Ah... Chicago

Sorry for the poor quality audio... it was done using a cell phone from my hotel room. I was afraid to really let it rip because I had colleagues in the rooms on either side of me.

Thanks for the compliments... I really miss singing in productions.

Off to the Windy City

Well, bloggers, I'm off to Chicago for the week. I probably won't have Internet access while I'm there, so I plan to audio blog from the road.

I'm returning Friday night, so you can expect a full trip report Saturday morning.

Have a great week, everyone!

Sweet Pickles

There they sat… all the way in the back of the fridge… behind the mayo and the gherkins… just to the left of the low fat yogurt… a jar of home-canned sweet pickles. You always called them "Bread & Butters" and you knew I loved them. They’ve been there for three and a half years now… I couldn’t bring myself to open them… I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out… How long do pickles keep, anyway? You would know the answer to that… but you’re not here.

I’m standing in your kitchen at your sink… a place I’ve stood thousands of times in my life… washing Sunday dinner dishes… leaning against the counter chatting as you cooked... getting swatted with the dish towel for stealing a piece of fried squash from the pan. I find myself unconsciously standing the way you stood -- kind of like a flamingo – one foot resting on the opposing knee. I hadn’t realized I’d picked up that habit.

Just now, the feeling hits me hard and fast… I miss you… I miss your unconditional love… I miss our chats… I miss just knowing that you’re here… and the tears flow hot and fast. Sometimes, I think you still are – here that is -- I’ll wake up in the morning and smell stewed tomatoes or burnt toast or your old fashioned roses that grow by the back door, even though they’ve long since finished blooming.

My name may be on the deed now, but this will always be your house. Living here will always remind me of you and because of that I will always feel loved and I will never feel alone.

~Dedicated to the memory of my beloved grandmother, whom I affectionately called 'Lucy.'
© Oh to be a 40’s Torch Singer 2005
All rights reserved.

It's Fun Friday Again

I picked up this Pop Quiz from The Southern Conservative - a fellow Virginian with whom I share a few opinions and differ on a few as well - but he seems like a genuinely nice guy:

1. They're finally making the movie of your life and, after narrowing the role of YOU down to three actors, they've asked for your choice. Who are the three actors, and which person do you ultimately choose? For the vocals, you’d need someone like BeBe Neuwirth, Donna Sheridan, Sherie Rene Scott (all Tony award-winning singers/actresses). They could do voice-overs for Lauren Holly, Stephanie Niznik or some other 40-something actress. I think I’d lean toward Lauren Holly. I tried to upload a picture of her -- but Blogger's beeing a bit testy this morning. GRRR
2. You're at a fancy restaurant with your significant other, when your arch nemesis shows up with his gang to rob the place. You left your costume home tonight, and you wouldn't want to reveal your true identity unless there was no other choice. How do you handle this one?I’d lay low during the robbery then, in the mayhem that ensues following their departure, I’d whisk a table cloth from the table, use a napkin for a mask and take off after the fiends!
3. 4 +X/8=15Y-23Z; solve for each variable. Uh… yeah… right!
4. They're turning MY blog into a sitcom! Quick, who's playing me? I'd say Ellen DeGeneres (and, no, I’m not a lesbian – I just think she’s very funny)
5. What was the scariest moment of your life? When my dad went into cardiac arrest. Thankfully, there was a portable defibrillator nearby and they were able to bring him back.
6. After much thought and deliberation, you realize the best thing you can do with your life is to form your own team of superheroes. Keeping in mind that you don't actually possess any powers or a dual identity in this scenario, how do you go about selecting your team, what abilities do you look for in potential allies, and what do you call your group? I’d go to superhero.com and post an ad for anyone who can beat the crap out of mean people! I’d call the group the Meany Maulers
7. If a hypothetical train is traveling East at 70 MPH, and a hypothetical truck is traveling North at 55 MPH, then name 3 famous people you feel shouldn't be famous. Omarosa, Paris Hilton, Anna Nicole Smith
8. A freak accident caused by lightning or radiation or genetic engineering or whichever origin suits you, bestows upon you the ability to step INSIDE your television set and interact with the characters. Where do you go first, and why? I would step into C-SPAN’s coverage of the US Senate and tell the SOBs to stop wasting my tax dollars on pork barrell spending -- or else! Then, I’d jump over to the Travel Channel, where I’d escape prosecution by jetting off to a foreign land that doesn't allow extradiction to the US!
9. After winning a karaoke contest, you're awarded the grand prize from a local radio station: you get to perform ONE song alongside your favorite group! Who do you sing with and what song? I would sing L-O-V-E with the Boston Pops
10. A blogger you read regularly posts a pop quiz. Do you take it? Please list your reasons either way. Yes. I simply cannot leave questions unanswered. Although I have to admit this one took me WAY too long to complete. I actually had to THINK!
11. The quiz goes all the way up to 11. And 11 is a fine number… so… so… um… straight? Just one more line and you’d have pi(e)
    

Only five days to go...

and if frostbite doesn't set in first, I will accomplish my goal of not turning on the furnace until November! Nights have been in the 40's, but I'm happy to report that my new double-pane, energy efficient windows have managed to maintain the inside temperature in the low to mid-sixties.

It's odd, because I can remember as a teenager that once the temperature got above 60 degrees in the spring, I'd be out in my bathing suit tanning. At the moment, I'm in sweats and a t-shirt, thick wool socks and fuzzy slippers and my fingers are BLUE! I'd be wearing gloves too, only I've not yet mastered the art of gloved blogging. Truth be told, the only thing keeping my teeth from chattering is this wonderful cuppa Hazelnut Cream coffee. Mmmmmm...

For inspiration, I've placed the letter from my heating oil company in plain sight -- the one informing me of the 24% increase in this year's monthly installment plan.

Yeah... I vote for wooly mittens instead... perhaps with a nice faux fur trim...

Trhjewre, tyhgat's bvettrert!

When will I learn?

So, today I had meetings with potential partner agents with my new company. After making the rounds and meeting some really wonderful people, my distribution leader and I sat down to discuss my projected income for 2006. We came up with a very nice number, based on the agents with whom I'll be partnered.

When I got home, I was so excited about the events of the day that I made the BIG mistake of mentioning that number to Mr. Small. Not five minutes later, he came back with this workshop renovation project that will cost a huge chunk of change. He hasn't even darkened the door of that workshop in two years -- not to mention the fact that he SWORE he'd never work in there again. I haven't made a penny yet and he already has my first quarter earnings spent! What a schmuck! I almost got upset about it, but then I realized that he won't be around to see one red cent of it!!!

Moohaaahaaahaaahaaahaaa!

Miscellaneous Musings

Last night while channel surfing, I ran across the Tavis Smiley show. He was interviewing Melissa Etheridge. She was talking about her new greatest hits album, her battle with breast cancer and life in general. I was taken with her. I've always liked her music -- it has a raw honesty about it -- but I found myself inspired by her sense of herself. I'm not sure what spiritual journey she is on, but it seems to have a profound effect on her life. Her countenance was glowing and she seemed to have a genuine sense of peace. It made me want to know her and it made me want others to feel the same way about me. (does that make any sense?)

___________________________________________________________________

I was so relieved when the weekend was over and Mr. Small went back to work. It seems like such an effort to just be in the same space with him. He finally moved the X-Box to the master bedroom (which is "his room" now). I was relieved. He stayed in there playing until 'Surface' came on.

I'm really looking forward to my trip to Chicago -- a whole week away! Of course, I'll miss my baby terribly, but I won't have to spend one single moment feigning interest in some innane conversation with Mr. Small. It won't be long now -- December should bring Independence Day for me.

___________________________________________________________________

Thought for the Day:
If my dreams could all come true
Paradise would be
In a little bungalow
Somewhere by the sea.

D. Morgan (c) 1993
from a pen and ink print that hangs on my office wall

Universal Secret Revealed

Mark your calendars, folks. From henceforth and forever more, October 22, 2005 shall be known as X-Box Cessation Day. Be it known that, after months and months of research into the number of hours a grown male can play the same X-Box game, a conclusion has finally been reached. A 40 year old male has been witnessed playing Halo II virtually non-stop from 5:00 am until 11:30 pm -- a startling 18.5 hours. The game was only paused for the following:

• Junk food ingestion (3 times)
• Alcohol ingestion (1/2 bottle of Glenlevit and several beers)
• Elimination of above referenced items
• Communication with other techno geeks (2 trips to check e-mail)

At 11:32 pm, the subject was overheard proclaiming: "I'm tired of playing this game."

It should also be noted for the record that the phenomenon of X-Box Cessation seems to last a mere 6 hours, as the subject was once again discovered playing the SAME game by 5:30 am the following morning. At this time, the NIH is looking into possible treatments for this disease; however, a cure is likely decades in the making.

Blank... nada... nothing... zip...

That's what I've come up with for today's post. How I wish that I had something witty, or thought provoking or even mildly amusing to write... but all I can do is sit here and stare at the blank screen, with its mocking little cursor, blinking... blinking... blinking.

Stop blinking at me... I mean it... STOP!

STOP IT THIS INSTANT!!!

STOP OR I'LL SHOOT!
















B-BYE!

Fun Friday!!!

I saw this on Becoming Kate earlier in the week and thought it might be good for Fun Friday. What you do is Google your name, followed by the word ‘needs’ (it's best to put the phrase in quotation marks). Here are the top ten results for what Lauren needs…

1. Lauren needs a friend. (with benefits????)
2. Lauren needs someone to take the pressure off of her
3. Lauren needs a hot kiteboarder… (well, okay, if you say so!)
4. Lauren needs your help (i.e. SEND MONEY!)
5. Lauren needs to have more female friends (or not – women can be so bitchy!)
6. Lauren needs to wake up and smell the coffee (this morning it was Vanilla Cream, thank you very much)
7. Lauren needs to learn to dial numbers more carefully when calling hook-up buddies to let them know she has an STD (ROFLMAO – As if)
8. Lauren needs to take mood-stabilizing medication. (Shhhh… don’t tell all of my secrets!)
9. Lauren needs some love (Oh, so true… that’s why #7 is laughable)
10. Lauren needs a career path (or perhaps just a career… or maybe just a friggin’ JOB! And by that I don’t mean a job… oh, never mind!)

Kinda scary how some of these are right on the $$$.... and those that aren't are hysterical!

Happy Friday!!!!!

Quick Update

I am happy to report that I got a big thumbs-up from my desired employer today. I leave for training in Chicago on the 30th!

This will be my first trip to the Windy City, so if anyone has suggestions for restaurants, evening entertainment or sightseeing opportunities, please let me know. (Keep in mind that, contrary to my gender's proclivities, I am NOT a shopper!!!!!)

I imagine that my days will be booked solid from 8 am to 5 pm, so I was happy to learn that the Art Institute is open until 8pm! Sears Tower is on my list as well and perhaps Millennium Park. I just found out that Bonnie Rait is going to be in concert the night I'm scheduled to leave. I wish I'd known and I would have stayed an extra night!

I'm so happy I could just bust a move... but I'd probably bust a seam instead. LOL

And You Thought You Knew Me...

I picked this up from Sheri’s site and thought it was a fun bit of me-me. Complete the following sentences:

1) My uncle once: beat the crap out of my cousin at my grandfather’s birthday party. It was the last time we were in their house until my uncle's funeral.
2) Never again in my life: will I get married.
3) When I was five: I was very, very ill and almost suffered brain damage from a high fever. Some would argue that I DID suffer brain damage! LOL
4) High School was: the best of times… High School was the worst of times. I was so eager to escape that I graduated a year early.
5) I will never forget: the sun reflecting on the cloud tops the first time I flew.
6) I once met: Gary Shimakowa, who has directed a whole butt-load of television shows. I actually worked with him on one of his lesser-known and probably best forgotten series on cable.
7) There's this girl I know who: had six abortions while still in high school. She had the nerve to call ME a slut. I never had ANY, nor did I need to.
8) Once, at a bar: I pretended to be deaf to get this LOSER to leave me alone. It didn’t work, but it was hysterically funny. I was accompanied by a deaf friend... just so the ethics police don't gang up on me. LOL
9) By noon I'm usually: hitting my stride.
10) Last night I: let my dog sleep on the bed for the first time. Mr. Small won’t allow it.
11) If I had only: listened to my mother. She was right more times than I care to count! Shhhh, don't tell her I said that... I'll never be able to live it down.
12) Next time I go to church: I will wear my new suit!
13) What worries me most: is growing old alone... that and Global Warming.
14) When I turn my head right, I see: my diningroom table
15) When I turn my head left, I see: out the window onto my front porch. (Sheri and I must have identical floor plans! LOL)
16) You know I'm lying when: Sorry, I don’t even bother any more. I suck at it!
17) You know what I miss most about the eighties: doing theatre, going to cast parties, being Goth before Goth was cool.
18) If I was a character written by Shakespeare, I'd be: Portia, from the Merchant of Venice
19) By this time, next year: I'll be one of my company’s top producers!
20) A better name for me would be: my maiden name!
21) I have a hard time understanding: hatred, violence, left-wing liberals and right-wing conservatives! LOL
22) If I ever go back to school I'll: get a law degree.
23) You know I like you if: I invite you to my home.
24) If I won an award, the first person I'd thank would be: the person giving it to me -- then my parents.
25) Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferarro are: strange bedfellows.
26) Take my advice, never: leave your chewing gum on the bedpost over night.
27) My ideal breakfast is: a traditional Turkish breakfast, consisting of eggs, yogurt, freshly baked bread, beyaz penir (white cheese), feta, olives, tomatoes and cucumbers
28) A song I love, but do not have is: Michael Buble's 'You Don't Know Me'
29) If you visit my hometown, I suggest: a trip to Beach Street USA and dinner at Mahi-Mah's
30) Why won't anyone: take responsibility for their own actions and lives?
31) If you spend the night at my house, DO: expect to get puppy kisses from an amorous JRT
32) I'd stop my wedding for: a sanity check!
33) The world could do without: mean people
34) I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: I would never lick the belly of a cockroach... sorry. Guess I'd never win at Fear Factor!
35) My favorite blonde is: Hmmm... can't think of any blond guys... I think my fav blonde in general would be Charlize Theron
36) Paperclips are more useful than: silly putty... but silly putty's more fun!
37) San Diego means: Saint Didacus
38) And by the way: if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Love your neighbor -- PERIOD. Life is precious -- don't squander it.

WARNING: The use of spoken language is contraindicated.

I'm sure we all know people who thrive on contradicting others -- you know the ones:
You say it's black, he says it's white
You say it's half-full, he says it's half-empty
You say it's partly sunny, he says it's partly cloudy

But what about those insidious creatures who have raised it to an art form?
You say it's black, he says, "No, it's actually Pantone 419"
You say, "I think we might have rain today." He says, "No -- meteorologically speaking, the high pressure system to our west should push any moisture to our north and then well out to sea.
You say, "that was a pretty song." He says, "No, I found the development to be a bit simple and the primary theme became muddied in the recapitulation."
You say any word contained in the dictionary. He says, "No, I think you mean (insert synonym here, followed immediately by a complete etymological dissertation)
You say, "I hate you, you smug, pompous ass." He says, "No, I'm neither smug nor pompous. It's simply that you Americans don't understand genius."

In cases such as these, the above warning should be taken quite seriously. To ignore said warning could result in anxiety, agitation or serious bodily injury to the responding party, including but not limited to:

• being beaten senseless with a Websters Unabridged dictionary
• being forced to EAT a Pantone chart without benefit of condiments
• being forced to watch "Blue Collar Comedy" for an entire weekend
• being locked in a room with a REAL genius
• having a red hot poker jammed up your ass

Research has shown that the only effective remedy for this condition is complete silence. Do not engage the subject in conversation. Do not make casual remarks and FOR GOD'S SAKE, MAN, do NOT articulate opinions or suppositions!

For additional help in dealing with this deadly disorder, please call:

1-800-KNOW-IT-ALL

Mushrooms, Moles & Mean People

My back yard is filled with these disgusting mushrooms. They’re not the cute little button kind… no, these resemble some sort of alien life form. They’re sprouting up everywhere there’s shade in my yard and they’re taking over! Today I went on a mushroom eradication mission – search and destroy. I was armed with a little digger thingy and a clear yard bag. It seemed that everywhere I looked, these nasties were sprouting… clumped together as if they were conspiring against me... (Note to self: beware the coup) I chopped, I hacked, and I exclaimed, "eeewwwww" while picking up the slimy little bastards.

The job was made all the more difficult by the uneven terrain. No, I don’t live in the mountains, or even on a hill… I live just 10 miles from the ocean… but there’s yet another freak of nature that’s determined to try my patience. MOLES. I tripped over a bajillion molehills, turned my ankles, and called those little varmints everything but moles.

I ask you, have you ever seen a mole? Well, here, look. They’re FREAKY! Just FREAKY, I tell you! Not to mention the fact that they’ve turned my back yard into a frickin’ minefield!

But just as I was bemoaning my lot in life, it hit me that there is a lesson to be learned from these earthly blights. What, you might ask? Well, it occurs to me that mean people are a lot like moles and mushrooms. Think about it:

• They congregate in dark places and shrivel up and die when exposed to light (note shameless allegorical use of light and darkness)
• They’re slimy little bastards
• They love to trip people up
• They try one’s patience
• They’re ugly
• They’re downright FREAKY and, last but not least…
• I HATE THEM!

So there, mean people. Take THAT!

There was a time...

There was a time when I would have believed what you said and felt defeated.
There was a time when I would have cried myself to sleep and felt mistreated.
There was a time when your words would have cut me to the core.
Yes, there was a time, but now you can't hurt me anymore.

~Lauren
(c) iwasborntoolate 2005
____________________________________________________________________________________

It's happened. I don't know when... I don't know how... but it's happened. Mr. Small has ceased to be able to make me feel bad about myself. Last night, we were both watching a detective show on the "good" tv and we engaged in a bit of small talk. I made a comment about the case, which turned out to be exactly what the prosecutor chose to do -- I casually said, "yeah, I should have been a prosecutor." He said, "no, you'd never make it as a prosecutor. Knowing you, you'd give up the first time things didn't go your way and want to do something else. You simply don't have the tenaciousness (sic) to be a prosecutor." For a split second, my feelings were hurt -- a feeling quickly replaced by anger, and then "I'll show YOU tenacity!" and then, "who the fuck cares what you think, you moron?!?"

After giving momentary consideration to taking the LSATs and proving him wrong LITERALLY, I decided just to be the best me that I can be... but at least I didn't allow his words to send me in to a tailspin of self-doubt. I didn't allow him to push the PLAY button on the little voice inside my head that's told me I'm no good since I was 16 years old (that's a whole 'nuther post for a whole 'nuther day).

I've come to the conclusion that I don't have to prove ANYTHING to him -- only to myself -- and I'm so much farther down that road than I've ever been before.

Secrets...

I don't like having secrets. In fact, I suck at having secrets -- or should I say I suck at KEEPING secrets. When I was a small child, my mother bought all of my gifts for my dad -- birthdays, Father's Day, Christmas. Each time, she would carefully explain to me that the gift was a secret and that I shouldn't tell my dad what we'd bought. Inevitably, I would let the cat out of the bag -- innocently, and certainly not on purpose. One year, confident that I would finally keep the secret, I came running into the room when my dad came home from work, leapt into his arms and said, "Daddy, Daddy, I'm not going to tell you we got you a tie for your birthday!" The entire room was reduced to tear-producing belly laughter. Lauren had done it again! Eventually, I got better at it... but it still leaves me feeling uneasy to be harboring a secret.

Given my history, I'm sure you can understand the trepidation surrounding my current secret - my blog. (At least it's a secret from Mr. Small) I am afraid that, in typical Lauren fashion, I'm going to spill the beans. Inadvertently, I came close the other day when I posted a picture of my puppy -- I linked to a picture on his website, where we have an entire collection of puppy pictures, and then tested it. I realized immediately what I'd done and I walked on egg shells for two days -- worrying that he would track the link back to my blog and that my safe haven would be ruined. Fortunately for me, he's not tracking all of his website hits any more, which means that my secret's safe for now. Let's hope that it stays that way!

"I'm not going to tell you that I have a secret place on the Internet where I tell the world how you got your name!"

Sunshine on my Shoulders...

Makes me HAPPY! Finally, after 11 days of rain, mist and fog the sun has decided to shine! I can't even begin to express how wonderful this feels! If only I didn't have to spend my day mowing the knee-high grass in the back yard... sigh.
__________________________________________________________________

Have you ever had a day where you just can't get an old friend off your mind? Yesterday was such a day for me. I got to thinking about my college days and a crush I had -- an impossible crush, really, because the object of my affection was gay.

He was beautiful... dark curly hair, deep azure pools for eyes and a disarming smile. I still remember the day I learned his secret. I was walking through campus with his brother's girlfriend -- who happened to be my roommate. I asked her if she thought he would ever like me and she laughed... boy did I feel stupid! As the year progressed, it became obvious and I wondered how I had missed the signs. Anyway... we became friends -- mostly because of our work in the theatre department -- but I spent most of my time with him and his posse of friends. We were a jaunty little band. One of his friends even escorted me to the Christmas dance -- all dressed up in his suit and charcoal gray cashmere coat. We had a ball that year!

So, anyway... before I wander too far down memory lane, I decided to find him yesterday and I spent several hours on Google trying to piece together the things I knew about him -- his profession, his last known city of residence... his all-too-common name made the search more difficult, but eventually (thanks to a gay professional association) I was able to find him... or at least his web page and, thus, his e-mail address. I screwed up my courage and typed an e-mail... I had butterflies when I pressed the send button... you see, I have this superstition that when someone's on your mind like that -- where you just can't get past your thoughts of them -- that something's wrong. I was worried that I would learn he was gone or terribly ill or something. So, about an hour later, I was delighted to see an e-mail arrive in my box from him. He shared bits of his life over the past 20 years: the suicide of a good friend, the shared dreams of him and his partner of nine years (who tragically died in 2000) and his current career. It was good to hear from him and he also shared the address and phone number of his now sister-in-law -- my above-referenced college roommate -- with whom I had lost touch.

All-in-all, I'd say it was a banner day. I feel better knowing that my friend has had some wonderful years in his life and that he's doing well. I'm also looking forward to calling and surprising the bejeezes out of my former roomie!

Happy Saturday, everyone. I'm off to mow the lawn now.
_________________________________________________________________

Oh, yeah... I almost forgot. What the hell is up with THIS?
First Blond Bond This just seems so... so... WRONG!

The Votes Are In...

Well, not really... much to my chagrin, it appears that I have NO readers! LOL So, I've made a unilateral decision to call this man who lives in my house, whose name appears on my marriage certificate, Mr. Small. So mote it be!
__________________________________________________________________

For the umpteenth day in a row, it is gray and misty outside. Now, if I lived in Seattle, or London, I wouldn't be surprised, but this is the Mid-Atlantic for crying out loud! I'm starting to get SAD already (Seasonal Affective Disorder). It's depressing as hell and makes me want to run away to a sunny island paradise!

Anyone care to join me? Oh, that's right... there's no one here...

__________________________________________________________________

So.... night number two of sleeping in the guest room... I'm loving it, but I think my puppy dog was a little confused at first... he kept trotting back and forth between the two rooms - not sure of where he should sleep. Ultimately, he ended up with me -- he is SUCH a momma's boy. However small and petty it may sound, it gives me an odd sense of satisfaction to be 'chosen' over Mr. Small. Even now, the little guy is resting just feet away from me. God, I love this little dog!
__________________________________________________________________
JUST FOR FUN FRIDAY: (this made me laugh out loud)

You Are 80% Boyish and 20% Girlish

You have a tough exterior - and usually a tough interior to match it.You're no nonsense, logical, and very assertive.Sometimes you can't understand women at all, even if you're a woman yourself.You see things rationally, and don't like to let your emotions get the best of you.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

And the Winner is...

Yesterday, I posted a mini-poll at an online community where I've been a member for years. Most of the ladies know way too many details about my personal life... we're THAT close... so, I asked them to give my husband a nick-name for my blog. Here are the front runners, but I'd love to have additional input from the Blogger community:

• Viper
• Mr. Small
• Turd
• Dupa (Polish for butt, I'm told)
• Dick

If you need some inspiration, you might want to visit the archives and check out this post, this post (scroll to the second half of the post), or this one to give you a better idea about the man in question. At the moment, I'm leaning toward Mr. Small -- for a variety of reasons, not just anatomical, although if the shoe fits...

I'll post the results tomorrow.

_____________________________________________________________

As for last night... I slept like a baby! Although the air mattress made odd, rude sounds rubbing against the head board every time I turned over, it was so much better than sleeping on the edge of the bed, with earplugs and a pillow over my head to drown out the snoring. It was SO wonderful, in fact, that I slept IN this morning... WAY IN... embarrassingly IN!

It occurs to me, as I read back over the linked posts above that some of you may be wondering what all of the fuss is about with Mr. Small. Let me see if I can give you the Reader's Digest version:

• Quit job the day we returned from our honeymoon - unemployed for 4 months
• Got great job in Texas (I paid to move us) kept it 9 months and got laid off - unemployed for 18 MORE months. During this time, he bought a brand new computer, spent hundreds of dollars on his hobby and top shelf booze and took his friends out for lunch every week -- I was eating PB&J's and had to start paying bills on credit. Should I mention that every time I confront him on anything, he reminds me that he gave up his idyllic life at sea just to be with me -- and that if he could only live his life at sea, he would be happy? There's also the incessant "when I win the lottery" shit... which just drives me up the friggin' WALL! Most people I know WORK for what they want!
• We moved back 'home' (I paid to move us) because we could no longer afford to live in Austin on my income alone. It took an ultimatum to get him to go back to work.
• After a bajillion drunken outbursts (the more he drinks, the more irrational he becomes), I told him I wanted a divorce and that I thought he was an alcoholic. We separated briefly, he turned on a dime, started going to AA and became what I now call the Stepford Husband. That lasted for 6 months, after which he waltzed in one day, informed me that he was NOT an alcoholic and broke out a bottle of Glenfiddich.
• Several months later, after a string of similar drunken outbursts (the negativity grows from just bitching about everything, to talking back to the television and contradicting everything everyone says, to ranting and raving about the chaos theory and selling all of his belongings and going out to sea), we reached the gun incident, at which time I decided I was going to leave him. The only problem was the house, which belonged to my grandmother. Mr. Small is a permanent resident alien with family all over the world and my fear was that if I kicked him out, he would disappear and I would be unable to do anything with the house, which was in both of our names.. So, I decided to have it refinanced in my name only -- which required him signing a quit-claim deed. There were a lot of tense days as I waited for him to sign... he did... but then my job started to go south and I was afraid to push him out like I had planned... now, I'm between jobs and so... I'm kinda stuck. Of course, after the gun incident, my parents offered financial help, but then my dad landed in the hospital -- three times in 9 months -- so, here I sit.

So, that's the short version (short for verbose little me, that is). The prevailing issue for me is the constant barrage of negativity that just sucks the life right out of me. I've tried to 'encourage' him to leave me... I've cut him off, been an ice queen... but it doesn't seem to have had much of an effect, save the occasional barb about not giving him any. Truth be told, I haven't missed it at all.

Well, he's home now -- after a two hour dentist appointment to have a rotten tooth extracted -- and he's armed with Vicodin, beer, wine and liquor -- whoopee! He also said he's staying home again tomorrow. Someone just shoot me, wouldja?

Moving Day

Today is the day. For months and months now, my husband and I have been living separate lives -- under the same roof and often in the same bed -- but separate, nonetheless. But today, I'm making a change. I'm moving all of my belongings into the guest room.

Last night, after a week of sleeping on the sofa due to HIS snoring, I decided that I needed a good night's sleep and crawled into our oh-so-comfy queen-sized bed. I put in my ear plugs and was just about to drift off to sleep when HE jumps out of bed in a huff and accuses me of having him "so programmed that I'm waking myself up when I begin to snore" Now, this is nothing more than pure-t, unadulterated horse hockey! He rarely, if EVER, wakes up when I creep out of bed in the middle of the night for quieter quarters. Being up to my eyeballs with his penchant for blaming EVERYTHING that's wrong in his life on someone else, I did something I rarely do -- I called him on it. So, today, I decided to remove the potential for drama from my nightly bedtime routine and just move all of my things into the guest room.

The reason I haven't done this sooner is because the mattress in there is so incredibly uncomfortable that I couldn't sleep on it. However, I had forgotten that we had a double, high-quality air mattress -- so I decided to remove the forty-year-old reject from a torture chamber and replace it with the air mattress.

So, that's my task for today. I'm about mid-way through, but needed a break. I'll update later tonight on HIS reaction to it all.

Oh, you might be wondering why I don't just move out entirely -- you see, it's MY house. When I refinanced several months ago after his insane gun-toting, I'm going to shoot the computer or myself night, I had him sign a quit claim deed. I'm hoping that, sooner or later, he's going to get tired of living this way and move out. Until then, I'm happy to collect his $1600 per month contribution to our living expenses. So, please celebrate moving day with me, k? I'm sooo looking forward to a good, peaceful night's sleep.

Nothing to be Done...

As in Samuel Beckett's, Waiting for Godot, there's just that... nothing to be done... save wait, that is.

I have now completed an entire volume of application forms and regulatory requirements in order to garner the perfect job with the perfect employer. As I handed it all over to the regional manager and inquired as to the deadline for receipt of their final decision, I was shocked and horrified to learn that it will not be until NEXT FRIDAY! October 21st!!! How, pray tell, will I manage to wait THAT LONG????

An Estragon without a Vladamir... how will I ever pass the time?

Rain, rain, go away!!!!

Oh my GOD, I can't take it any more! It's been raining for five fucking days and I'm about to climb right smack dab up the wall! I love a rainy day every once in a while -- it's a great excuse for sleeping in, or curling up with a good book, or watching Dirty Dancing for the umpteenth time... but ENOUGH ALREADY!

It must have been having the same effect on the lady (and I use that term loosely) who did my fingerprint cards at the police station today. Boy, howdy, did SHE have an attitude! I refused to take the bait though, and showered her with praise and appreciation. I even added a dash of Southern drawl for good measure. Who knows, maybe I made her day brighter... or maybe I merely added fuel to the fire!

One thing I can say for sure is that I will be enormously grateful when I can get back to work. I was simply not cut out to be a housewife! June Cleaver would die of shock and horror at my domesticity. My foray into her domain lasted about 48 hours before I proclaimed, "screw this shit, I want a MAID!!!!"

I guess that's all for today... other than to welcome Seshat to my rantings and ravings... and fear not my new-found friend... as you can see from this post, your language does not offend.

Cheerio!

If I Had My Time to Go Over Again

For years, I have said that if I had my time to go over again, I wouldn't change a thing because my life experiences have made me who I am today - but sitting here in the gloomy mist of this Sunday morning (gray, rainy days always seem to bring about wistful thinking for me), I find myself wondering...

What if I hadn't lost my virginity at such an early age -- and what if it hadn't been with a boy from the "wrong side of the tracks" with whom a life-long relationship was highly unlikely, despite my immature imaginings?

What if I had said "no" to going out with that college freshman the summer after my sophomore year in high school? Surely avoiding that abusive relationship, which included rape, humiliation and complete "Sleeping With the Enemy" control of my life would have altered the outcome. Heck, I might even have stayed in high school that extra year -- instead I graduated early to be with him. Perhaps I would have been involved in some fun extracurricular activities, perhaps have gone to a "real" college and gotten a "real" degree. Instead, I descended into a deep dark pit of despair. To this day, no one knows all of the secrets of those years -- no one.

What if I had listened to my dear friend and stayed away from the "lighting guy" on that play?
What if I had listened to my heart and not gone through with the elopement?
What if I had gone to New York, or LA... what if?
What if I hadn't moved that piano? What, you might ask, does that have to do with anything? Well, moving that piano caused irreparable nerve damage courtesy of a severely herniated L-5, S1 disc that had to be removed in pieces because it had trapped a nerve bundle in a crevice in my vertebrae. I spent nearly a year in diapers and another two peeing through a straw.

Today, sitting here in this dreary house, with this miserable man in this miserable marriage I wonder... what if I'd never chatted with Cap'nRon or given him my phone number, or gone to Philly to meet him. What if, after that night in New York, I'd gone with my gut instinct that he was a raving alcoholic - that the behavior WASN'T an anomaly - and canceled the rest of the trip to Turkey to meet his parents. What if?

What if I had the courage to march into my living room right this minute and tell this parasite that I want a divorce -- regardless of the fact that I haven't the means to support myself at the moment? I almost pulled it off last night... but then fear once again gripped my soul. I'm not really sure what I'm afraid of... I've lived through so much, you'd think I would be undaunted by any challenge. I keep telling myself that it's the money... I don't have a reliable source of income at the moment and probably won't for another month or so... but my gut is telling me that as long as he is here, I will never have the fortitude and strength to succeed because he sucks the life right out of me.

What if I had learned as a child to trust my own instincts, to be independent, to stand up for myself, to refuse to be victimized, to be accountable for my own actions and to accept the consequences with grace and dignity? Mothers, teach your daughters these things... I beg of you.

All I know is that I don't want to be looking out this window on another rainy Sunday years from now wondering, 'what if?' Anyone have a good parasite removal remedy?

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Last night my husband and I ended up in one of our typical arguments about sailboats and happiness. He made a statement that got me to thinking. He said, quite simply, "I want to have FUN again." That seems a fairly simple wish and as I began to reflect on the past six years – the time that we have been together – I came to a shockingly pathetic realization: I can count on ONE HAND the times in our relationship that I’ve had fun. We’ve had pleasant times and ordinary times and, of course, challenging times, sad times, awful times … but fun… fun is not something that seems to be in abundant supply in our lives. Oh, we’ve set out with good intentions of having fun – but something always seems to ruin it – an inconsiderate driver (which sends DH over the edge), a traffic jam, a technical malfunction, or some extraneous event or another.

In recounting the fun times, I had to think quite hard – I even had to enlist the assistance of the Captain – Captain Morgan that is. After several hours and several shots, I was able to compile the following list:

• Cooking dinner for my parents and grandmother at our condo when we first moved in together.
• Apartment hunting in Austin.
• A special night out at the 219 in Austin – there was live, acoustic music
• Our first wedding anniversary trip to the British Virgin Islands – we chartered a sailboat
• Our trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art

I think there may have been a couple of more occasions where fun was on the menu – but honestly, I can’t recall them. Six years… and less than one fun event per year… in fact, four out of the five occurred in the first two years we were together.

He, I think, blames me for this lack of fun in our lives… he seems to blame me for the fact that he doesn’t yet have his own sailboat. I, on the other hand, feel that if he truly wanted one he would move heaven and earth to GET one. I’m very pragmatic that way. You see, he contributes about 60% of his income to our combined household budget. The other 40% is his to do with as he sees fit. Over the course of 6 years, had he been fiscally responsible, he could have easily saved enough to buy a boat – instead he has frittered that money away and gone deeper and deeper into debt to boot. I just don’t see how that is my fault.

At any rate – I really hadn’t intended this to be a rehashing of our marital woes – merely an introspective view into happiness. My question is, why on earth should two people who are obviously miserable together remain so? DH would assert that it’s commitment – obligation – I don’t think I’m willing to sacrifice my future happiness for either of those notions.

Premature Outboxilation

Definition: the untimely pressing of the send button on an e-mail which is either incomplete or lacking proper spell-check status, often resulting in extreme embarrassment or irreversible damage to one's professional credibility. Is known to happen more frequently from laptops and Blackberry devices.

Don't you just hate it? You're typing away and all of a sudden, in mid-thought, the e-mail is gone... it's traveling at warp speed across the Internet and with it goes your pride, your reputation, or possibly a friendship or career. You know what I'm talking about: Premature Outboxilation. There are a number of manifestations of this condition. There's "thoughtus interuptus" where your e-mail is whisked away in mid sentence. For example, "Dear Jane, Do you know how hard it is " Imagine Jane's surprise in receiving this from her insurance agent!

Then, there's the unfortunate case of the lost consonant: "Dear Jane, You know you policy is up for renewal" Which, of course, spell check doesn't catch and which leaves one's ethnicity and/or level of education in question.

Worst of all is the rant one types with no intention of sending it until the third or fourth edit... only to gasp in horror and disbelief when, upon exiting your e-mail program, you answer "yes" to the question, "You have unsent messages in your Outbox. Would you like to send them now?"

I am filled with fear and dread at what foul disease the next generation of electronic devices may unleash on this world.

Don't Leave Home Without It

You know it's going to happen before you ever walk out the door... you know what I'm talking about... the day you say, "oh, I won't bother fixing my hair or putting on makeup - I'm just running to the store... I won't see anyone I know." Then, inevitably, it happens... there she is, in aisle 5 by the Spam and Vienna Sausages... one of the most popular girls from high school. Quick, cut behind the Doritos display -- maybe she didn't see you!

Careful, careful now! Peek around the corners before you make those turns! You even manage to make it all the way to the checkout counter when, rounding the Halloween candy exhibit, you come face to face with Miss Perfect... perfectly coifed, perfectly made up, perfectly dressed in her neat khakis, pressed shirt and loafers. CRAP! Maybe I can turn around before she... "Hi, Lauren! I thought I recognized you, but wasn't sure..." (Price check on register 3, please... could I find out how much a quick makover costs?)

I can hear the chatter at the Baptist church now, "I ran into Lauren at the grocery store and she looked just awful. Do you know if she's been sick or something? Bless her heart, maybe it's due to medication, but she looked awfully puffy. Poor thing. I hope she'll be alright"

Perhaps I'll post a sign on the back of my door that reads: "Hair & Makeup -- DON'T LEAVE HOME WITHOUT IT!" When will I learn?