Welcome to my wonderful, terrible, soap opera sit-com world.

Friday, February 28, 2003



S. is on his way home.

He'll be here soon.

I'm very excited.

That is all.

When I have finished being overcome with giddiness, I'm sure I shall post more.

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:29 PM | #


Thursday, February 27, 2003



Mr. Rogers died.

My mother called me this morning. And she said:

”I’m very sad. Mr. Rogers died. I wanted to call you and see if you’d heard.

I remember when you were one and a half years old or two years old, and you’d sit on the floor in front of the television and you knew all the songs, and you used to love the little trolly to the Neighborhood Of Make Believe. And you would sing, and laugh. Do you remember when you followed me around until I’d make clay?

One part salt, two parts flour, mix it with water until it’s right for modeling. You used to sing that.

He was a stable, peaceful force in your life. And you didn’t have anything stable or peaceful about your childhood. You were always so happy when you watched Mr. Rogers.”

Fred McFeely Rogers, you will be missed. You were a part of lots of our childhoods. Even though now we can look back on you and kind of chuckle, I’m going to suck it up and admit that I watched Mr. Rogers as a kid, and I DID know all the songs, and I DID like all the puppets, and I DID like the magic picture that played filmstrips, and I DID like the trolley, and I always thought his big traffic signal light between the living room and the kitchen was very cool.

It’s such a good feeling, to know you’re alive.
It’s such a happy feeling, you’re growing inside
And when you wake up ready to say,
”I think I’ll make a snappy new day”
It’s such a good feeling, a very good feeling
The feeling you know
That I’ll be back when the day is new
And I’ll have more ideas for you
And you’ll have things you want to talk about.
I. Will. Too.

Goodbye, Mr. Rogers.

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:20 AM | #




I am cold.

That is all.

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:21 AM | #


Wednesday, February 26, 2003



Henry Rollins rocked.

Christopher swung by around 5:30 to pick me up and I hopped in his truck, we got gas, stopped so I could get some money, I paid him my $30 for the ticket, and we went straight to the sports bar. While the original plan may have included “grabbing a bite and having a beer,” we pretty much only ended up having beer, but that was okay. I just wanted to wash off some of my day, so between the rain and the beer it all worked out. Three drinks later and conversations about S. and the girl he likes and the girl he works with and the girl who has a boyfriend and the girl who came on to him, and about work and looking for jobs and applying and making something out of yourself that you’re not, and family and whatever the hell, we hopped in the truck and went on to the Celebrity Theatre, where we saw Henry Rollins.

I really like Hank. Not to mention that he’s an Aquarius (2/13, I believe) and therefore operates kind of on a similar wavelength with me. But he speaks his mind, and he doesn’t care if you agree or disagree with what he thinks. He’s going to tell you what he thinks either way, and he actually kind of encourages you to have your own opinion and not keep his for rote.

So he talked about the war. And I was sad. We seem to share the same perspective on the war. That we have, as he put it, a “cowboy president who’s riding directly towards a war,” but he was incredibly supportive of the men and women in the armed forces who are going to have to go fight it. I believe he said something like, “If you’re all hopped up about going to war and you think we should go over there and kick some ass, then enlist, and make sure you’re going over there to do it.” He was totally behind the people involved – but was against the war. That’s so much how I feel. I actually felt myself getting a little teary-eyed when he was talking about it, because of my current situation with S., and because it really did mirror my thoughts. It’s not the soldiers’ fault that we’re going to be in a war or they have a job to do. But if we can avoid it, couldn’t we?

Henry talked for three hours. He talked about everything, it seemed. Talked for quite a while about the Ramones, and what it was like to see them in concert for the first time crammed into a tiny little club when he was a teenager. Having seen the Ramones live, it was an accurate accounting of a great band at a great time, and I felt kind of like I was there again. Having my ears ring for days afterwards and walking away from the experience saying, “Whoa.” Like you’ve been baptized. That’s how great music can touch you. It touched him and his recounting of the event made me remember what it was like (except I saw them at a substantially larger show than he did and after they had gone a little more “pop”).

He talked about drunk idiots (and we had two behind us and two in front of us). He talked about women and our need to control everything. He talked about buying things off an infomercial in the middle of the night and re-living your childhood to the sounds of sappy 70’s songs on FM Gold. He talked about giving back to the community and the world, and making a difference. He talked about a lot of stuff. Lots and lots of stuff.

If you’ve never heard him talk, I’d recommend either renting a Henry Rollins spoken word video from your local video rental establishment, or perhaps getting your hands on an inexpensive copy of one of his spoken word CD’s. I guarantee that no matter whether or not you agree with him, you’ll come away from the experience with something. Some kind of perspective. Whether it strengthens your resolve for whatever the issue is, or whether it changes your perspective a little bit. Do it.

Performers And Portrayers.

I’m tired. Some shit is going down here at work and I still can’t quite put my finger on what it is. My boss is gone for three days now, I won’t see him for the rest of the week, people are calling in sick, there’s closed door meetings going on, I don’t get it. Oh well, everything will come clear in time, I suppose.

I just hope it’s not about me.

Each Another’s Audience.

I got a birthday gift in the mail last night, well, in UPS. I have to get ahold of Kristina and thank her infinitely for them. They are what I would classify as, “prayer bells.” Multiple colors (all the colors of the rainbow) of strings of beautiful brass bells, which are typically used for protection devices for your home et al. As soon as my company leaves I am going to hang them up where they should go, and if S. gets called up to war I am going to send a strand off with him. Everything I’ve ever received from Kristina has been socked up with some good juju, and I’m sure these are no exception. Lord knows I could use something like this.

But I do feel bad, because her Yule gift, her birthday gift, and her Imbolc gift are all stacked up at my house and they haven’t made their way into a box yet and haven’t been sent off. Kristina is so good at following up with and keeping up with holidays and important days, and I feel the days and the people are all important but I’m a terrible procrastinator and I just can’t seem to remember, as I am rushing around freaked out in the morning, to grab her gifts and bring them to work to put them in a box. By the time she gets it, it’ll be next Yule at this rate. It makes me feel like a bad friend. I just hope she understands that it’s not that she’s not infinitely important to me. It’s just that I’m a mismanaged, unorganized loser half the time. Maybe now that my house is so clean, it’ll kick me in the ass to get that stuff in a box and on its way. I know she’s going to love it when she gets it. I must do that this week. I must.

I also have to send a care package to my brother Daryl. Which I’ve forgotten to do two days in a row also. I just suck.

Get On With The Fascination, The Real Relation, The Underlying Theme.

I miss S. I miss him like crazy. I got home from the show last night and he had left me a very nice voice mail message on my answering machine to let me know he was thinking of me. I miss him and I can’t wait to see him. Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder.

I think of him there in the cold going to school and doing his thing, and about as much as I wish he were here with me, I wish I were there with him.

I found out – he told me – that he had a little harder time than he thought he was going to with the smoking thing, and he bought a pack of cigarettes when he went out last weekend with all the guys from class. Drinking and smoking with the guys, I figured it was going to happen. He feels bad about it and is quitting again – I told him he had to leave that moldy-ass smoking thing at Sheppard when he comes home! Heh. Fortunately for me, he fully plans to quit again, if he hasn’t already, before he gets home so I won’t have to deal with it. Icky nasty yucky. He had done so well, too, he quit smoking on 1/3. So he’d made it about six weeks. I’m just glad he’s not a chronic smoker like some people I know, because then it would be way harder for him to quit.

I’m in love, and being far away from him sucks rocks. What am I going to do when he’s gone for three months? Seriously. Care packages every week or something. Something. I’m also trying to get ahold of a laptop that I can let him take when him when he goes, so at least he’ll be able to write some, compose email or something. Anything.

I miss S.


It’s raining. And cold. I want comfort food.

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:20 AM | #


Tuesday, February 25, 2003



Here's what you're supposed to do...and DON'T spoil the fun. Copy (not forward) this entire email and paste it into a new email that you will send.

Change all the answers so that they apply to you. Then send this to a whole bunch of people you know INCLUDING the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about those who know you. Remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you.

1. What time is it? Half past a monkey's ass, quarter til his balls.

2. Name as it appears on birth certificate: (duh, not on my blog)

3. Nickname(s): (Naw, not on my blog)

4. Number of candles on cake: 33

5. Birthday: 2/11

6. Pets: Two dogs, one cat, and one cat who thinks she's a dog

7. Hair color: Chocolate-chestnut-brown, although right now it's got some blondish parts to it. Hey, I pay a lot of money for that, shut up.

8. Piercing: Standard earring holes in each ear, one extra hole in left ear, which is the only hole I hang anything in.

9. Eye color: Grey/blue/green

10. How much do you love your job, on a scale from one to ten: I exercise my right to not answer this question, as I am sending this email from my work's email, and that could end up being embarrassing no matter how I chose to answer the question. Honestly I'd have to say it depends on the day, and sometimes, on the time of day.

11. Hometown: Born: Anchorage, Alaska

12. Current Residence: Scottsdale, Arizona

13. Favorite Food(s): Anything I can put Tabasco Chipotle Hot Sauce on.

14. Been to Africa? Nope.

15. Been toilet papering? Yup.

16. Loved somebody so much it made you cry? Yes.

17. Been in a car accident? Oh my god, I thought we weren't going to talk about that any more. (yes)

18. Croutons or bacon bits? Neither. Ick. Feh.

19. Favorite day(s) of the week? Lazy saturday mornings

20. Favorite word or phrase: "Moldy, moldy ass."

21. Favorite Restaurant: Changes week to week but currently Los Olivos in Scottsdale.

22. Favorite Drink: Ice cold Sol with two limes, or a nice White Zin.

23. Favorite sport to watch: Anybody but the Raiders suck "moldy, moldy ass." Oh, except for Mark Martin, #6, consistent top five finisher. Yes, I have all of my teeth. Nascarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr racin'.

24. Favorite ice cream? Haagen Dazs Dulce De Leche

25. Disney or Warner Bros.? The Disney Corporation is the devil.

26. Favorite Fast Food Restaurant: Anything with a "bertos" in it

27. What color is your bedroom carpet? Kind of a beige-ish color

28. How many times did you fail your drivers test? None. Do not question me. I swear it's true. Though I did make the driver's ed teacher yell and stomp on the pansy brake on his side of the car. I’m a very good driver. Never on Tuesday. Only on Saturday. Slow on the driveway.

29. Who is the last person you got e-mail from? One of my bosses.

30. Do you sing in the shower? Yes. Loud. Animals run and hide, and boyfriends crank up the music in the next room to drown me out.

31. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card: Brandon already said "Castle Boutique," so I guess I can't use that answer. Any of the new-agey boutiques or Amazon.com maybe.

32. What do you do most often when you are bored? Isn't this a little bit personal? Hey, what I do on my own time has nothing to do with you! A woman should be able to do whatever she wants to with her free time! Wait. Free time? Do you have to have free time to be bored? Then probably nothing. I guess I sleep when I'm not working. Is that an acceptable answer?

33. Most annoying thing people ask me: Used to be: "Are you pregnant yet?" Now is: "Do you care if I turn the air conditioner on?" Hello, people, it's the middle of winter!

34. Bedtime: 11pm-12am depending on work

35. Favorite TV show(s): Joe MIllionaire, Survivor, Fastlane, that's about all I get to see any more.

36. Last person you went out to dinner with? Christopher, but only because S. is in Texas

37. Ford or Chevy? Ford. Duh.

38. Top Five Sexiest Movie Stars. Tim Robbins, Val Kilmer (though he's hit the wall), Harrison Ford, Sean Connery (I do NOT have a thing for wrinkled up old guys, just dig him) and Ben Affleck

39. Book you're currently reading: Speeding The Net (my inner geek emerges)

40. Last movie seen in a theater: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days

41. All time favorite movie: The Princess Bride

42. Who will respond to this e-mail the quickest? Maury

43. Who is the person you sent this to that is least likely to respond? Ron

44. Say something nice about the person that sent this to you? I can always count on Brandon to send me these things, and I can always count on him to know I'd be the first one to respond. At least he finds me entertaining.

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:45 AM | #




My house is clean.

I don’t know if I can stress this enough. My house is clean. My house is now functioning as a highly sterile environment, similar to a bee hive. An operating room. Anything else that is, well, sterile.

My carpets are shampooed. The maids were at my house for four and a half hours. Yes, let me express that numerically just so there is no confusion – 4 and ½ hours. 4.5 hours. 270 minutes. They scrubbed. They mopped. They dusted. They cleaned. They wiped. They stain-removed. They got things off my shower that I thought were just going to be there forever. They cleaned my baseboards, they cleaned my ceiling fans. They wiped my windows, they cleaned my blinds. They dusted every cork-topped bottle in my collection, and that’s over 100. They even dusted off my computer. They cleaned windowsills. They cleaned the grout in my tile.

My house feels brand new! So in honor of my new clean house and believing I didn’t want to cook in order to preserve the pristine nature of what would be my kitchen, I ordered a pizza last night from Pizza Hut. I didn’t care for it, I found it to be a little bland and salty – Stuffed Crust Gold with mushrooms and onions. It was better when I put some Tabasco Chipotle Hot Sauce on it. Also good was Tabasco Garlic Hot Sauce on the 2nd piece. What, you haven’t figured out my condiment habit yet?

So. After I spiced it up a little, it was good.

I showed up at home at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon and ended up staying at my neighbor’s house until close to 8pm, waiting for the carpet cleaners and housecleaners to get done. So of course, I helped her clean her house, which was fine. I might as well be giving back, as I didn’t have to pay for the housekeepers AT ALL. She tipped them $20, which I didn’t know she was going to do, so I felt a little bad about that. I would have tipped them myself if I knew they were going to be there for FOUR AND A HALF HOURS.

Now I just have to learn how to maintain this level of cleanliness. Either that or I need to find a way to afford them. I think it’s going to have to be maintain the level of cleanliness.

Just One Of Those Days When You Don’t Wanna Wake Up.

I was going to get to work early today. So I can leave early today. So I can go to Henry Rollins. I walked in the door at 7:55 a.m. and my boss was walking out. Five people were there. He said, “I thought you were showing up early today.”

”Yeah,” I said. “So did I.” And then my inside voice said, But apparently the other 50,000 people on the road this morning driving in the godddamned rain didn’t think it was so important to get the flying FUCK out of my way so I could be here early so I could leave early, and I decided to take surface streets today instead of the hovercraft. I’ll work through lunch.

So who, today, wants to be the one to tell me I should love my job?

I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You.

I talked to S. last night. He phoned me a couple different times. First, because he wanted to check up on me and see how I was doing. He had “air force voice” but he still said, “Bye, hon,” when he got off the phone with me. Which was nice. Then he phoned to ask me if I could tape the afterbirth to Money Grubbing Whores. Please don’t spoil it for me as I watched like 10 minutes of it while I choked down pizza but didn’t actually see any of the interview between Evan and Zora, so we’re going to watch it together. Then I hit the sack at around 9:30 and laid in bed talking to him until 11:30. Good times.

I miss him terribly and am glad he’s going to be coming home. I guess in Wichita Falls it’s FUCKING COLD so he’s trying to enjoy it as a new and different experience. Heh.

I’m glad my mom doesn’t read my blog, she’d have an issue with all my cursing. Some days are worse than others. Moldy, moldy ass.

You touch me, but you don't touch me
You feel me, but you don't feel me
You know me, but you don't know me
I am one time, I am right here, I am what's left, I am right now
I remain burned beyond recognition

Henry Rollins.

Hank’s the man.

Tonight is the night.

So, Christopher is feeling particularly down and out about himself. It pisses me off, actually, that he can be so incredibly self deprocating. I already explained to him that *I* am the one who has the cornered market on self deprocating and self hatred and self loathing right now, so he has no business doing ANY of those things. But he insists.

I told him if he didn’t suck it up and cheer up I was going to come down to the fancy-schmancy restaurant where he works and drag him kicking and screaming out of there. I don’t think he appreciated that. S. also let me know that when a man is feeling self deprocating, that perhaps having someone speaking to them in a frustrated tone and threatening them with physical violence is not the most effective way to handle it.

He needs to cheer up.

And so we are going to go to Henry Rollins Spoken Word tonight. Yea, verily. I’m super, super, super excited about that. YAY YAY YAY.

Everything Is Fucked, Everybody Sucks.

Things at work are strange. Closed door meetings, off site meetings, everything is up in the air and strange and weird. I don’t know for sure what’s going on here, but it’s going to be huge, and I’m kind of freaking out. My boss is acting weird (as per above comment) and one of my co-workers is acting weird and people keep telling me it’s going to be something good and wonderful but no one’s really acting wonderful.

Being here the last couple of days has been like sitting my bare ass in a bucket filled with nails, razor blades, and salt water. Okay, so I wouldn’t know exactly what that feels like but I’d imagine it’s incredibly uncomfortable. And things around here are… yeah. Worst. Environment. Ever.

I should probably finish my filing project today. It might keep some people Off. My. Ass.

But then – you know, when the other parts of my job get in the way of stuff like that… just more to justify.

Worst. Environment. Ever.


Rose typed all this stuff at 11:05 AM | #


Monday, February 24, 2003



4:45 a.m. my PHONE rings. I smorp myself over to the phone, hope I don't drop it on my dog's head and grunt, "Hello?" I have fifteen goddamned minutes before my alarm has to go off.

A cheery, loving voice on the other end of the line says,

"Wakeup call! It's a lovely 18 degrees in Wichita Falls, Texas."

S. knew I had to open the office today and had to get "stuff" ready for the maids et al to come ransack my home, so he thought he'd make sure I made it out of bed.

I love my boyfriend. I think he's a keeper.

Rose typed all this stuff at 6:11 AM | #


Saturday, February 22, 2003



Note to self:

Whatever-the-hell is in an apple tini plus
sake plus
asahi beer plus
Pete's wicked strawberry blonde plus
Hornsby's hard cider plus
2 glasses of wine


a rough morning.

must have coffee.

must have aspirin.

must have coffee.

If it's any consolation I was on the phone until 2am talking with a very tipsy boyfriend, so I think we're both going to be struggling today.

must have coffee.

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:41 AM | #


Friday, February 21, 2003



Why can't I go to sleep?


Maybe I should drink more.

If I hadn't drank so much I'd take a soma.


Rose typed all this stuff at 11:48 PM | #




Okay so it's a country music reference. Freaking shoot me.

Now let's see.

1 Apple-Tini.
1 Sake Bomber (split it with Marisa).
One Pete's Wicked Strawberry Blonde.
One Hornsby's Draught Cider.
2 glasses of White Grenache (Peter Vella, from the box, it's inexpensive)

It's 10:30 and I haven't heard from S.

I'm tipsy.

I miss S. insanely. Incredibly, deeply, insanely. Weekend is going to be the hardest for me as that's the time we get to spend together.

As if having some cocktails will change that.

I think I need to sing. I wish I could sing.

I wish lots of things.

Just sad.

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:42 PM | #




1 Apple-Tini
1 Sake Bomber (split it with Marisa)
Half of one Pete's Wicked Strawberry Blonde in the last hour I've been home.

Various and sundry sushi, and one marischino cherry in my apple-tini.

Now doing: Nothing. Waiting for Christopher to call to see if we're going to go drink more beer.

Still not ready to talk about my day. Suffice it to say it involved the CFO of my company getting fired for boinking one of his staff members. Go figure. I mean, really. Duh.

Either way, not ready to face it yet.

Talked to S., he was unwinding from school by sitting in someone's room watching movies and drinking beer.

All around, it appears to be a beer night.

Go, beer.

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:15 PM | #




I am in the fucking middle of a fucking technological fucking cluster fuck disaster.

I am meeting Marisa for Ra Sushi tonight for lots of raw fish, sake, and beer.

I believe I shall have an apple-tini.

It's happy hour.

Or two, or three.

More cluster fuck details to follow.


Rose typed all this stuff at 5:54 PM | #


Thursday, February 20, 2003



Well. It's late, and I'm wide awake, which seems to be par usual for me while S. is in Texas. So I might as well write.

Note comment/blab board on the left hand side, knock yourselves out.

Now then. Let's talk a little bit about self deprocating behavior and self hatred. Why is it that perfectly intelligent people have it? Why is it that people like me, choose to resort to it?

I found myself telling a friend today, that I am starting to doubt things and be afraid of things, because of my own self deprocating habits combined with a dash of self loathing. I've also noticed my eating habits starting to change a little bit, reminiscent of eating disorder troubles, where I'm either shoving stuff in my face or not eating at all. Yesterday I didn't want to eat at all. Today I made myself have some soup for dinner, although I did have a big lunch with my friends Kelly and Nancy at the Mexican place. Not the best for me. Another thing I do is judge my food on its nutritional merits and I get really, really obssessive about it.

What is bringing this on, you might ask? Not feeling deserving, I suppose. Having some of those moments where I feel like I just don't deserve to feel happy. And here's the strangest thing.

I had a long talk today with a boyfriend of a friend of mine, who's also a friend of mine. And as I listened to him talk I realized how much alike we are in that aspect, although I always had suspicions. It's easy for someone who's afraid of being happy to pick out another one. But here's what's so funny. Not funny ha-ha, but just funny strange or funny sad. These two people who by all rights should be completely perfect for one another, appear to be - sometimes at differing times and sometimes at the same time - so afraid of being happy and so convinced they're not deserving, that they talk to each other and it's like they're each speaking another language. They just sometimes, can't understand each other. Which gives them a reason to question things, which gives them a reason to doubt things, which keeps them from being happy, which seems to fulfill the goal. They love each other a great deal, don't get me wrong, but when I talk to them individually I am finding myself amazed that they have communication issues. Surprising, but not.

While I don't consider anything that's ever happened to me really, relationship-wise, to be on par with what's going on with S., I have had times in my life where I have chosen to sabotage things because it was easier than waiting around for the other shoe to drop. And those moments came out of self hatred as well as just pure, unadulterated fear. And I found myself on the phone with S. today and was talking to him and actually told him a little bit about what I had witnessed this evening and said, "I don't ever want to do that! I don't want to question it!"

I don't remember exactly what he said, because I was kind of off in my own little world venting about my day and my pain and my frustration and my knowledge and my lunch and my card reading and my job and stuff. But I know he said something comforting.

BoyfriendWatch is about to enter Day 6. One week from tomorrow I will be anxiously awaiting news that he's on the road and on the way home. And I can't wait.

Henry RollinsWatch is now counting down, 5 days left. I'll miss you, S. I know you can't even read this because the fucking library at the fucking air force fucking base in fucking Texas is closed for renovations, and that fucking sucks. Fuck.

I ordered S. and I a case - eight bottles - of Tabasco sauce from the Tabasco website - we are enamored with the chipotle Tabasco sauce, which is addictive as hell, spicy as fuck, and full of great flavor. Yes, I said, "spicy as fuck." So I had this great idea of what I was going to do as a "Love Gift" in his email, which he can't FUCKING GET AT THE FUCKING LIBRARY ON THE FUCKING BASE. I was going to take a digital picture of the tabasco bottles, possibly tied up with string and with little blindfolds on them, and was going to send a ransom note in email. Hostage Hot Sauce. But of course, that won't fucking work, because fucking technology isn't fucking available at fucking Sheppard fucking AFB.

Quickly, Quickly Go -- And Then You'll Know -- It's Such An Awkward Show To See

Work sucks.

I feel fat.

I'm hungry, but I'm not.

I'm tired, but I can't sleep.

I feel fat.

I'm lonely and anxious.

I feel fat.

Have I said, "fuck?"

Rose typed all this stuff at 11:32 PM | #


Wednesday, February 19, 2003



I am a filing fool.

I have spent my day filing. Purging old files. Looking through files. Making new labels for files. Re-organizing files. Making new files.

I have plotted and planned the ultimate in organization, a new filing system, specifically requested by my boss. I have given my boss the end of the month as the time frame for this new filing system, and it shall be the Noah’s Ark of filing systems. Yea, verily, for all of the idiot people who don’t know how to find files, shall be able to find them under MY new filing system. Even though the old filing system was fine, and anyone with half a brain could find anything. But since I was asked to do it, I shall do it. And I shall not complain. Because I am a model employee. And I was asked to file. So I will file.

I also had lunch.

But overall, I have been a filing maniac. When my regular job didn’t pull me away from it, which wasn’t much today.

I hate filing, which is probably why I am typing this entry in little, short paragraphs. It represents the shortness in my temper, the rawness in my nerves, and the absolute headache I am getting from it all. Filing.

In other news, I miss S. immensely, and I haven’t heard from him today. I’m guessing it’s because he’s quite busy going through his class and learning lots of important stuff. I am sure I will hear from him later. But in the meantime, not hearing from him makes me sad, it makes me feel kind of disconnected. Nix that, really disconnected. Discombobulated.

I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie.

I need to lose weight.

I have to start exercising and eating better. The eating better is already under way. Now it’s just the exercise. That involves having to get up earlier in the morning which means I need to stop staying up so late which means S. and I will have to set an earlier curfew.

Either way, it means that I have to lose weight. I feel bad that S. is in such good shape, and I’m not. He’s lean an strong, and I’m chubby and tubby, and that’s just not going to cut it. I want to be in better shape. I want to be able to do remotely physical things without feeling like I’m going to keel over. I want to be able to keep up with him.

And let’s be frank, I want to make sure I am capable of staying physically attractive to him. That’s always a bonus. I’m older than he is anyway by five years. I want to make sure I continue to be someone he wants to look at, and be with, and hold and touch and squinch and you know, all the fun stuff.

I need to lose weight.

And I am a filing maniac.

Would You Stand Up And Walk Out On Me?

I have a friend whom I care a great deal about but who makes me crazy. We shall not name her here.

I’ve known this person for a little over a year now, and through one of the hardest times in my life she stuck by me through thick and thin. She served up the “tough love” when I needed it and wasn’t afraid to pull back from me so I could wallow in my own mistakes for a while, and I’m grateful for that.

But now it’s just starting to bother me.

I feel like she tries to dig around and see if I’m lying about things, when I’m not lying. I can’t seem to get her excited about my experiences with S. It’s a strange relationship we have. I feel like I’m always trying to get caught up or get ahead, and I can’t even get to zero with her. I try. I do. Maybe it’s just not enough.

Maybe it will never be enough, and that’s frustrating to me. I care a great deal about her, but it’s like banging my head against a wall. I don’t know what else I can do to show her I care, but maybe I’m just not like her other friends or something. Or maybe when I was going through all my bullshit, I just did irreparable damage.

I don’t know.

Of course, I am thinking way too much about it. I should just be myself. But I can’t help but wonder if not feeling as close to this friend as I would like, makes me a bad person. I care a lot about my friends. Sometimes it’s hard to say “fuck it.”

I found out that a bunch of my friends, and this friend is a part of that group, are going to the Ren Faire and had been planning the trip. I was not involved in that, so they would have just gone without me. That hurts my feelings a little bit. I know I’ve been spending a lot of my free time with S., but that’s because I’m falling in love. My friend is the wife of another good friend of mine, and having the two of them functioning in the same social group is a HUGE bonus when you are talking about doing things “with friends.” S. isn’t a part of my social group – at least not yet – so it’s not like he’s automatically included or invited when something comes up. I still haven’t been able to introduce him to this particular branch of my friends because of scheduling conflicts and the like, and I had hoped to be able to go to the Ren Faire with everyone and drag him along. But now that’s not going to happen. I think I’m going to let them go without me since they were planning the trip without me in the first place.

It’s sad when things like that come together. I suppose it’s my fault for segmenting myself off from that group, but I do feel like I’m being punished. Maybe I shouldn’t.

I don’t know.

So I’m frustrated, I’m sad, and I have to lose weight. Any questions?

Rose typed all this stuff at 5:15 PM | #




I slept fabulously.

More to come.

Rose typed all this stuff at 9:31 AM | #


Tuesday, February 18, 2003



If you don't recognize that song lyric, go to www.kazaa.com, download the client, and then download "GONE, GONE, GONE (MY GIRL)" by the Canadian band, Chilliwack. Good song.

In an effort to not wake up twelve times during the night, I took a Soma (prescription muscle relaxer) about half an hour ago, and it's hitting me like a truck. They either just make me sleep well, or they make me feel like I'm rather tipsy. This one's making me feel rather tipsy. So, settle in for a good ride, this might be a nice one.

S has been gone two days and I'm a psycho. I'm thinking about him all the time. I'm sitting at home done with work, American Idol is over with, I am chatting with Maury and Patrick, figuring S. has gone out for a beer with the guys from his class or something since I haven't heard from him.

Trying not to pick up the phone and call as he might be studying or whatever and I don't want to interrupt his productive time.

And I'm freaking plowed. If you people could see how many backspaces I'm having to make just to get this entry edited, you'd be amazed.

It's two days in, and I'm a freaking psycho. What am I going to do when he's going to be gone for three months and I watch his cat and his fish and can't hardly hear from him at all, when he's in another country?

In other news, I miss my friend Kristina as much as the day is long. I've left her some voice mail messages and haven't heard back from her, and am not sure if she's mad at me or if she's just going through so much stuff herself that she doesn't want to talk to anyone. I worry that maybe I neglected her, as I've been so wound up in S. being gone.

Okay. As a side note, I can't feel my nose. Must have got a good pill, as I did have a full dinner of veggie alfredo pasta and a full bag of Act II Sweet Corn On The Cob popcorn (see the list of links on the left, "addictive snack").

I'm tired, and looped out of my mind, and I miss my boyfriend intensely. But I resolved that I wasn't going to bother him while he might be studying or whatever, and that he would call me when he wanted to see me.

I miss him.

I should probably just stop writing now. Sigh.

I went to lunch with Kara today, my dear friend at work. I love her so much, I don't even know if she knows. I really feel connected with her.

Okay. I need to quit.

Rose typed all this stuff at 9:23 PM | #


Monday, February 17, 2003



Well, S. is gone, he phoned me this morning to let me know that he made it to the AFB in Texas where he will be taking up residence for the next little while at his class. I, as any good doting girlfriend should be, am tired, and sad that he's gone, and resolving to keep myself busy (like that's hard) while he's gone.

I have too much crap to do.

I've got strangers coming to stay at my house for a weekend in two weekends. My carpets need to be cleaned. My yard needs to be completely overhauled, front and back. I have laundry to do. My kitchen looks like a tornado hit it. I still have birthday balloons in my living room. For some reason my back room, which has tile in it, has kind of a "pee" smell so I have to figure out who tinkled on the floor and where, which involves moving furniture. Overall, there is just a lot of things I have to do - primarily because I've got strangers coming to stay at my house for a weekend, in two weekends.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

I have a dear friend at work that I don't get to spend near enough time with. It seems like we're oddly connected together somehow and we're like two planets that happen to get in each other's orbit from time to time. I know that sounds a little strange, but it's just one of those deals. But the time we spend together, we seem to really enjoy one another immensely. I'm proud and blessed to have her as a part of my life, and I'm happy to say we spent a good few hours together on Friday night, we were one another's Valentine's Day dates.

Since I thought I couldn't see Shawn, and he thought he couldn't see me, and her boyfriend was also out of town, we went to see a chick movie - "How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days" - great flick. We laughed so hard, I almost cried. And as we were leaving the movie I realized how much more enjoyable that kind of romantic comedy can be, if you have the same kind of dynamic chemistry between you and whomever you're seeing as are are in the movie. When you have no concept of how two people can dig each other that much, it just all seems like a fictional pipe dream, but when you can almost crawl inside the characters, it makes it that much more enjoyable.

Over coffee we talked and chatted and smiled and laughed and caught up on everything that's been making us insanely happy and insanely insane, over the last - say - six months or so. And it was great. Found out that her best friend lives in Wichita Falls, TX - which is not only where S. is going for this class, but is also where he might end up if he ever decides to take the Instructor position that would be such a benefit to his career and such a boon to my random plans to never move out of my house, never change, grow old and die without ever leaving the state.

So I thought that was interesting. You know, little things get shot your way and you don't always realize the magnitude of them. But what if it's just another sign post, one of those fantastical road signs in the the movie "Labyrinth" where there's a finger pointing the way down a road - maybe it's this way - maybe it's that way - who knows. Do you trust the sign? Do you trust your heart? Do you listen to your maniacal brain that works overtime trying to tell you why you shouldn't trust the sign, or your heart?

Maybe Dave Matthews has all the answers. (see title of today's entry)

Crash Into Me.

S. had messed up on the days that he was traveling to his class, and as it turned out he didn't have to leave until Sunday. So after he phoned me and explained his faux-pas, I went home and anxiously waited for him to come over. Wahoo! In the meantime I read the tarot of a friend of mine who it turns out was going through a promotion at work. And I kept seeing work - promotion - increase - maybe a raise - some kind of shift - and I had this HUGE vibe that it was work related, but she didn't give me a "yes" either way. Then today I find out she IS getting a promotion and that she just couldn't tell me. Damn, I'm good.

S. showed up around 5pm or so, I hit the shower and took him out to dinner. Over much beer and Mexican food we talked a little about his class, a little about everything and nothing, and just spent some great time together. I hated to see him go, but he left Sunday morning driving straight through.

That's why I'm a wreck today. He phoned me from various spots along the way but I didn't have confirmation of his arrival until this morning.

I'm A Liar. -Henry Rollins

So last night I met my friend Christopher, former dating prospect that didn't pan out for a multitude of reasons, for a late dinner at a Mexican place near my house. He hadn't talked to me since I'd started dating S., so I thought it was kind of interesting that he wanted to get together and figured it'd be a great time to let him in on the fact that I'm madly in love.

Turns out he wanted to get together and figured it'd be a great time to let me in on the fact that he's really sweet on some girl. Heh.

So, it's all good. We each spent about an hour "bragging" about our new relations, we almost bounced some things off one another for advice, and overall we're quite happy for one another. He's a good guy. Our lifestyles just wouldn't have been compatible - he's bouncy, fighty, spontaneous, AND a control freak all at the same time. What a combination - an Aquarius and a flighty control freak. Yikes, where there's smoke, there's fire. We probably would have tried to kill each other.

But in the meantime we can get along just fine. I guess the only non-redeeming quality of this girl so far, is that she doesn't like Henry Rollins.

Who doesn't like Henry Rollins? Aw, come on, work with me here!

I was going to take S. to see Henry Rollins spoken word on 2/25 here in Phoenix. Turns out he's still going to be in Texas. And I didn't know anyone else who was going to go - Chris wants to go, and his new girl doesn't want to go, so looks like we might go together.

S. approves, he's happy I'll be able to go. I'm sure if there's anything I can "get" there as a souvenier, I'll get him something. But I get to see Henry.

Woo hoo!

I'm A Creep. I'm A Weirdo.

I'm tired. I'm tired and sad. Money Grubbing Whores is on tonight and I'm only halfway looking forward to it. I missed the entire first Survivor and then my VCR taped the wrong channel... do you like how I managed to make it the electronic equipment's fault, and not operator error? Of course it wasn't my fault!

So if anyone knows how the first Survivor went, will you fill me in?

Will Zora take it all the way tonight?

I'm pissed. My first "date" with S. was a phone date for Money Grubbing Whores, and now we won't even get to watch it at the same time.

I'm sure there are more pressing issues in the world that I could, or should, be worrying about. But at least for right now, it's all about me missing S., and feeling a little lonely, and being tired, and having too much crap to do.

So there.

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:53 AM | #


Friday, February 14, 2003



S. sent me an email today since we aren't going to be able to see each other.

His email welled up more emotion in me and made me feel more loved than anything anyone's done for me on Valentine's day in as long as I can remember. No, I am not exaggerating.

It wasn't flowery poetry, it wasn't full of romantic imagery. It was straight from his heart, and it was honest, and it hit home with me. And that's what matters today. Not how many flowers you get or how much chocolate you can shove in your face or how much someone spends on you to make up for neglecting you for the rest of the year.

One short email.

And I'm in tears.

S., if you're reading this, I love you. If you aren't, I wish you were.

Thank you.

Happy v-day to all.

Rose typed all this stuff at 5:11 PM | #


Thursday, February 13, 2003



Well, ladies and gentlemen, here we are in another installment of my life. Sometimes I wonder what's really going on - I mean, at times, everything seems so confusing I just can't stand it.

I'm a little frustrated, tired, anxious, et al, about the idea that S. is going to be in Texas for a period of no less than two weeks. In that time I plan to work my ass off, get my yard in order, maybe get a bid on fixing the patio roof on my house, and get my carpets cleaned in anticipation of having some people come stay with me as a "favor" (I bartered the carpet cleaning in the exchange for the "room nights") and that will happen the last weekend S. is gone. So that'll all be done about the time things start to get back to normal, but I still won't see him until probably the second weekend in March, which means I might not actually see him for nearly a month.

That's almost how long we've been dating. Wow, heck of a way to start off, eh?

My father was kind enough to call me late last night and apologize for missing my birthday - not a huge deal because I am not particularly used to him remembering it. But he also decided to tell me that I should sell my house, cash out the equity, and that I should do it soon so I can feel financially stable. He also suggested it could help me with my job search. Bleah.

So, while dodging the conversation about the house, I got to hear oldies but goodies like, "You've had a pretty shitty life, but most of it is your own fault!" And, we can't forget, "You radiate an aura of fear. That's why you haven't gotten farther in your life." And who can go a day without hearing, "Don't defy me, be quiet and listen to me, because I am right, I know what I'm talking about and you don't know what you're talking about."

Life's great.

In tears a little after 11:00 last night, I called S., not knowing who else to call, just looking for some kind of voice of reason. I now had the Fear Of God in me about why I **HAD** to sell my house **NOW** and that my life was going to continue to be a screwed up wreck as long as I kept it. That the real estate market is going to take such a flying fucking leap into the shitter in the next two years, that I won't be able to get as much for my house as I owe on it (not bloody likely) and that I'd be in evil financial straits. That I'm a loser, the forgotten, failed child. Something about talking to my dad when he is in that kind of a mood just makes me want to ... throw up. It's like I'm 12 years old again, or 13 or 17 or 19 or 22, getting the shit beat out of me, and I just want to run and hide. I don't argue, I don't stand up for myself, I don't do anything. I just sit there and let him tell me (probably under the premise that he's my dad and cares about my well being) that I should do things HIS way to get everything right.

So I called S., in tears, bawling actually, and prefaced the conversation by saying, "You haven't heard me cry, and I just got off the phone with my dad, and I just have to cry now." And I cried and talked and vented and he was very supportive and kind to me.

I spent some time reading my friend Brooke's blog yesterday. She mentions me in there, and I think it's important to respond here. Brooke and I are internet friends, we've been talking and emailing on and off now for probably two years or so, maybe a little longer. We have never spoken voice on the phone that I remember, or maybe one time. We chat through MSN and that's how we've gotten to know one another. We have a friend in common, Kristina. Well, she says she wishes she had more time to talk with me because she'd like to be closer, and I'd like to echo that statement. Brooke's a good kid, I even call her "kiddo." I see a lot of me, when I was my age, in her, and sometimes I want her to see where I've been in my life so she doesn't make the same mistakes I made. Heck, I'd wish that for just about anyone. But Brooke, believe me, I want to spend more time talking to you too. I'm proud to know Brooke, anyone would be, and she's got a lot going for her. Just because we haven't met doesn't mean we can't be good friends.

Another thing that I find interesting is the notion that I am starting to not feel tied to where I live. I mean except for having a mortgage. If my sister moves to Pennsylvania with my nephew and incoming niece or nephew, I don't really have anything else here but my mom.

Foreshadowing? Who knows. I always thought I wanted to be in the same place forever until I died. But maybe it's about who you surround yourself with and not where you are.


Rose typed all this stuff at 5:15 PM | #


Tuesday, February 11, 2003



S. is not on stand-by. But it appears to be a pre-quel to stand-by. (All these hyphens. Go figure.)

It's still not completely easy for me to fathom, but I am trying to hang in there.

And I Come On Like A Dream

Had my recruiter interview last night. Typed faster than anyone they'd ever seen by about 30 wpm (132 wpm) and did real well on my software tests. They say it shouldn't be a problem to come up with something interesting for me.

I Look Like A Monkey And I Smell Like One Too!

Happy birthday to me. S. is at the house this morning, a big pot of chili is already on the simmer, and apparently I will have dinner served to me when I get home from work today! Am going to lunch with Ann and Krisanne, two dear friends who share the same birthday as me, and every year it's an adventure. We're going to our favorite Italian place today.

My grandma called me first thing this AM to wish me happy birthday. Have not heard from mom, dad, sis, or other family members yet.

Riding On The Freeway Of Love

S. met the family this weekend. Yesterday my mother called me at work. The conversation went something like this:

"Thank you for calling (where I work), can I help you?"

"Hey. It's your mother. Did he like us?"

"I'm sorry, who are you, and what have you done with my real mother?

Check it out, my mom's calling me for the status report on the man and whether or not **HE** liked **THEM**... yowza!

Dig it!

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:26 AM | #


Monday, February 10, 2003



Can't confirm but have suspicion due to the tone in his voice and the nature of the conversation we're going to have later when he shows up here...

S. might be on stand-by.

I'm trying not to be teary-eyed. So I'll have to write more about this later.

Rose typed all this stuff at 7:38 PM | #


Friday, February 07, 2003



Well..... DUH!

Take the What High School
Stereotype Are You?
quiz, by Angel.

Like, fer shure.


Rose typed all this stuff at 2:18 PM | #




Enter Peace-Loving Hippie Mode. Bear with me.

In case you didn't see the news, the President is going to raise our Terrorism Threat Level to "Orange" today at 12:30 pm EST. For those people like me who aren't privy to all the codes, "Orange" equates to, "High." We are currently at, "Yellow." I suppose it's some kind of reaction to the looming possibility of war in the middle east or something, but they are saying that Al Qaida is closer to striking out.

Two months ago, it would just be another reason for a civilian girl in Scottsdale, Arizona, not exactly a hotbed of political, military or terrorism target activity, to feel bad that someone, somewhere, was at risk of something-or-other, and it would give me another reason to watch the news tonight to see if "it" really happened or get some false sense of security that everything was fine.

To someone who's involved in a relationship with a person active in this country's armed forces, it's just one step closer to having the man I love (yeah, I said it again, love) put on a plane to some God/dess-foresaken place in the middle of the desert, where they have things like nuclear weaponry, chemicals that can burn you up, biological nasty bugs that can kill you, and then the old standards, guns and bullets. And lots of 'em. People die in places like that. No two ways around it. People die.

Ten or twelve years ago, a friend of mine left Luke AFB and got stationed in the Netherlands. (He's not a friend of mine any more, see yesterday's entry, but bear with me on this.) While Steve was in the Netherlands, the Gulf War started and he went on a 90-day TDY to Saudi Arabia. Now according to him, it was pretty much a picnic. He was support and not like, you know, patrolling the desert with guns and stuff, so he got to live in a dorm and play basketball and eat 3 meals a day and do the things he did working on the work he did far away from any real threat of being killed. But I was still worried, frustrated and upset to know that someone I knew, let alone a friend, was over there in the middle of it. Because if you're not sipping coffee on a Sunday morning in the back yard, you're that much closer to "in the middle of it" even if you're a few hundred miles away from the "action."

Now. The idea of S. going away and living in a dorm somewhere and playing basketball and getting three square meals a day and "doing his job" somewhere other than here, in general, is a little hard for me because it's rough to be away and out of touch from people that you care about. But the idea that it could be happening in the middle of a WAR, or a war where half the world can't even really get behind the United States for what they want to do anyway, well, that's scary. I trust S. just fine to be able to take care of himself if he had to. It's everyone else in the stupid war I don't much trust.

War scares me. The idea of war scares me not only because people die, but because it's something so completely unfathomable for me that I just can't comprehend it. I don't know what it would be like to be whisked away to a forgotten country to live in the desert and "do your job," which entailed fighting a war against a bunch of people you don't know, for reasons that you kind of "have to'" understand to keep you sane.

S. is totally okay with the whole idea of going. From a personal perspective he's excited about the chance to make some extra money, and excited about just being able to go somewhere. He's pretty much been in Phoenix since he signed up for the USAF and hasn't really gone anywhere. And he reiterates that in the big scope of things, three months is nothing time-wise. So if he's gone for 90 days, surely that's something that we'll be able to get through. I agree with that and everything. I just worry that it'd be longer than 90 days, that he'd be in some kind of danger, etc. The self-deprocating part of me says that maybe being away from me for 90 days will convince him he doesn't want me when he gets back instead of making the heart grow fonder, but that's just fear and insecurity based on baggage, and I told myself I wasn't going to have that.

I'm concerned for his safety. And I'm concerned for my heart. And I'm just generally concerned. Trying to be happy for him that he's happy if he'd get to go or have to go, but you know - when you know someone who's in "danger" of going, it makes war way more than just a spectator sport.

Way more.

Damn this love. Damn war.


Rose typed all this stuff at 12:22 PM | #


Thursday, February 06, 2003




It is.

Whether it’s for my own good or for someone else’s good, I feel the need to describe what I’m going through, so a little bit of warning – for people not interested in the deep, emotional side of me, this might be an entry you’d want to skip. It’s also going to be long.

But for anyone who knows me, or anyone who has been through anything like this – it’s going to be good.

I was chatting with a “new friend” of mine the other day, and mentioned to him that S. and I have exchanged our ”I Love You’s. And he said, “How long has it been now, three weeks and you said you love him?” And I said, “Almost five. And yeah.” And he said, simply: “Pussy.” And you know what? For a minute, I believed him.

After the initial chuckle, he revealed that he fell in love with his wife the night he met her. At last! Someone who understands that when love hits you over the head with a rock, you don’t have any choice but to listen! So to that friend, if he reads this (I know he has the URL), thanks.

When I got my divorce, I was so used to being railroaded, I honestly didn’t think or know if I’d ever find love. It was a pretty big pain in my ass. Looking back at just about every boyfriend I ever had, I can honestly find something about the relationship that wasn’t right.

Commence Flashbacks.

I’ve always had lots of friends and there was no shortage of dating activity in my young teenage years, but by the time I hit about 16, I was head over heels for this guy. Wow, did I love him, I thought. Just completely rock-n-roll over-the-top the world-revolved-around-this-guy-in-fuckin’-LOVE! Yeah, not love. Obsessive, compulsive, needy, clingy, emotional attachment, but not love. We were together four years, after which time he left me for another woman, one much more aloof and mysterious than me… it was my 21st birthday. Looking back, I know I pushed him away and drove him insane with my dependence and clinginess. That was indeed, as much as I wanted to believe it was because he was a dirty philanderer, my own fault. People change, and we were together a long time, and we just grew apart. Or he grew apart. I was too busy trying to hold things together.

Then there was the man to whom I lost my virginity about a month before my 22nd birthday. He was significantly older than me and much less worldly than even I was. We lived together, my first live-in relationship - and I thought we might get married – until he told me he couldn’t have a “fat girlfriend” and started seeing someone where he worked, because I (at about 40 pounds lighter than I am today) was too huge for his tastes. The problem with this relationship? I was the helper, the fixer, I wanted to help him through everything, I wanted to fix everything for him, I wanted to make it all right and perfect and wonderful for him and at the same time, I just wanted to be right, and perfect, and wonderful for him. I’m not sure how I managed the strength to do so, but when I found out he was seeing someone else, I moved out. I was 24. For two years, I would see him from time to time in different places with the “new woman,” and I hated her, and I hated him, and I was very, very angry. We still don’t talk. He’s the only man that’s ever been able to make me feel fat and ugly, and for that, I think a part of me still hates him.

Then there’s the boyfriend who showed up one day and never left – petty thief, suspected drug “salesman,” couldn’t or wouldn’t hold a job, took care of things for me when he could but just couldn’t be the guy I needed him to be – so I kept him around. Lots and lots of things for me to fix. I would mold him to be the man I knew he could be! Broke him of stealing, so I thought. Got him to hold down a “real” job. Taught him how to be responsible for his own stuff. Then one day I couldn’t stand it any more and told him that he had to leave. I was still 24. We were together almost a year.

Enter the man who would eventually ask me to marry him, and the man whom I would eventually marry. And run from. And be afraid of. And try to control. And try to fix. I needed him to need me. I wanted to be there for him and wanted to make him the man I knew he could be. I wanted to fix his drug problem. I wanted to teach him about managing money. I wanted to give him the gift of awareness and my unconditional love, so he would grow as a person. I wanted to hold everything together. When he hit me, I held things together. When he broke furniture in fits of rage, I held things together. When he broke a plate across my knee, I held things together (and should have had stitches to hold my knee together). When he’d stay out on drug binges, I’d be there the next morning and encourage him to go to an AA meeting. When he couldn’t keep a job, I worked two or three jobs to make ends meet. My life became taking care of him and making sure he had everything he needed and most things he wanted so he could focus on improving his own life. I gave of myself until I had nothing left – and then it was just so normal, so routine to be so miserable, I was afraid of change. I just wanted to be the glue. When we got a divorce, the change was harder than the loss. I was 31.

Post-divorce-guy #1, I was convinced, was ”the one.” A long lost man from my past, who if our lives hadn’t taken the turns they did (he was in the USAF and got stationed in the Netherlands back when I was 21 years old), might have ended up having a long and happy life with me. I was convinced that the reason the world had brought the two of us back together while I was going through my divorce, was because he was the one I was supposed to be with. Things started out well – he was very devoted and caring, or so I thought, and when we kissed on New Year’s Eve in my living room, a little over a year ago, I thought it was the beginning of a fairy tale. I had all kinds of terrible gut feelings about it though – I thought it was meant to be, but at the same time, I was convinced he was still involved with his ex (which he was) and that he was lying to me about it (which he was). I look back at journal entries from that time in my life and I read over and over again, “I’m sure he’s fucking her. I’m sure of it.” When the World finally brought it to my attention that yes, they were still involved, he tried to backpedal and tell me that we weren’t really in a relationship anyway… that I had over-inflated it (which I probably had) and that I had to just suck it up and deal with it (which I tried to do). The problem with that “relationship?” I was seeing it how I wanted it to be, even though I KNEW it wasn’t that way. I was 32.

Post-divorce-guy #2. I wasn’t sure what to make of that situation. Another man from my past, possibly one that got away, although I knew his relationship history (serially monogamous) and I knew how he treated his girlfriends (poorly) and I knew all about his life’s ambition (nothing). Self esteem problems, social issues, twisted concepts about what’s right and wrong, what’s good and what’s bad… wouldn’t drive across town to see me, I went to see him every weekend, just because he created all kinds of reasons why he couldn’t be away from his house. I neglected my animals, I neglected my house, I neglected myself, all for the sake of being the one who was going to be there when he found his heart again. Yes, I would be St. Patient, willing and able to suffer through the “ramp-up” until he realized he loved me more than he loved life itself and he couldn’t be happy with anyone but me. The cash outlay alone on that relationship was immense – and by the way, he was happy to let me do it – pay for dinner here, pay for gas there, pick up major portion of a weekend trip here, buy lunch there… after all, I was the silver-spoon rich girl, so it should be okay. He wanted to say it was an equal partnership thing but there was nothing equal about it. And I figured some day he’d wake up and see the value of me, that he’d realize he loved me, and that he’d say it. He didn’t. He just found a reason to break up with me, by saying that I wasn’t there for him (bullshit) and that I wasn’t going to be able to give him what he wanted. Because I had a life, and I’m independent, and I work two jobs, and it didn’t matter that I rearranged my whole life just so I could see him as often as I could. In six months, not one “I love you,” and I don’t think he’d ever have said it. In retrospect, I’m glad he didn’t. Because it wasn’t.

End Flashbacks

The common thread here is, there’s always been something. There’s always been something bad that’s held me into a relationship. Fix a person. Make things good for them. Make things good for us. Make it all work out. Make it all happy. Keep them happy. Struggle against perceptions. Loan money. Offer a place to live. Overlook things like wife-beating and binge-drinking and drug-using and sleeping around and fear of commitment and everything else. There has ALWAYS been SOMETHING that has been a huge challenge for me to overcome, some mountain I had to climb, to make it all work. And I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to be the one to make it all work. After all, maybe it’s an Aquarius trait – must be the fixer, the glue, the understanding one, the compassionate one. Must be the one with all the answers and the ability to make it all work out. Must be the caretaker. I lived to take care of those guys. I lived to make it all right for them. I lived to be the sun shining in their sky, and I’d do whatever it took to be that way.

I used to look at people who were in relationships with devoted, caring partners and I’d say, “That’s so sickening, look at them with their heads up each other’s asses. How could anyone ever want that, it’s just gross.” I used to hate people that were lovey-dovey together or could walk through the mall holding hands with each other in front of other people or who had the audacity to chuckle at inside jokes and flirt with each other in public. Of course I was and still am completely repulsed by “relationships” in which one person gives up everything for the other person in the name of love, because that ain’t how it’s supposed to be, but of course in my own way I was doing that – I just was the one giving everything up, and couldn’t understand what it might have been like to be on the receiving end of all of that crap.

So let’s clarify. I was hardly ever happy. I hated people who were happy. I thought there was something inherently wrong with being completely content about a love relationship, because love is a struggle. Love is a fight, an argument, something that doesn’t just happen – love is something that must be cared for, nurtured and grown, developed slowly and carefully, love is all about giving of yourself and suffering so you can reach the good things.

Shyeah. What kind of drugs was I on?

The Times, They Are A-Changing.

When I first met S., it was 1/1/03 and we were in a Pagan chat room on Yahoo!. I noticed that he and I were both from Phoenix. I wasn’t looking for a man, I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I noticed he was younger than me but that we had some things in common so I thought, “What the hell,” and I PM-ed him outside of the chat room. We started chatting at about 11:00 p.m. and didn’t end until almost 3:00 in the morning. Thank goodness I was on vacation those days from work. I still have the first email dated 1/2/03 at about 3:00 a.m., when we traded email addresses so we could keep in touch.

Next night, same thing. Next night, same thing. At that point I started writing about him in the BLOG so you could always scroll back through the archives to see how it all happened.

But the first night we met, I think that’s when I knew there was something seriously different about this guy, this situation, and very possibly my heart. The minute we started talking, we couldn’t stop. It wasn’t like there were awkward pauses. I wouldn’t even say the first night’s meeting was filled with much flirting, as I distinctly remember reaching across the table to touch his hand for some reason, and he looked at me like I had just shocked him with a live wire. Forward of me? Perhaps. But that wasn’t what it was about. From the moment we met, it’s just been about being together. Enjoying each other. Knowing each other.

We can talk on the phone for hours and not run out of things to say. We have to set curfews for ourselves so we can live up to the charade that we have lives that don’t revolve around each other and we are still capable of getting in trivial things like sleep, instead of just talking to each other until we’re hoarse and keeling over from sleep deprivation.

The first time S. kissed me, it was really amazing. And he said, “Wow. So how long were we both waiting for THAT to happen?!” Because the first two nights we saw each other, there were no kisses. Just talking and laughing and the occasional physical contact, bumping against each other while walking or something like that. Not even really a good hand-hold. But there was just something really nice about the first kiss experience – both of us nervous but at the same time, so not nervous.

So. I guess this is where we evaluate the differences.

I don’t feel like I have to anyone other than who I am, when I’m with S. He makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, even if I could stand to lose some weight or I’m feeling a little run down. All he has to do is look at me and he gets that goofy adoring smile on his face, and I just go weak in the knees. I’m pretty sure if I could get a good look at myself when I was looking at him, I’d see the same goofy lovestruck look.

S. doesn’t have anything I need to fix. He’s got some things I can be supportive and help him get through – everyone does – but he doesn’t want me to fix anything for him and frankly, he’s doing a damned good job of making his way through his life. I don’t feel the need to control him or his surroundings, I don’t think I have to make everything right for him, as much as I’d like everything in his life to be perfect. I don’t feel like I have to educate him or train him, there’s nothing about him to this point that I would try to change. I don't need him to need me - he just does, in an inexplicable way. He doesn't need me to need him either, but I do. Again, in a way it's hard to quanitfy. And I don't need him to love me - he just does. He makes me smile without trying. He makes me laugh because he can. He doesn't even have to try. When we're together - and even when we're not - we can be exactly who we are, and do exactly what we do, and that's good enough - more than good enough - for each other. We still make each other happy. I think I had forgotten what it felt like to be happy. I think he had, too.

We talk. About everything. We have intricate, drawn out discussions about everything and nothing. We aren’t afraid to talk to each other about how are are – and WHO we are. That helps us understand each other. We have topics that we will probably always disagree about – but we respect each others’ opinion and we just go with it. It’s okay with us, that we have some differences. How amazing is it that I can sit here and say that I have a boyfriend who will talk to me about his thoughts and feelings about things? That I truly feel I have no secrets from? I just want to be understood – and he just wants to understand me. I just want to understand him – and he just wants to be understood. Good match. We really have no barriers, boundaries or walls at this point. And I believe we are both fairly determined to keep it that way.

I truly, honestly love S. for who he is, every little part of him. I don’t think I’d change anything. There’s no crisis I feel I have to suffer through, there’s no major life shift I feel I need to “ride out” and come through on the other side as a shining star. About the biggest obstacle right now is time and distance, and while from day to day it’s more difficult some times than others, we are both pretty focused about it and agree that it’s keeping our feet on the ground in a way. You know, as feet-on-the-ground as two people in love can be.

Both of us weren’t looking for this. Both of us didn’t know if we were ready for it. But you don’t get to choose who you love. If you did, you would pick your hunky next door neighbor or you’re the hottie receptionist in your office, and it’d just be on from there. When two normal people find each other and are just drawn to each other, there isn’t much that can be done about it.

It’s like a train. You can’t steer a train.

I’m in love, and I am not afraid to say it. I am in love with a strong, intelligent, ambitious man who has a lot going for him. He has ideas about what he wants out of his life and what he has to do to get there. He’s caring, kind, loyal and devoted. He’s truthful, honest and trustworthy. In my eyes, he is absolutely amazing. He has all of the qualities of the wonderful men in my life that I choose to call some of my closest and dearest friends, and my relationship with him on so many levels mimics my deep, lasting friendship and undying affection for those men who have been such an important part of my life. Maybe that’s part of where I was going wrong. I kept looking for something so different. So unusual. Something that would scream, “THIS IS LOVE AND NOT FRIENDSHIP.”

The thing is, every time I thought it was love… it wasn’t friendship. S is the kind of person I could easily count among my best friends. And if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to do that and also count him as the man who is the keeper of my heart and soul. Different from anything before now. But all the “working bits and pieces” of everything that never worked. All compiled into one thing.

Yeah, I’m putting this here for posterity. Bite me. I’m in love, and reserve the right to be a little irrational.

Love. I said it. Love. I’m in love.

Rose typed all this stuff at 4:57 PM | #


Wednesday, February 05, 2003



Well, another day, another dollar. Right? S. is getting sick. So tell me, is that not the biggest suck-o-rama of all time? He had the chills and the sniffles last night, so he had a big cup of chamomile tea at my recommendation and went to lay down, so I was "free" significantly earlier than normal. I was puttering around chatting with Maury in Yahoo! for a while and then thought I was going to bed, but ended up getting into a long chat with a new friend of mine who also has a blog. We ended up jabbering to each other for about an hour and a half, and it was fun. Another Aquarian, with birthday within four days of mine. Is it odd that I know so many people with birthdays around my time? Seems odd to me.

This morning was, by far, one of the hardest to get out of bed. When you're under three blankets with two dogs and two cats on the bed, and it's still dark when you have to get up, it's very easy to find reasons to not get up. Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. Holy FUCK, I can't snooze any more, shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit moldy moldy ass. Jump out of bed. Take the Coldest. Shower. Ever. Throw on clothes. Go.

I was reading CNN this morning. Looks like the war in Iraq is on. I'm trying not to translate that in my head of how it's going to affect S., or whether or not he's going to have to go. He wants to go, but frankly, I'm in love, and I don't want him to. I just don't. He wants to go for the money, you know, and everything. I just don't want him to go. So, I'm a little afraid. Anyone who believes in juju and mojo, keep him in your thoughts if you would. If he has to go, help me keep him safe, at least in our thoughts. Ok? Ok.

I'm tired. A venti caramel macchiato isn't doing it for me, either, eyes are still droopy. It's the birthday of a girl I work with here today and tonight some of us are going up to the baaaaaaaaa to have a bevvie. Gonna kick back a draught cider and then head home, see if I can't get some more work done, because you know, work is my freaking life. And then maybe I'll be in bed at a reasonable time. If I don't get sucked into watching American Idol.

Speaking of watching television - I got the scoop on Money Grubbing Whores, and S. got it also. Thanks, Office Gossip Pool! So, now that I know I'm not only in the running to win the whole big thing but I also get a pot of chili for my efforts, it's all good. I told S. he could combine the MGW chili and the Birthday chili into one night (birthday) but he has to make enough that I have leftovers I can freeze for when I'm hungry in two weeks. :) Yay, me.

Rose typed all this stuff at 10:31 AM | #


Tuesday, February 04, 2003



I'm so frustrated.

As I've ranted about, I am playing part-time receptionist at my day job. When I have to do that, other things suffer. People are supposed to suck it up and freaking deal with it. Do they? No.

Mike gives me a mailer to work on - part of my new "job situation" is that I am also not allowed to delegate things like folding letters and stuffing envelopes any more, I have to do them all myself. So, no skin off my nose, but it's time consuming. I asked him Thursday, Friday, and Monday for his mailer, and he didn't get it to me until almost 2:00 p.m. on Monday, which as we know, is my "early day" and I leave at 4:00 p.m.

You see, if I were inclined to work free overtime because they have me doing someone else's job on top of my own job, in an effort to make myself more valuable, I would do that. However, I'm not. If I can't get my own job done in 40 hours I'll stay late. If I'm being set up to fail, I start to say, "fuck it." And yea, verily, for I have said, "Fuck It."

So I work until 4:00 yesterday and come home. I'm back at work today and have an important project to finish before I can start Mike's 250 piece mailer from hell. So I do the important project and it takes me until about 10:00 a.m. I then start on the mailer, and Mike comes strolling up the stairs after a morning doctor's appointment and says, "Are you going to get that mailer done today?"

"I'll do the best I can," I say, as I motion to him to see that yes, I am in fact sticking labels on envelopes, stuffing them, and glueing them shut. He says, as if I don't already know his frivolous desire, "Those need to go today." People in Hell want ice water, I think to myself, but just smile and say, "Yes, I know."

Half an hour later he approaches my desk. "Why don't you give some of those to Barbara to do," he asks. "Because she's got stuff to do already," I say. And besides, I think, Then I have to try to do some of her work when I'm on the receptionist desk, and that would suck, I have my own work to do while I'm down there. Again, I refrain from letting my inside voice, become my outside voice.

Half an hour later, Mike comes up again. "You gonna get those done?" Fuck you, you whining bitch boy! Somehow I am again able to keep my thoughts to myself, and I just smile. I go to lunch, get in the truck with co-workers and say, "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL SOMEONE, AND THERE'S NOTHING ANYONE CAN DO ABOUT IT. Feeling much better after my outburst, I eat rice and beans and chips and salsa at the Mexican restaurant.

After lunch, Mike approaches me. I am sealing the first batch of envelopes. I have black toner all over my hands because we are having a fuser problem with the laser printer and half of the tag labels that go on the outside of the envelope (Tag labels are small labels that entice you to open the piece - these said, "Wouldn't you love a $200 Target Gift Card?")... are coming apart in my fingers and polluting me with evil death chemicals. As a result, I have had to run four sets of labels just to get enough workable ones to make the piece look right. I have about 75 done, and have to go downstairs to get more stuff to put in them, which is why I am sealing.

"You gonna get those done today?" I just say, "I'm working on it." My boss comes up the stairs, and I go into his office, quietly close the door, bat my eyelashes and say, "God damn it, Mike is making me completely crazy." My boss assures me that I can only do as much as I can do and to tell Mike to go to hell - but as strongminded as I am, that's not always my style.

An hour later, now it's 1:30, Mike asks me again how it's going. I'm over it now and I know I'm not going to make it, but I keep plugging along. At 2:30, half an hour before I got on the phones, I said, "Hey Mike, about your mailer. Yeah, it's not all going to go today."

Mike coughs nervously from behind his cubicle wall, and because I KNOW he doesn't want to face me and tell me what's really on his mind, he grunts like men grunt when they're pissed off and says, "So. Is there any particular reason, why this isn't going to go out today?"

Yeah, because I'm a fuckoff wiseass and I didn't do anything but sit around with my THUMB IN MY ASS ALL DAY LONG you weiner, I want to say, but I don't. Instead I say, "Because I couldn't get it done and Barbara couldn't get her part done either. Some of them are going tomorrow. Okay, I'm going downstairs now, I've got things I have to finish."

I'm on the phones at 3:30 and Mike comes downstairs while I am doing the Job That Is Not My Job and asks me how many of them went, if any went yesterday (negative), and to confirm that the rest of them will go tomorrow. Because you know, I haven't told him three FUCKING times that they aren't going to go tomorrow.

Thank god/dess he's leaving town for two days and taking a vacation day on Friday. Get the hell out of my face, you whiny ass self centered egomaniacal BITCH! I'm so done. So done. So done.

I have an interview with a placement agency on Monday, and I can show up in my casual work attire. Yay, me.

Rose typed all this stuff at 8:02 PM | #


Monday, February 03, 2003




S. left for work in the giddy lovestruck haze we've both been in for about three days, and forgot to set his VCR to tape Money Grubbing Whores. MONEY GRUBBING WHORES!!!

What does that mean, you may ask? Well, since there is a wager riding on the Money Grubbing Whores, that means I have to tape it, PRAY that his VCR for some reason tapes it, and watch it after S. gets off work via phone so we can both keep track of the situation, or... wait until Thursday.

And with my luck and my affinity for Murphy's Law, they might not show the replay on Thursday. That would suck, wotta suck, wotta suck. Which would mean we'd have to watch it together Friday night.

So, I am going to work through Money Grubbing Whores tonight, make sure I record it, and then hope we get a chance to watch it together tonight. Keep your fingers crossed. C'mon, Zora, I've got a pot of chili riding on this.

In other news, I told S. I would teach him how to make cast-iron-skillet honey cornbread to go with the chili. He has referred to my upcoming birthday as My National Holiday, and I will be enjoying said chili after a long day's work, and I think I want me some cornbread. Besides, if I teach him how to make it at that time, then when I collect on my Money Grubbing Whores bet, he'll be able to make it unsupervised.

Hmmm, I'm sounding a little cocky. I'm sure I'll be going through withdrawal tonight. But I swore I wouldn't cheat. So for those of my friends reading this who watch MGW, please keep in mind I'm gonna try not to watch.

Wotta suck.

Rose typed all this stuff at 6:34 PM | #




Happy Monday. I'm sitting at the reception desk and the phone's not ringing. The dishwasher is unloaded, the surveillance tapes are changed over, the grandfather clock is wound, and now people are starting to filter in. It's just another Monday, and I've already been here for an hour and fifteen minutes.

The weekend was great. Spinach lasagne went over very well with S. - we had dinner, watched Fight Club which he had never seen before, and hit the sack - I got up early and went to a nail appointment and came back and got him out of bed, and we hung out all day Saturday. Went Pagan-store hopping, which was real nice and a lot of fun. Then he took me out to the base and we stayed the night at his house. Overall it was a really nice weekend. S. and I got a little tore up on Saturday, finally let our guard down enough around one another to do some drinking, and got a little looped. We were close to being beyond "happy" and right into "plowed," but we didn't get hung over and weren't sick on Sunday.

Sunday was a good day - Imbolc - Pagan holiday. S. and I made a fire in my back yard and put some of our pasts behind us. I believe that by doing things like that, we not only acknowledge who we are and where we've been, but we open ourselves and free ourselves to be able to accept the new things that this life brings us. That's important. In my years on this earth I've learned that at the very least, it's hard for me to accept good things that happen to me.

So. In other news, I'm falling in love.

Rose typed all this stuff at 9:10 AM | #


My job as a military wife is
to make it as easy as possible
for my beloved husband to do his job.
Where he leads, I will follow.

Name: Rose
Age: 36
Religion: Pagan
Husband: SSgt, USAF
Current Location: Tinker AFB, OK
Job: Self-Employed Transcriptionist
and Domestic Goddess

I am currently pimping:
Kasora Teas.

me @ consumating

I play Everquest II!
Thornwyn Tamarisk
Iksar Necromancer, Kithicor

We're trying for a baby!

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