Oog. I had typed in a TON of stuff here and my internet glitched and I lost everything. Wotta suck. So, here, I'll try to re-create things. Sigh. I'm sure these versions will be shorter. Bite me.

Let's see. On Monday I wrote about WVCCC and not about my weekend with S., so I suppose I could and should continue to go into that. Let me point out that Prospect #1, The Chef, has tried to call me two or three times and I have not been available to take his call - he's left me one message. Still can't pick a day when he'd like to get together. Not that it matters.

Weekend with S. went fabulously. Saw him Friday night, for dinner, Saturday night, Sunday for the car show and other things. Everything was fun, relaxed, easy, nice, pleasant, and we're still cracking each other up. To quote him, things are going, "F*cking sweet." When we were at the car show, and I was ogling the '68 GTO and the '69 SS and the Harley Softail and saying stuff like, "Whoa, check out the Hemi!" He was digging it. I've always had a soft spot for muscle cars, so that was a lot of fun.

We left there, went to Kyoto Bowl, had lunch, then his mom called and he told her he was hanging out with me for the day - she said hi. Score! He's told the mom about me! Wow, that's kind of cool.

Then we went to the SwapMart where lots of interesting things happened... I had mentioned our tarot cards? We both have decks of tarot cards, they're identical. They were both received as gifts over 10 years ago, and neither one of us has ever known another person (except one another) that has had the deck or has even seen the deck. The Taviglione Stairs Of Gold Tarot is hard to come by and as best as either one of us can tell, it's out of print, as we've both been looking for 10 years in occult places for it and haven't been able to find it. Of course, at the swapmart, at the Incense Shoppe, the New Age Lady had... two. S. wanted to look at all of the tarot cards "in case" "it was there - I scoffed and reminded him that's not possible, about the time he pointed in the case at two, new, shrink-wrapped sets of the Taviglione Stairs Of Gold Tarot. I got all creeped out and cold and sweaty, and we went back to looking at incense.

By the time we got to the next occult store in the swapmart, things had continued to get freaky-deaky. Holding hands and strolling up and down the aisles, looking at speaker boxes, knives, claymores, incense, Pagan-friendly artwork, Dollar Store Madness, and the like, we finally came around the corner to one of my favorite little shops. And that's where the "Pentacle Incident" happened.

S. doesn't wear a pentacle. His car has a beautiful one - it's a pewter pentacle inlaid with moss agate and a hole in the center, on a lovely black cord. When I saw it originally I asked him why his Pent. was in his car - he said, "It belongs to the car." I asked him where HIS was, and he said, "I don't have one, one hasn't found me yet." It's a common Pagan and/or Wiccan belief that you aren't supposed to purchase yourself your own tools or spiritual symbols, and for that reason, since he's never really had anyone in his life that was Pagan, he's hesitated to buy himself a pentacle. So we're looking in the other little occult shoppe and I turn around and he's bent over the case looking at the pentacles. "See something you like?" I walked over and he was pointing into the case, and I just about freaked out.

Flashback Ensues:When I first realized I was Pagan about 13 years ago, I didn't understand the reasons why we don't buy our own tools. So I'd go to Alpha Books, an occult mainstay in the Phoenix area, and we'd look at books and herbs and stuff, and that's where I bought my first Pentacle. A small, half-inch across or so, magick star with the lines interlaced, carved out gently to make it sparkle, in a beautiful silver circle. Sterling. I bought it. And a few weeks later, I lost it. So I went back to Alpha, and I bought another, identical one. A few weeks later, I lost it. And I went back a few weeks later, and bought another, identical one. Before I could lose that one, I fell in love with a beautiful Pentacle that was encircled in silver grape leaves, and the branches on the star looked like grape vines. So I bought that one, took off the other one, and chose to use the little one as part of my ritual practice. Then I lost the grape leaves one. Then I bought and lost a more frilly, flowery one. Then I gave up on wearing them for a few years while I was married, and eventually the Pent. I wear now found me - a simple star with a small bear-fetish-statue attached - since, you know, apparently I'm a polar bear. So. At home, I had this small, half inch across, silver pentacle. Flashback Ends.

Shawn's pointing into the case at a small, half-inch across, magick star pentacle with the branches of the star inter-laced, with small cut-outs to make it sparkle, within a beautiful silver circle. Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, as if there's anything about this scenario which should surprise me at this point.

"Naw, you're not gonna buy that one," I said. "What?" he asked, and I was kind of having the willies. "I have that one at home," I said, "and apparently it's yours. So, you don't have to buy that. You can have the one that's at my house." Needless to say, he freaked - but when we got back to my house, I went straight to the altar and pulled it out for him. He is wearing it as of yesterday, on a dog-tag chain. His first pentacle, that I have had for going on at least 8 or 9 years. Identical to the first one he ever really considered for himself. Unreal.

I Am An Idiot, Walking A Tightrope Of Fortune And Fame.

In case that headline doesn't clue you in, this is a recap of MONEY GRUBBING WHORES NIGHT! If you're not watching Joe Millionaire yet... have I lectured you about this before? Oh, okay. I'll skip the lecture then.

Somehow, by the grace of God/dess, I am still in this thing. I thought for sure Zora was going to get kicked off, but red-haired Allison was the one to go. Allison, who didn't think for being a millionaire, our little Evan was "Sophisticated or Refined enough for her tastes." Gag me with a freaking egg beater, you stupid gold digging bitch girl! Serves you right. Plus, your little faux-pas allowed Zora to make it into the Final Four. Wahoo!

S's whore-se (pronounced "horse) is going strong, but the evil conniving bitch factor is starting to appear in her, which could hinder her progress. But as of right now, I'm trying to work up a menu for what seems to be the impending meal that I plan to cook for S.

Tie A Yellow Ribbon

More troops got sent to war today. Dating someone in the USAF puts a whole new perspective on that stuff. S. is scheduled for a deployment in June. If we're at fucking war in fucking Iraq for fucking oil, and he's got to go, that's a lot of risk. Whether or not he's considered part of "ground forces" or anything, there's something just inherently bad about someone you care about getting send off halfway around the world to fight a war that you're not sold on yet. I don't know how I feel about it.

He's going to be away for "our" first "away" time in February for a little over ten days to a class in Texas that's going to be a good career move for him, and then he comes home. I keep saying that three months won't be anything, but if he's over there in the middle of the desert fighting, or even close to where the fighting is, I'm going to have a very hard three months or more while he's gone.

And I'm not happy about it, at all. He seems oddly excited about the possibility. It just scares me.

And that's the hippie in me.

Seeing S. again this weekend. It's all good. I'm pretty insanely happy, actually. Shhhhh... don't tell anyone. I don't want the world to wake up and remember that my life is supposed to be a living hell. I'm liking this too much.

This morning, I took a tour of the West Valley Child Crisis Center in Glendale, Arizona. About a year ago, I was privileged enough to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity to help construct houses in a “campus” of six houses, that would become a sort of half-way-house for children in high-risk or abusive situations. As a survivor of abuse, it’s important to me to give back in any way possible. Taking a day off work at my calm office job to stab myself with nails, hit myself with a hammer, nearly poke my eye out with a screw, get blisters on both hands and both feet, be stinky, smelly, dirty and grubby, ended up being one of the most rewarding experiences of my life to this point, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

The Campus is open for business – and unfortunately, they have a lot of business.

Today I got to meet the “unnamed” 20 day old baby, who was born a methamphetamine addict. She, and her three year old brother, are residents of the Center. They live in a lovely little house that is decorated with a jungle-animals theme, with pictures of giraffes, elephants, and the like on the walls. A care worker sat with this beautiful little baby sleeping quietly in her arms and told us about how they had tried to re-place the children with a grandmother in the family, but the baby’s father, also a meth addict like the mother, was calling and threatening the grandmother with not only her life but the lives of the children. So, they were returned for their own safety to “protective custody.”

I got to meet blonde-haired, blue-eyed Johnny, an energetic and outgoing boy of about six years’ age, who hopped and skipped around his house, talking about how he was excited to be “off school” today and how if it quit raining he wanted to go out and play on the playground equipment. He shook my hand and smiled at me, and seemed so comfortable and at home.

In the sports-themed house, a houseful of boys frolicked and were frantically discussing whatever cartoon character was on the television, and how they’d much rather be out riding their bikes if the weather would just improve. A little noise and a little ruckus, but they each had their own bed in a shared bedroom, the smell of chicken soup for lunch wafted through the house, and they seemed to be enjoying one another’s company. Ranging in age from about 5 years old to about 10 years old, from all ethnic backgrounds, these kids were probably getting to enjoy themselves and be kids for the first time in their lives. And I had something to do with that.

And then there was Courtney.

As I walked through the nature-themed house, I came upon a group of children playing in the common room. A case worker sat in a rocking chair holding a plump, smiling cherub of a baby who had been with West Valley for a little over a month. He couldn’t stop smiling and cooing at the stream of faces that ran itself through the middle of their home. On the floor sat a gaggle of girls playing with dolls and talking about Barbie and how they wished they could have been playing outside. One of them was Courtney, a raven-haired, dark-eyed angel who looked to be about seven years old.

She slowly got up from the floor where she was playing and approached the group of us as we stood there talking with the case worker about the logistics of life in the homes, and how the children are cared for. And she walked up to my friend, looked at her for a moment, and slowly wrapped her arms around my friend’s legs, and hugged her. My friend looked down at this beautiful child, so quiet, so loving, and tears welled up in her eyes.

And then Courtney backed up, smiled at her, and looked at me. By that time, I had tears in my eyes too. And she walked towards me, and I bent down to greet her, and she wrapped her arms gently around me and hugged me, and patted me on the back gently and sighed a little, and looked at me.

One of my friends said, “You’re so beautiful. What’s your name?” Courtney reached up and played with one of her shiny black braids and said, quietly, shyly, “Courtney. Do you want to see my room?” She took my friend by the hand and led her down the hall, to show her where she sleeps each night.

Safe. Far away from whatever it was that was robbing this beautiful little child of her right to be a beautiful little child.

And I couldn’t hold back the tears any more. I made a difference. All of us who were there watching these children learn how to be children, learn to trust adults, learn to depend on one another, learn to believe that they deserve three meals a day and a roof over their heads and toys to play with, and someone to understand them… we all made a difference in the lives of these children.

For a moment, I remembered what it was like to have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I remembered what it was like to believe that the things that happened to me were my fault.

And I promised, to myself and although I didn’t speak aloud – to those children – and to all the other children who will come through those doors and deal with case workers and other troubled kids and the experiences that have led them to the shelter, that I would continue to do everything in my power to stop their suffering.

I will always remember Courtney trying to comfort me when she saw tears in my eyes. The unconditional love of a child is the most amazing thing in the world.

I pray that some day, there will be no need for the campus at West Valley Child Crisis Center. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll see that time, in my lifetime. I can only hope.

Okay, so that's a long title. Oh well, long title for short entry.

Dinner last night with S was absolutely fabulous, if I do say so myself. I did a phenomenal job of cooking dinner, he wasn't sure if he was going to like it, he loved it, and we had a great evening together.

"Wow," he said. "You're hired." I kind of chuckled and looked at him and he smiled at me, and blushed a little, and I said, "Yeah, well you better just make sure you get your hooks in me pretty fast. I'm a keeper."

That's about the time he kissed me.

We're going to the hot rod show tomorrow.

(This is not a reflection of how my day is going, just heard this song and was kind of jacked up that I heard it, as I like it)

Its just one of those days
When you don't wanna wake up

Everything is fucked
Everybody sux
You don't really know why
But you want to justify
Rippin' someone's head off

No human contact
And if you interact
Your life is on contract
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker
It's just one of those days.

Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit
Lettin' shit slip
Or you'll be leavin with a fat lip
Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit talkin that shit punk
so come and get it

Its just one of those days
Feelin' like a freight train

First one to complain
Leaves with a blood stain
Damn right I'm a maniac
You better watch your back
Cuz I'm fuckin' up your program
And if you’re stuck up
You just lucked up
Next in line to get fucked up
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker
Its just one of those days.

Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit
Lettin' shit slip
Or you'll be leavin with a fat lip
Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit talkin that shit punk
so come and get it.

I feel like shit
My suggestion is to keep your distance
cuz right now im dangerous
We've all felt like shit
And been treated like shit
All those motherfuckers that want to step up


I hope you know I pack a chain saw
I'll skin your ass raw
And if my day keeps goin' this way I just might break somethin' tonight...
I hope you know I pack a chain saw
I'll skin your ass raw
And if my day keeps goin' this way I just might break somethin' tonight...
I hope you know I pack a chain saw
I'll skin your ass raw
And if my day keeps goin' this way I just might break your fuckin' face tonight!!
Give me somethin' to break
How bout your fuckin' face
I hope you know I pack a chain saw.

Limp Bizkit -- Break Stuff

It’s Friday. Thank God/dess, it’s Friday. Could it have come any quicker? Probably. Could it have been any worse of a week? Maybe not. Could my stress level have been reduced? Only with copious amounts of drinking and possibly some muscle-relaxant pills, all of which weren’t an option.

I sit at my desk after having gone into my boss’s office and explaining to him that, unfortunately, the fact that the industry standard on receiving such-and-such product is in fact three to four weeks, or 12 to 15 working days, whether or not I throw a tantrum, threaten them with ‘taking my business elsewhere,’ beg, grovel or plead.

And I’m great at throwing tantrums.
Okay, I’m good at begging, too.
But I’m better at throwing tantrums.

So just as I could have predicted, the marketing idea that was designed by one or more salespeople in the office without bothering to research the availability and feasibility of what they wanted to do, goes down in flames. I knew it was going to go down in flames when they brought it to me, but they just bring me the hard stuff. So, now I am going through a huge book of custom premiums to see if we can find something else, we are re-writing the strategy of the mailer, and I’ve been asked for my input. Gee. Amazing.

Don’t Need No Copy of Vogue Magazine – Don’t Need To Dress Like No Beauty Queen.

Just as I suspected, Prospect #1, Chef, did not return my call after finding out his schedule last night. It’s not like I was all that excited about the prospect of seeing him, but I pretty much figured I wouldn’t hear from him just like I haven’t heard from him for the last month and a half on and off. It’s really no skin off my nose at all, as I’m not interested in dating him any more, but I still think he could be an okay friend. Although I’m sure we’d hardly ever talk. We do have some things in common that allow us to understand one another’s stress levels, which is nice. I just wouldn’t want to date him.

So tonight’s the big night. S is bringing some movies over to the house and we’re going to have dinner, talk, enjoy one another’s company, watch movies, and you know, have kind of a quiet evening at “home.” Yay, us.

We’re also going to go to the World of Wheels show on Sunday, which is kind of a hot rod-street rod-souped-up-auto show with lots of cool stuff. I’ve always been a gearhead at heart, just haven’t been able to follow through on my enjoyment of cars by being mechanical or able to fix them or able to do anything in particular to them but drive them. When I was 16, my dad used to lecture me and tell me that if I couldn’t fix my car, I had no business driving it – I had a 1979 5.0L Mustang 3-door, and was always working on it. Water pump, alternator, two fuel pumps, radiator hoses, radiator flushes, tune-ups, spark plugs, stuff like that. Any time I had to do something my dad would say, “Bring it over here,” and I’d go to his house and work on the car with him. I didn’t find it enjoyable, but it was empowering in a strange way.

Sorry, got sidetracked.

Just had one of the sales guys comment to me that they must be “grooming” me for something to be giving me all of this extra added responsibility (and none of the extra pay, thank you very much). Same guy who sent me the Pinky And The Brain song the other day. I wonder if I’m in the process of winning them back over. I will not be wooed into a false sense of security!

Back to the original purpose of this tangent – S has asked me if he can cook me dinner on my birthday. That’s so freaking sweet I can’t freaking stand it!

Well, it's 9:40 p.m. here, I'm waiting for S to log in, I've cleaned my kitchen, worked two tapes, sprinkled carpet fresh, gotten groceries organized for tomorrow's dinner, done two loads of laundry, and now I'm having a glass of wine and calming down. Doesn't hurt that I made myself a quad espresso mocha and slurped it down in the meantime.

And in other news, I just got told by a good friend that my blog subtitle should be, "The workings and musings of a madwoman." heheheheheh

Aretha Franklin playing on the 'puter speakers complete with sub-woofer, and I'm feeling empowered. R E S P E C T, baby! Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me...

Is it Friday yet?

S is coming over.

Wahoo!

Not tonight, but tomorrow. Our grand plan for curfew lasted one evening, when we both were feeling sicky and got off the phone at midnight. Last night we were up chatting and camming until about 2:00 a.m., when we switched to voice to say goodnight and ended up on phone until 2:30 a.m. Wow, am I tired.

So tomorrow, I am making dinner. Went to the store and rounded out the remainder of the menu - had to get baby red creamer potatoes, margarine, olive oil, spinach, and crusty bread. Skipped on the idea of dessert, because I've got various and sundry chocolate things around here that should be good enough. And since it was "Give Rose Wine For Christmas" year, I've got plenty of wine to go with the meal.

My money juju has hit the universe full force. Not only did Kelly get money, but Kristina got money, ***I*** got money, and S got money! He phoned me this afternoon to tell me that a class he's wanted to take (that will take him out of town for 13 days in February) has been offered to him, and the per diem and travel allowance will be way more than enough for him. He should come home with a few hundred bucks. I got $200 in commissions, which they've been holding over my head - "We don't know if we can keep giving you commissions." Screw them.

So, I'm frantic tonight. Gotta clean the kitchen, make the house presentable, let it not be stinky from puppies and kitties, scoop cat boxes, finish laundry, make every room in the house including my bedroom presentable, et al. Just had some veggie sushi and am getting ready to make myself a cup of coffee to hype myself up, because in addition to all this, gotta work.

Another day, another dollar, eh?

As a side note, but one I brought up to Kristina last night, the doctor has cleared me to start restricting food in my diet again. I plan to be veg by Imbolc (Feb 2).

Veg.

Well, I was in a car accident today. Nothing big, hardly even a fenderbender, but I've got ringing ears and the like. Neither one of us were hurt and our cars were fine so we just said, oh well, and went about our business without trading info. Just glad she was ok, she was in a tiny little car and I was in the truck.

Thank goodness for small miracles, I suppose.

Can I just go home and go to bed?

This circus is falling down on its knees
The big top is crumbling down
It's raining in Baltimore fifty miles east
Where you should be, no one's around.

I need a phone call.
I need a raincoat.
I need a big love.
I need a phone call.

These train conversations are passing me by
And I don't have nothing to say
You get what you pay for
But I just had no
intention of living this way

I need a phone call.
I need a plane ride.
I need a sunburn.
I need a raincoat.

And I get no answers
And I don't get no change
It's raining in Baltimore, baby
But everything else is the same

There's things I remember and things I forget
I miss you. I guess that I should.
Three thousand five hundred miles away
But what would you change if you could?

I need a phone call.
Maybe I should buy a new car.
I can always hear a freight train
If I listen real hard.

And I wish it was a small world
Because I'm lonely for the big towns.
I'd like to hear a little guitar
I think it's time to put the top down.

I need a phone call.
I need a raincoat.

Counting Crows -- Raining In Baltimore

It’s pretty official, my work situation just sucks.

I’m giving myself so much stress over this, that it’s starting to trickle into other areas of my life, and it’s making me crazy.

And then the people I work with are on such a roller coaster, that they do something nice for me and I’m so much in this “screw you” mode, that I don’t even want to accept their niceness or gesture or friendship or anything like that. It’s really making me confused and nuts.

One of the guys I work with who I’m convinced is one of the people who was partially behind this effort to stab me and pin me to a wall while I was on vacation over the holidays, actually sent me the theme song to Pinky And The Brain today. I know that sounds strange, but he’s always been the one to appreciate my strange sense of humor, and he gets a laugh out of the same things – he knew if he sent me the song, it’d be stuck in my head all day and we would laugh and quote the cartoon back and forth to each other.

You aren’t supposed to be that nice to a person for no reason if you’re in the process of screwing them over.

So, I’m feeling a little bit confused.

Then there’s the issue of people taking random paths past my desk, possibly in an effort to “check up” on whatever it is I’m doing. It’s not like I’m not working hard to accomplish all the things on my “list” of “things to get done.” I have a rather significant list. Some of these freaking projects they’ve given me are completely impossible, and they’re starting to realize it – I’ve been trying for three days to find 3900 pairs of garden gloves and 3900 packets of spring mix flower seeds for under $7,000. Uh, not gonna happen.

About the only thing that’s fun in my job right now is, I’m in charge of the “Celebrate Success” program here. Which means, if/when we get new sales, then I’m the one who gets to pick what it is we’re going to do to have fun as a company to celebrate them. One day I went out and got ice cream for the whole company. Yesterday we had cookies and milk (whole, 2%, skim and soy). You know, little fun things to get us all together in the kitchen or whatever, just to pat each other on the back and say how great it is to work here. Interesting that they’d put someone so jaded and frustrated in charge of that.

So now I’m singing the Pinky And The Brain theme song, and I’m staring at this list of things I have to get done, and I’m wondering where I’m going to find seeds and gloves, and my boss just left the office at 9:45 to “run an errand” and said he’d be back – one of the salesmen just left to “run an errand” and said he’d be back around lunchtime.

Life’s hard.

Plexi, Plexi, Bend – Don’t Shatter. Once You’re Broken, Shape Won’t Matter.

I’m not good at change. I’ve never been good at change. I think more than anything else, what I would choose in my life if I could is stability. Across the board.

Coming from someone that once tried to kill herself, you’d think that was kind of an odd status report. I mean, killing yourself, that’s a huge thing. That’s like, the ultimate change. The thing that people don’t understand is, it comes after resigning yourself to the idea that no matter what you do, nothing would ever change. There starts to have some kind of strange solace in the fact that everything sucks, and it’s always going to suck, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Would I try to kill myself today? That seems to be the question of the moment. In a way, my bulimia is like trying to kill myself a little at a time, when things get hard on me. But would I just voluntarily end my life, instantaneously? I don’t think I would. I mean I’m certainly not depressed enough right now to consider it, but I’ve had my moments in the past few years when I would have figured, if I could just go to sleep and not wake up, maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with all the bullshit.

But after you’re gone, there’s nothing else you can do. And I think that’s one of the things that keeps me hanging on. My best friend has said it multiple times – she’s so busy taking care of other people, that if she ended it, which she’s considered before, she can’t imagine what the rest of us would do without her. And of course, neither can we fathom what it would be like not having her in our lives – although she’d probably be more peaceful.

I’m a glutton for punishment. That’s why I have the job I have. That’s why I continue to bang my head against the same walls. That’s why I set myself up for the same thing over and over again.

And yet, through everything, I don’t want lots of change. I want things to be stable. Predictable. Easy. It’s taken me 32 years and I still have to struggle with the idea that no, Virginia, life isn’t always easy.

I suppose that’s why it’s so incredibly hard for me to live in the moment. If you live in the moment you run the risk of change, from moment to moment. And that can suck. I don’t like to go through things I wasn’t expecting. I’m such a freak…

We've set a curfew.

Midnight.

S is sick.

I am trying to get better.

At the very least, a midnight curfew should help that. Right?

Prospect #1, the chef, called me this afternoon at work and chatted with me for about ten minutes.

Too bad, so sad.

S's horse (Melissa M) and my horse (Zora) are both in the running. They both made the cut.

Zora was shoveling poo in a stable and acting all happy and I said, "Hey, do you smell that?"

"What," S asked?

"You mean you don't smell it?"

"Smell what?"

"That, my friend, is a big pot of chili."

He dug it.

Wednesday, January 1, 2003: Meet S online and start PM-ing at around 11:00 pm.

Thursday, 1/2/03: Find S online and chat from approx 9pm until 1am.

Friday, January 3: Hear from S mid afternoon, meet for first date, 10:30pm, home by 4:00 am.

Saturday, January 4: Chat and phone until midnight.

Sunday, January 5: Chat and phone until 1:30am.

Monday, January 6: Chat and phone until 2:30am.

Tuesday, January 7: Chat and phone until 2:00am. Set second date.

Wednesday, January 8: Chat and phone until midnight.

Thursday, January 9: Insist we must set curfew, this late night stuff is starting to take a toll. Chat and phone until 2:30 am.

Friday, January 10th 2nd date. Laugh, talk, watch movies until 4:00 am, crash out on my couch snuggled together, sleep until 9am.

Saturday, January 11th: Chat and talk from 7pm until 1am.

Sunday, January 12th: Chat and talk until 1:30 am.

Monday, January 13th. Chat and talk until 2:00 am. Set third date.

Whoa.

The cool thing about this scenario is, we haven't run out of things to talk about. Whether we¡¦re talking about aftermarket equipment for his Mustang, or Paganism/Wicca, or ourselves, or our pasts, or our work, or music, or food, or television, or books, astrology, native American spirituality, awkward dating moments, telling jokes, sharing sound bytes, South Park, Austin Powers, movies in general.

We can't shut up.

We've both got some issues. This is going to be an exercise in patience. Oddly enough, though, seems worth it.

She's Such A Fortunate Fool, She's Just Too Good To Be True.

Bleah.

Fear sucks.

I have fear. I shall vent about it here, yea, verily.

This is different fear than anything I've really felt before. I mean, there's that - you know - fucking issue about waiting for the other shoe to drop. And there's that -you know - fucking issue about not believing that I am worthy of anything. And there's that - you know - fucking issue about getting screwed over so many times, that I'm just so convinced - I'm so used to be run over by trucks when I'm in the middle of the road - and I feel like I¡¦m staring down the headlights right now. S called it, "looking down the barrel of a relationship." I know, seems early, but we're clicking on so many levels, hard not to consider. And I just want to jump out of the road.

A good Pagan friend of mine, a wonderful Dragon in the Midwest, once turned my truck analogy around on me. I said, "I'm gonna get run over by the truck." He said, "Maybe he'll pull you out of the way before that happens." What better way to look at it?

There is a part of me that believes S would yank me out of the road before being run over by the truck - but then still stand there holding my hand. For lack of a better explanation. We had a long conversation about fears and baggage and all of that stuff. Where the last two guys I've dated have criticized me for having fear and issues, suggesting that not only is it warranted but have taken kind of a "how dare you" attitude, S prefers to look at it as a fact of life. We've both been through some bad times, and we're going to both have our moments where we are skittish, afraid to dip our foot in the pool, and we just have to try to be understanding and supportive of each other, and comfort each other in those times, and "we'll get through them." For being younger than me, he's an old soul. He sees things in this respect quite maturely.

But then there's the whole issue of things that are out of my control. That's the control freak in me. I don't try to control other people, but I don't like just letting things go wherever they go without feeling like I can steer them a little bit.

Love's a train, not a bike.

And that's frightening for me. Military careers take you far away from people. We live a long way from one another, what if that becomes an issue. What if he gets moved. When he gets deployed later this year, what if that puts a strain. The idea of being away from someone I care about has always bothered me.

I wanted to be jaded and pained and hateful and emotionally unavailable. I wanted to date a bunch of people and pick and choose and just have fun and wander through life for a while. I had to tell S last night that I've removed other horses from this little race, he's the only one. He told me the same thing. He actually asked an odd question, when I was discussing a friend of mine who¡¦s taken the time to question whether or not I'm really ready for a relationship or whether or not I'm going to start leaving a trail of bloody and broken bodies like I did when I was in high school - he said, "Is that person a possibility for you?"

Hell, no.

Nice of you to be a little jealous though, devoted Scorpio. :-)

Love's a train. Not a bike. What's that Enya song say -- "Who can say if your love grows where your heart chose? Only time."

Just another thing out of my control.

I wonder if other people on this planet can be ecstatic and miserable at the same time.

Hello, all. Blogger has been acting up, and I've had a heck of a time getting in here, so I'll see if I can catch us up.

Date news: Friday went swimmingly. After some minor glitches (Mercury's in regrograde, any driving issue is subject to glitches) S showed up at my place around 7pm, I finished up my little household chores, and we went to dinner - he took me to a nice little Mexican restaurant. The freakish part about dinner was not only that the conversation was, again, fabulous, but that we both picked a rather obscure dish off the menu as our choice and didn't know the other had chosen that until right before we ordered. We kind of cracked each other up.

I took him to the arcade after dinner and we played shoot-em-up and air hockey (I am still the Champion of the World, by the way, as I won 2 games to 0), and we drove cars and trucks and boats and snowmobiles and had a great time.

Movie Review: Die Another Day is fabulous. I won't explain how we saw it in the comfort of my living room. Moved on to Austin Powers:Goldmember, which cracked both of us up... we were thrilled to see freaking sharks with freaking laser beams on their freaking heads... we laughed, and laughed, snuggled and laughed some more.

Ultimate goal was to stay up all night and see the sun come up, but that just didn't happen. On third movie, Reign of Fire, we both fell asleep. I woke up to the APEX DVD player's blue screen flashing languidly and a candle burning, and to S's soft snores in the reclining chair portion of the couch, with his arm around me. I snuggled back up in his lap and we slept for another probably 40 minutes or so before me getting up, turning off the TV, blowing out the candle, and laying back down.

I would call the date a raging success, and now we are trying to figure out when we can see one another next. I think it's safe to say there are no other prospects in the running, as I am dumping #'s 1, 2 and 3 in favor of wonderful Mr. S.

It's Money-Grubbing Whores Night!

Don't miss out - watch Joe Millionaire. I'm sticking with my horse (Zora) and S seems convinced that "nappy haired huge rack girl" (whose name is Melissa) will pull it out here and be his big winner.

The wager has been established - a home-cooked meal of the winner's choice, to be cooked by the loser. S's comment: "I hope you like chili, you pretty much can't pick anything but chili." Gotta love it.

We have also decided we are going to have to go in togehter and order an entire case of Tabasco Chipotle Sauce, as you can't buy it in stores but can get it from the www.tabasco.com website. So, that's a new plan.

S is also talking about finding ways to stay in Phoenix now in lieu of getting sent somewhere else to live and work in the USAF, although he's definitely got a deployment scheduled for later this year. As much as I'd like to think I might be one of the reasons he'd like to stay, I'm trying not to get too excited.

My Stupid Mouth Has Got Me In Trouble - I'm Never Speaking Up Again... (john mayer)

Why can't I just be bitter, jaded, emotionally unavailable and happy enough wandering through life for a while just exploring different boys and their respective dating habits? That was the plan. Gonna date lots of guys. Gonna just have fun. Cruise along.

The Universe, apparently, has other plans for me...

I just wish I weren't so happy about all of it.

Fear of pain sucks.

Betrayal sucks.

While I’m at it, betrayal FUCKING sucks.

Sorry for the profanity. But it is what it is.

Today while looking in my boss’s office for something I came across a presentation that was given to him by the folks I work with. The salespeople. All about reaching the sales team goals and what we have to do to get there. I had known they were going to have this “meeting” with my boss, and I also knew I was going to be a topic of conversation. Interestingly they chose to have the meeting without me present.

Nine of the slides were about me. Bullet-points of things they think I should do differently or better, ways for me to improve myself, and then a bunch of other things that are just downright rude.

For example, they feel I should be put on a 30-60-90 day review process, because I’m enough of a fuck-up that they can’t trust me to get anything done. (Oh, really?)

Then there’s the idea that I should stop spending time at work, working on non-job-related things that pay me. In English, that means, they think I’m moonlighting while I’m sitting at my desk. Not bloody likely – that tells me they don’t even know what I do for my second job, but I certainly can’t do it at work. This is probably just a way for them to try to keep me from moonlighting at all. Which is wrong, and isn’t going to happen.

I need to be more organized – I need to be more accountable – all of those things.

The suck-o-rama about a lot of this is, I didn’t have a very good year so there’s a kernel of truth in some of this. I let some things slip through the cracks when I was dealing with a divorce, an abusive ex husband, an asshole roommate, but not lately. I’ve had my shit together lately, and have been busting my ass.

But I still have some catching up to do.

Why do I feel betrayed? These are the guys I talk with, laugh with, we look out for each other. At least I thought we did. If there were a problem they could have come to me. If they had an issue they could have come to me. But it’s obvious they don’t consider me a part of their team. They consider me a part of my boss’s team, but not one of them. And that’s a depressing situation to be in.

A sales bullpen is like a foxhole in the middle of a war. Everyone is just trying to hide and not get shot, and make some kind of progress. It’s a high stress environment and everyone has to have everyone else’s back for it to work. My job is, to have everyone’s back all of the time. In return I’ve come to think of these guys as an extension of my family in some respects, and now I am having to re-evaluate all of it.

And that fucking sucks.

We get signs from the Universe that tell us when it’s time to make a change. Maybe it’s my time. Even if I could get the job done the way they want me to do it, maybe I’ll never be able to overcome this negative perception. Maybe I’ll always be what I am today, to them – a fuckoff.

And that’s worth $30,000 a year because why?

Yeah, I thought so.

Walgreens Orange Juice: $2.59

Wal-Tussin Expectorant $2.49

Hall's Citrus Drops $1.00 SALE

Wal-Phed Sinus $4.49

Cold-Eeze 18 Drops $5.99

NM Vitamin C (100) $3.99

Garlic Tablets (100) $4.99

Subtotal $25.54

Welcome to my life. Date tomorrow and I'm hacking up a lung. Something so sexy about phlegm.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Side note: A wager has been made. S and Rose have wagered on the outcome of, JOE MILLIONAIRE.

S has chosen Melissa M., the curly-haired freckle-faced big-smiled customer service rep from Minneapolis, MN, as his horse to win. S's commentary as to why? "Guys dig girls who are shorter than them, she's short. She's got a huge rack and she smiles a lot. She'll pull it off."

I have chosen Zora, the 29 year old promotions rep from Lamberville, NJ. Why? She's cute, she's got long hair (guys dig long hair), and there's just something about her that makes her the most likeable of the money-grubbing whores. At least, to me. I'd venture if she won and liked Evan, she'd stay despite the issue. One would hope, anyway.

We both hate Heidi, the 24 year old scheming bitch business banker from L.A. She'll probably "win." Bwahahah!

Side note to the side note: What, exactly, we are betting, has yet to be determined. Slurp!

Okay, so Prospect #4 is about to reach "name" status. At least for the purposes of this blog, we will call him, " S ". That's his first initial.

I figure staying up until 2:30 a.m. talking to him again pretty much automatically affords him the respect of not being referred to by an impersonal number, but instead by something closer resembling a name.

He's fabulous, by the way. S. I really like him. We haven't run out of things to talk about yet, and we seem to have an incredibly remarkable number of things in common. We're going out this Friday - so far, the only "plan" is we're going to be somewhere at sun-up to watch the sunrise, since we've kept one another up half the night talking a few times now anyway. So that should be fun.

Now, I just have to figure out where this is going, I suppose. We've done that thing people do in early stages of dating where they kind of talk around how they feel or what they're looking for or what they might be hoping for, from the other person. But it's not like we're quiet about what we think about things, so perhaps we'll find a way to broach the subject some time soon. Either that, or I'm going to get a kiss or something, and can take that as a type of concrete signal.

Personally, I'm hoping for the kiss. C'mon, second-date smooch! Smoocheroonie! Pucker up, buttercup! In honor of one of my good friends, I might as well say this here: Have I told any of you that he's completely YUMMY? Yes, yes, I could use a yummy boy. Screw that - I deserve a yummy boy. I could just eat him right up. Slurp!

Okay, I guess I should stop with the pseudo-sexual commentary.

At least for now.

I Love The Shape You Take When Crawling Towards The Pillowcase

New addition to the "What I Want" list.

Anyone who has John Mayer on the brain will know that these headings in today's entry come from the most recent single they're playing all over the radio. I wanna be that girl.

I think I've decided that in an ideal long term relationship, there would be a certain amount of adoration. God/dess knows I haven't had it. I've never had adoration like what I think I want. I want to be adored. I don't need "stuff," I don't need someone to give me things, I don't need someone to take me places. I just want them to want to be with me. I want someone to long to hold me, to need me, so it brightens their day or their night or their life just to have me around. Is that too much to ask?

Probably.

P.S.: Added a new blog link on the left side - check out my friend Mia.

I know, it's gonna make me sound a litle geeky, because everyone else has been loving them for quite a while - but if you get the chance, check out John Mayer's Room For Squares and Jack Johnson's Brushfire Fairytales. I'm really into both of these guys right now, their music's right on the money, little sad, little happy, very unique, and I'm digging it.

Groovy.

Oh, my god. I can't even believe what we watched last night. Twenty money-grubbing women fighting for the affections of an ignorant knob with an overdone smile, at a chateau in the South of France.

There is a God.

Can you say, "glued? I was GLUED to the television.

I don't know if the best part of the show was when he came up on the horse, nearly falling off, in an effort to impress the girls and later hit his (big) chin on the saddle when he was trying to climb back on... or if it was when the girls were crying when they were coming up on the Chateau, saying things like, "Ohmygod, it's like a fairy tale, it's a dream come true!" You know, before they ever MET the guy? Or maybe it was when they...

Oh yes. It was when they... put ALL TWENTY WOMEN in one room... with twenty gowns. Not 25 gowns, not 40 gowns... 20 dresses for 20 women, and made them fight for which dress they wanted. And of course, some of these prissy bitches were walking around afterwards saying things like, "I can't believe I got stuck with this piece of shit dress!" Kiss my ass, sister, it's probably worth more than most normal working women make in a month. Suck it up and whore yourself out, already.

Which, of course, they did.

They're down to 12. Next week they'll be down to 5.

And finally there will be only one money-grubbing whore.

In the meantime, this guy Evan, he keeps saying things like, "I'm not a good liar." And, "I don't know what I'm going to do when I have to tell them blah blah blah" and, "I just want someone who loves me for me." He's trying to act all smart, as if he's going to "know" "which" money-grubbing whores aren't there just because they think he's worth $50 million.

News flash, Evan - they're all there just because they think you are worth $50 million.

The only thing better, would have been if he was an unattractive guy, perhaps with poor hygiene and lack of motor skills. I wonder if they'd love him then?

I LOVE THIS!

INTERESTING INFO FROM THE GUY FRONT (Subtitle: There Are No Coincidences):

On the date front, I was on the phone with #4 until about midnight last night. I'm under strict orders not to get sick, as apparently I have a date this coming Friday. Details TBD.

But here's an interesting side-story that bears sharing. When I realized I was Pagan about 12 years ago, I had a wonderful roommate who was Pagan and she taught me to read tarot. She had a tarot deck that I thought was the most beautiful deck I had ever seen. It was called the "Tavaglione Stairs Of Gold Tarot." If I get un-lazy I'll post a link to a picture of it here, but in the meantime if you search in Google you can find the artwork. It's fabulous Italian Renaissance-style artwork, and the pictures are not at all intuitive. I mean, in a Rider-Waite deck, the 10 of Swords has a guy laying on the ground with 10 swords sticking in him. Fairly safe to say that's a "bad" card. In my deck, it's just 10 swords. I've always had this deck, I've never changed. It's been left out in thunderstorms, I've never lost any of the cards, my book is falling apart, but it's MY deck and I love it.

Over the years, I've known a number of people who thought it was interesting and have tried to find it to give as a gift. Can't find it, can't buy it, can't locate it. I have also never in my 12 Pagan years known anyone who has my deck.

So, #4 and I are chatting last night with the webcams running while I worked, and I asked him about his tarot deck. He says, "I have a Stairs of Gold deck." When I got my deck I never knew the name of it as "Stairs of Gold," just "Tavaglione." I didn't have a box or anything like that. So I ask him about his deck and he holds one of the cards up to the webcam.

I almost fell out of my chair. He's got my deck. Or I've got his deck. Or something. We both talked about how we've never seen it anywhere else, and how we've never known anyone else to have it, and how it's really kind of freaky-deaky that we both have the same deck.

Me, I'm just reinforced that there are no coincidences. We find the people we're supposed to find, for whatever purpose. Even if I just have a new Pagan friend, it's all good to me.

But isn't that just a little weird? Do you believe in coincidence?

So last night, Sunday night, I'm working away (have 2 jobs, one of them I do at home) and up on my Yahoo! messenger, comes Self Centered "Ex" as mentioned in a previous entry. After trying to make me feel all bad about myself and having a decent argument with me, he phoned me last night and actually had the gall to ask me if I wanted to drive 35 miles one way to go to his house on a work night to have "dinner" and watch some TV or a movie.

Uh, let's see. It's 6pm, I'm making myself dinner, we aren't dating any more, you piss me off, and I continue to wonder what I ever saw in you. So, I think that's a no.

So when I said no, we were back to taking a ride on the pity train. The thing to understand about this guy is, he structures his life so he never has to deal with people - but then his "friends" should drop everything to be there for him even though he can't bother to be there for them. His philosophy of life is, "If I decline an invitation enough, eventually people will stop asking me." I'm not kidding - he's said it.

And I thought *I* had a geek streak. Amazing. Talk about hermitude. I was a stupid, stupid woman.

But my evening was brightened when Prospect #4 phoned again. I'm thinking of just eliminating prospects #2 and #3 and only dealing with #4, who is definitely the front-runner, and #1 if he ever gets off his ass. But so far, #4 is doing everything right. Surely I should start referring to him as something else, the whole number-thing is so impersonal. He keeps scoring points, I'll have to do just that.

JOE MILLIONAIRE - TONIGHT!

Yes! Finally! Tonight! I can't wait! I can NOT wait to see these money-grubbing gold digging bitches fight all over each other for the affections of Mr. Joe Working Class Dude, whether or not he's got a cute smile. $50 million dollars? A dream come true! Oh, he's my prince charming! Give me a freaking break. My life joy is going to come from watching these women flounder all over and humiliate themselves on national television as the gold digging superficial freaks they are, and I can only hope that there would be the men watching them do it, that laugh them out of whatever bar they're trolling for money in, in the future. Those women are gonna go running, screaming away, as soon as they find out he's a normal working-class guy, because they're all looking for a free ride. Go get a freaking job and learn how to live a normal adult life, evil scamming bitches. Or worse comes to worse, you could always become a webcam-whore and start a wishlist.

Hooray, FOX. Thank you for producing something we can all appreciate. Bwahahahahah!

Isn't it amazing how quickly life can throw you a curve ball?

After two or three days of incredibly hectic hectic-ness, I ended up having a huge argument with a guy I used to date last night. Lucky for me, he's a selfish, narcisisstic ass who doesn't know how to deal with people, and refuses to connect with them on a human level. So when I just got sick of dealing with his self-victimization, I told him what I thought.

Of course, I'm wrong. And now I have abandoned him in his time of need.

Why can't I find a man who acts like a man?

Which leads us to Prospect #4, a wonderful man I had the pleasure of meeting recently. After a few days chatting together about everything and nothing, and deciding we have a lot in common, we had a spur-of-the-moment get together on Friday night. We met at a restaurant almost at the middle-point between our respective residences, had some beers and munchies, made fun of the waitress, and got kicked out of said restaurant after last-call - at which time we moved directly to Denny's, sat in a booth sipping coffee and talking about our families, made fun of the Backstreet-Boy-Blonde-Haired guy with his Wearing-My-Jammies-In-Denny's-At-3am girlfriend who were open-mouthed chewing their hash browned potatoes and trying to pretend they didn't notice us tag-team critiquing them... and then I got home around 4:00 a.m.

What's that, you ask? Did I get a goodnight kiss? NO! Said young man was a perfect gentleman, and for that reason I'd love to see more of him. No pressure, no fear, no weirdness.

The other bonus? He's Pagan. Did I mention I'm Pagan?

So, it seems to be all good. I've talked to him a couple times in the last couple of days and can't wait to see if/when we're going to get together again.

Besides, he's cute. And that's an incredible bonus.

I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I don't want to go. Somebody shoot me, eh?

Okay, well. Here's the thing. This is going to be my blog.

I'm not sure where to begin. I've been separated now for just about a year, exactly. I've been divorced since April. In that time, I've been through the wringer a couple of times with guys, and I'm determined not to let it happen again.

At least my dogs and my cats love me, right?

A little bit about me. I'm an amateur photographer, and maybe I'll share some of my shots here. I like to sing, I like to cook, I like to eat. I'm an administrative assistant under significant job stress and might even be changing my job soon, if things don't get any better.

Like I need more changes.

I'm a vent-er. I like to vent. I rant, I carry on, I bitch and moan, and every once in a while I like to toot my own horn. Seems like a fair enough recipe for a blog. So here I am.

Here's where I am in the "find a date" process:

So far, here's the cast of characters in my odd dating world: Prospect #1 is a chef. He's my age, he's handsome, he's got just about everything I'm looking for in a guy, and on occasion, I think he digs me. But with the holidays and everything, he's been real busy so I'm trying to decide if I'm getting my signals crossed. Seems like as soon as I think he's trying to avoid me, he'll call and leave me a message or drop me an email, so I guess I'm getting a little confused.

Prospect #2 is 36 years old and has his own business, never married, no kids, and seems like a truly nice guy. We met through www.match.com, and we haven't even talked on the phone yet.

Prospect #3 is a year younger than me, successful in his field, works near my home, but has two kids of his own and is recently divorced. I told myself I wasn't going to date a man who already had kids, especially considering I'd eventually like to have one or more of my own, but he's also quite nice and is rather insistent, isn't taking "no" for an answer.

I know. Three guys, three choices, bad problem to have? Maybe. But considering my first choice overall is #1, I feel like I'm not making much progress in "date mode."

So. There it is, then. Welcome to my life.