bed early.

But back to my tale of tears...Lucky for me, he had an Asperger's meeting that night, so when he left, I thought "Finally. Time to cry." But those tears I had been holding back all day and all during dinner did not come.

I went to bed around 7 p.m., thinking that once I was curled up in the safety of my bed, I would be able to let loose.

I was not able to.

Where are the tears? Why won't they come?

If I could just have one, good, solid cry, I could begin the arduous task of moving on.

I am 32 Flavors and then some

I'm not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say...
Ani DeFranco

When I listened to this song on the way home tonight, the one line that really hit me was "I did everything that I could do."

Sometimes I think about the accusations thrown at me by Todd, and I think "Well, yes, perhaps I could have done that..." And maybe I could have...but the truth is, I did everything that I physically and emotionally could do, based on my perception of safety and comfortability within the relationship.

"You could have contributed more money to the household."

"You could have had more sex with me."

"You could have been..."


But not really. Because doing so would have drained me in a way I am not sure I could recover from. What Todd doesn't understand, and never did (and I don't know if that's due to the way Asperger's has his mind wired, or due to miscommunication on my part, or some sort of dysfunctional melding of the two) is that I can't - won't? - give fully when I'm not secure.

And in this relationship, I wasn't ever fully secure.

There were things I was secure about: I knew he loved me. I knew we were best friends. I knew he would support me in my endeavors. The insecurity laid in the threads that unraveled around us; the threads that were snarled and torn at because he always wanted "a better fit."

So while I may occasionally beat myself up about the things I wasn't and the things I didn't do, I am also fully aware that emotionally, I had reached my limit of what I could do.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Out of Time

I had maybe four hours of sleep last night...if that. I need to get out the door to go to work, and yet, I find I can't move.

Last night marks the end of my "romantic" relationship with Todd. It was brought on because I found two pieces of evidence that he is having relationships with two other women. According to him, he hasn't (yet) met them in real life, but it was obvious from what I found, plans are in the making.

Both girls appear to be part of an online BDSM/alternative lifestyle community. One calls him "her daddy," and has a whole blog dedicated to him. The other signs herself off as "Gracie, XXXXX's Nevada Girl" (the x's represent his online name, which I will not share with the world).

After my last entry, we sort of settled into some sort of "wait and see" holding pattern, both of us believing that things would get better when I moved out. After all, the times we've lived apart have been the strongest times in our relationship. However, admittedly I never really could forget that I'm not really what he wants, and so because of that, I saw evidence of that almost every day.

Last night was the last straw for me. I can't deny it anymore, nor pretend that at some point in time, he will come back to me wholeheartedly. It just isn't going to happen.

While I didn't handle the initial confrontation well (I never seem to), after an hour or so of going back and forth, I think I finally got my real point across: I can't be in any kind of romantic and/or sexual relationship with him. He doesn't get that it just hurts me too deeply.

He kept telling me he loved me and he doesn't want me out of his life, and all the other things I've heard for over 8 years. The thing isn't enough. I want to know that I'm the person - the right person - for the man I'm with. It doesn't strengthen my already low self esteem to be with someone who has a roving eye and is always looking for that "better fit."

He said I don't understand him. And he's probably right, in the sense that I don't understand him completely. I do, however, believe that I understand him better than most everyone else in his life. I've learned a lot about living and loving someone with Aspberger's Syndrome, and I feel I've adapted as well as I can to the idiosyncrasies that present them self. But it's a cold, hard fact that I am unable to understand how someone can love me and supposedly want to be in a relationship with me, while pursuing other women.

I suppose that's what is called "polyamory," and this girl is as monogamous as they come.

At some point, he said "What do you want from me," to which I eventually responded that I want what he just can't give: total love and acceptance, without feeling that he's settling. He can't, though. I mean, he accepts a lot of my personality flaws and deals with them well. What he doesn't accept is that I'm not, as apparently these other two are, "his little girl," or "his slave."

When asked what I expect, I told him that there will be no more physical contact. No more kissing, no more sex (to which he said "Well, it's not like there's a whole lot of that going on"), no hand holding, no sitting in his other words, no type of physical contact that indicates we still have a girlfriend/boyfriend relationship. He doesn't understand - I can't do it. He is angry that I can't do it. Or maybe frustrated. But whatever feeling it is, he is unhappy that I am unable to be in a "friends with benefits" type of relationship.

I think the reason he is so upset is that, in his mind, he feels I am abandoning him. I told him I'm not; he is my best friend. No matter what his faults (and of course, that's all I ever write about here; I never write about the good times), he absolutely is my best friend. He's the only person that seems to "get" me. He is my cheerleader. He is my rock. And he'll still be all that... just not my boyfriend.

Oh, I'm not under any delusions that the transition period will be easy. I know from our past try at it that it won't be. The difference is 7 years have passed since then. I am no longer under the impression that, once apart, he will all of a sudden have that "Aha" moment where he realizes I am the one for him. That moment is not going to come, because I am not that person for him.

And so, with all of that, it is imperative that I get out of here as soon as possible. The electricity and water should have been turned on yesterday in my new home. I was not moving fast because of the "no electricity" deal. And then he was notified that he would have to go out of town, so since I was going to take care of the dogs, it seemed weird to move in for two nights and move right back in here to take care of the dogs.

But maybe after last night, it's not weird. It's time.

Now if I could just find a guy with a truck...

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Can't Breathe

It really shouldn't have come as such a big surprise. One would think that by now, after 9 years, I would realize that I'm not the person Hunky wants. However, I didn't really realize it until today.

What made today so special? Such a turning point?

I came across one of his online personals. I had actually found it a few days ago, but being new to the site, I hadn't really clicked around to explore more fully. I saw his picture, read his opening line, and sexual preferences. I thought "Yeah, that's my hunky," and moved on.

This morning, I went to the site to see if there were more people on it from the area I live in. Hunky's was the third profile from the top, so after reading the first two, I clicked on his again, mostly because his is a familiar face and seeing it made me smile.

What I read next took the smile completely off my face.

Without going into too much detail, he basically wrote he was single (kind of true, but not really), looking for a Long Term Relationship with someone who, after 8-10 bullet points, definitely was not me. Someone who was submissive. Someone who was ready to move in with him and be his slave and/or submissive. Someone who...blah, blah, blah, definitely wasn't me.

So if he wants someone who is so totally not me, why has he been with me for 9 years? Is it laziness? Is it that I'm just a warm body to keep him company until the real thing comes along?

What is it?

Oh, I know he tells me he loves me. He can say it until the cows come home, however after reading what he really wants in a mate/girlfriend/lover, it's so the completely opposite of me that I don't know what the hell he's doing with me, let alone believe that he could actually love me.

No wonder we have problems.

I have definitely been a fool in love before, but I don't know if I've ever been this much of a fool. Nine years worth of fool.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can see now that moving out is the best thing for me. And probably for him, too. That way he can stop wasting his time with me and move on.

And maybe I can move on as well.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Dreaming of a Dud

I have an active dream life, however it's rare that a dream really hits me and stays with me for a few days. So, imagine my surprise when I had one of those dreams the other night.

I'll spare everyone the details, because I don't think anyone likes to read or hear about other people's dreams. However, the gist of the dream was that a guy I know in real life, Vince, had grabbed at my butt. I remember being repulsed and then...interested. Somehow, we ended up laying on some grass, him on top of me (yes, we had our clothes on!), with his right arm over mine, and our right hands clasped.

In my dream I thought "This is really nice...why have I been avoiding it for so long?"

Of course, when I woke up I analyzed the dream. "Why would I dream of Vince," was the main question going through my head, especially since he's mad at me and hasn't talked to me all summer.

At first I wondered if I had latent romantic (or sexual???) feelings for him. But then I thought about Vince...and realized that couldn't be it. Vince is a nice guy, and actually not bad looking. But...yes there is a but. In fact there are a few buts: He can't spell, which is on the top of my pet peeves list. He was laid off of his job months and months ago, and decided not to get another job, but instead become an "artiste," so of course he has no money. (Not that I'm a gold digger, but I notice I tend not to respect men who don't work...(as Rabbi Lapin - America's Rabbi! - states, women are drawn to men who not only can take care of them, but want to take care of them). And, the clincher: He's single. At age 46.

Okay. Let's not focus on the fact that I, too, am single and forty-something. I fully admit I've got issues...the main one being I like, no need, lots of time alone which doesn't bode well in relationships.

So, then, why the dream? Well...why not the dream? I suppose it had nothing to do with Vince at all, and instead had to do with the fact that as much as I pretend I don't...I really DO want that feeling of security with someone.

I don't have that right now. Oh sure, I know...hunky loves me. He could say it a thousand times a day, and yet right now, it wouldn't be enough. Kind of difficult to feel secure with someone who is dating other people, who always has his eye out for a better fit.

And so that dream probably sums up where I am relationship-wise right now...insecure and hoping someone will grab at my butt.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Summer Favorites

These are my favorite things about summer:

Sun until 9 p.m.

Sun up at 5 a.m.

Big Brother.

Psych (this Friday, bay-bee!).

The Closer.

Top Chef.

Hell's Kitchen.

And my new favorite (da, da, da, DA)...Confessions of a Matchmaker!

That's me...Living life in my easy chair!

Stray Cat Strut

Tonight, hunky took me to Dolce, Grand Sierra Resort's newest "designer" restaurant. Owned by Mike (gag) Boogie of Big Brother fame, I have to say that despite his skankiness, the restaurant is pure class.

It's beautiful inside; walls of fire and water, fantastic music, an inviting menu and fantastic service. They also have a great by-the-glass wine list, and I had the Dolce Meritage...ummmm good. Hunky had the Pacific Rim Riesling, a riesling we both like, but one he has sort of grown out of.

After a fantastic dinner, we began our trek through the casino floor to the great outdoors. We passed what used to be the Hilton Theater, and saw a big sign advertising the Stray Cats concert in August. "Stray Cats!" I exclaimed. "I wonder if it's the Stray Cats with Brian Setzer or just the Stray Cats?"

"Go up and ask. No one is waiting in line."

So, I did. I went up and asked. The woman behind the counter assured me it was Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats. Next thing I knew, I was plunking down my credit card for two tickets to see the Stray Cats.

I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. Hunky and I saw Brian Setzer about two years ago, and I just about blew my wad then. But Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats? I won't be coming out of this concert with a clean pair of panties, that's for sure!

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Where is...???

I'm going to miss Hunky, there's no doubt. But there are certain idiosyncrasies I won't miss. Like the fact that he appears to blame me every time something goes missing. Yesterday was a great example.

I was minding my own business, when he shouted up the stairs "Where are my glasses???!!!" "Which glasses," I asked. "Your sunglasses or regular glasses."

I hear a heavy sigh. "My regular glasses," he says, in that voice that lets me know I've just asked the stupidest question on earth.

"I don't know. I haven't seen them."

Another sigh. "Fine," he says in that dismissive voice that lets me know he blames me for their disappearance, and is now angry that he can't find them.

I went into the bedroom to see if they were by the bed. Nope. Then I remembered that he went to a movie night at a friend's house and would have taken them with him. "Honey, you took them with you to the movie night. Are they still in your car."

Again a sigh, this one letting me know that once again, I have managed to ask a very stupid question. He answers me as if he is speaking to a two-year-old and says slowly and carefully,"I checked the car already, and they are not there."

Even though this isn't my problem, I know he has made it my problem, so I went downstairs to help him look. I saw his jeans on top of the dog crate, and they were on top of a bag he had brought in from his car. "From his car..." I thought, and opened up the bag. What did I see inside, but his glasses.

"Here they are," I sing out, victoriously. He looks at me, mumbles thanks, and starts to walk away.

I call him out, though, on his tone that blamed me for the missing glasses. He didn't really apologize, just kind of mumbled that yeah, in that case it was him, but normally I am the one that misplaces his things.

So. Not. True.

And that, my friends, is the one thing I won't miss...the daily blaming me for missing items, only to find out that in 9 out of 10 cases, he is the one that misplaced the item in the first place.

Einie, Mienie, Miney, Mo...

After house hunting almost every night for two weeks, I believe I'm down to the final two. The problem? I love them both equally, for different reasons. I really don't love one more than the other, so it makes it very difficult to decide which house to make an offer on.

In the first corner, we have 21 Semillion. It's 1,024 square feet, and has two bedrooms, a cute little garden with a huge shed, new designer fixtures and mirrors installed in the bathrooms and hallways, brand new cabinets in the master bathroom and kitchen (beadboard). beautiful new linoleum in the bathrooms and kitchen. I believe it is currently owned by a witch, although I haven't had the nerve to ask her outright. She has painted "Blessed be" on the fence in the backyard - kind of a giveaway. But a Druid friend of mine said "Well, everyone says that these days, so you can't be sure."

But baby, I'm sure. It's just a feeling I get when I'm in the place, ya know? Great energy.

The drawbacks: Not much storage (no walk-in closets or built-ins), the swamp cooler is in the back of the house, and only two bedrooms.

In the next corner we have 12 Riesling, a three-bedroom home with a beautiful covered deck in the backyard that overlooks Reno. The house has had many beautifications added: the deck with built-in benches, the kitchen has been expertly painted (with a design - not stenciled), textured walls in the bathroom with imprints of leaves. Brand new linoleum in the bathrooms. Walk-in closet in the master, and two sheds in the backyard.

The drawbacks: the living room/sitting room is very small and is right in front of the entrance door. In other words, there is no separation. The current owners don't even have a couch in that room, and I can see why; there really isn't room for a couch. Their chairs are near the front door, because there is no other place for them to go. No central a/c, but there is a room unit in the front room. The master bathroom was remodeled...but they took out the beautiful garden tub that came with the place and replaced it with a looooong shower. Who would do that? Well, besides a disabled person, which the owner isn't. Mama needs her baths!

I honestly don't know which place to make an offer on. I have been agonizing over this decision for days. I feel rushed, because both places are so beautifully kept up that they are bound to go quickly. However, I can't seem to make up my mind.

I wish someone would just tell me which one I will be happiest in. I tried meditating on it. Magic. Etc. And I just don't have an answer.

I need one soon!

Friday, June 29, 2007

Looking for Mr. Goodbar

I have been out house hunting almost every day (or night) this week. Looking at potential new homes is fun, but it's also exhausting.

Saturday, Todd and I looked at three places listed with one realty agency here in town. Two of the listings were in a good location. I kind of really liked one place, but it was (brace yourself) a fixer upper. But, it was a manufactured home (that looked like a real house) with a garage! And a backyard! And a garden tub! So, I looked past the cosmetic fixes and fell in love.

I must be a fickle girl, because I fell in love again on Wednesday night with two more places. Both are basically turn-key, so good-bye fixer upper (but I'll miss you, Garage!).

One place is small...the smallest place I've been shown so far. It was 1,024 square feet. Well, that's 200 more square feet than my place was in Milpitas, but it seemed smaller. Probably because it had less storage.

My place in Milpitas had two walk-in closets, lots of storage (deep storage) in the bathroom, built-ins (hutch, cabinetry in the bathroom, pantry) and a shed. This place that I fell in love with had a regular closet in both bedrooms, however it had two full baths AND A GARDEN. A real garden. With a fence and everything.

I loved the whole house, but the garden sold me. The current owner really made the backyard cute. She painted "blessed be" on the fence, added a chiminia, made a path to the backyard outlined in big rocks, and sprinkled the yard with statues and whatnots.

The house itself is painted really nicely, and has a luxurious master bath off the bedroom with a deep garden tub. However, since there isn't much storage, and the floor layout is kind of...odd, there isn't much choice in how one places furniture, nor a lot of room to be a clutter bug (which, unfortunately, I am).

My mom's solution sounds simple: put out what you really love, and sell the rest. But how will I ever be able to part with all my stuff?

And that question brings me to the next place I fell in love with. It's a three bedroom home (THREE - a bedroom for me, a bedroom for an office, and a bedroom for...stuff!). The kitchen is lovely, with beautiful cabinetry. The most attractive selling point is the covered deck with built-in benches. I could see myself drinking coffee out there in the morning, looking out over McCarran. Okay, so maybe McCarran isn't the most lovely sight in Reno, but my point is there is a view! I can see the Atlantis from my backyard. Oops. Her backyard. Mine if I buy it.

The drawbacks: one of the park's main sewer lines is in the backyard, there are no trees or greenery on the property (it's all xeriscaped) and there are at least two neighbors with kids.

I saw another place last night which I could have fallen in love with, if it weren't for a couple of odd things about the place. But let's start with the selling points first. It was huge...three bedrooms, and the master bedroom was the biggest I've seen so far, with two walk in closets JUST IN ONE BEDROOM. The bathroom had a garden tub AND a walk-in shower. The laundry room was HUGE, with more than enough space for shelves and a table for folding, and litter pans. The kitchen was open, and there was a gorgeous bay window in the living room.

And now for the oddities. The guy was obviously doing work on the place, and decided to give up and move away. He had replaced the carpet with berber carpeting...simply beautiful. New linoleum in the kitchen. But there was a huge gash on the kitchen counter, doors missing on some cabinetry, door knobs missing on all the doors, the front door needed to either be re-hung or replaced (or maybe the place just needed some basic leveling), and that gorgeous bay window? Ruined because that's where he decided to plop the swamp cooler. Plus, he had torn out the sink in the master bathroom, and replaced it with a smaller one, which left the eye to settle on the blotchy dry wall on either side of it. Oh, and get this: no door to the bathroom. Okay for a single person, I guess, but if you were married and had to take a poop while your partner was in the bedroom, well...that would be very unpleasant.

Tomorrow I am meeting two realtors. One I haven't met before, but he has more properties in Sun Villa, the place I've decided I'd like to live. Then I'm meeting the realtor I like in the afternoon to visit a park I haven't seen yet. And the home with the deck? It's Open House tomorrow on that one, so if I want it, I guess I better make up my mind quickly.

If I had to make an offer tomorrow one of the three houses I really like (the fixer upper, the witch's lair, and the scenic home), I'd probably go against convention and get the witch's lair. Why go small? No idea why, except the energy is good there, and the backyard sold me.

My sensibilities tell me to go with the scenic home...but who knows what I'll fall in love with tomorrow?

Monday, June 25, 2007

Packing My Bags

Guess who's going to move?

That's right. Me.

I don't know when. And I don't know where. But I'm moving.

I spent part of Saturday looking at potential homes. I have an appointment tomorrow night to look at more. And another appointment on Wednesday to look at one in particular.

It's weird. Todd and I are getting along better than we have in quite awhile. And he hired two girls to get the place in shape. It looks good. We look good. So, why am I thinking about moving?

It's time. We're not getting married. He's still dating. And I'm...waiting? Stuck? Something, anyway.

We had a nice, long, heart-felt conversation on Saturday. We shared "I love yous." We didn't blame anyone. For anything. It's just...well, I've said it before. I'm not entirely what he wants or what he thinks he wants. And, I'm not what he needs.

He said he believes I'm not happy with him, either. That's not true. I wasn't happy with the house. But now it's clean and we can walk and play and breathe...and I am happy again. And I am happy with him. That doesn't mean I don't get frustrated when he doesn't listen to me sometimes, or when he's focused on a computer program nothing short of sticking my butt in his face will get him to refocus on me.

I'm definitely not happy with the status quo, which is he's dating and I'm not and let's face it: I don't share well. Especially my men man.

I don't think that moving will be the end of us. If anything, I believe it will renew and refresh our relationship. We'll actually choose to be together, instead of just being together because we live under the same roof.

As for how I feel about this potential move (and I do say potential, because of course I not only have to find a place, but it has to be a place I can afford), well, I'm both excited and sad. I look around the house when he's not here and I think "These are the things I'll miss..." Then I realize that what I'll miss aren't really the things, but the memories. The time we spent picking out a couch. The laughter we share in the bedroom. The meals we've shared in the dining room.

I'll miss living with him. And the dogs. Yet, it's a brave new world out there...and Todd won't be too far away.

Thursday, June 14, 2007


So. Things aren't really good here at the Snuggle Ranch. The hunkster and I have been fussing and fighting and arguing. He's unhappy. I'm unhappy. And neither of us comes right out and tells the other one we're unhappy, but we send signals of distress hoping that something will come and fix it.

The signals go unnoticed and the smoke surrounds us, trapping us in its thick, gray blanket, smothering the life out of us both.

I sometimes wonder about this relationship. How we made it this far (in years). How we haven't really gone far at all (in our journey together). How we'll ever make it another nine years. Or even one year.

In the beginning of our relationship, I did what I despise in other women: I changed to make him happy. Oh, sure I haven't changed my personality. But, I knew he was unhappy with certain things in our relationship, so I changed those things. He still wasn't happy, so I changed a bit more. I made a few concessions. I loosened up my (gulp) standards.

I'm a pushover for love. What can I say?

However, all that change happened and he still wasn't happy. Yet, he constantly asked me to run away and get married. My answer? A little laugh. A playful nudge. A kiss on the lips. But no real commitment, because I wasn't ready or willing to change even more.

Then one day he really proposed. And I accepted. I accepted, even though I knew our relationship still had problems. I accepted because I loved him, and saw the goodness and strength of character, despite the personality idiosyncrasies that is part and parcel with Asperger's. I accepted because I don't believe in fairy tales and perfect love and soul mates. I accepted because he is the best partner and best friend I've ever had.

And when I started to plan the wedding, he panicked, and before I knew it, we were no longer engaged.

He still wanted me to join him in Reno, and I dragged my feet for a full year, and finally moved. It's a move I often regret.

I don't belong here. I don't fit in. I have had a hard time finding friends. I have a hard time entertaining myself, because it's a cultural wasteland. So, I spend my spare time at Savers and Goodwill and buy things that are cheap and give me a thrill, until they clutter up my office so much that I can't walk, so I purge it all. Then I start over again.

My life has stalled here. Heck, maybe it would have stalled in Milpitas as well, but at least there I had a home. And friends. And I felt like I had a future. Here, everything is brown. The landscape. The houses. My future.

Todd has many complaints about me, but there are two that are huge and, in his words, deal breakers. One is financial. The other is sexual.

The state of the house has become a bone of contention between us. He told me he would take care of me if I moved here, and I have really dug my feet in on that issue. So, I haven't contributed much to the household. I buy groceries, and try to buy other things I notice he needs. When he mentioned he needed new slippers, I got them. When he has a cold, I buy him cold medicines and Kleenex and mentholated-rub. If he's on the road, I buy the dogs their food (which can be expensive). And yet...I know that my contributions are a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he puts in financially to the relationship. He pays the mortgage. And the cable bill. And the electric and water and sewage.

So, when he noticed that one of the cats had been peeing in corners (we think it was Lucy when she was so sick she didn't know what she was doing) he had a conniption fit. Last week he put his foot down and demanded that I start paying him 25% of my pay to help alleviate the cost of repairs.

I was offended.

He said that if I asked any of my friends who lived with guys, I'd discover that I actually had it good. He hadn't asked me for money up until now. He still will pay for the bulk of everything. But he wants me to contribute towards what he believes is the damage caused by the cat pee (which, btw, there is dog pee all around, too, but he doesn't seem to get upset about that).

I put my foot down as well, and said he'll get 20% and that's all. I reiterated that he promised me he would take care of me, and while I understand that the cats have caused some damage (and they have) and that I should pay for that, I would never have moved here if he hadn't promised he would take care of me.

And I know that sounds like a whiny, gold-diggerish thing to say. But it's true. I left everything I had to move here. Stability. A fairly decent job with decent benefits. My own house. Friends.

So. I thought it was settled. And then not even two full days later he aked "When do you get paid?" I got mad. He couldn't understand why, and I said it's because he acts as if he doesn't trust me. That he thinks I'll hide my paydays from him, and not pay him the money we settled on. We ended up in another argument about money, and while he admitted he probably did want some reassurance that he would get paid, therefore he nagged me, he still didn't think he was wrong.

Maybe he wasn't.

I don't know any more.

Of course, then there's sex. My libido flat lined about two years ago. Perimenopause. Lovely. I had absolutely NO desire for sex. None. And because I didn't want sex, I kept putting it off. "Maybe later." "After dinner." "Tomorrow afternoon...I promise." And the more I put it off, the more resentful he became. He didn't feel wanted. Or loved.

I felt guilty, and so would sometimes try to muster up some sort of sexual feelings so I could indulge him. And usually once we got started, I was okay, and sometimes even really got into it. But the moment it was over, I would think to myself "Well, that was a lot of fuss and bother, and now I'm hot and sweaty and I have sticky stuff all over me and I need to take a shower and get errands done and..."

Not romantic, right?

He has bugged me for years to see a doctor for hormone replacement. I did not want synthetic hormones in my body. I believe they cause far more problems then they cure. Then I heard about bio-identical hormones, so I tried them.

And you know what? They work.

For the last week (since I increased the amount of testosterone I was supposed to take), my libido has been on fire. I've surprised him a couple of times...pleasantly. But is it enough to fix the resentment, the hurt feelings, the rejection?

Maybe not.

So where does that leave me? And where does that leave us? What happens next?

I have no idea, but the cards tell me to move.

I think I'm telling the cards that I'm not ready yet. I don't know if cards listen, though.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Fall down, go boom!

Last Friday, I had a hair appointment. My stylist had moved to a new location, closer to my old place of work (Acme Consulting). I parked in the back, took notice of how close I was to my old stomping grounds, got out of the car, and headed towards the front of the building. All of a sudden, I was splayed out on the ground.

I don't even remember it happening. I had no idea how I got from an upright, walking position to prone on the ground, with my belongings all around me.

I picked myself up and noticed my arm hurt like an emmer-effer. I looked, and it was all bloody and scraped, and my elbow was bleeding. All of a sudden, a guy appeared and asked if I was okay. I was embarrassed and said "Yeah, I'm fine for someone who doesn't know how to walk!" I shrugged it off, and went inside for my hair appointment.

I ignored the pain, but it got worse. I soon noticed my arm started to swell. I couldn't wait to get out of there and go home, but as my luck would have it, Shannon messed up my hair color...three times, so my hour and a half appointment turned into three. By the time I got home, my arm was extremely swollen, and I noticed my hip and leg hurt as well.

Pain and embarrassment aside, the one thing that I kept thinking about was how I did not remember falling. Why, just the week before I fell down the stairs and I remember the sensation quite clearly: my foot slipped, I thought "hey, my foot slipped, I'm going to fall," and then I put my arms out, braced myself on the railing, and only hurt my butt in the process (and there's a lotta cushion back there, so no biggie!). In other words, I think we know when we're falling; we're conscious of it. While we may not be able to stop ourselves, we know what's about to hit.

In this case, I had no warning or no remembrance of how it happened, so I became quite suspicious.

See, as I mentioned, it happened near my old stomping grounds. And as I've droned on about before, I am convinced that Michelle put some sort of spell on me or prepared some sort of spell that propelled me out of the office quickly. I mean, there was literally no warning; one day I was getting praise for a job well done, and the next day I was in the conference room, facing both my bosses and being told I was on probation.

However paranoid I sounded to myself, I just knew Michelle had something to do with my fall. I didn't quite know how, but just as the climate at work changed so quickly, so did the onset of this fall. No warning; just boom.

Finally, I talked about it with two different witchy-type friends I have: one friend whom is also in the Risting, and another who is a Druid. I asked them both separately if I was just being paranoid, or did they think something from the spell still remained in that area. They not only agreed, but both had their own ideas on what I should do about it. I am, a week later with bruises still remaining on my arm and the knowledge that I've really let this go on for far too long. I guess I thought that since I was away from it all, it wouldn't affect me anymore, but apparently it still is. Now I have to decide what sort of protection to use, or some sort of way to send it back.

All suggestions welcome!

Until I figure this out, though, I think I better stay away from the area around Acme. The next fall might be fatal!

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Happy Anniversary, Baby, I got you on my miiiiiiiiiiiind

"Honey, exactly when was our anniversary?"

This question was posed to me when I was in the kitchen last night, fixing Lucy's medicine food. I faltered, gulped, and answered "Um...yesterday."

"Would that be the same yesterday in which you apparently had better things to do than to spend time with me?" I felt my face flush with shame.

It wasn't that I had better things to do; I cleaned most of the day, putting stuff in the shed that Todd had been after me to do for a month. I mean, heck, it was my only real day off...a day with nothing else to do.

Well, except maybe to celebrate our anniversary. A milestone that honestly just slipped my mind.

I don't know why it's been okay for Todd to forget our anniversary every year we've been together (nine, by the way, if anyone's counting), but the one year I forget, it's a major catastrophe. If I understood him right, he said it's typical Todd-behavior to forget, but for me to forget means I've simply stopped caring.

That's not true. I just...forgot.

And who can blame me? I've had a lot on my mind. My mom has been in the hospital, and will be going back in for surgery soon. I've been hounded almost every day by Todd asking me when I was going to start bringing stuff out to the shed. Plus, he was gone just last week, which meant I had the additional task of taking care of two very needy dogs, both on medication and both who wear diapers, along with my normal every day stuff.

Additionally, let's not forget the fact that Todd scheduled a date for the very next day after he arrived back from Idaho he got in late Friday night, and had a date scheduled for Saturday. Apparently our anniversary didn't mean a whole heck of a lot to him, either, if he was scheduling dates with other women.

So, yes, I feel a bit shamed, however I don't believe it means I stopped caring. Obviously, if I still get jealous over the parade of women that springboard in and out of his life, I still care.

I'm simply just an old woman with a feeble memory and a brand new shed to fill.

Living in a Pig Sty

When I tell people (and I often don't!) that our house is messy, they don't get it. They either tell me I'm neat, and I must be talking about just a tad bit of clutter, or they laugh and say something like "Oh tell me about it! My house..." But if they saw the inside of the house I live in, they'd run for cover.

Hunky is a pack rat. And he has a shopping obsession. Almost every day, we receive one or two packages from UPS, mostly from Amazon, but also a few packages from Sit Stay, Wysong, and Raspberry Fields thrown in. Since he knows what is in the packages, he often doesn't open them. Instead, he stacks them in the entryway until it becomes difficult to even walk through the front door.

But, and I hate to admit it, he's not the only problem. I, too, have some stuff that is problematic. The main thing is that when I first moved here, hunky let it be known that he wasn't really a fan of my decorating style ("too kitschy!"), so he didn't want me to start decorating the house with the stuff I brought from my own home. So, it pretty much stayed in the boxes it was packed in, which we stacked along the dining room wall.

And then there was the cottage...a disaster I don't like to think about much. My parents were excited that I was going to have my own place, and even though I had plenty of stuff to decorate my cottage with, they bought me more. Much more. So, when I would come back from a visit with my parents laden with stuff meant for the cottage, I would pack it lovingly into boxes and put those boxes in the dining room, and eventually the living room, waiting for the day I would be able to move it all into the cottage. A day that never came.

Add my boxes to his boxes and throw in hunky's slovenly ways (for instance, leaving piles of receipts where ever he emptied out his wallet, and other piles of stuff, like bags he never emptied from stores) and you've got one heck of a mess.

When I first moved here, I wasn't working, so I used Fly Lady's techniques to keep the place pretty neat and tidy, despite the pack rat tendencies. I employed the 27-Fling Boogie weekly, and that got rid of magazines and other things I simply didn't need. However, once I started working ten hour days, Fly Lady slowly slipped away from me.

After about two years, I wasn't following Fly Lady at all, except for the occasional Hot Spot attack and 27-Fling Boogie. So, eventually we ended up with piles of stuff all around the house (and I'll admit, some of it is mine, because I simply didn't know where to put my stuff). And the state of the house stressed me out so much that it caused a strain in our relationship.

I became uninterested in sex or in spending time with hunky. Because, just sitting around the house lounging together left me feeling piggish. How could I just sit and watch TV with hunky when there were piles of stuff to attack? The stress also took away my desire for sex (well, that and the onset of perimenopause, but it was actually both things that ate away at my libido). Soon, we were in big trouble.

In the last month, the state of the house has finally gotten to Todd as well. So, when a friend of his said "I really need some money for rent; can you put me to work until my job starts next month?" he said yes. Yesterday was her first day here, and already there has been a huge dent made in the family room.

I am so ashamed of the way we live. If my mom saw it, she would just shake her head and say "You didn't learn this from me!" And I know that. However, at some point it became too overwhelming to clean up after myself AND Todd AND still manage to have a bit of free time. The times that I did manage to clean up areas, like the front entryway, it would all go to hell after a week or so, because Todd would just populate the area back up with his many boxes from Amazon. After awhile, it just didn't seem worth it to try.

When I got home from work yesterday, Todd's friend Elaine was cleaning (in a slinky skirt, slit up to the thighs, but I'm trying not to go there!), and I felt so ashamed. Because, if she thinks any bit like I would expect a woman to, she probably thinks I am the main problem. After all, we are conditioned to clean up after our men. To keep home and hearth joyful and clean. And I have failed miserably.

So, I did what I do best: I hid upstairs until she left.

When I finally went downstairs, we had room to breathe. Oh don't get me wrong; there is so much more to be done. So. Much. More. But it feels good to know we can get on top of it.

About two months ago, Todd said "What happened, honey? Your place in Milpitas was always so neat." Well, yes it was. But I also only cleaned up after myself, and I normally didn't make too big of a mess in the first place. Trying to keep on top of someone like Todd, along with six animals and my own messes, while working full time, has become quite a challenge.

After we get this mess under control, I am going back to Fly Lady. I know it works, and I have no idea why I gave up on it. Well, wait. I just wrote a whole entry on why I gave up on it. But maybe this time it'll actually work, as hunky as said once we get the place under control, he is going to hire another friend of his to come in and clean (once a week? twice a month?), so we can keep on top of it.

Well. So, here I am, a failure at cleaning and apparently a failure as a girlfriend. But that's another entry for another time...At least the family room is kind of clean, and that's a start.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

I Am My Mother

When I was growing up, everyone who saw me would either say "You're just like your father," or "You look just like your dad."

While I looked very much like my dad, and have a lot of his personality traits, as I age I realize I am more like my mother.

I'm not always really sure how I feel about that.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. I wouldn't trade her for any other mom in the world. However, my mom has a black and white way of looking at things, and a rambling way of speaking, both of which I seem to have inherited.

One of the main reasons I haven't been on here much is because my mom was in the hospital. It caught us all by surprise, especially my mom, who hadn't been in a hospital since my brother was born. However, after days of not being able to pee or do other things, she found herself in a lot of pain. My dad finally convinced her to go to the emergency room. Good thing, too, because it turned out she had diverticulitis. Basically, she had an inflamed pocket in her colon, and if she had kept refusing to go the hospital, it could have ruptured and caused her death.

Because my mom isn't in the best of health, her hospital stay was longer than the doctors first expected it to be. And, little by little, it got to her. She couldn't sleep at night, because she would be interrupted by nurses checking her vitals and the "moaner" in the next room. She couldn't sleep during the day, because she was poked, prodded, and intruded upon. But sleep wasn't the only evil; quite frankly, just being away from home was a hell in and of itself.

She got home in time for Mothers Day, and I went to visit. Everything went well, however it was difficult to see my normally fairly active mom relegated to the couch and laying around in a nightgown.

She'll have to go into the hospital again soon for surgery. I'm glad to hear she's actually going to go. I could see my mom coming up with all kinds of reasons not to go, but she's following through. She's taking her meds, and she's changing her bandage, and she's doing everything the doctor told her to do.

I can relate to this, because deep down inside, we're both good girls. We follow the rules. We don't cause havoc. We do what our loved ones want us to do.

Just one more way we're both alike.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007


I love flowers.

I wish I had a garden, but I don't. We have xeriscaping, so it's all rocks, rocks, and more rocks. No dirt.

Before hunky had the xeriscaping put in, we had a strip of dirt on the side of the house out front. The previous owners had planted a rosebush there, and annuals. Of course, we only had the annuals the first year, and then they were gone.

One day I was at the store and saw gazillions of different types of flower seeds on sale. I bought about six packets of two different kinds of sunflower seeds. I watered them faithfully. Soon, I had lovely sunflowers lining up the side of the house.

Now the strip is gone, and I feed my love of flowers at Trader Joe's. For the past month, they've had daffodils there, and I buy three bunches every Sunday, and bring them to work (for if I leave them at home, Schmutzy dines on them).

Last night, feeling gross and sick, I decided to take a bath. While I was in the tub, hunky came home. I could hear him downstairs fiddling around with the dogs, and making something to eat in the kitchen. After a while, he came upstairs and presented me (still in the tub) with the most beautiful bouquet of roses: yellow, with petals outlined in orange.

After I admired them, he put them in the sink, but Schmutzy would not leave them alone. So, I was forced to get out of the tub, kick Schmutzy's ass (not really; just checking to see if you're still paying attention), and put the flowers in water. I then put them on a shelf by the front door, so Schmutzy couldn't get at them, and I'd remember to take them into work today.

So, even though I'm feeling crappy (in that sniffly, sore throat, can't hear sort of way), I'll have a beautiful arrangement of roses to look at that will remind me that someone loves me, even with the sniffles.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


I think I need to get myself into a 12-step program and quickly.


Because I'm hooked on swapping.

Oh, I'm sure after I've been flaked on, the buzz will be killed, but right now I'm signed up for about 6 swaps on Swap Bot, and hosting three. I check it 4-5 times a day to see if any new, interesting swaps have been posted. I update my profile every time I think of something new that I like.

It's a sickness.

A sweet, delicious, overwhelmingly delightful sickness (although my wallet might beg to differ).

Diversity Training

Last week, we had mandatory Diversity Training at work (II and III...wonder why I didn't have to take I?).

The company I work for recently added a Diversity Award, to be given out quarterly to the business unit that hires the most diverse group of people. I have a lot to say about that topic...and find that I am censoring myself with regards to that. I will condense my thoughts enough to say this: I am not at all onboard with this award, and my reasons why are simple. The most qualified person should be hired, no matter what. I would hate to see a white person passed over because he/she was equally on par with a more diverse applicant. Of course, then there's the reverse: I would hate to see a qualified culturally diverse applicant passed over because of his or her race.

I'm sure Slippery Slope guy would have some more to say on the subject, and maybe I'll just let him handle it instead of me.

In the meantime, during my three hour training, I kept flashing back to Diversity Training as featured on The Office. So much so that when the instructor passed out index cards, I was surprised that she didn't instruct us to put them on our forehead.

I definitely watch too much TV.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Not as enlightened as I think I am

Boy, is my face red.

I thought Akashic Records was a music label for pagan music.

I'm glad I never said that out loud to anyone!

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Where the hell have I been?

Once again, it's been about a week since I posted.

Wanna know what? It's been a very good week! If I sound surprised, it's because I am. It's not often I have a whole week of good things. And it's not that I'm a pessimist or anything...just a realist.

For once, though, this realist has been having a pretty good time.

Well, there was initiation, and since then life has been really good. Nothing spectacular...I mean, I haven't won the lottery or come up with a plan for world peace or even lost any of my cellulite. Still, life's been good.

I received THE BEST swap package I've gotten in quite awhile. The woman took so much care into putting it together. I've had so many substandard swaps that I forgot what it's like to receive a great one.

I've also been dabbling with Swap Bot. I am currently hosting a few swaps, and have joined a few. I'm not big on the international swaps, though, because postage is so dang high to other countries. Still, I thought it would be fun to host an international postcard swap, so I did.

I reconnected with an old friend, and visited my folks for Easter. We had a really good time together. I also got to visit Half Price Books when I was in town, and walked away with a bag full of goodies.

Plus, this week is casual week at work. That means I don't have to think about what to wear or scrounge around for a pair of nylons without a run. I just pull on a pair of jeans, grab a matching top, and head out the door. The simplicity of jeans makes me smile.

And, the thing that will make hunky the most happiest - or at least he's hoping - is that I saw a doctor today and will be starting hormone therapy with bioidentical hormones. It appears that I am low on testosterone and progesterone, so we'll see what happens when I start therapy. If all goes well, my libido is supposed to increase in about 6 weeks. As with any "fix," though, there's a side effect: I could grow hair on my upper thighs where the hormone is applied.

Too bad it doesn't cause lube growth. That would sure make things a lot easier, doncha think?

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Into The Woods

Last night was my initiation into the Risting. It took place at a park after hours. "Park" isn't quite the right word for the place. "Park" connotes a happy, family place with swings and water fountains. This park, though, is actually quite magical.

The park is larger than it seems. I started out walking the labyrinth, and then set out on a solitary walk that brought me by places like the Lake of Reflection and the Tunnel of Darkness. I was afraid I might lose my way in the dark, but my feet kept going, and I found the little clearing in the woods where the ritual was to take place.

My instructor didn't expect me so soon. He said he hadn't finished clearing the space or putting up the hedge, which turns out might have been in my favor. The night before, my classmate was initiated and she told me that after the hedge was put up, she couldn't find them, and they didn't see her. A phone call in the dead of night fixed all of that, but it must've been a bit scary not knowing where to go.

Initiation didn't take as long as it could have. Our instructor threatened us with a ceremony that could go on into the wee hours of the morning. He took pity on my working ass, though, and the ceremony only took about 30-45 minutes (once I found the place). He did most of it: the clearing of the space, the calling of the quarters, etc. I was only responsible for presenting my two items and reading my oath.

The oath was the hardest part for me, being as I've never written an oath before in my life. I showed it to Todd and he called it "cute." I don't know much about the secrets and mysteries of ritual, but I am pretty sure they don't involve "cute.

The scariest part of the night was walking through the tunnel in the dark. Upon first entering the tunnel, the light of the full moon lit the path. However, the deeper into the tunnel I got, the darker it became. Then there was this strange illusion that made the tunnel appear as if there was some sort of moving energy force inside. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and soon I was near the end of the tunnel where the light from the moon reappeared and guided my way safely out of there.

I was told there would be someone at the end of the tunnel to guide me, but no one was there. During the whole walk, I kept thinking I saw cloaked figures, and as I got closer, these figure would turn out to be trees or posts or other stationary objects.

At the end of the ritual, I was gifted with two items: a besom and a magnifying glass with a jade handle (so I may always be able to see what is hidden). After the circle was open, I was driven to my car, and that was that.

Of course, I know the journey didn't end with that drive to my car. It will continue, only now it has a different slant.

I'm looking forward to that!

Friday, March 30, 2007

My Left Foot

It's official: I am an old lady.

Why do I know this? Because I have old lady toe. You know what I'm talking about. You've seen these toes on grayed hair, thick ankled women all over the world. The big toe that defiantly sports a yellowy-tinted, ragged-edged, malformed nail, peering its ugly head up at anyone who happens to look down and see it squished into an orthopedic sandal.

Well, at least I have the good grace not to wear an orthopedic sandal and force my fugly toe to the world. I figure it's enough that I have to look at it every morning and every night. But when lose all sense of propriety and buy those orthopedic sandals, steer clear. It'll be a sign that I've given up on life.

I haven't given up yet, but apparently my left foot has. Let's just hope that spirit doesn't spread to the rest of my body.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Welcome To The Club

Tuesday night was my last night of class. My classmate and I have been invited to be my instructor's first initiates into the Risting Tradition (not the first initiates; his first initiates). We're the first to successfully complete the course, and we're both pretty proud of that.

And so is he.

My initiation will be first, because I called dibs on the first full moon after class. When our instructor sat us down to tell us what we'd need to bring, I joked "Should I start taking my clothes off now?" We laughed, and he told us not to worry; we could wear whatever we wanted. Ritual wear is encouraged, but jeans and jacket is acceptable as well. Seeing as I'm a jeans kind of girl, it will be jeans. (Plus, since I just lost $20K, I don't exactly have money for ritual wear, now do I?)

Once our fears about having to be skyclad were erased, we both became a bit unnerved at other things he said the ritual might involve. No drinking of blood or things like that. No, we are going to have to find our way to him in the dark of night, at a deserted park. We will have clues, and he will wait three hours for us, and no longer.

He said he might have the ritual go on until 2 a.m., which will be awful for me because I have to work the next day. I think my worst fear and largest aggravation in life is not getting enough sleep. So when I heard he would purposefully make the ritual go on as long as he felt like it, I found myself getting irritated.

Other than the sleep part, though, I think I can handle it. But can the Risting Tradition handle me?

I guess we'll find out soon enough.

It Is Finished

Today, I closed escrow on my cottage.


I haven't talked about it, because my one superstition is the great and powerful jinx. I truly believe I jinx myself, or rather my good fortune, by talking about things. It has proved to be true over and over again.

My Risting instructor doesn't believe in jinxing, but he does believe I bring stuff on myself. I didn't quite understand his explanation, but it has something to do with the way I channel my energy and hope in such a way that it becomes chaotic and then, poof, it's all gone.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I'm right.

All I know is I didn't breathe a word of it, and it actually happened.

In January, I had a reading from Carrie, a woman in whose readings I've come to trust. She told me I would sell the place in March. When people asked me about my reading, I shared everything but that precious piece. I kept it to myself, because of my overwhelming fear of jinxing myself.

On a long distance call to Idaho to share the good news with Todd, he asked me how I felt about it. I said sad and relieved. He then asked me which was the predominant feeling. I said relief. He said then that means I did the right thing.

The whole cottage diabolic was a $20,000 mistake. Actually, $20,013.22, if you count the Cobb Salad from Claim Jumper and glass of wine I had to celebrate my loss. After all, it's much better to wine than whine, doncha think?

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Brian Delp

When I first heard the news that Brian Delp had died, my first thought was that the news agencies weren't giving us the whole story. And a week later, I received confirmation that my initial thought was correct: Brian Delp committed suicide.

His death saddened me. His music filled my high school years (and I know that dates me). I played Boston over and over and over again on my portable record player. When my brother and I sunned ourselves on the rickety wooden deck that overlooked our backyard, Boston was one of the records we played.

When I went into the Army and was in Basic or AIT (those months just sort of blend together), my brother went to a Day On The Green without me. Boston was the headlining group. He bought a T-shirt, which he wore and wore and wore (like young men do). When he realized how much I had wished I had been able to go to that concert, he gave me the shirt, now ragged from wear.

I still have that shirt. It's worn and wrinkled and riddled with holes from years of washing, and yet I hold on to it, because it reminds me of summer days and a time when my brother and I actually got along.

I know Boston hasn't had a hit in years and years, but in my mind they still ruled the world of rock.

Good-bye Brian. Even though your music will go on forever in my mind, your presence on this earth will be missed.

The Non-Event

Yesterday was supposed to be a huge day for me. GIGANTIC. It was the day I was hoping would happen for months.

But, this being my life and all, I thought "Hmmm...something is going to go wrong. Let's try to head it off." So I contacted the person involved several times. "Is it going to happen? What time is my appointment? What do I need to bring?"

These questions were never really answered, until four hours before my supposed appointment. And of course, one important thing I was supposed to bring was not available BECAUSE I WASN'T NOTIFIED IN ENOUGH TIME to get it.

So. The Big Event was a non-event.

And so I continue to wait.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Booty Call

Yesterday, I was accidentally hit with a booty call. It kind of hurt, and I said "Ow" out loud. Hunky heard and asked if I was okay. I said yes, and added that I didn't think a booty call should hurt.

The booty call in question isn't the old fashioned kind. No, it's actually Bonny Doon's Boutielle Call, a Syrah Port we got at Cost Plus World Market. however, hunky thinks I need an old fashioned kind of booty call...and maybe he's right.

Pour me a glass of Boutielle Call and we'll talk.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Daylight, what?

Today is my least favorite day of the year...the day daylight savings time begins. Why is it my least favorite? Because I lose an hour of damn sleep, and I don't get it back again until October. And for a girl who needs her beauty rest,

I am always cranky on the first day after turning the clocks forward. Today was no exception. However, the way I approached it was...I knew it was going to be a sucky day, so I prepared ahead of time.

I knew that Todd would be leaving on a jet airplane, so I planned to have a Pamela day. I haven't had one of those since August. In preparation, I made an appointment for a massage...something I haven't had in over a year. I planned to take a nice, long bath afterwards, lounging in bubbles while reading The Chili Queen. I had two movies to choose from for my evening.

The best laid plans...

I dropped hunky off at the airport, and thought "Hey, while I'm out I should run a few errands, so I don't have to do a dang thing after my massage." I got some groceries and other essentials, then I went home.

When I put the key in the door, I heard a man's voice. I froze. I thought someone had broken into the house. Then I heard the man's voice again, this time what he said was very clear "Well, Pamela's home, so I should get off the phone."

Yep. It was Todd.

I saw my alone time go up in a poof of smoke.

He was mad at me for not having my phone on while I was out and about. There was some mishap with the plane, so he ended up rescheduling for tomorrow. And, of course, when he called me, I was no where to be found.

Of course he wanted to do things with me, and I hated being a wench, but I just had to do it in order to preserve my sanity (or what little I have left). When he started going on about lunch, I said "You know, I have that massage appointment scheduled, and I was really looking forward to my first day alone in a month."

Thankfully, he didn't whine. Instead, he dialed up a girl friend (or girlfriend? I'm not sure which), and they went out for a pricey brunch at Rapscallions. I was mildly disappointed, but only because I haven't been there for brunch, and I understand it's quite the taste treat. I was actually more happy than disappointed, because now I could attack my pleasurable afternoon guilt-free.

I went for my massage, and even though I had made sure to schedule with a female, a male came into the waiting room, calling out my name and holding my chart. I really did not want a male's hands on me, and even though I know it's not in a sexual way or anything, the thought of having a male massage therapist catching glimpses of my cellulite and jelly rolls just made me squiggy. I was about to just go with it, though, until I thought "Uh uh. This is your day."

I went up to the young man and said, "Um, hi...are you going to be my massage therapist?" He said yes. I said "No offense, but I had asked for a female." He said no problem, and went to the front desk, and after some back and forth, they found a female massage therapist to take care of me.

I was a little embarrassed about the whole thing, but decided not to let it get in the way. I'm glad I spoke up, because the woman assigned to me gave the best massage ever. My back feels wonderful. She wasn't able to get out all the knots, though, but seriously, I spent a year accumulating those knots, and didn't expect she could massage them all away in 50 minutes.

When I got home, I drew a bath, using my special "Pamela Day" bath stuff. I had a book and water nearby, and about 15 minutes after getting into the tub, Todd came home. To his credit, he only came up to say "Hello," and skedaddled into his office so I could have some more alone time.

However, even though he's been pretty understanding, he is here, and well, there's just no ignoring him. Next weekend, I don't get any alone time either, so I'll have to wait two weeks before I get another weekend alone.

Another? I sound like I get them all the time...and I just don't. I thought this contract in Idaho would give me lots of time alone, but he's been home every weekend since he's been on this contract.

What does a girl need to do to get a little alone time? Do I have to wait until October, when I turn the clocks back an hour, and use that extra hour to sneak in some alone time...somewhere?

The way my life is, the answer is probably yes. Nothing ever goes as planned...

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Picture Perfect

Internet "dating" is not at all how it used to be. Way back when, it was an exchange of emails which led to meeting, which may have led to something else. And if not, at least it was fun.

It's not fun anymore.

With .jpegs and .gifs and webcams, I find that most guys just seem to want a bunch of pictures first, before they are willing to commit to even a cup of coffee. And those pictures are in addition to the pictures already posted in the profile. Take this lovely exchange that took place between Pete and me:

1st email exchange = fun
P: Anyone who makes jokes about eating a squirel insted of chocolate is ok with me! How come your pic' is so blurry? Worried about the animal rights groups tracking you down?

Me: Ack! Is my picture blurry? Or have you just had too much red wine? I'm picking the latter...

Now spill!

2nd email exchange = cute
P: Sheish, I hope you like a man with purple teeth from Pinot Noir? LOL NO! That pic is foggy without wine, maybe it's just low pixel's. It's ok though, just answer a few questions to clear up the blurry parts. #1 Why are you sticking your tongue out in the photo? #2 Is that a tatoo? #3 Don't you think thee eyepatch is a little bit much?

(Please note that I didn't write him off, even though at age 50, he still doesn't know how to spell "sheesh," "eye patch," and "tattoo," and he uses "LOL" which is an overused acronym that I loathe, despise and detest. If people are really laughing out loud at the stupid things they write, we as a people, are in serious need of the humor police.)

While my response was lengthy and rather witty (I won't bore you with the transcript here), I did realize that perhaps he had a point...maybe I should put a few more pictures with my profile. So, I added more, and approved them within 24 hours and posted them.

However, that still wasn't enough for Pete. He continued to badger me in every email that he wanted more pictures, while he dodged my questions and refused to tell me anything about himself, other than his name.

Major red flag.

I decided that he just wasn't worth the effort. After the fourth email came, demanding yet more pictures, I just stopped responding. It became obvious that chicken-necked Pete (believe me, he looked his 50 years of age, if not more) was more shallow than his wrinkled old prune face gave him the right to be.

However, there aren't too many men who can escape the lure of the Delicious Pamelicious (except for Carlos Faura, damn his resolve!), so I found yet another email waiting for me this morning:

P: Hellooooooo? Did your wild life catch up to you? Where did you go?

Me: While my wild life did indeed catch up with me, I also tired quickly of your constant demands for more photos, without any substance in your emails (i.e. information about yourself). The focus on photos highlighted a shallowness I am unwilling to deal with.

Hopefully your request for photos will not turn off the next woman you contact.

And then I did what any self respecting female of a certain age would do, I blocked his wrinkly ass from sending me any more email.

Take that, Prune Face!

Saturday, February 10, 2007

My Crazy Co-Worker

I can't believe I've neglected to post about this story. Turns out, I had a crazy co-worker. We're just all glad she didn't bring the gun to work.

Speed Dating

As you may have already gathered, I went to a speed dating event this week. To tell the truth, I have no idea why I went. I'm really not all that interested in dating. I guess I thought it would be fun.

I was almost right.

The speed dating event was hosted by It was part of their worldwide speed dating marathon, during which they tried to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for most dates in one night (or something like that). Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on whether you're a glass half empty or glass half full kind of gal), there were only eight men in my age group there.

Eight men.

And they had trouble getting enough women for those eight men. There was a waiting list for men, while they were offering women $5 off to sign up. Sometimes it's good to be a girl.

I've never participated in speed dating before. By the time it got popular, I was already with hunky, so I didn't participate in any local events. I always thought it sounded like fun, though, so when the opportunity arose, I decided to go (even though my heart wasn't in it).

It was held at the Sapphire Lounge, a trendy cocktail bar inside Harrah's. After signing in, I sat with Kelly, a very nice woman, and we chatted until the hostess grabbed us and pointed us in the general direction of our tables. Turned out I was 8 and she was 7, so we were right next to each other.

The first person to sit with me was Richard (author of the "you're not a total fat pig" email). Before the event officially started, he began chatting me up. Somehow the topic of Coast to Coast AM came up (and I'm not clear how it came up, but there you have it: speed dating at its finest) and we were off and running. "Ring, ring, ring." That was the sound of the event officially starting, and so then Richard and I had another six minutes together.

After talking about working out, more Coast to Coast, and who knows what else, it was time for the next guy. His name was Kevin. After chatting for awhile (he's a ballistics expert with the Sheriff's office), it turned out that we had actually exchanged some emails before the event. I just didn't know what he looked like, because he didn't attach photos to his profile because of his high profile job.

While I can't say he's a match, I did enjoy talking to him. Turned out I had heard him on the radio a few times, too. Apparently he's been on TV to talk ballistics as well, but since I don't watch the late night news, I hadn't seen him on TV. Just as we were getting into the meat of our conversation, the hostess rang the bell.

The next guy confidently strode on over. His name was Steve, and if this guy was 45 or younger (the age group I was in), I am a green legged spider. He had to be at least 50. He was dressed nicely, and I had to give him points for trying.

Our conversation was...well, just was. I discovered he is retired, and asked him about that. I can't even remember what it was that he did when he worked. I do remember that he had on a purple shirt and a nice tie, and that it looked as if he had dentures. Next!

Gonzalo came over to my table, shook my hand and introduced himself. I commented that I had never heard the name "Gonzalo" before, and I liked it. He was a Hispanic fellow with kids. I was actually kind of interested in him until I found out about the kids part. As soon as he said he had three kids, the light went out. But, he was nice and we talked about his dog, Tessa, and how difficult it was to raise her from puppy hood to adulthood, especially since it had seemed as if she was abused before he got her.

Ring, ring, ring! John was next, and I thought "Gee, he looks like a pastor." And guess what? I was right. He was a pastor. He was the only guy that went down an unwritten list of questions. Had I ever been married? Did I smoke? What church did I attend? Blah, blah, blah...I almost felt like telling him I was a Christian Witch, to see what he would do with that, but I took a bit of pity on him, because he just seemed so vulnerable and earnest.

Ring, ring, ring! Time to take a break.

Kelly and I started talking about our dates, and three more ladies came over to join in on the conversation. When the last two approached, drinks in hand, they rolled their eyes and started laughing. Yeah, we got it. No winners.

I have to say, all the women there were good looking. I may not be a total fat pig, but you know, I'm not bad for a woman of a certain age. Most of the women there were blondes. And busty. And feisty. And the guys? I hate to say it, but as a group, they were disappointing.

After chatting it up with the women (the men shied away from us, and ran to get drinks and didn't talk to one another), the hostess rang the bell and told us it was time to get started.

The first guy to sit with me after the break was Xavier, a chiropractor. Finally! He was dressed nicely, was fairly handsome, and was actually interesting. So of course it turned out that he wasn't interested in me.

After the next bell ringing, a guy shyly walked over. His name was Greg, and he was also a doctor. Not a medical doctor, a Ph.D. kind of doctor, which is just fine with me, because I really wasn't interested in getting anywhere near his stethoscope.

If Greg had a cowboy hat on, he'd look a bit like the actor who plays Push, a recurring character on Medium. That's probably why I was a bit drawn to him. That, and the fact that he just seemed like a nice guy. Kind of funny, in a low key way. We talked about the differences between Scientific American and Popular Science (okay, so I'm not really well-versed in the differences between the two, but Greg was and I was able to fake it until the bell rung). Ring, ring, ring. Our six minutes were up, so we shook hands, and the next guy arrived.

The last guy was Steve, and I honestly couldn't tell anyone much about him after the event. He was Hispanic...I think. He mumbled a lot. He rambled and didn't make any sense. He was a fish out of water, and I sort of felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to mark him down on my dance card, though.

And that was it. The night was over. Before leaving, the hostess told us that we all would get a one month Gold membership at, and our matches would be there within 24 hours.

Yipee. I could hardly wait.

Turned out half the guys marked me down as a "yes." I guess that's not bad odds. I wonder if the busty, blonde women made out any better...

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Bad News

I've had a crush on Carlos Faura for at least four imagine my distress when I heard Danita Cohen tease him yesterday about his newfound healthy habits by saying "That's not the Carlos I know...sounds like the girlfriend's influence."

I had hoped she was kidding, but noooooooo...this morning she mentioned Carlos' girlfriend again. And I swear he blushed.

I went from crushing to crushed in less than 24 hours.

Guess hunky's stuck with me now.

Brand Spankin' New

After using the same computer for almost 9 years, I decided it was time for a new one. Actually, it was time for a new one last year, but I kept putting it off until I had more money.

I never had more money.

So, the other day when hunky and I were at Best Buy, we took a look at the computers (as we always do). Only, on this particular day, Best Buy had quite a few great package deals. I was attracted the the eMachine packages, which came with a monitor and printer. I knew the prices were good, however I didn't want a computer with Vista. So I did what any other red blooded American woman would do: I shopped some more.

I looked everywhere I could think of, and I found no deal that matched the deal at Best Buy. Even the few XP machines I found were inferior (smaller amounts of memory, no packages available, etc.). When I realized there wasn't a better deal to be had anywhere, I dragged hunky back out of the house, and we went back to Best Buy.

Within minutes, I was the proud owner of a the mid-sized eMachines package. Well, a modified package...I did opt to upgrade to a flat paneled monitor, which I am now officially in love with.

The whole package was only $ $70 for the upgrade.

I'm not wowed by Vista, though. In fact, there are things about it I kind of hate, like the fact it's a memory hog. If I had known that, I would've gone with the more expensive package, which came with a dual core processor. But I didn't know it, and hunky swears if I buy it, he'll add more RAM to the system for me.

I have to say, though, that despite Vista, I do like my new computer. A lot. I can watch things like YouTube videos and listen to the Adam Corolla show...things I wasn't able to do with my other computer. Plus, this monitor is so easy on my eyes!

I don't often spend big bucks on myself, because I don't trust that I'll make the right decision. This time, though, I'm pretty sure I did.

And it feels almost as good as a spanking.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Can We Talk?

Last night, I saw Joan Rivers - legend and eternal blond. She was everything I had hoped she'd be, and more.

I know the woman has had work...she admitted to two face lifts last night. But still, work or no work, the woman is spry for 73 years old. She worked that stage like a woman 40 years younger. And once she hit the stage, she was non-stop. No pauses. No dead air. Just comedy, comedy, comedy.

Todd and I both agreed that hers was the best comedy show we've seen together in ages.

I have to say, it was good to sit and laugh last night. It was a trying day for me. I finally got an offer on the cottage, and sat through a two-hour meeting with my realtor and the potential buyer's realtor yesterday. The deal isn't excellent, but it's the best deal I've gotten yet. I'll still lose money, approximately $11,000. But, it could be a lot worse.

See, Thursday night, Todd and I met a contractor at my cottage. Finally one came through...and we could tell he was honest. Almost too honest...turns out that just to get the entryway, kitchen and bathroom even halfway livable, will cost $65,000. And that was the low-ball cost.

The thing is, the buyer could still back out. He is paying for an inspection, and we all know (at least I'm pretty sure even he knows) the cottage isn't in very good condition. If the inspector is worth anything, he'll advise the guy to run.

The potential buyer's realtor says she believes the bones are good, but honestly, she'd advise him to run, too. However, since her agency represented me when I bought the place, she said she feels ties to me as well, so instead of telling the guy to run, she's giving him outs in the contract and just letting him make up his own mind after the inspection.

So, if the guy backs out, I'm back to square one...and it's not even a good square one. I'm worse off now than I was a year ago, as I was out of work for several months, meaning my bank account has been depleted quite a bit. I definitely don't have $65,000 to fix the place up, that's for sure.

So I'm hoping that this guy is just crazy enough to think he can actually fix the place up. He seems determined that he can...I hope he's still that determined after the inspector visits.

If he's not, I hope Joan comes through town again, because I have a feeling I'll need something to laugh about.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Pay Day

I just got my first real check from Vancome. I had to look at it seemed like such a large amount. Seeing the number brought to me the realization that this year, I just might get out of the hole I've dug for myself with the money pit I call a cottage.

I was so happy for myself that I hopped on over to Amazon and bought myself the Llewellyn Tarot Kit. Not that I need a divination tool to tell me that I think I'm going to like it there.

Every other Monday has just become my favorite days of the year!

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Instinct Says...

I think I just lost a friend.

I feel bummed about it, and yet, in my honest moments with myself, I knew this would happen long ago. Granted, I didn't know exactly how or when it would happen, but I knew it all the same.

Last year, my Risting instructor decided to start teaching Runes. He's an expert, and people in the community had been after him for some time to teach a class. He finally did it, and I decided to enroll.

I enrolled mostly to learn about Rune magic (which would be part of the course instruction), but also to meet some more people in the community. Unfortunately, I only lasted for three classes...that third class was a dilly and kicked my butt. I realized then and there that I had taken on too much (my Risting classes PLUS rune work), so I dropped out.

However, I was part of an email mailing list that many of the class members were on. One of my class members (I shall call her Nelly) emailed me saying things like "I really missed you in class," and "I'd like to meet you sometime for blankity-blank-blank" (no, not dirty stuff!).

Things kind of got weird...I'm not sure of the details, but my instructor had to stop teaching the class at the store, and I believe he and Nelly had some sort of falling out. Nelly, though, kept after me. Against my better judgment, I decided to go ahead and meet her one afternoon at Borders. "What the hell," I thought. "It's just coffee."

Well, what I didn't know was that Nelly is a talker. And I just don't mean any kind of talker...but A TALKER. With most people who tend to talk too much and listen too little, I can find some sort of break in which to say "Oh, excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom, " or "Hey, that reminds me of a similar incident..." With Nelly, there are no breaks. And her body language is difficult to read. The meeting went on for almost five hours, and just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, without any warning, Nelly just gathered her things and said "It was good to see you again. We'll have to do this again."

When I got home, Todd asked me how it went. I told him that it seemed that all Nelly wanted to talk about was my Risting instructor, the new metaphysical store, the women who worked there, and the drama that went on at the last store. "I think she thought I knew something, and was hoping to gain inside knowledge...I just didn't have any to share with her." I further thought that since I was of no help, I wouldn't be hearing from her any more.

I was wrong.

Nelly continued to email me, asking me to meet for coffee. All in all, I probably ended up meeting with her about 5 or 6 different times. We seemed to be friends, so I invited her to go to the ABBACADABRA concert. However, no matter the venue, she always brought up my Risting instructor, and also gossiped about the girls who ran the new metaphysical shop.

I almost always had the impression she wanted something from me. Information, I guess...but I didn't really have it.

As she came to the realization that I had no inside knowledge about the store drama and stuff like that, I noticed she didn't meet me as much. If we had plans for coffee, she would often back out. She'd reschedule, but oftentimes for a time slot I wasn't free for. And every time I was about to write her off, she'd come through, as if sensing she was going to lose me.

The last time we met was right after Samhain. She managed to blow me off the whole month of October, saying that she was in the processing of blessing her house and couldn't meet. When she found out I was soon going to have a birthday, she wrote it down and promised me a birthday reading. That was two months ago, and I haven't received my reading yet.

She still would periodically email me and say "I still owe you that reading, when can we meet?" However, every time and date I suggested to her was no good. Finally, we came to an agreement to meet last Sunday afternoon at Borders. She warned me that she wouldn't do the reading, as she felt uncomfortable doing so in a public place, but still wanted to spend some time with me.

On Friday, I contacted her to set up a time. She said "You know, I think I'll be busy on Sunday. How about tomorrow instead?" Well, I was busy "tomorrow" so I had to say no. She then asked if I wouldn't mind waiting until Saturday for confirmation...I told her that was okay, but honestly? It left a bad taste in my mouth. It reeked of "I think I might have something better to do, but I won't find out until tomorrow."

Saturday morning, I received an email with the subject "Have a nice weekend." I knew what it said...and of course, I was right. She still didn't know if she had plans for Sunday or not, so decided not to meet with me at all. "But we can meet next Monday, because I'm off."

Whoop-de-do. Not everyone in the world gets MLK day off. I was so mad, I didn't even respond. I thought if she was serious about making time for me, she'd contact me again. If she wasn't, I wouldn't hear from her.

It's been a week, and I haven't heard from her.

The weird thing is that, for the most part, I don't care. I saw this coming months ago...only in my hopes of making more friends in the community, I had ignored it.

Lesson? Listen to my instincts. Seriously. Sometimes I think I will never learn.

As for being Nellyless, the only thing I'm really bummed about is that I'll never get that birthday reading. The rest of the drama, I can do without.