Ch-ch-ch-changes

I've had a huge upheaval in my life just this past weekend. It came on so strongly and was so all-encompassing that it seemed like I'd been missing an important piece in my crazy life and someone just handed it to me and said, "This should help everything make sense now." And it does.

Two days after my birthday, bright and early on a Friday morning, I received a message in a bottle, floating in a sea of other bottled messages that had arrived (this happens every time I post a blog or a new pic... or sign in, for that matter). Why this one stood out was because of how simple and effortless the conversation began, but had all the key elements that showed he'd done his homework.


Date: Dec 14 - 6:02am
Subject: You are correct!

That lighting bolt thingy IS alot of fun. It's like I found my perfect video game. I would have never of thought to push it had I not been inexplicably re-drawn back to your profile and read everything on your profile page.

Mark Hamel looks less like a lesbian and more like he's been hanging with the summer stock crowd for way too long.

I think you should definately not take your profile down. Not yet, anyway. It's too good to just take down. Like public art that only a few people know about. Say your attached or something if you're trying to deflect impossible matches. Or give me another week to make sure I didn't miss anything.

You are "un-wooable."


You may not see the genius of this message, but that's simply because you're not meant to see it. It is for me and me alone. My first thought was, "Wow, why do I feel as if this is a correspondence from a friend I've known forever?" So I compared our profiles and immediately felt that if we did know each other, he'd be part of my tightest circle of friends.



Then I followed the trail of breadcrumbs, investigating his music tastes and realized that it read like a playlist from my own iPod. I stalked him a little further (to Myspace) and what I found made me think it was a crime that we weren't already part of each other's lives, when it seemed as though we were already totally connected, so I set about to rectify that.

We got to know each other at a good clip... not too slow, not too fast... email quickly gave way to IM, which then just as easily gave way to phone. Each time we conversed, it was as if we just dropped into a conversation already in progress -- a dialog that had been going on our whole lives... effortless, exhilarating, silly, amazing.

When we met 2 weeks after first contact, we spent a day together discovering hidden treasures, thoroughly enjoying each other's company, and allowing the butterflies between us to leave on their own. And when we embraced at last, it was as if I was learning for the first time how a hug was supposed to feel. I would tell you more, but I'm sure that I can't do it any justice.

In just 2 days, I've experienced the deepest comfort and most complete sense of understanding I've ever had... and life as I'd known it has been irrevocably changed.


"You gave me some really good advice in your first message to me and I believe that I'm finally going to take it." -- TheSheCreature to AlphaDolt, while changing profile status to "seeing someone" (December 30, 2007).

YEUGHUAAAH!

Bringing back a Christmas classic from a couple years ago. Watch it and thank me later!

Karkis - Secret Satan

It's 3:10 AM on Xmas morning...

And I'm sitting here watching a local tv channel that's just showing a burning log with really cheesy music playing. No, it's okay... really. It's Dan Fogelberg. He's dead, so it's okay.

So I must be loopy, because I've been watching it for more than 10 minutes straight so far...

...I need help, obviously.

Worst. Update. Ever.

Remember my blog post about how "graceful" I was on my birthday night adventures? Some of you have wondered how a simple knee scrape would cause me so much continued pain over a week later.

And lucky you, I have more pics!

But first, let me remind you of my previous knee injury back in April, because my birthday gash ended up also being a re-injury of that fun moment in awkward bipedal history. As I fell straight down onto the metal storm drain cover onto my hands and knees, my mind raced back to the previous injury and I wondered briefly if I would even be able to get up again (I wasn't able to put weight on it the last time). Luckily for me, the real pain was delayed.

Unluckily for me, it meant almost complete insomnia for this whole week, as I laid awake with an ache that couldn't be quelled by OTC pain killers.

Now here's the pictorial update you wanted:




Who's more of the camera whore: me or Meringue?



And these are shots of my other knee, with the all-over bruising that it sustained, but hadn't shown up for a day or two after...



Kiss it and make it better!




Jeez, by the looks of those photos, one would think that I've finally found a new career as a "working girl." Some girls say that walking the streets is the worst part, but I say it's all that kneeling on gravel that's a bitch.

How to look (and feel) your age

People often wonder why I only seem to wear comfortable shoes... none of those girlie torture devices. I mean, why wouldn't I want to look more appealing to the opposite sex and accentuate my gams?

The answer is really simple: I am a complete clutz.

Case in point, yesterday day and night I was out enjoying my birthday... not "enjoying" it too much, but in dignified moderation. Age has taught me how to pace myself, at least.

What it hasn't taught me is how to walk in shoes that are designed to trip me.

The funny thing is that I even predicted it when we headed out for the day, saying, "I never wear these shoes, because they always make me trip... today should prove amusing, at least!" Not heeding my own foreknowledge of these terribly designed sandals, I decided that the beautiful spring-like day that was my birthday deserved to be gussied up a bit with some glimmery, strappy footwear. What could go wrong?

Well, other than having a difficult time keeping pace, really nothing went wrong for a good 8 hours. Then suddenly, when attempting to cross the street (ironically in my neighborhood of 15 years ago), one of the sick bastards got hung up on the edge of a loose sewer cover and I ended up on all fours faster than David Hasselhoff diving for a burger.

My left knee seems to have taken the brunt of the fall, followed by my right wrist and ankle, which are now hurting more than my poor knee is today (along with a severely bruised ego).

Had I been drinking? Sure, but it was only about 5 drinks in as many hours (plus water), so I was by no means drunk... if I was, it would have hurt a lot less, I'm guessing.

So then I spent the rest of the night hobbling around, bemoaning my bloody knee and ripped pants, while cursing the day that I ever bought those shoes. "They're meeting the trash as soon as I get home! Forget about donating them to Goodwill, because I don't want anyone else being cursed by these evil, evil things!"

I now present, the only pics from my 37th birthday:

Happy birthday, Frank Sinatra!

...and Edvard Munch!

...and Yasujiro Ozu!

...and Edward G. Robinson!

...and Bob Barker!

...and Connie Francis!

...and Dione Warwick!

...and Sheila E.!

...and Jennifer Connelly!

...and Madchen Amick!

...and ME!!!

I'll be celebrating this evening with yummy tapas and enough mojitos to forget that 37 years ago today, every part of me touched every part of my mother's vagina. Cheers!

...And a monkey in a cherry tree.

The 12 days of Christmas starts the day after my birthday. Here's what a silly quiz thingy tells me to expect:

Twelve babies drumming

Eleven snowmen a-melting

Ten ice skaters a-leaping

Nine ladies baking cookies

Eight alpacas a-milking

Seven gingerbread men a-crumbling

Six Santas a-hohohoing

Five golden coins

Four calling bill collectors

Three French fries

Two diamond pinky rings

And a monkey in a cherry tree


Honestly, these are things I DO NOT need!

More babies? No thank you. Three mistakes were enough.
Alpaca milk? Is that where eggnog really comes from? Here I believed Dave Attell when he said it was Elf cum.
All those leaping ice skaters and no rifle? Why do you taunt me so?
Gingerbread and Snow men? I don't need any more crumby and/or drippy men in my life!
Those Santas... are they mocking me???
Bill collectors? I'm sure it'll be WAY more than 4 calling.
I could use the gold coins, but the mirror tells me to just say NO to more cookies and fries.
Pinky rings? First I'm a ho, now I'm a pimp?
A monkey in a cherry tree? GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

Is there a witch doctor in the house?

1999 was a rough year for me. It was the year we discovered that my spouse had cancer. It was also the year that I realized I was in a loveless marriage, when I could not get happy for him once he received his "all clear" remission status. And as if that weren't stressful enough, it later became the year that I started grad school, then learned about his adultery, followed by our separation and my dive into single-parenthood, ending with our divorce. Without any further detail of those terrible times, I should also admit that there were several positive and long-reaching emotional milestones for me in which solidified walls came down with an unexpected crash... and they came down directly as the result of others' creative expression.

The first emotional upheaval came on March 21, 1999 while sitting in a darkened theater and watching Roberto Benigni's LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL before the Academy Awards ran that evening. Seeing that goofy man's raw and pure love for his real-life wife (and hers for him) -- something that cannot be faked by even the best actors, on-screen or off -- while I sat next to a man who never once looked at me that way in all our years together (nor I at him), made me start shaking and sobbing uncontrollably for the entire duration of the film and for hours after.

The next upheaval came while sitting in my car before class on April 27, 1999, while listening to the university's radio program. Tom Waits' album MULE VARIATIONS had just been released that day and the dj decided to play the whole cd in honor of it being the first Waits cd in quite some time. I was touched and awed as I always am by his particular brand of poetic nostalgia, but it was the song "Picture in a Frame" that particularly struck a chord in me... one of nostalgia for something I'd yet to experience, but left me hopeful that it wasn't too late. As the simple song played, I welled up again, and the floodgates did not close until long after the album had ended. A few days later, my then spouse gave me the good news that his thyroid cancer was in remission and likely entirely cured (all without radiation, chemotherapy or anything but surgery), and that's when I finally had the courage to tell him that we were definitely broken and possibly irreparably so.

In the years since, I have yet to attain the feeling so best summarized by the lyrics "I'm gonna love you 'til the wheels come off," although I am still optimistic. I feel that Mr. Waits gave me part of the cure for what ailed me -- he cast a magical spell of hope for something... more. I'd describe the beauty of the song more thoroughly, except that I stumbled upon a review on Allmusic.com that does as good of a job as I could have done, or possibly better:


PICTURE IN A FRAME
Appears on Mule Variations
Performed by Tom Waits
Composed by Kathleen Brennan/Tom Waits
Song Review by Bill Janovitz

At once nostalgic, sentimental, and intimate, Tom Waits' love ode "Picture in a Frame" manages to tug the heart without ever once dipping into maudlin territory, a feat that Waits has been able to pull off for the greater part of 30 years. With this simple song, Waits again effortlessly makes the case that he is our best living balladeer. While old-timers like Frank Sinatra were able to balance the masculine, tough-guy shell with the generous-hearted and sensitive interior, there has probably not been one singer/songwriter as emotionally evocative while remaining so undeniably cool as Waits, never mind one of his contemporaries.

The New Orleans-flavored jazz-soul song -- co-written with his wife and frequent collaborator Kathleen Brennan -- is characteristically rich with unique and personal detail as Waits sings a litany of specific and memorable images that remind him of the precise moment his love became true: "I came calling in my Sunday best/Ever since I put your picture in a frame/I'm gonna love you till the wheels fall off...oh yeah." The recording, from Waits' Mule Variations (1999), begins with the room sounds of a piano bench creaking and a few breaths and grunts from the performer as he sets himself down at the piano, the warm atmosphere mirroring the intimacy of the lyric. From the gentle self-mockery of the old fashioned "Sunday best" courtship image to the final, understated verse "I love you baby and I always will," we are left with the impression that we have been given a little trip down memory lane in a relationship, a privileged glimpse at the joy two lovers have shared.


I had to put the song into this blog entry somehow, so that you could experience it for yourself, and managed to locate two actual versions of it. Both are on YouTube as the soundtrack to different videos (but there is no official Waits video): one version is some guy's interpretation of what the lyrics mean to him; the other is basically a tribute to a different guy's kitties. Personally, I feel that the far less distracting one to view is the version featuring the kitties, so I'm posting that here... but with the added caveat that the best way to listen would be to simply shut your eyes and soak in the song by itself, as I did when I first experienced it. Enjoy this from the bottom of my heart to yours...




------

[Author's note: Probably not so coincidentally, you can catch both Waits and Benigni in Jim Jarmusch's classic DOWN BY LAW (1986), as well as in his not-so-classic COFFEE AND CIGARETTES (2003)... you know, just f.y.i.]

Mother of the Year, I’m not

In what can only be considered a terrible bit of irony, I forgot to wish my oldest child a happy 14th birthday today. I am calling it irony, because just 2 days ago, I'd rented 16 Candles from Netflix and my younger two and I were watching it, while Aidan was at his friend's house playing Halo 3... and perhaps thankfully so, he has no clue that his 14th birthday just mirrored Molly Ringwald's character's 16th birthday. Okay, so there's no older sibling marrying an "oily variety beau-hunk" and no romantic interest and no grandparents visiting (actually, my mother and father did both call tonight, but my ringer was turned off)... but I did just pay him a visit in his room and quietly apologized to him for forgetting it was his birthday. If it was the first time, I'd just be forgetful... unfortunately, this is like the 4th time in his life that I've done this, making me feel pretty negligent. On the bright side, he should have plenty to talk about with his therapist some day.

The Accidental Humorist

EMAIL THAT I HAD TO WRITE TO MY SON'S TEACHER THIS MORNING:

Ms. H--

I have a request that I'm not even sure you're able to do. It's probably going to have to involve a morning talk with Malachi along with someone walking him through this at the end of the day. I'm talking about his locker and how to actually use it to keep his things. Let me explain...

Yesterday he came home stating that he "sort of ripped" his bookbag at school. When I asked how, he said it was under the lockers and stuck, so he "gently tugged," and when that didn't work, he asked another girl to help him and she pulled hard and the thing ripped. I didn't look at it until this morning, because frankly it sounded like something that could be addressed this weekend when we'd have time. It wasn't. The bookbag was ripped from the top of one corner, all the way down the seam to the bottom of the bag and around to the middle of the bottom other corner of the bag. No small tugging could have created that, unless it was by the Incredible Hulk.

Every day since the first week of school, I've asked him to ONLY BRING HOME WHAT HE NEEDS at the end of the day and leave the rest in his locker, and yet every day he continues to bring home every single one of his textbooks, workbooks, composition books, reading books, spiral notebooks, and binders. And I literally mean EVERYthing! His bookbag weighs as much as he does! I know it's not because he has that much homework, since he never touches them once he's home and has been claiming lately that he does most of his homework at school during bus call now.

Apparently, he's been using his bookbag as his locker this whole time. He needs an adult there to explain to him that NO ONE WILL STEAL HIS TEXTBOOKS IF HE LEAVES THEM IN HIS LOCKER (this is apparently one of his reasons) and how to decide what comes home with him and what needs to stay there (inability to make decisions regarding organization is his other reason). Not to mention the fact that he must stop cramming individual papers, worksheets, newsletters into his bag, which leaves them to get crumpled, frayed, and torn. At this point, I don't care if this lesson has to be done through public humiliation... it just needs to be done somehow to get through to him.

I'm at my wit's end with him, really. I have never had to email teachers so much for his brother and sister combined as I have for Malachi... and now a perfectly good, brand new bookbag has been sacrificed. I know you have so many other children to deal with on a daily basis, and I really don't wish to over-burden you with this. Perhaps it's time for the special needs councelor to step in with advice?

--S

P.S. I'm attaching pictures of "the victim" as it looks now, though I wish I'd taken pictures of it the way the young Macguyver brought it home: held together with a gigantic "patch" of packing tape and scotch tape. I pray he doesn't decide to become a surgeon or an engineer someday!

The EX-backpack:







AND THE TEACHER'S RESPONSE:

You know what...you always give me something to smile about. I know it's not a laughing matter, but I almost fell on the floor. You, nor Malachi has EVER been a burden. You two are so awesome. I will talk to him this morig. I promise to have it totally worked out by the end of next week (just so he can break this habit that's he began 7 weeks ago).

Have an awesome day!
Ms. H

No Greasy Aftereffect

I learned a lot of stuff while growing up... especially a lot of stuff that really gets into the deep crevices of the mind and sets itself on repeat, turning you into an instant psycho the moment you retrieve such information and share it with another adult. Case in point: long bus rides on Girl Scouts camping trips. They were filled with useless songs and horrifying myths of oncoming "womanhood" that still haunt me to this day. I guess that's what you get when you subject young girls to an organization steeped in 1950s ideals, regardless of decades past, new innovations, women's lib, and other fun stuff. I've heard it's not much different today, so I've made sure to keep my daughter clear of those wackos.

Anyway, one song that is still rattling about in the folds of my cranium is something referred to as "The Billboard Song." I'm sure many of you heard it, too... or some variation of it. For those of you who don't know it, here are the lyrics:

"While I was walking down the street one dark and dreary day,
I came upon a billboard and much to my dismay,
The sign was torn and tattered from rain the night before,
But clearly I could understand the message that it bore.

Smoke Coke-a-Cola cigarettes, chew Wrigley Spearmint beer,
Alpo is the dog food that'll make your wife's complexion clear,
Simonize your baby with a Hershey's Candy Bar,
And Texaco's the beauty cream that's used by every star.

So take your next vacation in a brand new Frigidaire,
Learn to play the piano in your winter underwear,
Doctors say that children should smoke when they are three,
And people over 65 should bathe in Lipton Tea."

(Apparently this is a variation of the original BILLBOARD SONG by Cy Coben and Charles Grean.)

I don't know about the rest of you unfortunate lads and lassies, but after hearing that damn thing sung by a bus load of happy campers some bazillion times, my vivid imagination has that damn image so ingrained in my head at this point that I could pass a lie detector test saying that I actually did see such a thing.

The only thing that might have scarred me worse is if I had actually grown up in the 50s. I just stumbled upon a wacky site called Weirdomatic.com and took a gander at their "Old Creepy Ads" section. There are some things that will make me never want to eat ham again, that's for sure. And thanks to the ad below (be sure to read it thoroughly for the full effect), I will never look at a can of Lysol the same way again.

Not feeling so fresh, ladies? Just shoot some disinfectant up your cooch for a cool, refreshing, sanitized feeling. Make sure you dry yourself well, perhaps a little talcum powder or lye might help prevent that recurring moisture problem of yours. I'm sure it's all doctor recommended, too! And if none of that works, you only have yourself to blame.

Bigger Than a Breadbox

Want to know what happens when you post a new photo on OkCupid right before lunch on a lazy Friday? Click on the image below to see the details of my stalkers list...



...now imagine that behemoth another 55 entries longer, because the original batch that hit me in the first 5 minutes with my post starting at 11:22am got truncated for lack of space.

Did every XY pay me a visit today or what? Maybe you're on there, too!

Uh...

There's this guy who's been stalking my OkCupid profile and journals every day, and has said almost nothing, which is somehow really creepy to me... especially when you see the pictures of him.

The biggest problem with OkC is that when you upload a new photo, a teeny, tiny thumbnail of it goes on the homepage of all people who are looking for someone like you. (In my case, all the photos are of single males who like women.) Why is this a problem? Because of what I previously mentioned... that if you click on someone's profile, you then show up in their list of recent "stalkers" and then they can go check out your goods. The worst part of that whole deal is that when an image is tiny, it often looks interesting or innocuous until you open it up full size and your blood runs cold.

That's what happened with this guy. One of his images was in the cropped, tiny thumbnail square and he was in my age group, so I clicked. My mistake, because it invited the following email:


From: Thorgrym (610 miles)
To: theshecreature
Date: Aug 26 7:37am
Subject: Don't take this wrong...

I won't lie; I was initially curious because you "Stalked" me. So few have done that that I'm forced by my insatiable curiosity to find out more.

But, having done that, I find you witty, charming and fun to read.

Yes, and I find you beautiful, as well, but that is a secondary consideration.

I'm overcoming my shyness to send this--contrary to popular belief, the 'Net does not lessen shyness; it merely reinforces the negative aspects of it by giving one a false sense of security--only in the hopes of one thing: giving you a bit more hope in life.

I expect nothing in return. No communication, nothing. If all I have done is helped you a little bit by complimenting you on your charms, that's good enough for me.

There are far, far too many people out there who do not know their worth. I suspect you may be one of them.

Take care,

Thorgrim




37M, York, Pennyslvania
65% match 72% friend 22% enemy
*shudder*

I'm thinking he's probably an overly handsy gym teacher or he likes to hang out in parks around the swing sets.

Writer’s Block

Last Wednesday night, I couldn't sleep. I was frustrated... VERY frustrated. And I was in pain. But I really couldn't blog about either, because both had to do with a certain someone whom I'd been dating for about 11 weeks. You may have seen him in my top friends spot (he's not there now, so don't confuse Cully for this person, please! he's since been moved out.) I had a literal pain in my neck from the figurative pain in my neck, whom I'd been dating. I really shouldn't kiss and tell, but why should I stop now?

I gotta say, with the exception of one rendezvous where he left me covered in purple bruises and looking like I'd just wrestled an octopus, there was nothing to report... and I mean NOTHING to report... at all... in 11 weeks. And the last time he'd stayed here, about 2 weeks ago, all he did was snore and jump and twitch and fart all night, relegating me to the couch to try to get any sleep at all, which left me with a seriously crimped neck, which progressively got worse, like a slipped disc or something, leaving me walking around with my head tilted to my shoulder. And did he ever so much as help out with a massage of any kind. No. He was an all-around impotent, inexperienced, and ineffectual guy, you could say.

Anyway, I'm not one to keep my preferred readers in the dark for too long, so I thought I'd finally post this entry from last week, which I'd placed on OKCupid instead, because I didn't want him getting a notification before I'd broken things off and had to hear him whimper about not being able to read my blog... because he tends to cry at the drop of a hat. I've finally chosen to drop the axe, however, and free myself from any more nights sleeping with five of the seven dwarfs: farty, twitchy, snorey, jumpy, and sadsack.

Yeah, I know I'm terrible. I'm also still extremely cranky from not getting any for all these weeks and still quite crimped up, so cut me some slack, yous guys.


Why I'm still up... Aug 23 4:08am

I get asked that question quite often by people who are usually up at this same hour, but with the excuse of "I couldn't sleep, but why are you up?"

Well, if I could sleep, do you think I'd be up? No.

Tonight I tried and tried to sleep, but there's been a pinched nerve in my neck/upper back for about 2 weeks now, so no position was comfortable. Plus, I found myself really wanting to drive to an all-night convenience store to buy some Reese's Peanutbutter Cups and a pack of Marlboro Lights (I don't smoke anymore, but I couldn't shake that thought). So instead of taking my life into my hands with the purchase idea, or taking a Tylenol PM that might leave me groggy all the next day, I opted for another plan.

FRESH BAKED COOKIES!

Yes, at 3am.

I've done this before, but usually I can distract myself with something more productive (and less filling). But there are times when I just cannot resist the calling. Like tonight.

So the real question should be, "why cookies at this hour?"

The answer is simple. I'm sublimating. What I really want is sex. Of course, any glimpse into the tests I've taken should quickly reveal an on-going theme.

The problem stems from an extended period... nearly a year now... of settling for less than my libido would desire... a LOT less. Like the 7-month relationship with a developmentally-arrested perpetual 12-year-old who preferred comic books to sex, followed by 2 months of attempting to be celibate, followed by another much briefer dating relationship with a man who takes enough anti-depressants to kill a horse's libido and apparently less knowledge than a boy half his age (I met him on here, and if he reads this... sorry! At least I'm not identifying you!).

Anyway, after 2+ months of nothing at all with that and very little with the other, I'm about to jump out of my skin. I've even come close to calling in a stunt cock.

No, I'm not soliciting. Please don't offer. I'd prefer a real relationship.

The only similarity between those two men is that they're both Pisces men, born in 1970, and went to high school in the Bronx. Maybe something was put in the water in the 80s there?

It seriously makes me want to reconsider the many offers that have been made by guys in their early 20s. I think that they've learned what guys in their mid-30s have forgotten: women 35-45 have RAGING hormones! Seriously. We're the equivalent of what you boys were at 17... you remember how bad that was, don't you? Now think about that combined with all the sexual mastery and know-how that an additional 20+ years can bring. I'm like a deadly weapon.

So here I sit, surfing pictures of cute guys, which only makes it worse... forget about porn, because that is just too painful to watch. And toys or self-pleasure only go so far when you're craving the heat and sweat and passion of the real deal.

I also have too much self-esteem to troll the "intimate encounters" sites. That's like Darwin's Waiting Room in those places.

So I've polished off half of the dozen cookies that I baked. I don't even know how long that tube of dough had been in my fridge, because the expiration date was for March 2007. Wait -- March? Well, I'll be damned! Even my sublimation is a Pisces.

No, I'm not really into Astrology... I'm just searching for connections while riding a sugar high and still horny as hell in the middle of the night. Give me a break.

Anyone else in the same boat want the other 6 sugar cookies? I can't say they "hit the spot," but they weren't terrible either.

The child formerly known as...

Tonight I had to help Malachi print out an assignment, which happened to be a letter to a fictitious student named "Fred" who just started his first year of middle school somewhere else. I guess teachers have stopped caring about having kids make real penpals in far away places, since those dicks rarely write back (yeah, I'm talking to YOU, Jagriti Chattergee... 25 years later and I'm STILL waiting).

He did just fine on the assignment and the body of the letter contained the usual pablum about teachers and fun things at his new school. What confused me, however, was how he signed it:

Yours truly,
Vince Ryan

I looked at the assignment sheet, which very carefully detailed the layout of a proper personal letter and also contained the fictitious addressee's information. Yet in all of that, nowhere on that sheet was the name of a fictitious writer.

So I asked, "Who's Vince Ryan?"

Staring rather embarrassed back at me, Malachi sheepishly replied, "Um, th-that's me. Yep."

"Malachi... were you supposed to make up a character for this assignment?"

"Nope, that's what Ms. F calls me."

"Hang on... what?!"

"She calls me Vince, so do a few of my friends."

That's when I had a flashback of something strangely similar that I went through two years ago when Aidan had her class, and he'd come home announcing that he told his Language Arts teacher that his nickname was "A.J." because those are his initials and some other kids had names like "D.J." or "J.T." ... and then I had to explain to Aidan that nicknames are what parents call a kid at home, and those other kids were combining their first and middle initials, which wouldn't work for him, as his are "A.T.," and so I had him go back the next day and straighten things out with his teacher.

So I asked Malachi, "Did Ms. F ask you on the first day of classes if there was a nickname that you'd rather go by?"

"Yes, and my friends wanted me to have a name that sounded like it would go with playing the violin, so they chose Vince... I added the Ryan part."

Having a good laugh, I said, "But your name doesn't have ANY of those names in it. If your name was Christopher, your nickname would be Chris. Or if you and your dad had the same name, yours might be a little different so things wouldn't be confusing at home. There isn't even a Vince or a Ryan in our whole family, and unless you have another personality or an acting career that I don't know about, you need to stop telling people to call you this. Now do any of your other teachers call you Vince?"

"No, just Ms. F."

"Has she been calling you that since the first day of school? Like when you raise your hand, she says 'Yes, Vince?'"

"Maybe."

That did it for me. Aside from the fits of giggles and then running upstairs to tell his brother and sister of these shenanigans and share the laughs with them, I finally calmed down enough to fire off an email to the unwitting teacher.

Hi there, Ms. F--

This is Malachi's mom and I just learned something kind of funny that I needed to clear up with you.

Apparently on the first day when you asked if anyone went by a nickname that they'd rather be called, Malachi thought he could give you any other name -- sort of like your class was a role playing game. When I saw his letter just now and asked if the signature of the letter ("Vince") was part of the assignment, that's when he told me that's what you call him and what he goes by in your class. I had to explain to him what nicknames actually are in real life, because he seems to just be going by this made up name in your class only. He says some of his friends call him this, but honestly, this is the first time that any of us here have heard of it. He goes by Malachi by me, his dad, his siblings, and all friends who call this house. I'm sorry if he's confused you. I just thought I should clear it up and hopefully you'd get a bit of a chuckle out of it as well!

--S

P.S. You also know me as Aidan's mom, but of course in this case, the two identities are appropriate!

This is what happens when kids grow up with role playing games and believing it's okay to create a new identity for yourself at the slightest suggestion. Of course, I really shouldn't be surprised. This is the same child who told everyone that his real family was from Mars from the time he could talk until about age 4... described life there in great detail, too, including how the gravity squished everyone's bodies into an apple shape and how they would bounce and roll around there, later adding that they were originally from Jupiter, but had moved to Mars shortly after he was born.

He still gets embarrassed when I tell people that story. I can't wait to meet his first girlfriend!

25 Sentences About Me

25 sentences about you

Finish the sentences:

1. I've come to realize that my ex is :
a mistake that I do not wish to make again.

2. I am listening to :
my inner dialog, as usual.

3. I talk :
to myself... a lot.

4. I love :
puppies, ponies, fainting goats... oh my!

5. I have :
a very active imagination... you should ask me about it sometime.

7. I lost :
my mind years ago... have you seen it?

8. I hate it when :
condiments touch the cheese on a sandwich.

9. Love is :
still a theory I'd like to test one of these days.

10. Marriage is :
something I want to try again, but only if I meet the right person this time.

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking :
dirty thoughts about me.

12. I'll always be :
over-educated and under-paid, it seems.

13. I have a crush on :
one of the instructors at my kids' Tae Kwon Do academy, but he's married and much, much younger than me, so it's just a crush.... no more, no less.

14. The last time I cried was :
when I read a friend's memoriam to his good buddy and fellow comic book artist, Mike Wieringo, who passed away suddenly this week at the age of 44.

15. My cell phone :
has a brand new phone number after more than a decade, and it starts with 404 now... so If you want to reach me, you'll have forget about the 678 number and ask for my new digits, because I have no idea how many of you are still trying to reach me on my old number!!!

16. When I wake up in the morning :
I always want more sleep.

17. Before I go to sleep at night :
I always want more hours in the day.

18. Right now I am thinking about :
where that person is who's thinking dirty thoughts about me and wondering why he's keeping those thoughts to himself?

19. Babies are :
totally and completely awesome... as long as you're having them and not me!

20. I get on Myspace :
far too frequently.

21. Today I will :
go to the gym, not just think about it.

22. Tonight I will :
take the kids to Tae Kwon Do and then pick up the lawnmower from my mother's house, so Malachi can finally mow the weeds tomorrow morning.

23. Tomorrow I will :
probably end up doing half the mowing, because Malachi will be too busy trying to run things over rather than pay attention to all the parts of the yard he's missing.

24. I really want :
a puppy... a pony... some fainting goats... a riding mower... all the various remodeling projects in my house to be finished... peace, love, and happiness.

25. The person who is most likely to repost this :
is me... but I already did.

Left is right

I had no clue until someone told me just now...

Left-Handers' Day 2007

And here I'd ignorantly squandered my day using right-handed scissors and greeting people via the status quo handshake standard. I'll make it up next year by writing rather than typing as much as possible with my wrist all curled over my words and by forcing everyone else to shift their fork hand to accommodate me at the dinner table, instead of the other way around!

Cheers, fellow southpaws!

Fish Tale - pt. 2

The whirlwind begins...

So by my previous description, you may be wondering why on earth I'd be dating such a man... right? I certainly didn't paint a pretty picture, but at that time, I'd truly given up (yet again) on dating. After a summer of ricocheting from one Mr. Wrong to another to another, I realized that I'd lost all sense of direction. The funny thing was that I never really went looking for any of that... they all found me. Why does crazy seem to be drawn to me like a moth to a flame? I don't think this is the forum nor the blog subject to address it, but I do have my theories.

By mid-August, however, I'd had it with the crazies and decided to hang up my dating hat and head back up that mountain of solitude. I do this periodically... I'll over-date and then I'll stop entirely for many, many moons. This is a pattern that I've repeated... 20 months on the mountain, 18 months on the mountain, 14 months on the mountain... self-imposed celibacy. It's my way of clearing my head. Has it worked? Not really.

So there I was, about 7 weeks into my next retreat when I was hit with a triple proposal: a part-time job, free software and skill training, and a relationship. I'll admit that part of me worried that if I didn't accept the relationship, the other two offers may disappear. The urgency of his offer made me feel put on the spot, but I thought that maybe I could still control the progress of things if I agreed to go along for the ride. Little did I know that I would be lucky to be able to hold on with all the 180s this man would pull along the way. Control was something that I would never have in the presence of such a master manic control freak.

After I agreed to date him, our next day together was to be our first day of work. He explained then that there would be "employee hours" and "girlfriend hours" and that the two should never overlap. I thought it funny and asked what I should refer to myself as if I ever meet anyone... "Am I your significant assistant? Your executive other? Your girlfriend-in-training? Your girl Friday and your girlfriend Saturday? What?" This was something that never was resolved.

Because of the oddness of the situation, I decided that the best thing would be to take him before a not so impartial judge: Cully. Although any meeting of an ex-boyfriend would likely cause a new beau's blood to run cold, my new beau was a huge comic book dork, and I knew that the excuse to see the inner workings of a real studio would make him giddy like a little girl. Well, I didn't exactly know that, until I suggested it, then he might as well have had braids and tube socks, because the nervous giggles didn't cease. It was a surprise visit on Cully, and yeah, I put him on the spot by phoning while in the neighborhood and asking to come by, but he graciously allowed it.

Gigglepuss and I arrived at Gaijin Studios and he never stopped chattering... and the longer we were there, the more animated he became. I eventually dropped back to talk quietly with Cully, as we watched him blather on and on about old times and familiar stomping grounds with one of Cully's studio mates. Cully mentioned the animated behavior to me, which I agreed that he was quite a character and definitely bigger than life. Then as we were about to go, Cully did something unusual for him... he leaned a little closer to the new beau and dropped his friendly tone a bit to say, "Be good to her." A warning that did not go unnoticed and was talked about weeks and months later, with each successive retelling getting sterner and scarier than it really had been.

I met his roommate the next day, a young girl with whom Dean admitted to having a crush on when she was his student... but when I met her, it was clear that she was a lesbian. Actually, I couldn't believe that he was so blind, but I guess when someone has their head so far up their own ass, they don't really see these things. I know Dean had been pussyfooting (so to speak) around asking me if I had a problem with him living with a girl, and finally at the end of our third workday together, he asked. I truthfully told him that I didn't, because she was extremely sweet and genuine and I added that maybe he should be more concerned that she'd dig me more than him. He was still truly clueless.

Since we were on the subject, that's when I brought up the person who didn't sit well with me... the girl he'd gone on several dates with and spent his whole drive from Miami talking to on the phone. I was leaving that afternoon and I was not going to see him for 12 days, because our schedules had pre-existing priorities, and he was flying out to New York City to train folks at ABC (yeah, the network) that Saturday through the following weekend. Unfortunately, the Miami chick was coming in the next afternoon and I wouldn't be there. She was staying the night on her way across the country to resettle in Portland, with cat and all of belongings in tow, and with no job or place to land when she got there. I saw this as a potential pitfall... here he was in a big, empty apartment... and here she comes with all her stuff. If she had second thoughts, which as I later found out she actually was having, then it could be so easy for her to stay. And although he didn't tell me at the time, she's already discussed with him the possibility of Portland not working out and Atlanta being her next choice.

I flat out told him that if she moved in, I would tell him to have a nice time and he'd not see me again, because I had nothing invested and could easily walk away. It was all up to him.

From his later description of the evening, he must've acted like a bigger nutjob than usual, because he was terrified he'd mess up. As soon as she walked through the door, he blurted out, "I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!" Now, I don't know if that is true, but he sure sold that version of the story. I know that he was too neurotic for anything to have happened, so I believed his story. He claimed that the next day he helped her gather her stuff and basically pushed her out the door. Because he basically had pushed me out the door the last time we were together, thanks to a kiss that went on longer than 30 seconds and he must've been getting thoughts, I could imagine him doing something similar with her.

Back up, you say? Yes, he literally pushed me out the door because of a kiss.

The next week and a half was pretty uneventful. Dean called regularly to check in with me and tell me about the folks at ABC and about the tours he was getting of various show sets. He also told me that although he had a long haul getting from his parents' apartment in the Bronx to Manhattan every morning and evening, he did love that he could walk three blocks, get a knish, eat it for the next 3 blocks, then find another place selling knishes and get another... he'd usually get at least 3 before he hit the subway... each way. I thought he was exaggerating, but time would later bear this out to be quite possible with this man.

Oh, wait. Did I say it was uneventful? No, of course it wasn't... because as soon as he got to his parents house, he decided to show them and his brother some pictures of his "new girlfriend"... but without telling me, he decided to show them my Flickr site as a slideshow.

How could that be funny? Here's how.

When he returned from NYC, we had just 2 days together - which were work days, of course - before he was headed out of state yet again... this time he was driving to a wedding in Orlando. He'd previously asked if I wanted to be his date; but because he asked before I'd ever met him and he was still living in South Florida, I said "no thanks, that'd be weird." After we met, however, I asked if he still wanted a date to that wedding... within minutes he was calling and booking a flight for me to come in for that day. Meanwhile, he was driving down several days early, to be part of the pre-wedding festivities, as a member of the wedding party.

Because he was who he was, he couldn't just get up in the morning and go. Instead, he puttered around and worked on motion graphics stuff, packed, went to the store to buy gifts and things for his friends in Florida, then didn't get on the road until about 6pm... just in time to be stuck in Atlanta's rush hour traffic. The delays made him decide to stay at a hotel in Lake City, Florida, rather than continue driving into the wee hours of the night. If you read the blog that I posted about it, then you'd were probably beginning to believe I was dating George Costanza. (And you wouldn't have been too far off.)

Did I mention yet what role he was playing in the wedding party? He was a bridesmaid, actually. I found this endlessly hilarious, but he seemed only increasingly bothered by his bridesmaid status, especially when I retold the story of how one of the groomsmen was seating me and asked if I was friend with the groom or the bride, and I replied, "Neither. I'm here as a date of one of the bridesmaids." As his eyebrows rose, I had to tell him the rest of the story. He had a good laugh, but Dean thought that I enjoyed telling that story just a little too much.

The wedding was... well, it was a typical wedding. Interestingly, his friend (the bride) pulled me aside at one point to ask me to "be gentle with him," because he had "been through so much already." I told her that she had nothing to worry about with me... too bad she didn't pull him aside and tell him to "not be such a douche." Maybe it would have helped.

She was a long-pined for crush of his youth and was the second of such girls in his life that I was to meet... another two in Atlanta he managed to keep me from ever meeting, despite me asking repeatedly... and the BIG ONE that he never stopped talking about round the clock would be introduced to me later in another Florida visit. It seemed that there weren't any women in Dean's life whom he didn't have some huge crush on at some point or another. Now, we all have our crushes and unrequited flames, but usually we've put them in their proper perspective once we hit our 30s. Not Dean... he gushed over them like I've never seen before or since.

When the wedding ended, we had a moment of truth ahead of us: a shared hotel room. Now backing up a bit, when he booked the plane ticket for me, we also booked the hotel room together. First, he wanted separate rooms, which I thought was too pricey and just plain ridiculous. So then he insisted that we would have double beds, instead of one king. It turned out that all of those suites were taken, so the only ones left were the suites with singular kings. He reluctantly agreed to book the room, but swore "NOTHING WILL HAPPEN!"

I thought it would be a good test of will power. We'd been dating for only about 3 weeks and I did feel it was still too early, especially since he'd been out of town for 2 of those 3 weeks. I decided to make it easy on him and not do anything to upset the delicate balance... I went to bed dressed in nothing seductive and I kept to my side of the bed. Unfortunately, I hadn't planned anything beyond that, and despite all his previous protests and exclamations that nothing would happen, he went ahead and made something happen anyway. Caught a bit off guard, I didn't decline his advances, mostly because my libido is always up for some fun... although there was a part of me that had hoped things might be less stereotypical this time.

We hung around Orlando for one more day, visiting my old friends and then spending time in the village around Universal. The second night together, he started acting a bit strangely. One of the things that he said was, "I really don't want to disappoint you." That made my heart sink, and I told him, "Then just don't." I explained that it was my experience if a guy says those words, not only will he disappoint soon enough, but he also knows almost exactly how he's going to do it.

He snapped out of the low period a little, but the next day as we drove back to Atlanta, he grew quieter and quieter. The closer we got to Atlanta, the more withdrawn he seemed to get. He was driving straight to the Atlanta airport to drop me where I'd left my car and take my parking spot, so that he could hop on a plane to fly back to NYC yet again, this time to train folks at the National Association of Broadcasters for most of the next week. I thought at first that he was just starting to wish he wasn't leaving so soon... that he might miss me... so I tried to get him to talk about it, but I soon learned that I was mistaken. Dean finally broke his silence to announce that he regretted having sex in Orlando, because it ruined his whole plan... a plan that involved waiting until my birthday before crossing that bridge.

Let me clarify: We started dating at the very end of September, and my birthday is December 12th; so he wanted to wait approximately 12 weeks. But the waiting period wasn't the part I found amusing... it was his reason for wanting to wait was the best part.

"Because you said in one of your old blogs that you wanted sex for your birthday."

I couldn't help but laugh and replied, "(A) That was two years ago! (B) I'm sorry to tell you, but no sex is amazing enough to stand alone as a birthday present. And (C) I also asked for a pony or a trip to Prague in that same birthday blog, but I don't see you offering either of those!"

Despite the humor that I found in his lament, he didn't seem to cheer up and was visibly distressed. He was so distracted by this that he wasn't even interested in saying goodbye when we swapped car places and parted ways. This issue of "it ruined my plans" thing about sex would be a point of contention for him for the rest of the relationship.

The other bad omen that hit in October came when he finally returned from NYC. Our next day together was a workday again and he wanted to know where I was with the training (a series of cds that he'd created to let people train themselves, which he was making me go through from start to finish to edit them and work through them instead of him training me). I admitted my frustration in working with the software and it's lack of common sense. Final Cut Pro is pretty intuitive, but After Effects is not... not to mention that I was going nuts working on one little 5 second moment of imagery, rather than putting a story together. I told him that I thought I was most definitely an editor who wanted to use motion graphics on the side, but that I didn't think I could do what he did full-time for a living.

That was the first time I saw "the twitch." His upper lip began to twitch and although he was still smiling, his eyes looked enraged. He then said we needed to stop everything, because he had no use in his business or personal life for "just an editor." He proceeded to talk about how editors were monkeys who push buttons and that he wanted someone creative. The whole day came to a halt while he tried to reorganize his business plan and what he was going to do with me.

It was a strange moment. He instantly became cold and distant and started to treat me like I was a nuisance to him. I continued to talk to him through the day, telling him that I wanted to continue learning from him and maybe I'd change my mind, but I felt that it just wasn't sticking with me at all and that perhaps he could develop a new training program - one that other editors would need to learn from him. In this way, I could be his testing ground for what other post-production folks need out there. He finally agreed to such a plan, but not before acting as if I'd ruined everything for several hours.

Things between us seemed to calm down and resettle before the end of the month, but there were definitely some telling moments in those first 31 days that in hindsight really sum up the rest of the relationship and predicted the end.

Fish Tale - pt. 1

In the beginning, there was the word.

Actually, it was a bunch of words strung together in the form of a Myspace message. I don't even remember what was said anymore... some networking question about what else I did besides editing from someone who wanted to connect with Atlanta industry people before moving here. I do remember thinking that his message seemed a little full of himself, but I tend to overlook such things. I glanced at his profile and saw that he was a motion graphics artist and spotted a bunch of somewhat cool stills. I didn't go check out his website, because I was trapped in dial-up hell at that time... having lost my DSL modem to a recent lightning storm.

I wrote back something about having taken motion graphics as a class before, but that I was mainly an editor and didn't work with anything nearly as sexy as what he did.

Granted, I was talking about motion graphics and it being flashy. Of course, he instantly took that to mean that I was saying he was sexy... which I wasn't. He was a bit cartoony... not unattractive, just definitely not what anyone would label as "sexy" by a long shot.

I also added some question asking about why it said he was in "LA/Miami/ATL" and if he accomplished that by having clones. Then I admitted to being jealous of his ability to clone himself and asked if he had a lab somewhere for that. I suppose he took that as flirting as well... "Hmm, she thinks I'm sexy and wants more of me!" I dunno... he tried to explain it a few months later, but I was laughing too hard to really hear what he said.

With that, our email exchanges were off and running... bombarding each other with messages and jokes and silly Photoshopped image comments for all to see. I didn't mind, because it was a safe distraction... he was long-distance, afterall. On the second day of messages, he was telling me he was totally smitten, he was canceling a date he had with some chick in Miami (where he still lived), and had moved me to his "top friend" spot. I was flattered, but also a bit concerned about his judgment... I mean, I hadn't even met the guy yet. I told him that I couldn't move him to the top spot, because that was reserved for Cully... but truth be told, I had decided not to date anyone for a long time, after a serial train wreck of a summer.

By the fourth day of this, he was asking if he could call... and by the end of that phone call, he was offering me a job at his company along with free training. After a few more calls, however, he was already having mood swings and showing signs of Jekyll and Hyde behavior... he claimed that it was because his first wedding anniversary post-divorce was impending and tried to blame the rabid squirrel behavior on the timing. I accepted it, but was wary.

By the eighth day, after I'd created and posted a Photoshop montage-comic to his comments, he called me to say that he really only needed an assistant in his life and not a girlfriend, so he wanted to cool off our phone calls.

I was confused, since I never agreed to be his "girlfriend" as yet, and especially since I hadn't even met the man. I suspected that he had changed his mind about me simply because he decided that he wanted to go on that date he'd originally planned, and he was trying to clear his conscience.

When I jokingly called him on it a few days later, he got pissed at me, slung some bizarre accusation or other at me, leaving me perplexed and attempting to over-explain my humor. That only gave him cause to sling yet another accusation at me about me being some sort of "Eeyore" or something... stating that although it was his favorite Pooh character, if he knew one in real life, he'd want to slap him and tell him to get over himself.

I was simultaneously pissed and amused at his accusations, especially because that's how I'd felt about him and wondered if someone in his life had gotten tired of his moodiness recently and used that exact line on him. I stopped talking to him for a bit to give him some space, while I decided if I wanted to continue being friends with the man. Mostly, however, I was dealing with some important events in my life: my father coming to visit and dropping some major emotional bombs, then my boys' birthday party... you know, typical week in my atypical life. Frankly, with all that going on, I really didn't have time for any other emotional roller coaster rides.

I did notice in my absence, however, that the girl he'd gone on that date with had been peppering his profile with new comments, and he did the same to hers. As a matter of fact, he'd actually been on a second and a third date in that short amount of time, and then suddenly he deleted his profile entirely from Myspace.

Noticing that he'd disappeared from my top friends list, I called him to find out what happened. It turns out that on his third date with this girl - whom he was still claiming wasn't a date but had previously admitted he found drop-dead gorgeous - he went to sit down on her couch while she "changed into something more comfortable" and he split the ass of his pants. Embarrassed by the realization that he was too fat and too dorky to ever consider being with such a stunningly hip girl, he freaked and dashed out of her apartment, returned home as quickly as he could and immediately deleted his profile, hoping the rest of the world would forget he existed.

Yeah, I know... that's what I said. "Uh, wait... what? You freaked out that you split your pants, so you deleted your Myspace page?"

He also said that he was taking the next 3 days to pack up his things and move to Atlanta, two and a half weeks ahead of his original schedule... all because of this "horrifying" weekend he'd had. Gosh, in hindsight, if that wasn't predictive of what a relationship would be like with him (not to mention all the other flip-floppy behavior), then I don't know what was. He said he'd be calling me from the road... he didn't. He talked to the other chick and to his brother the whole drive instead.

(to the privileged few of you readers out there who saw the "Patience Grasshopper" blog back in March, this is the same chick that he was calling constantly throughout our relationship and who later emailed me that unprovoked bitchy message about how I had no right to let my insecurities interfere with her friendship with him... yet another mind-boggling moment in this Outer Limits relationship)

When he got to Atlanta, he wanted to take the first day to look for houses with his new roommate, then the second day he was going to teach a class he was unprepared to teach, then that night he wanted to meet me for sushi. Why I didn't think that was too much of a whirlwind for me, I'll never know. I think I was too confused to see straight.

When he walked up to me on the night of our first meeting, I thought he was even cartoonier in person... short, very round, totally shaved bald, picket-fence smile that was bigger than life, and a LOUD Bronx accent. He was a bit like a living, three-dimensional, Puerto Rican version of Homer Simpson. Did I mention he was loud? We met at Rusans, which is a very chaotic place on a Friday night, but he somehow managed to talk over all the din in there. And instead of writing his order, he drew pictures of what he wanted, along with a cartoon of himself looking very sated and happy. I had to tell the chefs what he meant, so we'd get our order right.

He then proceeded to whip something out of his wallet. It turned out to be a ragged, folded up piece of legal-size paper that apparently contained his whole business model. The strange schematic made absolutely no sense... just a bunch of bubbles and lines and arrows and boxes with strange captions in them, like "The Lab" and "The Egg" and "The Anvel" and all created in some lame Windows graph program, with hand-written scratchings and other arrows and things written in with more ideas. He almost never took a breath while he described it all in animated detail... hands flailing, eyes ablaze with keen enthusiasm. My head was spinning, but I was also drinking a large sake by myself, so I thought maybe I was just a little tipsy. He finally asked if it all made sense and I jokingly said, "Perfectly." I thought my sarcasm was quite clear, but he thought I was serious and went on to gush about how no one else has ever understood his plan before me. (Gee, really? No one? Shocking.)

At the end of the night, I drove myself home (in case anyone's wondering, I wasn't at all tipsy... we went to see a movie after dinner) and I hadn't gotten more than 5 minutes down the road before my phone rang. When I answered, all I heard was him yelling, "Now that I've met you, I have to date you! I know it'll be complicated by us working together, but I'll figure out a set of rules. It'll all work out, I know it will." He wasn't asking me, mind you... he was telling me. I suggested that we should go out the next day and maybe discuss it further, but he was adamant that he had to date me.

The next day, we did talk about it... for quite some length... and he hadn't changed his tune, nor was there anything I could say to convince him otherwise. I tried telling him that I had a strict policy about not dating married men - separated or not - to which he said he just knew he was divorced by default and the papers had been filed over 6 months earlier, he just hadn't received the papers yet. I told him that it was too soon for him, to which he replied it wasn't soon enough. I told him that maybe he'd like to take his time - month or two, perhaps - and get to know me as friends, before jumping into dating me... to which he replied, "No, I can't wait. I have to date you now. I don't have that kind of time. It has to be now."

I was a bit shocked and thought, "Wow, he must REALLY be horny, because this is the most brazen and direct approach I've ever seen." Little did I know, we were apparently talking about 2 different things. When he was talking about "dating me," I thought he meant a full relationship, including sex. However, I later found out that when he was talking about "dating me," he meant that he just wanted a pal to go to the movies and comic book store with and occasionally kiss or hold hands... that's it. He also later (much later on) told me that he only wanted to get me "off the market" so that no other man could date me, while he monopolized my time... even thought I'd told him that I had given up on dating anyone and was ready for one of my long stints of alone time.

After a couple hours of this overly expressive, highly enthusiastic man selling himself and why it would be a great idea to date him and about how all of his other ex-girlfriend in the past always thought he was the most fun guy ever, I finally caved in and agreed. I still didn't know that he didn't want to have sex, but that's a story for the next segment.

All of the above occurred in just 3 weeks time - September 8 to September 30. Seems like a lot longer, and when I later pointed this out to him on an actual calendar, he too was surprised and thought it had been much, much longer than that. It's actually making my head spin just thinking about it... but as you can see in comparison to my previous post, this man broke from my ideal in almost every way. Yet I still gave him a chance... why? I'll get to that theory later, but right now, I think I need a nap.

Fish Tale - a prelude

Introduction

As a blog writer, I've often found myself afraid that I might run out of "crazy" to report. Seriously. And as a result, I sometimes hang onto stories for a while, just to keep that from happening. Maybe that's the pessimistic way of looking at things. I mean, perhaps it's just the way that I keep the well of crazy half-full?

At one time I promised that I'd write a book. A few folks got to read some chapters of that proposition, but I knew from the start that it felt like it was the wrong approach. You see, I was using the book idea as a reason to stay in a very messed up relationship. Well, technically, there was nothing wrong with the relationship as a concept... it was more that it was a relationship involving a very messed up guy... an eternal prepubescent.*

But first, I'd like to go back a little ways... long before the relationship, back to a time when I'd just been freed from another jail sentence: my marriage.

I knew coming out of that marriage that I wanted another chance... not with the man who'd made me miserable for 7 years, but with a better match. Unlike many divorcees I've met in years since (mostly male), I didn't blame the problems of my marriage on the institution itself. That's stupid. I knew exactly where I'd gone wrong and exactly what I wanted to avoid in the future. But more than that, I also knew exactly what I wanted... what would make for the right match for me... and I was willing to wait until he presented himself. It was everyone else who had doubts, however.

When the ink wasn't even dry on the divorce papers, everyone began asking me "When are you going to get back on that horse and start dating again?" Their point was that I needed to "get over it" and "move on," with sleeping with someone else as the apparent only way to do so. I told everyone that I wasn't ready, but inside I started doubting myself... and when my therapist at the time suggested that I needed to be dating as well, everyone else's opinions really took sway over mine.

To keep the Doubting Thomas's at bay, and too keep myself tickled pink and too busy to care, I got another dog... a puppy (Queequeg)... my canine 4, at the time. That's when everyone began to fear that I'd gone off the deep-end and would forever be the "crazy cat lady all covered in hairballs," only my cats would all be dogs... but the idea was still the same. My ex-husband, having already well-established relationship with his then future wife 2, rather smugly remarked to me, "The only reason you got another puppy is because you don't have a boyfriend." Nothing can rankle a single woman-scorned more than being reminding that she is loveless by the very person responsible for anointing her with that undesirable status in the first place.

It was shortly after that salt was rubbed into my wounds when I decided to throw my hat in the dating arena and subject myself to the online meat-market. Although I believed it to be very much contrary to my original plan, I began to think that perhaps that plan was slightly flawed, as it contained no actual suggestion or means of meeting new people. The year was 2000 and I was 6 months post-divorce... and completely clueless about how to meet anyone outside of my academic life.

What's that, you ask? What was my original plan? It is a good, albeit obvious question, sure. After repeating it to a few people 7 years ago, and being told that I was "too picky," I decided to keep my wishes close to the breast... treating it all very much like a secret wish that, if repeated to anyone, it would never come true. Silly, huh? Yeah, you're right. Seems like repeating it would only strengthen the resolve. Perhaps that's where I've gone wrong.

Mind you, this was my idealized mate... the one I pictured when I thought of what I'd like in my future. I wasn't sure that he even existed, and I often joked that he'd been hit by a bus or perhaps had just recently gotten married, but that in 5-7 years, he'd finally be available.

What I believed back then --and still believe today, for that matter-- was that, first and foremost, whomever he may be, he would be patient. I believed it to be important that everything would go very slow in the beginning, so not to miss a thing... that although I knew that we would sync up very well together from the first moment we spoke, there would still be no rush to intimacy. There should be a courtship phase... almost old-fashioned and unheard of in today's instant gratification world of fast food and faster connections... everyone and everything having the attention- and life-span of a gnat. I wanted the gentle nuances that had been missed in the past, when youthful indiscretions led to impetuous, hormone-fueled partnering. I wanted there to be kind of talk that goes on for hours without the notice of time passing... a sharing of minds, before a sharing of hearts... and a sharing of hearts, before a sharing of any other organs. I wanted there to be intellect and humor and honesty and respect and compassion and gratitude. And of course, there would be passion... well timed, not rushed. I believed there would be ease from the first moment... not imagined ease where one deceives oneself into thinking it's there, but truly awe-inspiring and refreshing ease. And finally although any relationship is work, I knew that it would never leave us feeling too exhausted to extend ourselves... to one another, or to anyone else beyond us.

The other details were more like personal preferences. He'd be taller than me... he'd have brown eyes... he'd have dark hair (if he had hair, that is) and hopefully it would be curly with touches of gray here and there... he'd like movies and music, in wide variety and largely over-lapping my tastes (though not necessarily wholly the same)... he'd be close in age to me, so that we'd have had similar experiences growing up in the same era... he'd love animals and actually have his own, proving that he could make room in his busy life to care for another being outside of himself... he would have been married once before, like myself... and like myself, he would have children - hopefully more than one (not that I was hoping for the Brady Bunch, but experience with multiple kids would be needed in my house).

I was told that I was being too narcissistic and basically looking for a male-me... the therapist had wanted me to consider that maybe I was scared and a bit scarred from my marriage, and that I was thus making myself "too picky," a statement that friends and family alike repeated later when they'd ask me to describe what I found attractive. But what's wrong with being too picky, I wondered?

Finally, I knew that I wanted to be married again someday. It's not for religious or moral reasons, mind you... and definitely not for legal ones... but simply because I thought that I had cheated myself out of the experience with my first marriage. (A) I got pregnant 3 months into a relationship and decided to keep it and raise it with him, without knowing anything about him, really. (B) We didn't get married until all after 3 of our children were born, and it was purely for health insurance reasons... he never asked, I asked him... no one attended as a witness or to celebrate, we just went to a courthouse... it was utterly without ceremony. (C) I now see the reason to celebrate a good union... why you invite your loved ones to be part of the event... why you invest a day of your life in the affair... not for all the trappings and financial distractions that are sold in bridal magazines, but for sheer joy of the union itself and the investment of others in its continued happiness. I experienced none of that and really hadn't understood the reasons behind weddings, until I missed out on my own. Now granted, mine would have been more quirky and odd than traditional, but it still would have included all of the people I love.

The other part of this equation was that I was willing to wait... however long it took to meet him, I'd wait. And I was determined not to go through dating a sea of Mr. Wrongs, but rather just be alone until he happened along. Mostly, I didn't want to be married too soon... I figured it would take me somewhere around 3-5 years to be ready, at least. I wasn't wrong, though there were moments before when I thought I might be ready sooner. My choices and approaches to relationships, on the other hand, proved that I wasn't ready, because they were sabotaged from the get-go simply by not following my first promise to myself: he must be patient (and so should I). So I allowed myself to be pushed into dating, before I was ready... and thus began a long line of misguided adventures in dating, many of which you've had the pleasure of reading about later.

The "fish tale" I'm about to tell is the one I've been promising to tell for a while now... the story of the salesman who promised the moon, but only provided headaches and heartache and hives. He was not entirely what I wanted, and I knew it... and definitely not what I needed, but I didn't realize it. So although he was certainly no "catch" and I really should have thrown him back, I strayed from my hopes and dreams yet again. Ultimately, though, the experience strengthened my resolve to stick to that original ideal of mine… and in so doing, renewed faith in myself as well.

There's enough to this tale to fill a few entries, which I may have to break it into chunks of crazy... but this is just the introduction, so I'm stopping here for now.

----------

*Author's note:

Part of me is hesitant to write any of this - despite the abundance of laughs it may bring some readers - but not because I care if the subject finds out. Ironically, he was first attracted to me because of my blogs, but little did he or I know he'd provide so much fodder for them. No, what gives me pause is that I do not wish to give more thought to this past mistake. I've chalked up my losses, shrugged, regrouped and moved on. Moreover, I do not wish to give it more significance that it deserves, nor do I wish to attract more of its kind: the kind filled with perpetual frustration, regardless of its comedic value. If I write of my personal life in the future, it will still likely be when I find comedy, but I am looking forward to it being pleasantly surprising, rather than increasingly bewildering.

Eat me.

So after seeing Michael Moore's SiCKO, I decided that if this country doesn't start to make some serious improvements in 5 years, I'm definitely leaving it within 10 years tops. I know I've made this similar threat before, but it's just getting more and more bolstered with each passing year.

I don't care what your past opinions of Mr. Moore are -- and compared to past films, he stays waaaay out of this one, other than in voiceover and a brief on-screen appearance near the end -- I cannot stress this enough: everyone must see this film.

I know all of my Liberal, Progressive, Green, and Socialist friends will go at some point, but those of you who are living with the blinders pulled over your eyes really need to wake up and go... don't be afraid, don't be reactionary, don't be a sheep and allow FOX "news" or talk radio personalities dictate what to think of this before you see for yourself. And if you go and do not come out of it feeling truly sick to your stomach over our situation, it will be official: you are made of stone... which is probably a good thing, since you likely won't need your worthless health insurance then!

Who's your monkey?

I finally feel a great deal better about not getting to know After Effects as planned, because it seems like motion graphics is quickly becoming a dinosaur career.

Why would I speak such evil? Well, because I attended the new Final Cut Studio seminar yesterday and could not believe how easy they've made everything now. Motion is amazing... beautiful, easy, understandable, and so much swooshy, glowy shit that had to be built from scratch in After Effects is now all in the form of templates and pre-made expression buttons. And everything is already in vector! Whee! I watched as the tech showing it did things that should have taken hours or days even, and literally just him a couple clicks of a mouse. Beautiful.
And the Final Cut Pro demo was breathtaking... as were Soundtrack and Color. All are easily inter-workable within Final Cut. They've shaved weeks of work off of everyone's time with this stuff. And that was just the basics they showed. I don't think that my mouth ever closed the whole 3 hours. Apple really knows how to rivet a crowd... and how to cater to their customers.

We also got to see a Peter Jackson short that was supposed to be only a camera test, but turned out to be a fully loaded World War I short film, with machine guns, explosions, tanks, biplanes, and a quite a sizable cast. Pretty sweet, I tell ya!

The bad news is that I discovered that I'm a hopeless geek... as you can see by the above excited ramblings, which likely make no sense to anyone else reading this. I also learned that I get quite turned on by technology. Seriously. If I'd had someone to come home to, he would have been in for the ride of his life.

Sadly, that energy went unutilized.

On another note, I was able to see "Eagle vs Shark" at a free screening afterwards, and I recommend it to everyone who likes truly quirky films... like a smarter "Napoleon Dynamite" meets "Little Miss Sunshine" perhaps, but with great accents.

So yesterday was all in all a truly great day... a lunch date with some truly pleasant company and a nice walk downtown afterwards, an exciting tech seminar, and a fun free movie with more pleasant company (can't forget a mention of my movie buddy!).

Now if only I could find a job where I could get to play with all those great toys on a daily basis!!! And if it were downtown, I could have more lunches like the one yesterday (ah, if only I were still a GSU student). The tech seminars are appreciated more when they're sporadic, yet I can't wait for another.

Okay, I'm done writing about stuff that makes no sense to anyone else but me.

For now.

I've Been Poisoned!!!

By my mother, no less! Maybe she's caught wind of my previous blog entry?

She invited me over to dinner about 2 hours ago and was serving chicken and salads... all very healthy stuff for a change. That right there should have made me suspicious.

She laid out several salad dressings, but 3 were of the "creamy, white stuff" variety that she knows I never touch, and only one was a vinaigrette (red wine variety). Clue #2... kind of like when you are having someone draw straws and you push the shortest one up highest in the bunch to fool someone into thinking it's a long one.

I poured it on and noticed that it was awfully thick and sticky for a vinaigrette (clue #3), but it was "fat free" and I guess I assumed that it was just badly made and was probably going to taste bad.

So when I put a piece of cauliflower in my mouth, I wasn't immediately alarmed by the odd flavor (clue #4). It took me about a minute before I placed the odd flavor: dirt and rancid band-aid.

I tell her to try it, because it tastes funny... she refused to taste it (clue #5) and instead opts for giving it a whiff. Immediately, her expression turned to disgust and she told me to spit it out. She gazed at the bottle, trying to spot a sell by date on it, and while it was turned with the back towards me, I noticed there was a copyright date for the product: 1996.

I asked to see it, since she's getting very far-sighted in her years... turned it round and round until I spotted the tiniest of prints:

SELL BY
19JUN99

EIGHT YEARS PAST IT'S SHELF LIFE!!! HOLY HELL!!!

I tried over and over to rinse my mouth, but the taste had decided to cling to the back of my palette and into my nasal passages. I can still sense it there now as I type this 2 hours later!

I tried to take it home with me, but my mother grabbed it and ran away, yelling, "Oh no you don't! You're not going to put it on the internet and tell all your friends about it!" See, there's clue #6 that she's been informed about this and was getting revenge.

Yet another sh*tty tale

WARNING: This blog is not for the squeamish or emotionally mature. Blog contains mildly graphic descriptions of grotesque bodily functions and humor only found funny to those under the age of 16. Reader discretion is advised.

*******************

I'm truly surprised at times that I'm able to function without having been in therapy most of my life. Case in point: yesterday morning.

Around 7:30am, I was minding my own business just Skyping (if you don't know the term, visit the Skype site for more info) with a friend on the other side of the globe. I believe I may have had a few beers at that point, but wasn't drunk by any means, so I do know that this indeed did happen... not to mention the fact that I have a witness on the other side of the globe, as previously mentioned.

I mean, yeah... drinking in the early morning hours when everyone else is still slumbering and/or getting ready for their day jobs probably isn't the most prudent thing to do, but I'd put in a few hours of editing before that and how else do you hang out with friends who are having a 3-day weekend in another country, I ask you? I mean, if you think about the cost of airfare alone that I was saving, it really was practical. Where was I? Oh, yeah... it was 7:30am.

That's when my phone rang. It was my mother, so figuring that it might be amusing for my far away friend, I muted his incoming Skype call and put my mother on speaker phone, so he could hear a slice of life on this side of the world. Little did I know what kind of introduction he was going to have.

My mother was calling because she thinks that I don't have anything better to do at 7:30am, apparently, and she wanted me to come pick her up from the tire place where she was going to leave her car to get fixed. However, she'd decided to stop at the grocery store first and get ice, which is why she needed me to pick her up, because the ice wouldn't last if she waited on her car.

Just as I was resigning myself to the fact that I'd have to go pick her up, I hear her exclaim, "Oh, no!" It was about then that I noticed the echo in her voice. Now, I'm quite accustomed to my mother calling me from places that no one wants to hear their mother. Mine calls from her bathroom all the time and I never know until she flushes, causing me to cringe. She knows I hate that, so she decided to stop telling me that she was doing that and just let me find out by the time I've already had some full conversation with her and it's too late to hang up.

She filled in the details. "I'm in the Kroger bathroom and I just realized there's no toilet paper!" Now, why on earth would she call me from there to talk about her tire situation, I'll never know. She switched the plan then.

"Can you drive over here and bring me some, please! There's none in here."

I tried to tell her just to do her best to grab some from another stall or to call out for someone there to assist her.

"No! It's too early in the morning and no one will hear me calling from the restroom, it's too far away. And I can't get up, or I'll make a mess."

While still trying not to laugh too much, I tried to suggest that toddling over to another stall isn't that bad, when she interrupted with the detail that sent this from amusing to totally absurd.

"I can't get up. I - I - I had diarrhea. It'll get everywhere."

I think I lost it at that point and put my forehead to my desktop and just couldn't stop the fits of giggles. So I repeated the story, pretending to get a better understanding of it, but really so that I could be sure my friend was benefiting from not missing the details.

"Is there someone there with you?" My mother is always suspicious that I've got various gentlemen callers who are paying me a visit or spending the night, so I guess my recap triggered her radar. I reassured her that no one was here. Yes, I lied, sort of... but how do I admit that I had someone talking over the internet when she still doesn't understand how email works?

She continued the story and I continued to listen with a mixture of horror and amusement.

"Well, if you don't come up here, then I'm going to have to take off one of my socks or something. And don't want to do that. They're my favorite pair!"

I think I snorted as tears were rolling down my face.

At that point she asked if I was drunk. I thought, "No, but here's my chance to throw her off the thought that someone else was listening in." I admitted to having had a few German beers at that point, to which she started in on how unhealthy and weird that is... until I reminded her of her daily bottle (and then some) of wine habit.*

"That's different. I have a lot of stress as a night-shift nurse and need it to go to sleep. Don't change the subject! Are you coming to help me or do I have to sacrifice a sock?"

Through my squealing fits of laughter, I managed to tell her that I was "too tipsy to drive" (not true, but I was too sleep deprived at that point... plus, it was funnier that way), and that she'd have to do her best to flag someone down there or go with Plan B.

She hung up, resigned to her fate. I returned to my call with my friend, turning up my audio volume and hearing some very amused giggles.

A little while later, the phone rang again. I took the same measures and put my speakers on mute to allow for covert listening, while I took her second call.

"I'm walking around the grocery store now, trying to decide if I should get ice or if I should bring my car in at all. I can't do both now, if you can't come get me. I'm sure that everyone in Kroger can see that I'm only wearing one sock."

I asked her why she didn't take off the other one as well while she was in there, but she apparently hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I am so sad. I love these socks, but I had to leave the other one behind in the sanitary napkin bin... somebody's going to be shocked to find that later. Plus it felt horrible."

I asked, "Why, was it scratchy wool or something?"

"No, it was very soft, that's why they're my favorites. But I'd worn them all night at work and - well - it was all wet from foot sweat. I feel dirty now."

Again, all I could do was lay my head down and laugh and laugh as the tears rolled again... and I do believe I was begging her to stop, because my stomach was hurting.

After that second call, both said friend and I were quite thoroughly amused and I realized that I had been handed an "instant blog," though admittedly, I did sit on this a little while, trying to decide if I wanted to gross everyone out or not. Obviously, it was just too good to pass up. My silent witness in this seemed no worse for the wear from the first-hand experience, but when I tried to retell it to another friend later that same morning, but he just kept repeating "please stop telling this story" long before it was finished.

As for my mother, she's still in mourning over her lost sock, and is hanging onto its sad, widowed mate as a memento of its fallen partner.

Don't poke the bear!

I'm busy editing something and very VERY sleep deprived. Until I'm done, I won't be blogging for real... so just be happy with these sometimes informative and sometimes idiotic quizzes. It's all I have time for right now.

Meanwhile, on the other side...

I'm sure that right about now Jerry Falwell is finally realizing how big of an idiot he actually was.

Web of Deceipt

Going into it, I was worried that too many villians (3 in all... 4 if you count the "goo") would spoil the plot. Ultimately, however, it wasn't the number of extra evil-doers that ruined Spiderman 3, but rather it was the highest degree of schmaltz-factor since they invented "weepies" in the 30s.

Let me give you some examples you can relate to...

You know how George Lucas thought Jar Jar Binks would be a great addition to Phantom Menace? And remember how the "American people" thought George W. Bush would be good for this country? Well, that's how bad of an idea all the love, forgiveness and misty-eyed moments are in Spiderman 3.

Of course, I've seen the syrupy treacle of the Spiderman flicks from the beginning... back when it was blasphemy to speak badly of the webbed one. In the sappy voiceover ending of the first story, when Peter Parker is saying, "No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, the ones I love will always be the ones who pay," I quickly leaned over to Cully and said aloud what came to mind: "What? Like at the movies and dinner? Will his loved ones be saying, 'Dammit, Peter! When are you going to pay? Bring a wallet! Enough of this 'it's my gift, my curse' bullshit.'" He and I didn't stop laughing, much to the disdain of some of the dorks around us.

This time, the line came from Harry "Hobgoblin" Osborn, when Peter wanted to help save him and he says, "No, don't." I leaned over and added to my pal Kevin, "He doesn't want to be brought back for an even crappier movie."

There's another line near the end (not close enough, of course) where Peter Parker says something about making the right choice. I wish Sam Raimi had made the right choice and just cut two-thirds of the movie. I know you'll still go see it, and I suggest you do, if only to kill off any urges to want to see another sequel. Besides, with the over-the-top melodrama of this film, I'm pretty sure that a Latin telanovela will step in and continue the story... look for a guy in a Little Dutchboy wig and another guy in a bumblebee costume to star as the next villians.

**footnote**
Originally, when I typed in the title "Web of Deceipt" it was a play on the old movie title Web of Deceit combined with the word "receipt" ... and I was going to go into this whole rant about the cost of making movies, going to movies, time is money, money is money, Sam Raimi is a sellout, box office receipts, on and on, blah blah blah. I suppose at some point, I decided not to go with that whole angle and left the title with no explanation. After posting, I went back and changed it to the correct spelling, but just now decided to change it back to the original. At the expense of me looking like an idiot, if a typo gets people to stop and read this thing, it might actually save them valuable time and money later. I'm willing to take that risk. Besides, I'm getting used to looking like an idiot. It's my gift... my curse.

***addendum***
How could I have forgotten something that bugged the piss out of me at the time? The issue... what exactly is a woman's role in the Spiderman franchise? I'll ask Sean, since he seems to be the self-proclaimed expert. But as far as I can tell, a woman's role is to look pretty, to be none-too-bright, to have a subordinate or menial job, to be courted and/or fought over by the male leads, and then to get into danger so she can be rescued. OR, she's a matronly dispenser of advice, who shows up far too often and doesn't really propel the plot forward, except to reconfirm our notions that the hero is actually a coddled mama's boy. And while I'm on this tirade, what is a person of color's role in this franchise? From what I've gathered, it's to show up at funerals and jazz clubs, or else to wander around looking flustered by other people's one-liners or exploits (i.e. the newsroom). Doesn't anyone else get bothered by this stuff?

The Joke

(or, The Unbearable Heaviness of D)


********** BEGIN TRANSMISSION **********

Once again, this is set to my preferred list... as part of the book and extremely personal saga... one that has given me much trouble trying to express the humor that I do see in the pain. My previous two entries have been tame. This one will not be so. That's because this is the end of the story, given long before the other details and chapters got posted... which will be a bit troubling when trying to understand some of the references made, as you'll soon see. And still, sad as it is, it's too unbelievable to not be laughable.

It happened last Thursday, as you all already know. I awoke that morning, checked email, and found a shock waiting for me... a double whammy... I was fired and dumped by my boss/boyfriend of the last 6.5 months. The boss part was just a loose, temporary, part-time thing anyway, so it's less of a worry to me anyhow. But the part that was shocking is that he did it all by email... and that he broke his promise to train me to do motion graphics and show me how to build dazzling elements for my demo reel. I will still go back and write the other months to share for laughs as a later time, but for now, here is verbatim what I received and how I responded:


Subject: Dont know how else to do this

ok

Here is the situation...I've been thinking on this the entire week...actually this has been on my mind for months now. I don't know how to be polite about what is going on so I'm gonna just bullet point what needs to happen in my life regarding us...both working and relationship.

1. I can no longer pay you regularly...I was wrong in thinking that I could afford an assistant at this point in the Anvels life cycle. I would like to contract you from time to time but it would be infrequent until I get to where I need to be financially. I'm aiming for $10, 000.00 in the Anvel before taking on an assistant again. I also am not ready mentally for an assistant...I need to have my stuff together before I have someone work with me. The assistants pay will also be much lower than what I was paying you. It will be somewhere between $10.00 and $15.00 per hour. I will be coming up with a list of duties that an assistant would do.

2. I can no longer train you regularly...I need to start billing out for any time I train...I can't afford to do free training anymore. This does not mean you can't come to me with questions...it just means that there will be no "formal" training given from me until I feel the Anvel is where it needs to be. For future reference personal training will range from $25.00 - $100.00 per hr. I will also do training in trade of services...ex stuffing envelopes...etc

3. Now the Hardest part
I can no longer be in a relationship with you...I am starting to view our relationship as a distraction and a hindrance to the things I need to do in my career. You are right I am motivated differently than you...relationships are not important at this point in my life. This does not mean I do not value you...I think you are the most important person that has come into my life in a long time. That is also why this needs to end...I respect and care about you too much to waste your time. You need someone who is more stable than me. I want our friendship to continue...I hope you do as well...Also I have learned that I can never date the person I train or work with...I am incapable of seperating the two.

4. I do think in the future that you and I will work creatively with each other...I don't think it will be on a romantic level...but as far as work goes I think we would be able to complement each other.

5. Please take this as a friend...I need to correct my problems...ex. Debt, Divorce, Work, My Son...all of these are more important than anything else.
Please figure out what you need to do to correct yours...I know you are not motivated by money...but you do have responsibilities that you need to deal with...don't think that finding a Mr Right will fix these...you need to rethink your motivations...if only to make your life easier.

6. Lastly I will be returning your keys and boxing up your shelves...I'll return them this weekend.
Please return my keys...you can hold onto my laptop if you want to finish CD9...but I will be need those back by May 1st

7. I will also be paying you one last time of $250.00 to finish CD9 by May 1st...but that's up to you.

8. I've been trying to find a way to verbalise this to you but I didn't want you to spin the whole thing around and nullify what I want.
This letter is not a discussion I want to have in depth. These are my needs and I'm not going to change them.

D

Please give me your views thru email...then we can talk about it...if you want.


Does anyone recall the blog entry from January titled Sunshine and Lollipops, where I describe the stress hives D gave me, the resulting conversation, then him having me bullet point the whole thing for him? Well, back then, he told me that in the future, he'd prefer if I always came to him with brief, bullet-pointed issues, so he could address them easily and move on. I told him that would never work with me or any other woman, because it's cold and impersonal and the quickest route to an argument. I even said to him, "If a woman sees bullet points like this, her first reaction would be, 'Oh, it is ON now!'." I then emphasized to him that he should NEVER, EVER do something of that kind with me. Not only did he do it, but he EMAILED it to me.

I was in total shock after that. Yeah, my friends who know the stories that I've told about D's odd behavior and his anger over me asking the simplest questions about his choices are all scratching their heads over why I'd be shocked by this... but I guess I always wanted to believe he was a decent guy, who actually cared about me. Boy, was I ever wrong. The only one D cares about is D, unfortunately. I've known this for a while... like how he left his son in California and hadn't seen him for 15 months, simply because his ex chose a different guy over him. I've always felt sorry for his son... now I have a lot more sympathy for his ex-wife (well, technically they're still not divorced, because Dean doesn't want to deal with that... but that's a whole other blog).

It took me 3 whole days to respond, I was just so angry. When I finally did sit down to write my thoughts, my whole body shook like I was suffering from hypothermia... or going through detox, which is probably more apropos. Although I didn't want to be ugly or come off as the typical woman scorned, I had some points that I needed to clarify for him, so that he'd drop all of his ill-conceived assumptions and judgments about me. I'd held my tongue about oh-so much... it was my time to let it all go. I've decided to post my response here too, so that the balance can be shown... even at the risk of me sounding cruel. (Again, future entries about the past months will shed light on why I held in so much.)

For your reading amusement, my preferred friends, I give you a scorned response that may become a classic, if I don't say so myself...


Thanks for the email, it really made my week. The way you inquired about my knee injury and wished me good luck on my final edit session with T, knowing it was later that very same night, was so touching and inspiring. As a matter of fact, I had to cancel the session with her and take three days to respond, because I was so moved by your sweet, generosity of spirit. I'm thinking of having it framed or possibly getting it in needlepoint on a pillow!

Now that I've gotten the sarcasm out of the way, let me bullet point some facts for you:

1. I can no longer be friends with you. You've proven by your lack of decency here that you do not value me in the slightest. Why on earth would I invite more of that into my life? If I should happen to see you around somewhere, I will be civil, but most likely highly distant (at best). I don't care about losing your assistant position, because the complete lack of respect and utter disregard that you've shown me is incomprehensible... but, hey, thanks for the book fodder!

2. Why would I ever want to pay you to train me, when you couldn't manage to train me in 6 months thus far under much better circumstances? "Gee, maybe when he gets some cash in his hand for it, he'll be motivated to be a better teacher? Or if I'm lucky, he'll just berate me MORE! I can't wait for that!" Yeah, that makes total sense.

And just so you know for your own future reference, therapy ranges between $140.00 - $200.00 per hour. So the next time you start feeling like you'd paid me too much for too long, take a moment to consider that rate and then weigh all the assistance I gave you in helping to tame your emotional demons and to keep you from further fucking up your life... not that that's all fixed now, by any means. I'm not even sure that's possible.

3. Breaking up was the hardest part for you? Really? So hard, in fact, that you not only gave me a layoff via email, but decided to add the salt of a breakup letter to the wound? Unbelievable. Did you think I'd not take that personally? Of course, what more could I expect from someone who runs away from his problems? I might have been able to have a friendship with you, if you had handled any of this better than you have here. I don't even consider our relationship to be a real adult relationship, because it was always your way or the highway. You were so self-absorbed that you never seemed to consider that there was another person with feelings and desires next to you. And you respect and care about me too much to waste my time? But apparently not enough to actually talk to me in person, huh. Again, thanks for the material.

4. I always thought that our creative ideas and styles could compliment each other and that I could fill in holes that you had in your creativity (can your ego take that?) and vice versa... I looked forward to the day that we'd get to finally work together on something... anything... not just motion graphics stuff. Now, however, I don't see that ever happening. You know how you feel about Kyle because of that whole CBS deal? Multiply that times 100, and that's pretty much how I feel towards you after your email. Sure, you're talented, but it takes more than that to succeed in the game of life... again, you never really cared to make room for what I brought to the table.

Also, I held my tongue about your bad behavior when I was dating you for the sake of our relationship (unlike many of the cruel and hurtful things you casually slung at me on a regular basis); but now that things have ended like this, and that you've chosen these terms, I can guarantee that my B.S. tolerance would be next to nil. Since everything has to be your way with a constant need for praise and worship of your work, my biting wit and honest critiques would neither be curtailed nor go over well with you.

5. You have no right to assume that I was trying to find a "Mr. Right" with you to fix my problems. NEED I REMIND YOU THAT YOU ARE THE ONE WHO BEGGED ME FOR A RELATIONSHIP WHEN WE MET? I had sworn off dating and you had to convince me by saying that you couldn't wait. How easily you forget. I also told you at that time that I absolutely do not date men who are still married... did you forget that as well? And lo and behold, what did you finally admit 2 months later? At that point, I could have just walked away, if I hadn't believed you were going to actually start training me soon.

I've known for a long time now that I would have broken up with you if it hadn't been for the work. I simply continued to date you to keep things smooth sailing for the coming training sessions... or so I thought it would go. Part of me hoped that you'd be a different person once the training was done and the divorce was final, but as the months wore on, I realized that this is just who you are... you even admitted that others pointed these bad behaviors, man periods, and issues out to you decades earlier, and that was really what made me lose hope that you'd be different.

Yes, it's true that I have been working overtime to maintain a semblance of a relationship with you, especially since December, simply for the benefit of your small business to get off the ground and for my career to take flight. You, with your huge ego, thought that I wanted to marry you, but all I wanted was the training you promised and the demo reel. So you see, I have other motivations than "finding a Mr. Right"... I was putting my career first, and brother, that takes some major commitment to stick through your tantrums and drama. My mindset wasn't always that way, no... before we went to Florida in December, I thought you actually wanted a real relationship and that you were just going through a rough patch... but that image of you has been shattered by repeat offenses, bad behavior, and downright meanness. And through it all, I held my tongue about the things that REALLY bothered me.

What bothered me? So many things, but the most glaring was that you couldn't respect me, simply because I didn't want to be a clone of you. You emphasized that over and over, adding that you only respect people who are creative and driven. Pardon me for not having an Emmy or two under my belt. Do you know what it takes to finish a Masters Degree at the head of your class and with a prestigious fellowship as a single parent of three? No? I thought not.

You never asked, but would you like to know who I respect? Men who don't abandon their children. Every time you whined or snipped about "I haven't seen my son and it's so unfair," I wanted to smack you in the head and say, "Don't talk to me about fair! You're the jerk who left him across the country to put your own needs first!" I never had designs on you for a "future together" because of that. I knew that if you ran from your problems in California, then you'd do it to me sometime down the road the moment life got tough. It is a sad story, yes, but I only feel sad for your son, not for you. Try not blaming everyone else for your problems for once and just dealing with them head on... you might actually learn something and hurt fewer people in the process.

6. I will be leaving your computer, books, and keys (inside the inner mouse-pocket of the computer bag) locked in the trunk of my van this evening. I will not be here, as I have tickets to the animation thing this evening, if you recall. I suggest you make the effort to drive over sometime between 4pm and 9pm to remove your things and place my stuff in the trunk. I don't wish to see you and have some cold property exchange... it's not worth my time or energy, so this will be the only time for you to gather your belongings.

7. As for your offer about CD 9... no thank you. It was never about the money anyhow, but you will never understand that.

8. And finally, let me get this straight... an email was the best way that you came up with? Wow. Don't let anyone tell you that you're not a "people person." Remember on New Years when you asked, "We'll always be friends, right?" And my answer was, "Unless you hurt me." Congratulations on coming up with a new all-time low for handling a breakup. Now me, I'm not one for violence... but you do realize that if I had been one of your typical psychotic exes, ending things like this, with a laptop and keys to your car and apartment in my possession, I could have really fucked up your life in many ways. In that hindsight, don't you think you could have tried just a tad harder to find a better, more polite way to end things? That was rhetorical... no need to bother coming up with an answer.

As you ended your email, I will concur. There is no need for a protracted discussion. Also, please do not include me in your memories of "all of your girlfriends" who tell you that they'd still sleep with you, as I do not share the sentiment. Although I was the one who always asked for more intimacy, if you noticed I didn't physically try to initiate... that's mostly because I tend to be into more creative partners and I always felt stifled by your fear of my sexuality... or maybe it was a fear of my creativity in that realm dominating yours? Who cares. I merely offered regularly to take the edge off of dealing with you... it relaxed me, and it also caused your particular brand of crazy to be less intense, making you actually enjoyable to be around. Although the sex was at times good enough to make a week go better with you, it was never frequent enough nor mind blowing enough to make up for all of the added stress and hives and weight gain and tears that have occurred since I've met you. You've even driven me to start smoking again. Unbeknownst to you, that started 3 weeks ago, immediately after your last "this isn't working" freak out. After 8 months of managing to go cold turkey, lighting up was the only way I could keep from breaking out in hives again.

Despite all of my hurt feelings and stress, I do not wish any ill will upon you. In many ways, I feel sorry for you that you continue to make your life so hard, when you have so many things going for you. I hope at some point you'll be able to see that, but I'm not going to concern myself any longer with your issues.

Be glad that I took my time to respond. This is the "nice" email... I answered you a hundred times in angrier and/or sadder versions in my head, but this one summed things up just right. A little scathing (and rightfully so), but honest. I would, however, like to request one thing from you... it's actually more of a demand, in exchange for all that I put up with and for this truly crappy ending you've given:

9. In the future, when you should be called upon for a reference about me, offer a glowingly good one. I have done nothing to ever hurt you or injure you in any way (except for maybe the ego bruising I just vented above) and have only wished to help you succeed and get ahead, yet you broke your promises, changed your plans every time the wind blew, then left me hanging out to dry... allowing me to accomplish nothing in 6.5 months... the very least you can do is be a good reference. I think that I have earned it.

--Sherri



There you have it, folks. The She-Creature has fangs.

He responded only one more time... brief and to the point:



Hey,

I'll pick up my things and leave your things tonight.
Don't worry about a crappy reference from me...there are no bad words that will ever be expressed towards you.

Sorry to drag you into my delirium.

D



That night, I returned home to find my stuff returned in a box in my trunk. Tonight I decided that wasn't enough closure and I needed one more purge for my system, so I burned the only physical photograph (as opposed to the many digital ones) that I have in my possession... the one taken of us in "happier times" at MGM Studios.





Is that another symbolic moment? Me laughing my ass off, him screaming in fear like a little girl and squeezing my hand for security... happy together (sort of) in the Tower of Terror. I say "sort of" because that picture was taken just a few hours after the first of many big fights where Dean dropped the "this isn't working for me" bomb and said he wanted to break up... hence the full-body hives that followed a few days later... again, that's a blog for another time. It is rather prophetic that I had to drag him onto the ride and that he tried to dash away... twice... and leave me on it alone before they closed the doors.

But here's how the picture looked tonight in its ritual burning:







Ashes to ashes.


********** END TRANSMISSION **********