First of all, what the hell is a derry-o? Anyone?

Okay, so S. and I are going camping. Our first weekend away together in 8 months and we’re going to go live in a tent for two days. This is, actually, my idea of a good time and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve tried three times to make a “things to pack” list but I keep getting distracted.

I just went and bought a iced venti nonfat quad caramel macchiato with extra extra caramel. This thing looks like… caramel poured over ice. I love it. Yes, it’s bad for me, yes it’s not on my diet, but I’m going to go to the woods and cook things over fire for two days so I can have my coffee beverage right now, thankyouverymuch.

So anyway – camping.

We’re going to go with a group of Pagans we’ve started hanging out with from time to time, we were invited and we’re looking forward to it. Going up north to the pretty part of Arizona, where we’ll be pitching the tent in a mountain lake bed that’s now a field overgrown with soft grass and wildflowers, surrounded by cliffs and ponderosa pines. At least that’s what they tell us. I can’t imagine they’d promo the location like that and then have it be anything less-than, so I think we’re going to be all good.

I’m off work at 2pm today (1pm if I can work it right) and then I’m going to get the tires rotated on the Rodeo, and then I’m gonna go home and start cleaning and packing and getting ready for S. We’re going to leave first thing in the AM on Friday and come home Sunday and I’m thrilled excited.

Yay, our first time away together. And it’s going to be great. We could use the time away, no distractions, no internet.

So, if I’m not around until later this weekend or Monday (holiday yay) don’t worry, it’s not like I forgot about anyone or anything. I’m just off in the mountains… well, trying to forget about everyone and everything.

On another front, work has been going amazingly well. We have some great new people in the office and they’re all on my team – YAY! So the workload is now going to be decreasing back to normal and hopefully my stress level will do the same. My desk is clean for the first time in about a month and a half, I accomplished a great feat earlier this week by orchestrating a large retreat for important visiting folks, and it came off without a hitch. My boss was out of work sick on Thurs and Fri of last week, which is what caused some of my stress – I basically handled the crises for the event myself and then had to hope it all came off okay. Which it did, and I did it basically all myself! So I’m very, very excited. I also had another review and I’m doing great. Did I mention I got a bonus? Yay, me! And a raise!

We have a new gal at work, we’ll call her T, and she’s a great addition to the team plus our personalities are a lot alike so we mesh really well. She’s a couple years older than me but I’d put her at my age, and we have a lot in common so we get along FABULOUSLY. It’s amazing how it eases the pain.

My sister still doesn’t have a baby. Yes, I know, I can’t believe it either. She’s 80% effaced and 2.5cm dilated and the baby is at –1. For the layperson, that means ANY FREAKING TIME she should be popping out this kid. No doubt it will be at noon on Friday when my cellphone drops out of range and I embark on my wonderful camping adventure.

I’m a motormouth today and I can’t stop talking. I’m just very excited. I’m thrilled to have this time with S. I think it’ll do both of us some good.

In some news, Lt. Smash is HOME from Kuwait and the conflict in the Middle East as of this week and gives us a nice snippet of his journey home, a photo of him hugging his lovely wife upon return, and the lazy review of his first few days back in the states.

He also has a link on his site now where people can donate money to him, under the premise of "buying him a beer" or something or other.

It's definitely an interesting proposition, the way people can be encouraged to donate money for seemingly random things. I loved LT's updates from the war and I read him almost every day. But I don't feel prepared, obligated, etc., to donate any money to him. Perhaps that's because I have a life right now that's connected to the military in my own way... I understand they don't get paid jack shit to do what they do, and I understand there can be financial hardship associated with coming home, but I don't know if I'd give to someone who had a blog. I don't think LT is suggesting he has hardship, he merely said that so many people had said they want to "buy him a beer" that he gave them a list of prices on beer at his local grocery store. It's a cute idea. But it comes down to, people might donate if they felt so inclined.

I also noticed another blog I read from time to time now has a link up to donate to paypal for her, too. It's supposedly to help her get to another city to go to school... Because she got fired, "because" she was blogging from work and had her picture on her blog and describing in depth how she was blogging from work and not getting actual work done, and I think she was also probably blogging about her bosses. her boss confronted her on her "last day" with her last check in hand and copies of her blog. Sassy says they were working on finding a reason to fire her anwyay, and anyone who's read this blog since its inception knows I've been through that. So, I'm correcting what I wrote. Either way it is, to quote Fire Marshall Bill, "a deadly combination." I feel bad for her, and it would suck to get fired from my job "for blogging." , but I don't let blogging keep me from doing other work, and ... well, you know what I'm getting at. I like her just fine and will continue to read her site, but I think it's silly something quite foreign to me, to ask people to donate... just to "you."

Joe has a paypal link on his site, but it's money that goes towards the theatre company he's working with so they can get their play off the ground. THIS, I think, is fine. This is not going to pay Joe's rent, this is not going to buy him cigarettes or a vodka tonic, (not that I am implying that Sassy would use any donations on cigarettes or a vodka tonic) - this is not money going into his pocket, it's for a CAUSE. A real cause. A valid cause. This is supporting the arts, man. (No, I didn't donate to Joe either).

But I don't understand how people can get away with, or how they can feel okay with themselves for, putting a link on their website that just pretty much says, "Hey, you can give me money if you want to." If it was FOR something, then I guess it's just different.

I have a dear friend who's going to be setting up a "send me money for one particular purpose" website sometime in the future, and I think it's a novel idea and I think it's an interesting concept, and I think just the sheer complexity of the issue will stimulate people to send money. That's my opinion. But it's not going to be to pay his bills or put gas in his car or whatever.

I work hard enough for my money and my S. works harder than I do, for his. And together, we still find ways to be giving and supportive and whatever.

I guess I'm just a little bitchy today. I have a $250 electric bill to pay some time very soon because it's been 105+ degrees and 40%+ humidity here on and off for the last month, and even though I have my thermostat set at 82 the overwhelming majority of the time, it still runs the A/C a lot. And here in AZ, in the summertime they bend you over and fuck you up the ass for electricity during "peak hours" (read: the hottest hours of the day) which means A/C gets goddamn expensive. And I have a house payment and I have to pay $2.19 a gallon (average) to put gas in my car and all in all, it's just an expensive time of year.

Couple in S.'s money issues and how basically as long as he has them they're keeping us from moving forward because it inexplicably ties him to his ex wife who is a goddamn psycho and who is defaulting on a truck that's in his name and who is trying to extort MORE MONEY out of him for bills that aren't his...

I guess what I'm trying to say is... when a "big night out" for us is $25 at the sushi restaurant when we could easily spend $50, when our first and only trip out of town together in eight months is a camping trip because we already own all the camping shit and all we have to buy is gas and food... then I guess I'm not in the mood to donate to anyone else who can't seem to work through their own financial difficulties. I have enough trouble with my own, and I'm not putting up buttons on my website asking people to help me and S. get rid of the psycho bitch or anything. I worked long and hard to get myself basically out of any revolving debt, and I plan to stay that way - but I work two jobs and do what I have to do to make my ends meet.

And S. busts his ass in the USAF and does what he has to do to not only try to make ends meet, which he can't always do, but still find a way to help take care of this country and all of us.

Maybe we're just too proud.

-----------------------------
Addition: Sassy took my entry personally and I have since edited my commentary. I still believe that asking people for money through paypal on a public blog is, very literally, subjecting yourself to the opinions of the world ala Save Karen, and I probably won't ever understand what would lead someone to donate to someone else unless they had some type of personal connection with them as Sassy mentions in her comments. Also, hi, Sassy if you re-read this again... I think this is the first time you've ever seen my blog and notice you came from your sitemeter listing. So, a heck of a way for us to meet - me having read you for a while, and you coming over to see me describing your current situation. Maybe we can get off on a better foot.
--------------------------------
Added yet again: Thanks, Sassy for the link, I've returned the favor. May this be the beginning of a good friend-blog-ship, even if I did sass off about you. Sorry for coming across like that, thanks for your kind words.

¿Quién es que está leyendo mi blog de Chile?

Dejame un comentario, por favor... ó en inglés ó en español!

I am fucking cold. I mean, I am so cold I can't even begin to tell you how cold I am. My fingers hurt, they are so cold. I'm going to start charging for the show when men walk past my desk, if you know what I mean. My hands are stiff and they are making typos. My teeth are almost chattering. I am fucking cold.

In other news, please pray for my friend Brooke, who was in a car accident. A fucking drunk fucking driver with no fucking insurance T-boned the car she was riding in. The drunk's fine. Brooke's not. She's currently undergoing surgery to reconstruct part of her face and fix her broken jaw, which will have to be wired shut for weeks. She might lose the sight in one eye because of a scratch on her cornea. Her liver, which just stopped bleeding of its own volition, has been lacerated. Her hip was dislocated. She has cuts and scrapes and bruises all over her body and is in trauma-induced amnesia in the hospital, which it appears she thinks is her home. Brooke is, I believe, 23 or 24 years old if she's that old at all. She is a good kid and I love her dearly, and some fucking drunk kid whose mom and dad own the car but dont' have insurance is going to go off to jail for putting her in the hospital, but she's still in the hospital. She might end up fucking blind in one eye, this wonderful girl.

In other other news, my sister still doesn't have her 2nd baby yet. For the second week in a row she's 2cm and 70-80% effaced and can't seem to have contractions for long enough to push out this kid. So my mom's in Pennsylvania (called me this morning to ask me to clean out her fridge) and they're all going crazy.

In other other other news, S. and I appear to be doing well and I am very excited that we are planning a camping trip.

In other other other other news, mercury goes retrograde on Thursday and will be so until September 20th.

And finally, in other other other other other news... I am cold. I am fucking chilled to the bone fucking cold. I am so cold I don't want to drink a cold drink, and all I fucking like are cold drinks. I'm cold. Holy jeebus fuck. I'm cold.

And I'm in the mood to say "fuck" a lot today.

Well, when Rose doesn’t feel like spilling her guts, she lets you know who’s looking at her and why. So, it’s another installment of Round The World With Rose.

Hello to readers and repeat readers from the Army, the Navy, the Coast Guard, the US Circuit Courts, and… the Department of Justice? Am I in trouble?

Hello to readers from Japan, Chile, Mexico, Canada (west and east), mucho different states and cities, somewhere in the middle east (it’s coming up as Bagdhad), somewhere else in Asia (it’s coming up as Russia), and the couple of local readers that have been popping in.

And thank you to you wonderful folks who have been searching for the answers to your questions but have instead clicked on this wonderous blog, in your quest for:

Kobe Bryant Penis, Kobe Penis Size, Kobe Bryant Penis Size
Photos of Kobe Bryant’s Estate
Why Does Root Beer Have Clingy Foam
Detroit Naughty Maids (look out, Detroit Hookers)
Monkey Googly Moogly
Every combination of “Googly” and “Moogly” or JUST “Googly” or JUST “Moogly”
Budweiser Real Men Of Genius Words
All You Can Eat Buffet (does this person know me or what?)
Someone just searched for www.greatgooglymoogly.blogspot.com - think they found it?
Mom Screw Cheat Whore Photo - someone’s got issues

So, keep coming back. I’m like a fruit salad, except I usually write about what’s going brown and slimy instead of what’s sweet and fresh. So I guess I’m kind of like dumpster fruit salad.

Can you see it? The next installment of Round The World With Rose will include “dumpster fruit salad.”

I rock.

S. apologized to me. I accepted his apology but I am still not happy about what happened. Actions speak louder than words. I am going to give him every opportunity to show me he's serious.

And I love him very, very, very much.

I'm still sad. Maybe some of that will go away.

He says I am not an embarrassment.

That is all.

Tomorrow is Mojo's birthday.

So I'm going to go hang out with him. This a transcript from our Yahoo convo earlier:

Mojo: do you throw darts?
Rose: No, I suck.
Mojo: perfect, I'll be a god.
Rose: ass
Mojo: once I get in stride, I'm pretty good
Rose: Honestly, I can't even throw them.
Rose: I'm lucky if I hit the board.
Mojo: yay!

I guess it's good that he'll be guaranteed a win, seeing as it's going to be his birthday and all.

S. is on the way to his beer party. He must have said "I love you" four times while we were in the process of saying goodbye and again when he called me to let me know he had gotten home. I know he hasn't seen the blog, but I also know that he knows that the idea of him going to this party without even extending an invitation to me is kind of fucked up. Or maybe it's just that he loves me, and he wanted me to know. Who the hell knows at this point. All that matters is, I'm hanging out with Mojo, which I would do anyway because it's his birthday, and I had hoped it would be me and S. hanging out with Mojo, but it's not, it's just me, and Mojo will be fine with that either way.

I said, "If you get bored, and you're sober, and you want some hot sex, you can always come back here." I don't know if he took me seriously.

The sex, she is so hot.

There are many reasons why S. doesn't want to introduce me to his "friends."

Reason number one appears to be that they are not, in fact, his friends. They are just a bunch of asshole kids that he works with at the Base, and they aren't worth meeting anyway.

Reason number two is because they say things like, "Hey, did you hear? S. is fucking a senior citizen!" after learning that I am 33 years old.

Reason number three is because these are people who knew him in 'another time,' when he had a psycho bitch wife from hell, smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, drank himself stupid drunk any chance he got and lived on the Base, integrating himself into Base life while trying to deal with Stupid Psycho Bitch and still get ahead in his job.

Reasons number four, five, six, and seven have to do with the idea that for one reason or another, I am an embarrassment to S. with regard to these "Friends." Whether it's my age (after all, he's fucking a senior citizen or my weight, whether it's because I'm not a cigarette smoking beer guzzling military guy or quirky military wife, whether my delicate sensibilities would embarrass them or they'd just plain not like me, he won't take me around them. I am repeatedly invited along - "Hey, bring your girl - we'll (fill in activity)" but he refuses politely or impolitely depending on the circumstance. It's been eight months. I haven't met one of them.

When this comes up in conversation, I manage to remind myself that he really doesn't have anything much to do with these guys and their girlfriends or wives except work with them, and what do I have in common with them anyway? I'm an overweight intellectual 30-something divorced lady with no kids, who owns her own house and works two jobs and doesn't depend on anyone for anything. I also live 35 miles away. These are just guys he works with, I remind myself, and I shouldn't be too worried about what they think. Besides, they'll probably just try to convince him that as a newly divorced guy he should be out getting some strange, enjoying a fine piece of ass, going to the titty bar, dropping his last $20 on a lap dance and a watered down coke, because that's what single fun guys do.

So he repeatedly reminds me how worthless mostly all of them are, and what pieces of shit they can be, how much they annoy him and how much he wouldn't want to hang out with them anyway.

That is, until this weekend.

You see, there's a beer drinking get trashed and crash in someone's yard in a pile of your own vomit party at the Base, and S. wants to go. Without me. No reason why he doesn't want to take me except for the variety of never-really-vocalized underlying things that come up, repeatedly, from time to time. He would never look me in the face and tell me that I'd be an embarrassement, but I've come to the undeniable conclusion that that, in actuality, is definitely what it is.

I would embarrass S. in front of his work buddies and their wives, all of whom are probably cute-ish thin young cigarette smoking beer drinking yaya party girls.

Maybe his reputation would be tarnished if they knew he was dating someone who graduated from college with honors. Maybe they'd freak out if they knew that I wasn't a waitress or a cashier at Target or part-time help at PetsMart. And if they heard I didn't live with my parents and actually owned my own home, heaven help us all.

So, when he originally told me he didn't think he was going to go to this party because he didn't want to be put in a position to get gacked with all those guys and end up having to crash there, I thought, that's a good reason. Then when he told me today that there's gonna be people there he hasn't seen in years, friends of his that were long gone and are temporarily back in town, when the scope of the people changed... when it was no longer just these people that he worked with that were asshole judgmental pricks... well, now he wants to go.

And I am not invited.

Make no mistake. I am utterly positive the conversation went something like this: "Dude, we're having the BBQ on Saturday night, you should come. Bring your girl."

Make no mistake - he would sooner go to this party and risk being not able to drive and crashing out there than taking me with him so he'd at least have a way home.

Make no mistake. Not one time, not for one half of one second, did he consider taking me with him to this party. To meet friends. That he hasn't seen in years. That aren't the assholes in his shop who don't give a shit. But people he has a genuine interest in seeing, catching up with, touching base with.

Because I am an embarrassment, for whatever reason. Even though he would never say that.

So, Saturday night maybe I'll go game with the group and play some Earthdawn, as I know they are going to be gaming without me. Maybe I'll make myself dinner or go skinny dipping in my pool by myself. Maybe I'll go to the swapmart like he said he wanted to do on Wednesday, or maybe I'll just go to bed early, curl up with a beer and some porn, and drift off into slumberland.

Maybe I should start learning to be a little less of a geek and a little less of a fat chick, and that would make me less of an embarrassment.

--------------
added 5 minutes later: I don't doubt for a moment that S. loves me, and I trust him, I don't think he's hiding anything from me by not introducing me to those cretins. I actually partially think he's embarrassed at just how much of a cretin he probably turns into when he hangs out with them, of his own volition. I don't have any reason to not believe anything he's ever told me, so please don't comment and suggest that he has something to hide and that's why he doesn't want me to meet them. I know where he is every minute of every day, and if he's not at work he's in contact with me in some form becuase he wants to be. This isn't about that. It's about the size of my ass.

-----------------
added 5 more minutes later: I want him to go if it's going to make him happy. He's been under a lot of stress lately. And even though I haven't been that fun to be around, he's stuck by me and so I want him to go, and I want him to have fun, I want him to have fun. With or without me. But knowing the reasons behind why I'm not a part of that separate part of his life is what makes it hard. Not the idea that he'll be off having fun. But the idea that I introduce him to any of my friends I can as often as I can, we hang out with my friends, we have fun with my friends, and I brag about him every chance I get, how wonderful he is and how much I love him. I know there will be no talk of the Senior Citizen at this party, as a matter of fact I'm sure it will be a subject off limits, and he will carouse and drink and smoke and joke and rant and rave and carry on with his mil buddies as if he is, for that moment, Single Fun Guy... without telling them about the woman who's been by his side through this strange life renovation he's been through, without explaining to them that we make each other happy, and without letting them see what he's like when he's in love. For the hours that he's at that party with those people, he will be the same S. they all knew a couple of years ago, as if there was no change. but he's not that guy now. He tells me that all the time. I didn't change him - I just accepted him for who he is, this new guy, this strong smart self sufficient guy who happens to be madly in love with me the way I'm madly in love with him. And the one person who KNOWS that person, will be trying to get to sleep at a reasonable hour 35 miles away watching TV.

Well. Turns out one of my friends is reading a blog I've been meaning to read, and he sent me the link so I could check it out. This is one of my friends who doesn't know about my blog.

The prospect of one of my friends who doesn't know about it, stumbling on it, kind of freaks me out. Not because I woudl be ashamed of anything I've said here ever - all of it is real.

But the idea that, if more people I knew read it, would I censor myself?

The things I'll have to work out...

Have I mentioned my sister is in labor? No? Well, she is. I’m about to become an aunt again, and S. is about to become an almost-uncle-sort-of-thing-under-present-circumstances, and my mother is a raving lunatic bitch.

So she flew HOME from Pennsylvania only to get on a plane and go back because as soon as she got here, my sister went into labor. So my mother calls my cell phone. On the way to the airport. Today. Just now. While I’m sitting at my desk at work having a meeting with two other people, one of them being my boss.

Wrote a songaboutit, wannahearit, hereitgoes:

Mom: I’m on my way to the airport.
Rose: Okay then, you need me to stop over there and water plants?
Mom: Yeah, if you could. (various details about pregnancy). So did I tell you they bought my ticket?
Rose: What?
Mom: They bought my ticket. To Pennsylvania. I didn’t have to pay for my ticket. I’m going to pay the change fee though, because I’m going early. But they paid for the ticket.
Rose: That’s great, mom.
Mom: Oh! I almost forgot, the housekeeper comes tomorrow. That means you won’t be able to get in – you have to go by the house – are you listening? You have to go today. Don’t wait until tomorrow, she comes tomorrow and you won’t be able to get in. She locks the house. And she leaves the keys inside. So you have to go today. After work today go to my house, and take the key out of the inside of the door. Use the hidden key and let yourself in and take the key out of the door – or take a garage door opener or something – I wonder if I left a garage door opener. Well, take the key out of the door and use that one to let yourself in. And then lock the door and put the hidden key back. Or keep the hidden key and put that key where the hidden key goes. As long as you both have keys to get in the house. You’ll need a key to get in the house but you have to go today.

** Okay. Let me break in here. I can’t handle it when she’s like this. She talks and talks and doesn’t stop to listen, or think, or breathe. So now I’ve been presented with three or four different options, and I just want my mother to skip to the end. Skip to the end and tell me what you want me to do, mom, I’ve got two people standing here. Skip to the end. So of course, I make a noise. **

Rose: Tsssssch.
Mom: What? What is that? What the hell is that noise for? Are you saying you’re not going to the house? If you’re not going to the house you have to tell me.
Rose: No, it’s not –
Mom: IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO THE FUCKING HOUSE TELL ME NOW SO I CAN TURN AROUND! I HAVE TO TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW IF YOU AREN’T GOING TO GO TO THE HOUSE! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST GO TO THE HOUSE? IF I’M GOING TO TURN AROUND I HAVE TO GO RIGHT –

** Yes, my mother. Screaming like a psychotic maniac. So now people are trying to pretend they can’t hear her piglet-squealing hysterical psycho slasher movie voice coming out of my cell phone from ten feet away. **

Rose: Mother, I am going to your house. I am going today. I will get the key out of the door. Have a safe trip to Pennsylvania. (hangs up)

** standing ovation for me **

So I get up, leave my cell phone on my desk, say, “Jesus CHRIST!” and walk off to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and then I think, “Oh fuck, she’s gonna call me back.” My cell phone plays an annoying Samba song (doo-doodoodoo-doodo-doodoodoo) and it gets louder and louder until you can’t stand it any more. So I pee and wipe and flush and truck down the hall and two people pass me. “Your cell phone is ringing,” they say. “Oh, I bet it is,” I reply.

I grab my phone, my boss comes over, asks me if I want to take a walk, so we take a walk. We go down 25 floors and walk around the building, at which time I listen to the now psychotically calm voice message from my mother, who realizes she’s once again fucked herself by screwing over her only existing kid in-state who can do shit like water her fucking plants for her while she’s gone. So she says on the voicemail that she doesn’t know why I’m not answering my phone “now,” and that she can cancel the housekeeper if it’s more convenient for me, and that I need to call her back so she knows what to do, because she’s on her WAY to the AIRPORT (gee, Mom, did you have to buy your own ticket?) and she can’t do anything about anything after today.

So I call her back, and try to explain to her that she was being irrational to me at my desk on my cell phone and hysterically screaming while I had my boss there with me, and it was embarrassing and not conducive to a proper work environment.

”Tell them your mother’s a crazy bitch,” she said. “Everyone has one.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself, actually.

*warning* - some cussing in here. Hide the kids.

Do you remember that cartoon character on Saturday mornings who used to walk
around and mumble like he was cursing, and you knew he wasn't really cursing but you imagined he was? "Fricka fracka stoopa vroopa merkin herkin schlocka locka..."

That was me today. Except I was really cursing, and I wasn't imagining it. I got up at 5:15 this morning and then realized I had not completed my quest yesterday of finding gas for the car. So, I figured, that's okay - I live near a very small Union 76 station that's on the wrong side of the road that no one EVER goes to, and even though it was $2.19 a gallon last night I'm sure there was a tanker truck there while I slumbered last night and I'll just zip over there on my way to work and fill up.

Then I saw our governor on the television as I was getting ready for work and she was talking about how she didn't have much information about this, that, or the other thing, and how we should all just “be cool,” and “don’t top off your tank,” and “don’t drive if you don’t have to,” and “take the bus” and this is where the cussing started in my head. fricka fracka herka jerka schlocka locka mother fucker goddamn ignorant high and mighty prissy bitch, you don’t have to wait in line for gas, you just send an intern out to wait two hours in line. You don’t have to shit your pants because you’re paying $2.50 a gallon for gas, you just let the state handle it. Why don’t YOU take the fucking bus, you holier than thou fricka fracka schlocka locka…”

Reminiscent of A Christmas Story, the stream of profanity that came from my mouth from about 6:00 a.m. until shortly before I got to work was a force to be reckoned with. To be sure.

So I hit the road at about 6:15 or 6:20 and decide I’m going to take the tour of Rose’s Neighborhood Gas Stations. Rose’s Gas Gauge: 0.48 tank I go to the Union 76, no gas. I go to the Chevron, no gas. I go to Texaco #1, no gas. I drive by the Mobil On The Run, no gas. I go to the little independent station, no gas. I hung a left on Hayden Road and went south. Passed the Circle K, no gas. Shammyman, no gas. Arco, no gas. Hung a right on McDowell. Mobil, no gas. Texaco, no… uhhhhhh there’s five cars waiting at Texaco. Fricka fracka!

So I cut in front of three people, made a left turn at the light (not allowed to U-turn) and went to the next intersection where there was a red arrow. At the now-defunct mall. Where there’s really no street. And I waited. And I waited. Fricka fracka. And I waited. Schlocka locka. And I waited. Mother fucker. So, with no one behind me and no one to the left of me and no one to the right of me and no one in front of me, I broke a law and turned a U-turn on a red arrow. Am I evil? Yes, I fucking am!

Then I saw headlights in my rear view and prayed that if I got pulled over, the cop would take as an excuse either “I am turning around because I saw no line at the gas station” or “Am I evil? Yes, I fucking am.”

Hung a right and went to wait in line at the little Texaco, with my hazards on in the right hand lane. They’ve told us now that we shouldn’t drive in the right hand lane unless we’re looking to pull into a gas station, as the right hand lanes are pretty much hazard-light-filled parking lots around town now when a station actually has gas. I’m waiting there patiently on the wrong side of the intersection (read: the side of the intersection the gas station’s not on – I had to go through the intersection to make a right into the Texaco) and some guy flips a bitch in front of me and pulls right into the right lane, slams his hazards on, and decides he’s gonna cut in front of the 5 or 6 other people that were all trying to get into the station like me. Is he evil? Fricka fracka! Yes he FUCKING IS! Before I could lay on my horn and give him what-for in the way that all cool headed motorists do, five or six other people did and someone actually jumped out of their car… he pulled through the parking lot and got in the back of the line like he should have. Then the nice lady in the white pickup truck let me go through the intersection in front of her because I’d waited through two sets of lights with other asshats cutting in front of me. Thank you, nice lady. You are not evil. Schlocka locka.

So now I’m boxed in and happy that I’m in line, got my hazards on, waiting for gas. Waiting for gas that’s gonna cost me… uh.. how much is it gonna cost me? Hm. No prices. This is where the stream of profanity in my head kicked back up. Mother fucking gonna fucking pay $5.00 a fucking gallon for this shit because they fuck you at the drive through! Shit fuck piss, god damn hell, there’s no fucking price and that’s why the line’s so short. Are they going to take my debit card? God damn. No fucking price, can you believe this shit? Oh, time to move up. God damnit, fuck this no price shit – Oh! Woohoo! It’s my turn! YEAH!

Amazing how your brain shifts gears.

I back into the gas pump stall thing (I’m a cool chick, I can back up my truck, schlocka locka) and get out. $2.09. FUCKIN CHING CHING! Yay!

WOOOOOOOOT! WOOT WOOT WHOOP WHOOP HEEEEEEEYAW YI YI YI YI EEP!” Oh no. No. Fricka. Fracking. Way. WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO So hey, how about this, why don’t they give me traffic guard clothes? Why don’t I get a little orange vest? I should have a vest. YI YI YI” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the freaky Independent Texaco that only had a few people in line at 6:45 in the morning has Freaky Tourette’s Gas Pump Lady. She was waving her arms and directing people into the gas pumps like she was trying to land planes, but she was making strange noises and talking to herself. And she looked a little disheveled. Nothing against people who have jobs working at gas pumps or anything, but they always kind of remind me of carnies. This woman was no exception. HEEEEEEEYAW.

I pumped my gas, quickly and efficiently. I put 11.6 gallons in it. Believe me, I was counting them. 7 gallons. Okay, any time now. 8 gallons. What the fuck. 9 gallons. Fucking no fucking – 10 gallons. Cheeseandrice, fucking stop will you just SHIT 11 gallons WHAT THE FUCK *click*. 11.4. click. Click. Click. Click. 11.5. click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclickfuckingmotherfuckingclick. 11.6 gallons. $24.50 or so.

And I felt like I won the freaking lottery.

I waited less than an hour in line for gas and paid less than $2.20 a gallon and only had to deal with a couple of asshats who thought they’d cut in line, and they took my debit card and I filled up my tank and topped it off (muahahahahah I TOPPED IT OFF, take that, Governor Clueless) and I got to see Freaky Tourette’s Gas Pump Lady. It was like side show entertainment. And I was the only woman driving a Rodeo who didn’t have trouble backing it into the pump (for the record, two of the cars that were in line in front of me were silver Rodeos like mine, driven by women who couldn’t back them in).

So.

I’m pissed but cool. My tank is full but my wallet is empty. And I really do feel like I won the lottery, at least at the gas pump, today. Of course, Mojo filled up his car last night for $1.84 a gallon and hardly waited 10 minutes and did it on his way home instead of having to leave his house an hour early to beat the rush. Lucky prick guy.

Schlocka locka.

Well. I drove about 25 miles on my way home today and passed a bunch of gas stations.

All of them were out of gas except for two.

The lines to get into the two, were half a mile to three quarters of a mile long. In Scottsdale, where I live, the police were out directing traffic at the gas stations that were open. That's a good thing, because I watched some little old "I'm better than you" guy in his shiny white car try to cut in front of the whole half mile of waiting cars to zip into the gas station. The police officer literally jumped in front of his car and made him leave the parking lot of the gas station. Dude was pissed. But imagine being the guy waiting in line and wondering if the fucking station is even going to have fucking gas after you've waited an hour in rush hour traffic to have some asshat cut in front of you...

Yeah, I'd have had to kick his ass.

Rose's Gas Gauge: 1/2 tank

If the station right by my house has gas in the morning I'm gonna fill up. S. says it's $1.59 on the base but the line was clear out the main gate, which I figure is at least an hour, maybe closer to two hour, wait.

I'm prepared to pay $2.20.

Fuck me.

Okay so that's not a song lyric - I'm just freaking the hell out.

In Phoenix, Arizona, we are affected by this gas pipeline that broke on 8-1-03. So what's happening, then, on 8-18-03?

We're out of gas.

I'm not kidding. So first they tell us that a third of our gas supply is affected by the pipeline but for some reason, some parts of the city - lots of parts of the city - are experiencing complete gas shortages. I mean, you can't get it. For $2.25 a gallon you can't get it. For $5 a gallon you can't get it. There's just none here. I know people who are telecommuting to work this week because they can't find gas for their cars.

It's an apocalypse, and I live right in the middle of it.

When you couple that with the idea that it's going to be a very very hot week... between 105 and 110 all week long PLUS thunderstorms on Wednesday... I think it means I'm not going to be able to see S. this week, and I think it means most of us are just screwed.

I have enough gas in my car to get me to work until probably THursday if I don't do anything else. So my goal today is, on my way home from work, to find whatever gas station I can on the way home that will sell me some gas and top off the truck. They're saying that after they figure out how to fix the gas pipeline, it's going to take ten days before it's fixed AFTER that point. So, it could go on like this for a few weeks.

Just Phoeni. No where else, thanks. Just us. And then after they fix the pipeline you know the gas prices are going to stay nice and high just to bend us over and screw us.

Ultimately it all means I might not be able to see S. and he might not be able to see me. ANd it sucks moldy, moldy ass.

What’s for dinner, Rose?

Funny you should ask.

I’m going to make summer rolls. This is how I do it.

First I’m going to go to the Asian market and I’m going to get all the stuff.

Rice paper wrappers
bok-choy
cucumber
carrot
green onion
crystal bean noodles
cilantro or mint
bamboo shoot or lotus root
hoisin sauce
chili sauce
spicy peanut sauce
ponzu sauce.

That’s for the rolls. Then I will also get whatever sashimi fish looks good and some soy and wasabe so we can also get our sushi-like fix.

Come home, open a beer, boil the bean curd noodles until they are soft, then put them in ice water.
Wash and julienne all the yummy crunchy vegetables until theyr’e about match-stick thickness.
Heat up some water in a frying pan.

Dip a rice paper wrapper in the heated up frying pan water JUST until it’s soft.
Put it on a damp towel on the counter.
Put some kind of sauce on the inside (I like hoisin).
Lay a variety of crunchy veggies in the middle of the wrapper.
Put some cilantro leaves or mint leaves in there, too
Tuck in the sides and roll them up like you’re making an egg roll.
Roll them tight but don’t break the rice paper wrapper!
DO NOT COOK. Serve cold or room temperature – keep them on a plate under a damp cloth so the rice paper wrappers don’t dry out.
Serve with a variety of dipping sauces.

Rock on.

Tonight’s dinner is going to be good FOR us and it’s going to TASTE good. How much better can that be? It’ll be better than my fat free sugar free fudge mocha-toasted almond frozen yogurt I had yesterday. It will be better than the diet vanilla pepsi I have right now in my jug. But it might not be completely better than the iced venti quad (that’s four shots of espresso for the unitiated) nonfat extra extra caramel caramel macchiato I got at Starbuck’s this morning.

Give and take. It’s all give and take.

Okay. Somebody fucking shoot me, because I can’t believe I am about to say this.

My boyfriend is on a diet.

Let me just say… fuck.

Of the two of us, he is hardly the heftier of the two. As a matter of fact if I had to be honest, I would say I bet I outweigh him by 30 or 40 pounds. Not that I’m proud of that fact, I happen to think he’s handsome and sexy and in great shape by normal person standards. But he feels like he’s getting “close to 30” (SIGH!) and so now he’s eating smaller meals, cutting out sodas and coffee, exercising more…

Which of course means I have to get my lazy ass up and out and do the same thing.

Now, is it a bad thing? Of course not. But when your 170 pound, strong thin military boyfriend feels like he needs to lose weight, it’s kind of a bad thing when you’re a chubby girl who doesn’t exercise much.

Time for me to shit or get off the pot. (If I could just shit all this excess flab out of my system, that’d be the perfect solution. Can’t they come up with that technology?)

So, we are going to plan our weekend meals, and we are going to not eat out cheapie yummy greasy bar food, and we’re not going to drink so much beer, and we’re going to make a point of doing something active every weekend. I think with some very moderate lifestyle changes the pounds are going to FLY off of S., so now I am going to have to put forth some extra efforts to get them to fly off of me.

At least then we’ll both be in better shape.

And I’ll be sexy.

Fucking shoot me.

Well, my blogger friend T-bone is changing to a new blog format in a new place. If you’ve checked him out before, check out his new move.

His move and frankly, his popularity in the blogosphere, made me really start evaluating my own blog presence. Why am I here? Why do I write these things? What makes me different or the same from everyone out there?

I don’t make fun lists or necessarily witty commentary like my friend T-bone. I’ve been reading his blog since he established it, though, and have really seen him evolve and flesh out as a blog writer.

I don’t write any fiction like Andrea or D at Spiderbites. I don’t try to be thought provoking or controversial like Yeti, and I don’t have a plethora of interesting web presence like my friend Shanna. I just write more about the day to day, in and out stuff like Jose, Joe, Krystal or S. And some people who do that are remarkably more popular and interesting than others.

I go visit my blog-o-friends and see that they have so many comments I can’t even keep up. Some have comments and have an extensive network of blog-o-friends that they check in on. Some just seem to have fans that don’t really swap links. Some sites, like Yeti, almost auction off link space as if it’s a precious commodity – “if I really like you, then I’ll link to you, but if you start to bore me I’m going to kick you off.” So maybe that makes people comment more, or less, or try to be more entertaining, or less.

When I started my blog back in January, I decided I was going to do it as an online journal and expunge myself of filth and muck and ick and yay and ooh and ahh as some sort of cathartic tool to improve my life. I didn’t much care if anyone read me. I didn’t much care if anyone was entertained by what I had to write. I kind of started it out as a chronology of my dating life, which was fairly non-existent at the time, and slowly it grew to be more of my true thoughts and feelings. In the history of this blog, which is now going on nine months, I’ve only deleted entries twice. I write and I leave it out there and get it out of my system, and I use it as a reference tool. “Hey, I think I felt like shit back in March, when was that and what did I do to fix it?” That sort of thing.

I’ve never been witty like some bloggers out there that I read. I just write what’s on my mind and in my heart. I don’t think it makes me better or worse than anyone, it just makes me who I am. But I don’t have any particular… offering. I don’t have a catch phrase, I don’t post lots of links to other stuff I find interesting, I don’t talk about current events or celebrities or anything like that unless it’s personally touched my life.

I even have pictures of myself on the blog. I mean, aside from using a pseudonym and neglecting to give out my full address or place of employment, I’m not really “anonymous” as some folks try to be. Some people use their blog as a way to vent out all the things that happen in their life without other people who know them, realizing they’re doing it. Me, I’ve given my blog address to some of the closer of my friends, and have selectively withheld it from others, but if they stumbled upon it I wouldn’t feel “outed.” I don’t write anything here I wouldn’t be willing to back up face to face.

And some days I find myself being sad that there are people that bookmark me every day and come to read me every day (thank you, java version of sitemeter) that never comment. There’s people whose blogs I read religiously, who wiggle their way in and silently read me every day also, but they don’t comment or email or say anything to me.

Number of emails I have gotten from people who read my blog: none.
Number of blogs that I read that have recently thanked people for “all of their emails”: seven.

It’s okay.

I know some of you stop by every day and read me. You’re from all over. Government agencies, military, private sector, other bloggers, folks I don’t know, close friends, internet friends. I know I’m bookmarked and I know I’m read. Which means I’m touching someone, some way, whether they find me entertaining, or they can relate to what I have to say. I write what’s on my mind and still people read me.

It’s the wittier of my blogofriends that get 20+ comments on an entry anyway, and I don’t claim to be particularly witty.

I know blogging isn’t a popularity contest. At least it shouldn’t be. I joke about being a narcicisstic bitch, and there’s a little bit of truth in that because anyone that hangs their guts out to dry on the internet has to believe someone’s going to see it. And there’s a little thrill in knowing that maybe someone’s doing that. Even if it’s not the primary purpose. I’d be lying if I said that every time my messenger lights up with a ding-dong from someone I don’t know, I hope they’re a blog reader who’s IM’ing to tell me how they enjoyed or related to something I wrote. Unfortunately for me, they’re all just poon hunting horndogs. I’d be lying if every time I look through the junkmail box on my hotmail email, I was hoping I’d stumble upon a subject line that didn’t talk about penis enlargement or debt reduction and instead was someone who read something I had to say. And I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t do a little pitter patter when I see someone left a comment (if I knew how to rig my comments box, it would say something like “THANKYOUJEEBUS!” when there was a comment left).

But I don’t do it for that.

So. If something I write touches you somehow, or you liked it, or laughed, or chuckled, or something, I’m really, really glad. I’m probably never going to have the traffic to need or want to move to a real dedicated URL or server like some of my blogofriends have done. I’m not a blogging celebrity and will never be one of those everyday reads that people stop by and see just to get a laugh or read about what the big news is in the world or whatever. If anything, my boring little sitcom soap opera life probably makes most people shake their heads and say, “Cheeseandrice, what’s that girl thinking?”

I suppose I just needed to remind myself that it’s not about getting kudos, it’s not about winning blogger awards, it’s not about making my site look more stylish than anyone else’s, it’s not about wanting to be a professional writer or even being entertaining. It’s about doing what I do, and somehow chronicling it whether it’s for my own edification or in the hopes that someone else will benefit from what I had to say.

I respect and adore my blogofriends and their efforts and the things they do. The ones that make me laugh, I just love them for that. The ones that make me think, I love them for that too. The ones that suck me into the wonderful imagery of their fiction writing, give me an escape I don’t get often enough because I don’t read enough books any more. Everyone has a purpose.

If whatever I do here, for whatever purpose I do it, has made you smile or think or laugh or cry or understand or forget or whatever… well, then that’s just a side benefit. As long as I see people keep coming back and reading, I’ll have to assume I’ve made a connection somewhere.

After all. I did help one guy with his arm pit lump.

Well. I am fucking irritated.

*** BLOG CONTENT DELETED BECAUSE IT WAS JUST A PITIFUL WHINE. THANK YOU FER YORE S'PORT. ***

Some days it's like the entire world is speaking another language. And not only do I not understand it, but I misinterpret everything.

I'm just tired. Tired of being tired, tired of being sad. Tired of not knowing what's going on, tired of facing uncertainty with NOTHING I can do about any of it. I wish it would just all go away.

Love Cats.

Well, P's cats are alive and well and adjujsting to the fact that there's no mama there at home with them currently. But the family that was lined up to take them isn't taking them now. So, I am their surrogate mama, and I am trying to find homes for them.

They're beautiful cats. They're just mellow quiet wonderful cats. If I didn't have this squawky needy clingy neurotic one over here, I'd probably take one of them. But I can't have another cat. I hardly have the time, energy and resources for the two I have when you couple them with the two dogs and one fish, and when S. goes away to school theoretically I will take Noki and I will take care of her while he is gone.

I just can't throw another kitty into this mix. Not right now.

I just don't understand why you'd tell the family of someone who died that you'd take their cats and then suddenly not take them. I mean, isn't making a promise to a dying or dead person (or their relatives) sacred? Isn't that something that you'd pretty much want to make sure you'd do?

Oh well, maybe they wouldn't have been the right home for these precious kitties. They're just adorable. Yesterday Vanilla got up on the counter and literally climbed up on me, paws on each side of my head, head-butting me, until I carried him around the house and then sat on the chair with him. He's the one I'd bring home if I could.

Maybe they just like me because I'm over there every day feeding them.

This weekend, a bunch of things happened that just needed to happen. That’s one of the only ways I can describe it.

S. came over on Friday night and we cooked dinner together, which is something we haven’t done together in a while, over a month. It’s always healthier and always nicer. We sat in the living room and raved about our delicious home cooked meal and ended up having a couple of beers and falling asleep on the couch in the living room. I have an energy-sucking couch that takes all of the life out of you the minute you recline the soft plushy seats, and we succumbed to its evil plot. My couch seeks world domination, one napper at a time.

On Saturday of course I had to get a flat tire. So, we went and got the tire repaired and came home and S. set me about the business of preparing breakfast/lunch while he worked in the yard, which was such a huge help I can’t even begin to describe it. The yard is now starting to look like a yard. Taking care of the house and yard isn’t too much work for two people, it can just be too much work for one. It’s so nice that he’s willing to help me take care of that stuff. So I picked up palm tree droppings while he mowed the lawn and cleaned the pool and I made lunch.

And then we napped again. Or I did, anyway.

Went and got my hair done… I’m much blonder than I was last week. S. seems to like it and Mojo hasn’t said too much of anything about it yet. Blonde ambition! No, seriously, it’s not that bad. It’s a little streaky, which is kind of hip and cool and totally not me, so I’m feeling pretty good about it.

Saturday night we went and had sushi. Sushi, one of my only vices. Sushi, which I love so much. Sushi, which is amazing. Sushi. And we had the best time! We sat at the far end of the sushi bar, which is not normally where we’d choose to sit. And we were sitting next to this guy who just had tons and tons of food, and it just kept coming; he had obviously over-ordered. But we were drooling over all his stuff – “ooh look at that” – “Wow that looks great.” We should have figured it was going to be a good evening when we sat down at the sushi bar and asked the sushi chef if he had any of the White Tuna Toro we had seen on the menu the other night. He said, “No, no more,” and then brought us two bites of this wonderful tuna toro which was marinated in a fabulous ceviche kind of sauce. He kind of winked at us and said “This is all I have, now it’s all gone.” We slurped it down happily and things only got better from there.

I think we’ve kind of mostly decided to avoid the alcoholic beverages at the sushi bar, because they are expensive. We can spend $12 on beer and sake in the blink of an eye, so we were having soda with our sushi. Gourmet? Nope. Cheaper? Yep. So we had our typical favorites… Hamachi-Scallion roll (S.’s fave), and they had some baby Hamachi that night so we tried that, it was really good. And eel, gotta have the eel, so we did. And I had him try a spicy scallop, but S. didn’t particularly like it. That’s okay though, more for me! Woo hoo! And I noticed that the guy next to us was having sashimi, and eel, and spicy scallop, and a bite of that white tuna toro, and all the stuff I like. Then we had a “tootsie roll” which at this place is a tempura shrimp roll with the fake krab in it and crunchy tempura bits on the outside with sweet eel sauce. So we devoured that and pretty much decided we were done. Although I could have kept eating. Sushi does that to me.

So we’re winding down and the guy next to us with the Parade Of Sushi orders a beautiful bottle of sake and pours shots for all the sushi chefs and his waitress, and they Kampai it up and we all kind of get talking and he keeps pouring them shots, and then decides he needs another bottle of sake but he needs four more glasses, two for me and S., and two for the folks to our left. So now we’re all Kampai-ing it up and drinking sake with the sushi chefs. And then the folks on our left did the same thing! So we each had two shots of sake which was amazingly good. Yum.

Well, get some shots of sake in a sushi chef and he starts cooking for you. So the guy to our right had mentioned something he had in there once that was like a tempura battered mushroom with stuff on the inside. So of course, Jun, the sushi chef, had to try to go make one! Next thing you know he’s coming down the pike with these things in little bowls for us, saying they were “magic mushrooms” and we should all try them. So we did, and they were amazing. Then a little bit later after some more sake he brought us this deep fried roll with nori on the outside and the nori was all crispy and he said, “This is new! You try this!” It was also amazing, served with some kind of spicy ponzu sauce and some grated daikon radish.

We were at the sushi bar for almost two and a half hours just enjoying our meal and fine company, getting new samples of little nibbles, and laughing and joking with the staff and our new sushi-friend Al. Turns out Al owns another restaurant I enjoy so he said “You just tell them you had sushi with me and they’ll take great care of you.” Ha!

That was my kind of meal. And of course we went home, curled up on the couch and I fell asleep again. Lots of just sleeping and being close this weekend.

I’ve been kind of clingy and needy lately, and I think it has something to do with losing someone I cared a great deal about. S. understands this and although he doesn’t always know how to “handle” me, I think he really is making a legitimate effort to help me feel better and feel some stability. He keeps telling me how our relationship is going great and how I don’t have anything to worry about and how we’d be stupid to end it for any reason right now because it’s all going so well. And I agree with him. I suppose sometimes I just need to hear it. Probably not as often as lots of women, but when I’m going through something weird like this, I need to hear it.

Sometimes I just need him to reach out his hand and give mine a little squeeze, or make one of those funny little faces at me, or do something to let me know that he’s not going anywhere. And he does that for me.

And that’s what makes me feel today, like the luckiest person in the world.

Well. That and sushi.

Okay, so you know those Budweiser commercials on the radio? I think it's Budweiser. They used to be called "Great American Heroes" but now they're "Real Men Of Genius" and it's all kinds of goofy guys that get 'saluted' for what they do. You know, We salute YOU, Mr. Giant Foam Finger Maker. (mistah giii-hiii-ant foam fin-gah may-ee-kah!) Or then there was Here's to YOU, Mr. All-you-can-eat Buffet Inventor. (mistah allyoucaneatbuffet in-veh-heh-heh-uhn-tah!)

Well I couldn't help think about that when I was walking to the bank today and saw the characters on the street. So here's my 'salutes' for the weekend.

Here's to YOU, Mr. Broncos Hat Lakers Shirt Dangly Earring Guy!

We salute YOU, Mr. Singing To Yourself Dancing In The Street Lookin' A Little Psycho Man.

This Bud's for YOU, Mr. Checking Your Watch Standing On The Corner Guy.

YOU make it happen, Mr. Wearing A Dorky Looking Red Beret Hot Dog Cart Guy.

Kudos to YOU, Mr. Jeans So Torn You Can See My Package Hanging Out Dude.

mistuh jeanssotornyoucanseemypackagehanging ow-how-how-howwwwwwwt dude!