I guess I'll write about the wake now. I think I have a little bit more perspective but I'm still caught a little off guard.

When K and I were younger we kind of ran with the same crowd of people. Long story short but when my boyfriend of four years broke up after cheating on me with another woman, on my 21st birthday, that's when my association with the group started to change. I had a lot of resentment for the boyfriend at the time and couldn't stand to be around him, in fact it just made me sick. The problem was, he was good friends with basically all of my friends, as we had run in completely the same social group for about four years. K and I were not close during this period in our lives, as we had kind of a rift that eventually worked itself out by us coming together to "fight a common foe," which is also another story for another time.

So anyway. K stayed friends with all of the people who were my good friends. I still had peripheral contact with them and saw them socially but it wasn't quite the same after my 21st birthday. By the time I was 25 or 26 I was engaged and married and didn't see any of them any more except K, who was in close social contact with all of them. She also forged some really strong bonding friendships with a few of them who are still of course close to her today.

I don't know why I didn't think any of them would come to the wake, but they did.

I showed up to the service right on time, 6pm on the nose, and Nancy was waiting outside when I got there. She hugged me and I tried not to cry, but I couldn't hold the tears in any more and they started to seep out. I sobbed a little bit and I said, "You're the first person I've hugged this week that actually understands how hard this is for me." She said, "I know, honey, and that's okay," and hugged me tight and close and ... tight. She held on to me like I held on to her. And I said, "I'm not okay." And she understood. And then she looked at me and said, "Well then, let's go inside." So we did.

K wasn't there yet but when we walked in the house there was a three piece jazz trio playing and beer and wine and food and a big house full of people. People who of course I'd never met before. And there were lots of pictures of Mom. I guess people brought pictures of her. I didn't know that was the arrangement, but I don't think I had any pictures of her to share anyway. But so many people I didn't know and so many pictures, I felt like if I had known about it I probably would have looked through my photo albums to see if had any from when K and I were teenagers. So I felt bad for not having pictures. And I felt weird for not knowing anyone. I basically clung to Nancy for about ten minutes and we each got a beer. I was determined not to drink a lot because I really haven't eaten much over the last three days if you average it out, so I had one Bud Light and so did Nancy.

K showed up after we'd been there about ten minutes. And she came in through the door like a pinball, everyone wanted to talk to her and everyone wanted to hug her. She walked right up to me and Nancy, and reached out and Nancy hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek and then K got pulled in another direction. I tried not to feel like she was avoiding hugging me or anything. And then I looked behind her and saw her friends who used to be my friends, S, M and L (her boyfriend, who dropped everything to help take care of her in this time of need, and I have amazing and incredible respect for that). S, M and L stopped just outside the hallway as it opened up to the main room and watched K pinballing through the room from person to person... and I felt their eyes boring a hole through my head. I glanced over and tried not to stare, but when I looked I immediately made eye contact with all three of them. They didn't smile or really acknowledge me except to look at me with what I interpreted as puzzled looks. K pinballed around the kitchen hugging person after person and talking to different people about things. Nancy had let me know that K would have some jobs for me to do about Mom's house and the like, since I live walking distance from there, and so I just bided my time as I figured she'd come to me when she was ready to talk to me.

I hovered near the kitchen and waited for K to make eye contact with me, and she didn't. I'm still not sure why it took her a while to, except that she knows how hard it is on me. I could still feel their eyes boring a hole in the back of my head and it was quite uncomfortable. I wanted to walk over to them but I didn't know what I would say - I hadn't really talked to any of them in almost ten years. I saw the three of them at a beer festival around a year ago but we didn't really talk, our interaction was full of the awkward silence that comes from "I used to know you" and "you're not the same person" realizations that hit full force when you're thrown into a social situation with a group you haven't seen in a long time. It doesn't help, either, that the three of them have been in constant contact which makes me an instant outsider. An outsider who's gained about 70 pounds since they really knew me and who has gone through some major life changing events that have indelibly left their mark on me and changed me forever. The death of Mom will be one of those things.

K finally came over to me and hugged me and patted me on the back, one of those "there there I know how you feel" type hugs that you don't really expect to get at a wake. I imagined people would be hugging and hanging on to each other like they didn't want to let go, comforting one another's sadness, but it was like we were all trying very hard to remember Mom for who she was and acknowledge that she wouldn't want any of us to cry. So I got the pat on the back hug and next thing I knew, she was handing me a key to Mom's house with some instructions and talk of who I should talk to that has the other key and what her plans were, even though they are still currently rather vague. I tried to put on my best game face and reassure her that I would be able to handle all of it and she wouldn't have to worry about it, and I did a pretty good job. And still I had eyes boring into the back of my head.

The wake went on and the rest of the evening was pretty much filled with me trying to talk to people I knew and trying not to cry. The band played, and every once in a while K and I would end up in the same room and we’d talk some more. Over the course of the evening I learned that she knows and understands that my relationship with her mom was special even though we didn’t see each other much. And that she cares about how I feel. And that she trusts me enough to help her with some pretty important stuff regarding her mom’s estate and the like.

And still the eyes bored into the back of my head.

When I was leaving there and feeling a little better but still like an outsider at the wake, M stood in front of me in the driveway and hugged me briefly and said “Feel better. Or something.” I guess that was his way of telling me he knew I was sad, but I really didn’t expect him to understand it.

I don’t know if I expect anyone to understand it.

I just felt like an outsider with people I used to know. And felt awkward with the person I consider my best friend. Death makes people act funny. Stress makes people see things differently. Pain makes people act in a way they might not normally. The loss of a loved one indelibly marks your life with a scar that you might carry around with you for the rest of your life. If I had lost my biological mother, people wouldn’t hesitate to understand my feelings and wouldn’t for a moment question my grief. But because I’m grieving strongly for the loss of a friend’s mother, people think it’s odd.

I suppose I have to remind myself that it’s okay if I’m the only one who understands it.

I'm ticked off.

I lost another auction.

You see, I can only really wear one kind of perfume, Eternity for Women by Calvin Klein. So if for some strange reason you've ever wondered what I smell like, that's what I smell like.

So I like to get it on eBay because it's cheaper

I'm almost out and have to get my hands on some, and I keep losing auctions for it. I'm getting rather frustrated.

Just thought I'd share.

Phuck.

Here's some odd thoughts, so I don't have to write about the memorial service. I'll try to find a way to put that experience into words tomorrow. It won't be too fun.

Okay. Stuff.

I read today on The Yeti that some bloggers get boring when their tirades turn into a where they went and what they did of each individual day. So some things today while I was doing my thing caught my attention, and I thought I'd reference them here.

The guy who sells hot dogs in front of the Bank One building in Phoenix does some strange stuff. When it's 118 degrees at 3pm, he's still out there selling hot dogs and hasn't packed up his crap yet. But today when it's 93 degrees and breezy he's packing up his stuff at 2:00 p.m. What's his schedule about? Do lots of people buy hot dogs when it's 118 degrees at 3:00 p.m.?

And the name of his hot dog cart is NVR DOGS What does that stand for? At first I thought perhaps it meant, "Never Dogs" but that didn't make sense. Then, I came up with "Envy Our Dogs," which could also be a possibility, but why would you envy the dog if you could just pay $2.00 for a red hot at 3:00 in the afternoon when it's 118 degrees? $2.75 for a dog, drink and chips. Add kraut for $0.25.

I got acosted by only one homeless person today on the way to the bank. Now I'm a hefty girl and this woman, she had to be two of me. I mean I bet she topped 300 pounds. And she walked up to me while I waited at the corner. She was wearing bright red pants and a bright yellow shirt with no bra (believe me when I tell you there was no doubt this woman had on no bra) and said, "Ma'am, do you have any change please?" I honestly had nothing on me that I could have given her and said, "No, sorry." There were four other people on the corner. She didn't ask any of them. Why? Why did she choose me, and why did a 300 pound woman who obviously gets to eat way more than I do, need my spare change?

I went to Jack In The Box today at lunch with Mojo. Now upon going there, I learned that a Turkey Jack burger, which is marketed as being healthier than your average hamburger for people who like burgers, comes standard on a whole wheat bun with "fresh produce" (lettuce, tomato and red onion), ketchup, and... mayonnaise and three slices of cheese.

Three. Slices. Of cheese. And mayo. What other burgers at Jack In The Crack have three slices of cheese? The Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger? Hey, I'll just take that, thanks. Sheesh. If I were going to have a hamburger, you might as well have the one that tastes like pork fat on a roll and have the two patty two slice of cheese ultimate bacon cheeseburger. I don't know if it comes with Mayo, but it sure as hell comes with one less slice of cheese than on the damned low fat heart healthy $3.29 Turkey Jack.

Three dollars and twenty nine cents for a heart bomb.

Let's see, what else. The power went out last night right after I finished working just before 9pm. It was out for a little over an hour, maybe close to two. It also blew like a motherfucker here, and the pool that S. worked so hard to clean is now filthy dirty, and there's lawn furniture in the yard. Actually I fished a lawn chair out of the bottom of the pool this morning. This is the time of year I hate living here. 25 mile an hour winds and 100+ freaking degrees, pouring rain and a whole neighborhood of crap dumped up in my cul-de-sac yard. Fuck me, man, I don't have time for this shit. I have two jobs to do, four animals to babysit and a boyfriend to try to take care of, goddammit. Plus, if my damned neighbor would keep her fucking pine tree trimmed... PINE TREE! If she would trim her PINE TREE, then 20 pounds of needles wouldn't end up in my DESERT ROCK YARD for me to have to vacuum up with the damned portable leaf blower vac. That I had to buy. At Home Depot. Just to suck up fucking pine needles.

I think that's about it. My eyes hurt from crying at the memorial, I'm a little emotionally wound up, I had a glass of wine and S. is going to call me when he's off his shift at Luke AFB tonight at around midnight, so I should see if I can get an hour's sleep before that happens.

Oh, and I'm breaking out in hives. Stress, I suppose. I have already scratched myself until I'm bruised. Just lost track of my own strength.

I'm tired.

So I'm going to bed.

Hope my discussion of my day wasn't too boring for y'all.

Please see the NEW link under NEWS on the left hand side - Hall Of Stupid Internet Horndogs - thanks to Shanna for putting this together. Read three women's interactions with random IM internet horndogs and the efforts they make to get in our pants. It's actually kind of a crack-up, and could be educational for you or someone you know if you happen to use IM to try to meet chicks. Not that I think any of you would do that. But in case you do. Or know someone. Or if you're a chick who is used to this kind of thing anyway. You know what I'm trying to say.

Peezeowt.

Okay. So let me catch you up a little bit.

I finally heard from K.,and she seems to be holding up remarkably well under the circumstances. The memorial for her mother is tonight at 6pm and then I've been told that some time in the future, maybe a couple of weeks down the road, we are going to have our own spiritual-based memorial where we remember her for who WE knew her as, we, the people who did see her as a Mom figure. There would be three or four of us at that, I think. I'm guessing my closure is going to come at the "real" memorial when we get together and not tonight. But I'm going tonight anyway.

So yesterday I get in the truck to go to work after stopping at my mom's house and the car starts clunking and jerking like I'm running over pot-holes in the road. I called Mojo and asked him if he could meet me at the Isuzu dealership since I had to take the truck down there and have them look at it, I couldn't keep driving it like that. Being the guy he is, which is why I care so much about him, he turned his car around and met me at the dealership and I rode into work with him. Of course by the time I phoned him I was in tears, because I couldn't understand how one more thing could happen this week that I'd have to deal with. After all, am I not having enough trouble dealing with Paula's death, now I have to deal with the truck?

I think my mom (biological) once said to me, "God doesn't give you more than you can handle in a day." Now although her concept of "God" and mine differ, I'd have to agree with that idea. That maybe just when we think we're at the end of our rope and there's nothing else we can take, we get pushed just a little farther to prove to us that we can.

Work has been good but busy. Seems like every time I turn around there's a little bit more to do, which is good. It's keeping me busy. Less to think about when you're thinking about work.

Oh! I got my first IM from my blog yesterday and I was really, really excited. Interestingly enough it's one of the people who was looking for an "armpit lump!" Ha! Thank you, lumpy armpits! So anyway, had a nice conversation with this person, who wanted to know if my lump went away and what I did. Maybe I converted another reader. Who knows! Well, if you're reading this, new armpit lump friend, howdy do and don't forget to let me know about how your doctor's appointment went. Don't worry, I won't give your Yahoo ID here, who else needs to know you have an armpit lump?

And then the storm came. My boyfriend is working nights this week, and he got caught right in the middle of it. At about 9pm, my lights just kind of went, "clunk." It was awful - was on the phone with S. and I said, "The lights just flickered." And he said "Better go get some candles," and I lost him. Two seconds later the lights were out and it was pitch black dark, and I bet it was 20mph wind or more. My lawn furniture flew across my yard, my beautiful clean pool is now no longer beautiful and clean, and I was scared.

For some reason I have never liked thunderstorms. S. loves them. I'm like my dogs, I would rather just hide. I think part of it lately is because I'm alone here in my house, so that makes it that much worse. I get worried a tree's going to fall or I'm going to be without power all night or whatever in the world I have to be worried about. So it's frustrating. The power came back on around 11p I guess, and S. called me three times to check on me.

I'm real lucky to have S. while I'm going through all of this. Mojo reminded me yesterday that he's not like everyone else. He's so interested in communicating with me and keeping in touch and making sure I know he's thinking about me. I don't know if he realizes how much those little communication things mean to me in situations like this. All I really need is to be kept in contact with. All I really need is love, man. Isn't that a song?

I'm a lucky girl. Despite all this bullshit that's been going on. I have someone to go through it with. And that makes all the difference in the world.

I went to Wal Mart.

I bought two cans of Pringles and a bag of Bugles, a bottle of cranberry juice (reduced calorie) and a can of vegetable soup.

I'm not proud of what I have done.

Please take a moment and read the blogs of some of my friends, old and new, who can be found down the left hand side of the page. Read what they have to say, comment if you're so inclined. Maybe you'll pick up a new "must read" in the process!

I don't know if I am going to really post anything today. I still feel like I got run over by a mack truck. I still haven't heard directly from my best friend which means she does, too, as she should under the circumstances.

Please bear with me in the meantime. I'm sorry for the gap. I think I just need to sleep a little, and I don't feel like I slept at all. So it's all weird.

If for some reason I don't get anything else posted today please understand. Thanks.

Rose

My best friend’s mother died.

I found out the news this morning while I sat at my desk and worked. Another dear friend of mine called to give me the news, because Kelly knew she wouldn’t be able to make it through the conversation with me without crying.

Paula was like a second mom to me. A close friend of mine commented that I never talked about her. It was an odd set of circumstances, me and Kelly and Paula.

Kelly is my best friend on the planet. And I don’t see or talk to her all that much. We just have one of those relationships where when our time overlaps it’s amazing and wonderful, and when it doesn’t, we’re okay too. We’ve known each other for about 17 or 18 years. And for those years, I called Paula, Kelly’s mother, “Mom.”

When I was an angst-filled teenager that felt like she had nowhere to turn, Kelly’s mom talked to me and called me “kiddo” and tried to help me figure stuff out. She opened her house to me and tolerated Kelly and I sewing costume dresses and singing from the South Pacfic soundtrack. She decorated cakes and loved bird houses.

When she got divorced and got her apartment, I would go over there with Kelly and say hi to her from time to time. She had a beautiful little patio on her bottom floor apartment that was filled with green potted plants and Guido, her cat, who lazed around wondering why the rest of the world was in such a hurry. I remember roller skating with her. We were probably in our early or mid 20’s. Paula was dating a man who would go roller skating with her. Once or twice, Kelly and I went roller skating with them. I remember seeing her gliding around the rink, forwards, then backwards, making it look so easy. And I remember the smile on her face as she zoomed around.

When she got her house, I’d go over there with Kelly and check out the new kittens or the way she rearranged the furniture. When I’d take my walks through the neighborhood in the morning, I’d silently say “Good morning, Mom” when I’d walk past her house. I figured somehow, she heard me.

When Kelly told her that I’m a witch, she accepted me where I fear my own parents would never accept me. She might not have exactly considered me as one of her kids, but I certainly thought of her as a Mom.

For years, I wished she WAS my mom. Someone so understanding, forward thinking, with so much spark and so much life. She didn’t care what the world thought of her. She was just going to be who she was. Evil ex husbands and psycho freak people be damned. Paula was going to do things her way.

And then she got cancer.

Paula fought the cancer better than I could ever have imagined it. She got chemo for this kind of cancer, surgery for another, medications and trials and trips to California and second and third opinions. She made jokes about it, she met it head on and she made sure that none of us were ever afraid for her.

Paula died of complications from brain surgery. She was having a tumor removed from her brain that was found when she applied for eligibility for a new cancer drug trial. The surgery was supposed to be as “routine” as brain surgery could be. Her frail body just never quite recovered. Kelly didn’t tell me on Saturday when it happened. She wanted to have a little better handle on things before she told me.

And today I feel like I lost a friend mom. My mom. Mom.

I love you, Mom. It’s not like I have to tell you so, but watch over Kelly. She lived for you. Living without you, living after you, is going to be very hard on her.

It’s going to be hard on me, too.

Hi, anyone coming over from eBay. Not sure how I made the thread or the list over there, but if you ever want to come back you're more than welcome.

I am continually amazed.

And now for today's Spam Title That Made Me Laugh is:

"Is your peeeeeeeeeeeenis big enough?"

My penis is just fine, thanks...

Palabra.

Just a moment to thank and welcome readers from Japan, Chile, Canada, Australia, Montana, Texas, New Mexico, Tucson AZ, the US Army, the US Coast Guard, and many other places and companies and homes. It's really neat to be able to see where everyone is looking in from. I just get giddy thinking that there are people from around the world who might take a few seconds to read about my life and what goes on with me. So thank you. You are welcomed and appreciated. I'd probably write even if nobody read. But the idea that someone reads, is even cooler.

Now, here's an interesting little tidbit:

Put Me In Coach, I'm Ready To Play

Google is a wonderful creature. How else could I be getting so many poor people, confused as they must be upon getting here, who were searching Google for:

Kobe Bryant Lying Whore
Kobe Bryant's Penis Size (3 entries)
Kobe Sexual Assault Picture Girl
Picture Or Image Of Girl Kobe Committed Adultery With
Picture Of Woman Kobe Bryant Had Sex With
Kobe Bryant Sexual Assault Pic
Kobe Bryant Assault Victim Picture Name Address
Kobe Bryant Pic Girlfriend
Kobe Bryant Sex Assault Pic
Kobe Bryant Felony Sexual Assault
Kobe Bryant Adultery Woman
Kobe Bryant Girlfriend Colorado Picture
Kobe Bryant Sexual Assault Girl Pic
Picture Of Girl From Colorado Who Sleep With Kobe Bryant
Girl Kobe Bryant Had Sex With Pic
Picture Of Girl Kobe Bryant Name Address Phone Number
Kobe Bryant Wife Pic
Kobe Bryant Colorado Photograph Home Address

I guess we know what's on the world's mind, eh? Those topics are all topics people searched on Google, MSN, and Yahoo, and somehow got the link to this blog and for some reason clicked on it. And came here, and found my rant about his predicament.

Why does the world want to know this girl's address? What, they think they're gonna go get a piece? Please.

People are so strange.

Oh and then there was the winning entry this week: "Is Your Girlfriend A Cheat?

Seriously.

How is it that fifty unique visitors read this a day, and I get no comments?

Come on people, show the love. seriously. What in the world is going on with that?!

Sigh. I feel unworthy and unloved.

Do you feel guilty enough yet to comment?

The best spam title I've seen in days in my Hotmail box that gets about 40 pieces of spam a night... (if you ever write me there please put something like "blog" in the title so I don't overlook it)... is officially... "THE GREATER MASS WILL HELP YOU GET SOME ASS!" Oh, lord. Yeah, last time I checked, I'd have to say my penis appeared to be inadequate. Oh wait, maybe that's because I have BREASTS.

gah. I still had to laugh. Mass. Ass. It rhymes.

Well, welcome to another installment of Not My Place To Blog About It.

S.'s stupid ex wife Angela is at it again. So, there's a lot of things going on there in the "personal life" department that really shouldn't even be affecting me, but are. I don't know if it's that he's so used to dealing with her bullshit, and the bullshit of others, that he just lets it roll off his back like water off a duck, but I'm not wired that way. I'm kind of hardwired into the whole freaking out until stuff is resolved method of living, which is probably why I'm teetering on the edge of an ulcer.

That seems to be one of the biggest differences between S. and I. He flares up but then comes to his senses and uses the flare-up to motivate him to just finish things off. Me, I get flared up and then I just carry my stress around like it's a sack lunch, and nibble on it from time to time. Eventually I'm gnawing on the paper sack, but that's just the way I've always handled things.

So, S. tried to reassure me that what's going on with him is not only just an unfortunate part of life, but that together we'll get through it and that he's just going to keep doing the next right thing.

It's not that I'm not confident that he's DOING the FIRST right thing, because I am. And it's not that I think he's not capable of doing it, because I know he is, or we are. And I'm glad that he's taking me along on the ride, actually. But I suppose I get scared that somehow, this freako woman who's standing in the middle of the railroad tracks with a sign that says "stop," as the speeding train that is my relationship with S. comes barreling down the track, is actually going to get the train to stop.

Did that make any sense?

I want to believe that the only person who can screw things up for me and S., is me and S. And so if she's able to detour this relationship by making other things the primary source of action in his life, that's just frustrating for me.

You see! It IS about me! I AM a narcicisstic bitch!

This thing I've got going on with S. is the best thing that's probably ever happened to me. We understand each other and we support each other, we make a point of being there for each other no matter what. Maybe I need to learn that being there and being supportive is what is most important (jump in any time, any of you men out there that would love to educate me about the finer points). I'm a fixer, I want to fix stuff. I want to wave my magick wand and make everything in this psycho ex wife's little plan for superiority to just disappear. But, I can't do it. All I can do is watch. Just be there, and be supportive, shut up, smile, and watch.

It's hard for me. Control freak. Not in that bad self destructive evil way, but in that "c'mon I'm sure I can help you with that, let me help you" way.

da. da. da.

Because I am broke as all hell, in lieu of coffee, have consumed one Vivarin and one Diet Mountain Dew. Think that'll get me going? Can't have another day at work where I feel like I am spinning my wheels. So many changes going on there, things I can't write about here because I was told in confidence, things coming up that are going to affect me and others around me, things that run the risk of changing my job around. Some more.

Jesus, I just want to get a handle on the projects I HAVE right now! Worked on travel booking for some of the folks in the office all day yesterday. Ended up getting the travel booked and then had an upper management member come to me and basically say "See these trips where they go from this city to this one to this one all in one trip? I'd like you to break that out as all separate trips so we can make a cost comparison." Wouldn't approve the first trip until I did that. It's fine and all, it's just that I have so much stuff to do right now I feel like I have 6 small things going on and not getting any one in particular of them done.

I did get three things off my list yesterday, but I'm still behind after adding three more things to my list that need to get done.

I hope we hire some folks soon. I'm so tired leaving there in the evenings lately between hard work and personal stress, and then I have to come home and work... it's a hard row to hoe.

Seriously.

Tired.

Please check out Shanna's Soapbox and her blog if you get a chance. She's got some great writing on there and we seem to think alike. If you like this, you'll probably like her.

Also, if you're interested, S.'s blog has a new template that could use a tweak or two. I'm having trouble making the archives show up right on the right hand side. Anyone know any good tricks? The standard line breaks and paragraph markers don't work no matter what I do, and I'm really stuck.

Peezeowt, y'all.

People I Need To Kill:

My dear, wonderful, perfect friend Mojo who is one of the masterminds behind us getting staff pictures taken today in 110 degrees and humid on the 25th floor balcony of a large office building in hazy downtown Phoenix.

Rose, afraid of heights, is standing on the balcony, near the railing, tugging nervously at her attractive red suit with navy trim, wondering if she has lipstick on her teeth. John, the mild-mannered white-shirted bespectacled anal-retentive factcruncher, who is behind the camera, is fiddling with the flash and focus.

"These are in black and white," Mojo said to me. "Oh," I said. "Really?"

"Yeah, you're familiar with black and white, you should be comfortable." I smiled and shrugged.

"Except you know, here you have your clothes on."

John looked at him, looked at me, looked back at him, muttered something like, "I don't want to know..." and went about snapping my photo.

It still won't be as sexy as my self portrait. C'mon. Seriously.

/sarcasm

At this point, I closed the window. About two minutes later…

miko_like90: u re not chat with me
sablerose70: No. You aren't chatting with me, you don't have a profile, and you're just looking for sex. I'm not going to give you sex, or discuss my breast size, so it's just not worth it.
sablerrose70: Bye, now.

Again I closed his window. And again he came back from the dead after about two minutes. I chose to ignore him for a while and see if he’d have a conversation with himself, true to form of any random Neanderthal internet horndog.

He did not disappoint.

miko_like90: ur pic nice
miko_like90: ok
miko_like90: nice job
miko_like90: ok
miko_like90: ur hobbies good ok
BUZZ!!! (ed. Note: thank goodness I don’t have speakers at my desk)
miko_like90: sorry not discase ur parts ok
BUZZ!!!

This went on for at least ten more minutes, as I walked away from the computer and came back to still find him talking to himself. I then went to take care of something far from the computer, and came back to find I had apparently hit the jackpot.


kevndeb85205: your pretty

(checked profile, and true to form, nothing but age and gender)

sablerose70: thanks.
kevndeb85205: welcome
kevndeb85205: single?
kevndeb85205: sweety
sablerose70: All my personal information is on my profile.
kevndeb85205: would you like to see a guy that has a g/f but on the side?
sablerose70: If I knew your girlfriend, I'd tell her she shouldn't be dating a lying cheat.
kevndeb85205: welcome
kevndeb85205: alright bye then
sablerose70: Do you share an email address with her? Is her name Deb? Kev and Deb? I could jot her a note.
kevndeb85205: nope
kevndeb85205: only my email addy
kevndeb85205: sorry bye
sablerose70: Too bad. Cheating slime shouldn't have access to troll the internet.
sablerose70: I hope she catches you.
kevndeb85205: she won't
sablerose70: You should just break up with her if she doesn't keep you satisfied.
sablerose70: Instead of being a lying, filthy cheat.
kevndeb85205: OK
sablerose70: Oh, don't wanna talk now?
kevndeb85205: k goodbye then stop sending me im's
sablerose70: Do you get a lot of action asking out random internet women who have boyfriends so you can screw around on your girlfriend?
kevndeb85205: actually some yes
kevndeb85205: there are very horny woman out there
sablerose70: I'm sure they're all falling all over you.
sablerose70: apparently your girlfriend's not.
kevndeb85205: no but they just want to have other sex partners
sablerose70: Kinda like you.
sablerose70: I just wonder why you even bother having a girlfriend if you're trolling for internet poon on the side.
kevndeb85205: hmmmmmmmmmmm
kevndeb85205: good question guess you'll never know

(oooooh, now THAT makes me want some wet monkey lovin...)

sablerose70: Yeah, because you're so up front and honest.
kevndeb85205: sure am
kevndeb85205: good bye
sablerose70: If you're so honest, why doesn't your girlfriend know you're screwing around?
kevndeb85205: never said i was honest now did i
kevndeb85205: are you that bore that you keep on
sablerose70: Actually, you did. I said, "Yeah, because you're so up front and honest," and you replied, "sure am."

(busted).

kevndeb85205: oh well well there is an ignore button so now your on it
sablerose70: No, not bored. Just think it's completely amazing that a guy who has a girlfriend would choose a girl who has a boyfriend to send an IM to and solicit sex, under the assumption that I would be a lying filthy cheat.
sablerose70: Ignoring me is sure easier than defending your actions, isn't it, poon boy?
kevndeb85205: i'm having fun unlike you
sablerose70: Yeah, you know me.
sablerose70: You're obviously unhappy with something, since you're looking for something else to make up for it. Whatever, though.
sablerose70: Yeah, maybe you should put me on ignore. Then you won't be soliciting sex from me any more.
sablerose70: Don't worry though, I've archived this whole conversation, and it's going on my blog. Nice to know you.
sablerose70: I'll even link to your profile. Not that there's anything in it.
sablerose70: Keep up the good work!

… and miko finally shut up.

Here’s something fun. Everyone who reads this should email our buddy Kevin and tell him he’s a lying, filthy internet poon trolling cheat.

Even better, maybe you should send him a Yahoo! IM (click here)! Are you with me? Hey, if you are, be sure to comment and let me know. Follow me! You know you wanna! Muahahahahahahahahahah!

Go here to ensure that people in love will have the right to be married and live together legally, lawfully, with all the rights and privileges given to committed married couples in this country.

It's the right thing to do.

Please take just a minute. Thanks.

Okay. So I’m frustrated when bad things happen to good people. Life can make things so rough sometimes, and there’s nothing we can do about it. I will never rightly understand why people who do nothing but leech from the world and screw other people over to get ahead, continue to get ahead.

I’m a firm believer in karma. Do what you do, and I’ll do what I do, and if I don’t injure you and you don’t injure me, it’s good. Do what you have to do in your life to be happy, but don’t make other people miserable in the process.

People like Angela (S.'s ex) and my ex and other folks I know, or know of, do that. They pursue happiness at the EXPENSE of other people. And I have this streak where I want to be the Angel of Justice and I want to punish them all for what they do to other people. I want to make it right for the other guy. I want to watch karma in action.

Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way.

And so I sit here, wishing there were something I could do for S., and wishing I could rain down hellfire and sulfur on the ex husbands and ex wives and Napoleonic little pricks of the world. But I can’t.

This is when a person has to have faith. I guess I better start practicing.

Can't I just hunt them all down and beat them silly?

Another day, another dollar, another weekend.

First, let me rant just a little bit about being a girl on the internet who can take a decent pictures. Anyone who has seen my Yahoo! Profile will testify that I make very clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am not looking for love, or sex, or cybersmut. I mention my “long term relationship” and how I am “madly in love” with the man of my dreams. Short of having pictures of the two of us on the profile, I don’t know what else I could do. I suppose I could not have a profile, or I could sit in “invisible” mode on Yahoo! Messenger all the time, which I actually did for about six straight months to avoid people.

But then I put my online indicator on the blog, so I figured I would actually show myself as online when I really was in the hopes I might meet a new friend who might want to talk to me from reading this little slice of my life.

How wrong can a girl be?

I swear to God/dess, I’ve ignored more people in the last two or three days on Yahoo than I did in six months. Men who page me and just say “hi” and nothing else and then have no profile of their own (I probably won’t talk to you if you don’t have a profile) or who want to guilt me into sitting there and talking to them while they ask me if I was naked in those photos when I took them (no) or if I want to cyber… then there’s the whole thing where they send pictures with themselves (supposedly) naked, or of their disgusting hairy penises, or who are looking for a “good time.” The local boys are the worst, it seems, because they seem to think I’ll drop everything (including my boyfriend) and run off and meet them somewhere for a quickie.

Men are weird. Why do they do this? Why do people selectively read? They see a picture of a girl on the internet (and I’m not even all that fine, let’s be realistic) and they think it’s gonna get them laid. They selectively read. They miss the part about me being in love (even when my Yahoo! Status is set to “madly in love” or having a boyfriend. Selective listening. Selective reading. It’s unreal. And of course I’m oddly responding to all of them at least once unless they fly out of the box with “wanna get naked for me on your cam?” Because somewhere, deep down, I am hoping it’s someone who’s been reading my soap opera life and would like to talk to me, but that doesn’t happen.

Am I bitter? No. I am just tired of being hit on by weirdos.

The Boy With The Cold, Hard Cash Is Always Mr. Right.

Okay so not really.

But S. got me a present. Ever seen a body pillow? It’s like a huge long five foot or more long pillow that’s just big enough to snuggle up against like you’ve got someone in the bed with you. He brought me one of those, since I have a hard time getting to sleep after he’s been in the house with me a couple days. A sort of surrogate S., if you will. It just can’t hold me back. Oh well. But I don’t like thunderstorms, which has been the weather in the evenings here lately, and this helped me sleep pretty much through it.

Too bad I took some medicine before I went to bed and had a hard time getting up this morning. I’ve been dragging all day and I’m just feeling a little worn down. Maybe I’m a little hormonal. Maybe I’m just an evil bitch. I suppose it’s not for me to decide.

Palabra.

I used to love basketball.

I used to love the NBA. I mean, I was a fan. I was a hard-core fan. One year when I was in college I remember watching the end of an NBA game in the finals when Phoenix (where I live) beat the Lakers (where I don’t live) in a game they were honestly supposed to lose. And my roommate and I got in the car and drove to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport with the express purpose of being there in the terminal to welcome the Suns home. I think we had little cardboard signs and everything. It took us a half an hour to get into the terminal parking lot and then we sat in the terminal for over an hour waiting for them to come out, but when they heard the airport was mobbed by a screaming hoarde of basketball freaks chanting “go Suns, go Suns,” they detoured the plane and shuffled them off a different way than through the public terminal.

And I was okay with it. At least I was there with the other basketball freaks to show my support.

I remember sitting on the floor of my first apartment with a wine cooler and a bag of chips watching the basketball games. I remember watching games with my mother. I remember shouting at the TV and being all excited to see “Go Suns!” banners plastered all over buildings around Phoenix when I was younger. I remember what it was like to be able to take some pride in stuff.

Then, little by little, the BIG BAD GANGSTA mentality took over. Guys started showing up to play in cornrows and strange body jewelry. We’d hear stories of people getting arrested for weapon possession or drug use or sexual assault. Basketball shorts got longer and longer so now they just look like they’re wearing baggy man-versions of Capri pants. Logos started to change so they looked more “90’s” or “millennium.” Free Agency ruled the world. $120,000,000 contracts. First draft picks out of high school. Mushmouthed athletes who can’t form valid sentences being granted locker room interviews. Centers taking more time to make bad movies and even worse rap albums than practicing the one thing that is their real and true job. Complaints that they aren’t making enough money.

Hello? These men’s raging post-game shit is probably worth more than I make in a year.

Somewhere along the line, professional athletes – and it seems in particular NBA athletes – turned into a bunch of whining, crying, don’t-wanna-do-anything-but-be-a-gangsta-celebrity, fuck-you-I-play-basketball pussy pieces of shit. Now I’m sure there are some out there that understand that they are getting paid more in a year than most people make in a lifetime to play a game, to bounce a ball, to be an icon, but those aren’t the ones we hear about. The ones who get noticed, the ones who wreck it for everyone else, and the ones who destroyed my enjoyment of that game, are the pussy crybaby asshats.

So Kobe Bryant got charged today with felony sexual assault. Imagine that. And after denying that anything happened, he was kind enough to issue a written statement admitting to adultery but not to sexual assault.

Adultery. Have you seen Kobe Bryant’s wife? Ladies and gentlemen (especially the gentlemen) she’s hot. Make that HOTT! That girl is amazingly pretty. And she’s a new mother. He has a new baby. What the hell does he think he’s doing bobbing his knob in Colorado when his ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS WIFE and new baby are at home in Los Angeles? What, he can’t stand to be away from her for a few days? Sexual addiction? We can only hope.

The reality is, Kobe’s got a trophy wife, a child that he probably had just so he could try to live up to his image of being a family man, and I sincerely hope that soon he is going to have both a very, very, very, very, very rich MILF of an EX WIFE, a very well-taken-care-of trophy child, and a very, very rich young gal in Colorado who gets to clean up at the bank too. That asshat of an adulterous gansta wannabe twit doesn’t deserve the money he makes (do any of them?). Someone who had to sacrifice something for it might as well enjoy it.

Before anyone says anything, this is not racially motivated and I will soundly deny any such thing. There have been, there are, and there will be whiney-ass athletes, black, white, brown, purple, and everything in between, in professional sports as long as we continue to pay them outrageous salaries and wear their numbers on our backs like worshippers in a temple.

But more athletes should be like Pat Tillman, who quit a lucrative NFL career to serve his country as an army ranger just in time for the war. Oh, and his brother, who signed up too. In my opinion, there’s a real man. There’s a real athlete. There’s a real champion.

Boycott Sprite, McDonald’s, Spalding, Upper Deck, and anything else you know that Kobe Bryant or any other lawbreaking sex offender athlete endorses.

It’s the right thing to do.

Some things I have realized in the first few hours of work today.

1) My boss looks like my WeatherPixie. No, I am not kidding. She's almost the same size, too. I love my boss.

2) I have very little patience today.

3) Self important businessmen who think the world should revolve around them, who repeatedly tell you that the meeting they have been begging to be a part of isn't conveniently scheduled... who say "Please let me be involved the next time you meet" and then with three weeks notice say "That's not convenient, I can't make it"... for whom you hold THREE time slots open and they tell you they can SURELY make one, allowing you to overlook anyone else who might have been able to make it in the time slots, only to tell you A WEEK LATER that they can't make it... are asshats.

4) I am very, very hungry.

5) I want sushi. Specifically, I want a spicy salmon roll with cucumber (the kind with creamy spicy japanese mayo in it), I want salmon nigiri, I want eel, I want ginger, I want edamame, I want spicy tuna roll, I want yellowtail scallion, I want tobiko, I want anything that's not freaking monkfish freaking liver or disgusting brown slimy bitter booger uni. I want sushi. Did I mention I wanted some sushi? I really wish I could get some sushi.

6) I miss S.

7) Hungry. Yeah.

Well, here is the story of the day my mother apologized to me. As S. was kind enough to point out to me, from here we just have to see if she’s going to live up to what she’s said. But at least it was good to hear from her.

I stopped over to my mom’s the other day to drop off and pick up some typing work (she acts as my courier during the week). As always, when I went over there I was pretty much interested in getting in and getting out as soon as possible, so I wasn’t very chit-chatty. We talked briefly about my interaction with my asshat of an ex husband, and she was sympathetic to my feelings as well as reminding me what a better person I am than him anyway. She told me she was proud of me for the way I handled things, and thought it was great.

And that’s when she started to cry. “I just want you to be happier,” she said. “You’re not a happy person, and I believe that’s my fault.” I didn’t know what to say. I just kind of stood there in a strange, silent awe, while she looked at me and tears filled her eyes.

”I’m a happy person,” I said. “I’m happy right now in more ways than I’ve been in years.” She grabbed my hand and said, “Yes, I can understand that, I see that. But there’s so much more you could be happy about. You deserve so many things. Why don’t you understand how happy and healthy you deserve to be? Everyone around you does.”

I couldn’t understand where all of this was coming from, which is about the time I said, “Where is all of this coming from?” She said, “When I’m so critical of you and judgmental, I’m not mean because I’m being mean to you. I mean, I’m being mean to you, but it’s not just that.”

I was, at this point, getting a little confused.

”It’s like this,” she said. “I have two kids. One of them has a husband, a son, and a baby on the way. The other one is the better person. You. You’re the better person.”

I was still silent.

”I don’t know what I did,” she said, “when you were younger. Somewhere along the line, I think I taught you how to hate yourself. I taught you that you weren’t good enough and that you’d never be good enough. I taught you that you didn’t matter. I taught you that you weren’t worth it.” Now, I was starting to cry.

”I’ve been trying to undo whatever it is I did to you as a child that makes you still believe those things,” she said, “because I was wrong. You’re not less-than. But I taught you how to hate yourself.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from my mother. My mom, who can’t be around me for five minutes without finding something to berate me for, or criticize.

”The reason I get so angry and critical when I am being judgmental of you… is because it’s all my fault. So I’m judging you, and being critical of you… and then I realize I’ve done this to you, I’m the one who taught you how to be so critical of yourself, how to not like yourself, how to hate yourself. And then I get mad at me. And by then I’ve already said it or done it. I just get mad. At myself. I’m sorry.”

I was, at this point, still silent. I didn’t know what to say. I think sometimes I’ve prayed for the moment where she would understand – no – ACKNOWLEDGE that she has something to do with my periodic bouts of self loathing. With the reasons behind why I’m overweight, behind my eating disorder, behind my period of depression a couple years ago. Not that it was her FAULT, but that she was somehow connected.

And here, in my 33rd year on the planet, here she was doing it. Saying it. Acknowledging it.

” I’m sorry,” she said. Then we talked about S. for a while and what an amazing guy he is, and she told me that she almost cried this weekend in the car when she heard us having a little conversation driving down the road:

S: Hey. Look at that house. Great color.
R: It’s green. That’s gross.
S: Let’s have a green house.
R: Let me think about that…. No.
S: C’mon, it’s all the rage. All the kids are doing it.
R: We aren’t going to have a green house.
S: How about green trim?
R: No.
S: Do you like purple?
R: Purple’s not bad.
S: Can we have a purple house?
R: I don’t think so.
S: Oh come on, let’s build a little purple house.

She likes him. She likes that we tease each other about the future. She likes it that he holds my hand and lets me fall asleep leaning against him on the couch. So, for her to acknowledge that I’ve made a fine choice in men is also another major breakthrough.

Anyone who’s known me for any length of time and knows my mom will acknowledge that she’s never done anything like this. I guess I just have to wait to see if she lives up to it or not.

So. I know, not very entertaining or fun, but those are the facts.

Just the facts, ma’am.

Some people are just stupid. And the ones that are purely stupid are the least bothersome of all of the stupid people. The ones that are stupid and annoying rank above purely stupid folks; the ones that are rude and stupid rank above the annoying individuals; and the people who are STUPID, ANNOYING AND RUDE outclass all others on the Hierarchy of Stupid.

S.’s ex wife, in this circumstance, would qualify as SAR. Stupid, Annoying, and Rude.

The other day S. phoned me to let me know that he got a late notice on a movie that we had rented from my local video store, the one half a mile from my house. We had rented “About Schmidt” and had taken it over to my mom’s house to watch, and we returned it the next day. Or at least, I thought we did. He let me know we had a late notice from Blockbuster, sent to his apartment (did we rent the movies under his name that night?) in the amount of $4.09.

So I told him I’d take care of it, and I forgot briefly. I was over at his place last night and I saw the late notice. I figured I’d snag it to help me remember to pay the late fee on my way home today. And I started reading it, and noticed that it gave clear instructions:

To make payment arrangements, please phone (210) 590-4575 at your earliest convenience.

Please remit payment to Blockbuster Video, 3195 Nacogdoches Rd, San Antonio, TX 78217.

For more information about this transaction, please phone your local Blockbuster Video store at (210) 590-4575.

Okay. What? Exqueeze me?

So I look at this card more closely and figure out that it’s also mailed from San Antonio, probably from this strange Blockbuster on Nacogdoches Road, to S.’s address here in Arizona.

Guess who lives in San Antonio, TX? Who had the same last name as S.? Who could possibly be lazy enough that rather than get her own Blockbuster Video account, she’d stand at the counter and bat her (stupid) eyes at the video store clerk trying to convince him that she should be able to rent on S.’s account?

Who would return a New Release late and then conveniently forget to let anyone know that there might be a late charge showing up?

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?

Angela. (Picture the old Seinfeld sitcom… remember when Jerry and Newman used to pass in the hallway? “Jerry.” “Newman.”

Angela is Newman. She’s scheming. She’s conniving. She’s lazy. She thinks the world owes her. And she’s divorced from S. and is using his Blockbuster Video account, after he has taken her off the account. What a bitch.

So, now he has to take time tonight to phone them in TEXAS and talk to them about how he had taken her off the account, and she wasn’t allowed to use it, and he’s not going to pay their freaking $4.09 since – as he’s in Arizona – there’s no way he rented that movie. Gah.

Amazing.

You’re Just Like A Pill, You’re Making Me Ill

My mom apologized to me. Anyone want to hear about that?

Def Leppard. Rock on.

So the pictures that have been added into the header, are me. Honest and for true.

All three are self-portraits. Left and right taken in my home. Middle taken on an ATV in Los Barriles, Baja California Sur, Mexico in November, 2002, where my dad is retiring (and where I hope to some day).

Shyeah.

Just a little plug for my good friend Mojo and my good friend Krystal who have started blogs. Give them a read if you get a chance. They just started, so have patience. I guarantee they have stories to tell. :)

peezeowt

*Yawn*

So this morning, Maury took me for coffee. Thank you, my friend, for providing me the sweet, sweeeeeeeeeet elixir of life. Even if I did get it with half the fat. (nonfat milk, add whipped cream. I must be some kind of idiot.) And so I'm looking at this Seattle's Best cup.

I do some marketing. I don't claim to be a marketing whiz. But I never really looked at the Seattle's Best stuff before. Here's some gems off the Seattle's Best cup.

"Bold Flavor. Smooth Taste." What does that mean, exactly? Can something be bold and smooth at the same time? Can it? And is there really a difference between "flavor" and "taste?" If there is, can someone explain it to me?

And then there's this one... I love this one... "Go to the mountains to learn mountains. Go to Seattle to learn Beans." Bwahaha! Learn beans? Know beans? Know beans? Now where I come from, that's like telling someone they don't know Jack Schitt. Beans. Gah.

But the coffee's not bad. It's actually pretty good.

I'll Ask A Doctor To Take Your Picture So I Can See You From The Inside As Well

So last night I'm sitting on Yahoo, and I have recently added a bunch of photography to my Yahoo profile. It's currently all of myself, because I am an evil narcicisstic bitch. No, seriously. So anyway I'm sitting minding my own business, when someone pages me....

"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt you but wanted to tell you I love your photography, you have great eyes! I'll leave you to what you're doing, but do you have more photography you'd like to share? I like to take pictures of nature scenes, sunsets and the ocean myself." So I think, hey, photography person, if he was looking at my profile he obviously knows I'm taken since I have S. all over it, and it's always nice to talk to a photo buff. So I click on 'view profiles' and find a profile picture of his ugly penis wearing a blonde wig, and that he's a dom looking for a sub or a couple so he can "do the woman while you watch." What an unclefucker. I wish I had saved his profile link just to put it here. He advertised a site on his profile that said "Don't look at this unless you want to see video of me masturbating." Gag me.

You Can Call Me, Call Me, Any Time

Last night at 11pm after playing Tradewars and kicking ass (I'm #1 in the game but I'm not winning by a long shot) I went to bed. And my cell phone started ringing. Now my cell phone has a fairly annoying ring, as it's an older Nokia phone. So it plays "samba." Doot-doodoodoo-doodoo-doodoodo-duhduhduh-Doot-doodoodoo-doodoo-doodoodoo... Okay. And it's "ascending" "samba" so it gets louder and louder and louder. So it's across the house and I can freaking hear it while I'm there trying to just, you know, sleep. SIX TIMES the phone rang. I finally got up and ran out and grabbed it while it was ringing.

"HELLO!"

*click*

asshat.

So then I notice that it's not a phone number I know... and that I have a voicemail message. So I listen to the message.

"Press one to listen to your message." *one* "First message." *click*

asshat.

So as i'm backing out of the voicemail thingy - IT RINGS AGAIN. Same number. Same asshat. It is now 12:05.

I answer the phone.

*click*

Asshat!

So I look at the number and redial it, and they let it ring and ring and ring and then it just quit ringing. So, I sat in my living room in my undies and my tank top dialing the phone number over and over again just so they couldn't call me back. I bet I dialed them five more times. They never answered. I turned my cell phone off.

And then I got up this morning and was very tired.

And then my friend Maury offered to buy me a sweet chocolately caremely caffeinated goodness. With half the fat.

And we've come full circle.

Okay, let me lighten the mood a little bit instead of boring everyone (everyone?) with my boring moldy moldy ass crap, since I can't seem to come up with anything fun lately.

How about some weird linkage?

First of all... I am officially the #1 link on Google for "Great Googly Moogly!" I feel like I should have myself a little party or something, but honestly in the scope of things how important is it, really?

Second of all, I get a few hits a day on here from all over (as we'll see by the linkage) and no one comments and no one leaves me any notes on the zonkboard. Well I got one note from one new person yesterday (which I appreciate) but I wonder... if my sitemeter tells me that all of you people are here for 00:00 mins and seconds, does that mean they click on my link on Google, which is clearly a blog, and then say, "Aw, crap, it's just a stupid blog" and move on, or is Sitemeter glitching out and are you actually staying and reading? I'm just saying.

Okay. So get this.

Stuff People Search For And End Up Clicking On Me


1) Great Googly Moogly! (And all derivatives thereof, including Great Googly Moogly Movie, Great Googly Moogly Expression, Googly Moogly, Googly, Moogly, and Great Googly.)

2) Arm Pit Lump! (And all derivatives thereof, including Arm Pit Ingrown Hair, Male Lump Under Armpit, Arm Lump, Pit Lump, Arm Pit Ingrown Hair, I Have A Lump Under My Arm Pit, What Is This Lump Under My Arm, Painful Lump Under Arm, Picture Of Ingrown Hair, Picture of Ingrown Hair Waxing, and What The Fuck Is This Lump.)

3) Detroit Hookers! (How cool am I? And believe me, it's more than one search. Scottsdale, Arizona, people. Scottsdale, Arizona hooker.)

4) Naughty! (Only for S., and only if he's nice)

5) Mimi Smartypants! (Which is interesting, since I'm not her and I've mentioned her once. Oh well, is every blog just a blog? I don't think so.)

6) Naughty Maids! (Is this related to naughty mexican maids getting off their bosses, a favorite from weeks past, or perhaps just another search by the guy who wanted "naughty" above? Either way... am I a naughty maid? I sure could use a maid. S., am I a naughty maid?)

7) Lemon Slice Photos! (Well, I've got photos, and I've got beer with a lemon slice, and you can call me Al.)

That's about it. Nothing too risque this time, no people getting impregnated by their nephews or anything. But we do have the Detroit Hookers.

Rawk.

I sit here this morning, feeling a little frazzled, with the back of my throat hurting and my eyes hurting from the projectile bulemic vomit I had last night. Not fun, and my stomach hurts from not really having anything in it during the formative hours of the morning.

A few days ago when I realized I was feeling pretty super broke, I decided to send my ex husband a letter. After consulting with some folks, I chose not to write the nasty four page tirade I would have normally done. You see, he owes me some money. Not a lot. Just enough to get me through a rough time.

So the letter said:

Dear Tom:

I am counting on you to do the next right thing.

Please.

Thanks in advance,
Rose.

I sent that letter to his house, at an address he didn't know I had (thank you, Nevada Public Records) and included a self-addressed, stamped envelope.

Some history on me and the money thing with the ex - we separated in December, 2001. When we did that we split up possessions and debts. In April 2002, our divorce was final. Between December and April, Tom "had to" see me twice to sign some paperwork. I did everything. He also made periodic payments to me on the joint debt in the marriage. Then in April the divorce was final and he still owed me about $1,300. He told me he was going to move back to Las Vegas and that he didn't want to haul the furniture back that he'd taken from the marriage, did I want to "buy" it back from him. So we figured out that there was about $1200 worth (wholesale value) of furniture there, and that left him oweing me a hundred dollars or so. So, he brought all the furniture back in May and moved to Las Vegas, saying he'd send me the $100 as soon as he got settled in.

Then he called me for something in June, I think it was about his pickup truck he took out of the marriage, and while I had him on the phone, I said, "Hey, have you had a chance to get that money together?" Little did I know the fucker was already living for free with his new girlfriend and was MARRIED so she wasn't even his girlfriend, she was his wife, and they had a two-income household while I sat here on this end working two jobs. He said he'd get that right in the mail to me.

Then in February he phoned me because he needed some tax paperwork (which I think was because they refinanced her house [which she's smart enough to have made him quit claim back to her, she must have a little bit of a brain on her shoulders]) and I said, "Hey, while I have you on the phone, do you think you could send me the money you owe me? I could really use it."

Then a month ago or so, he phoned my mother (who he used to work for) to tell her that his grandma had passed away. In February. So in June he calls her to tell her something that happened in February. Coincidentally, in February before he phoned me, which is probably why he needed tax paperwork. Inheritance. So I phone him, tell him I found out about his grandma dying, really sad, wish you would have told me, blah, blah, blah, by the way, found out you're married and expecting a kid, blah, blah, blah, while I've got you on the phone, do you think you could send me the money you owe me [and have owed me for a year and a half, you lazy, selfish, lying mother fucker... okay so that was my inside voice and not my outside voice]"

"Sure," he said. "I'll get that in the mail to you right away."

Lying mother fucker.

So, I sent him that kind letter, which believe me, for me was kind. My style is more the four page single spaced typed rambling tirade where I make him realize and remember every bad thing he ever did to me (beat me, threw furniture at me, threw plates at me, broke things over me, punched me in the face, drank constantly, used cocaine, got us $15,000 in debt to support drug habit, didn't like to come home when on drug binges, called me names, never helped me take care of anything in our marriage, lazy, nasty fuck.) But I didn't. I had like ten words. Dear Tom. I'm counting on you to do the next right thing. Please. Thanks in advance. Rose. Self addressed stamped envelope. You selfish mother fucker. (yeah, that was my inside voice again).

So he called me last night. I guessed he got my letter. He'd phoned the house twice by the time I got home but wouldn't leave a message. I wasn't about to call him back. I didn't phone him for a reason, the guy's got a wife and kid and one on the way. What's between him and me is between him and me. Well, unless his wife found the letter in the mail and figured out he owed his ex wife money.

So the phone call goes:

Rose: Hello?
Tom: Hey. What's up?
Rose: Just working [my second job to make ends meet like I have every day since you met me, you selfish arrogant ass...inside voice]. What's up with you?
Tom: Oh. Well I got your letter today.
Rose: Oh, good.
Tom: So I'm going to send you the hundred dollars.
Rose: Oh, good.
Tom: And when I do, don't you ever FUCKING call me again. Don't fucking call me, don't fucking write me, just stay the fuck out of my FUCKING life.
Rose: What's your problem?
Tom: Fucking calling and fucking harrassing me about this hundred dollars, you've got more equity in that fucking house that I left you with in the divorce, I'm sure you're not hurting for money.

Now... breaking in. Frankly, I have about $200 to last me until the end of the month. So that's kind of hurting. Not like I can or would sell my home in two weeks to help make ends meet. And he left me the house with all the equity in it because the down payment on the house was MY DOWN PAYMENT. So all of the equity in this house is MY GOD DAMNED EQUITY. It was MY equity and it was MY dad's house and I bought MY house from MY dad. Fucker's just pissed because his new wife, who owned her house before they got hitched, made him quit claim his interest in it back to them even after they'd been married almost a year... what does she know about him?

Rose: Okay. Well first of all I'm going to remind you that you're the one who's called me for stuff you've needed over the last year and a half that you've owed me the hundred dollars. Maybe you should have sent me ten bucks a month for the last 18 months and you'd be paid off with interest. Would that have made it worth it?

The argument went on from there, him throwing out "fuck" and "you" and "fuck you" like it was commonplace Rose language. OH wait... it WAS commonplace Rose language when we were married. And then he suggested that I was stalking or harrassing him for getting ahold of him about "the money" a month ago... I reminded him I phoned cuz he didn't have the balls to call me and tell me his grandma died, though he talked to me on the phone about a week after she died and didn't bother to mention it.

He then told me that the reason why he never called me to tell me that he was married and expecting a kid, is that he didn't want to make it any worse on me than it already must be (you know since I'm not married or pregnant) and he didn't want to "rub it in."

He did acknowledge that he felt like an ass after talking to me though, and says he's going to send me the money.

That's about the time I got up and went into the bathroom and projectile vomited my entire dinner and the diet coke I'd consumed with it, and went back to work on my second job typing away.

Not fun. Not a fun night, at all.

And this morning I found something else a little disturbing on the internet regarding S., which I'm taking some time and trying to digest, and just trying to understand what goes through his head sometimes. I suppose he's trying to understand what goes through mine. So it's okay.

You know, I'm not upset and angry and mad and surprised and upset that my "ex" cokehead ex husband who used to hit me and berate me doesn't want anything to do with me. It's not like I wanted to be friends with him in the first place. I don't like to talk to him. He's a piece of shit that I invested way too much time in.

But he'd be dead if it weren't for me, and that is no exaggeration. He was cashing substantial paychecks and using them to pay for coke and staying out all night on drug binges at one point in our marriage. I can't count the number of times he came home in the morning, called in sick to work and found me sitting, sleepless, in the living room with all our wedding pictures taken off the walls and a bag packed ready to leave him. But I never did. He told me he'd get clean and couldn't stay clean and sober 30 days in six months. But I didn't leave. Then he started acting clean but I know he was still lying to me.

The thing is, when a person goes into a sobriety program, one of the steps is for them to make amends to other people in order to help clear their conscience, so they don't have anything to drink or drug over. Tom and I were married for five years. He never made amends to me. He never told me where he went all the nights he left me sitting home or laying home or crying home alone because he was all coked up driving around town with buddies or girls or homeless people or by himself or whatever he was doing. He never apologized for those things. He never made amends for the fact that at one point I was working as many as four different jobs to try to get us out of debt and give us some kind of a life while he couldn't hold down one because he couldn't pass a drug test. He never apologized for what he put us through. I just woke up every morning and tried to love him for who he was and help him deal with his problem and do everything I could do to make it good for the two of us. He had everything he ever needed and most things he ever wanted, and I went without. He'd get four pairs of shoes a year, I'd shop at the thrift store for work clothes. He'd go fly around the country to take vacations with his dad but we couldn't afford to go anywhere or do anything ourselves. He came into the marriage with bad credit and no concept. He left the marriage and was able to get new credit cards and start his life over debt free. I gave him everything he wanted until the day our divorce was final. And he never gave me anything in return. I was never good enough.

Apparently he believes his new life is a step up and that's fine for him. But to tell me to fuck off and treat me like he doesn't want anything to do with me because I'm a bad person... I'm the only reason he's alive. He would have ended up dead in a gutter somewhere coked up with a nosebleed and God/dess knows what other diseases, decaying before anyone even knew he was missing.

But that's not what matters. At least not to him.

How can a person go through something like this, something like I went through with him, and still find it in their heart to love? Still find it in their heart to give and love unconditionally and just want what's best and what's right for the other person without regard for themselves?

Maybe I'm just insane.