Sunday, April 29, 2007

Another Gift from STBX

For those of you who don't go back and read comments from old posts....I'd like to call this one to your attention:


Eyore_is_DEAD said...
This is the things I hate about you. You could run and blog that his bike was stole but you could even call his father. That why your a bitch and so &*#$ing happy I'm not with you anymore. And you think i like have to see you face as much as i do. You are self-centered and truely only care about yourself. Because if you didn't you would have called at the time it happened.
6:40 PM


Ain't he a PEACH?

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Damn it.

This post will be rife with foul language.

Some goddamn mutherfucker cocksucking little maggot stole my son's bike.

Yes, it was a $15 bike we bought at a yard sale. But it sat in the garage all winter and he begged to ride it. Until his dad finally got around to fixing the flat tire last week. He's got a fancy Schwinn Stingray, and while he looks FANTASTIC riding the cul-de-sac, he can't go very far because he can't really get up out of the seat.

So we bought the shiny red bike at the yard sale.

Today, Tippy was in the stroller, I was walking and Karateboy was riding his shiny red bike. We decided to make a quick stop at the Giant before heading home. We forgot a lock. It was a beautiful day.

Yes, yes, yes, I know it was dumb to leave it in front of the grocery store, but he couldn't bring it in the store, and I couldn't leave him outside. I suppose we could have skipped the store, but that sounds so dumb. I mean, this is COLUMBIA.

But nothing is safe. Karateboy cried all the way home from the store. I cried with him. I couldn't help it. They were deep, painful cries of the loss of a beloved new bike. He sniffled and said he was trying not to cry. I told him to let it all out.

I told Karateboy that the creep that stole his bike probably needed it more than he did. I really wanted to smack the crap out of someone.

At first, Karateboy didn't want me to take a violent, vengeful approach. (Funny, some of my parenting is actually working.) Later he agreed that it would be OK if I smacked him when I took the bike back. Of course we discussed that violence was not the answer.

Then I told him if I found the little creep, I was going to beat him to a pulp and rip off his ears.

Friday, April 27, 2007

My Evil Plan

My evil plan worked! Neener, Neener, NEEEEENER!

I've only raised a little over $400 for Walkamerica (which is THIS Sunday).

Which is significantly short of my $1,000 goal.

But that's OK, because I've doubled what I normally raise. And I don't have to run.

YIPEE! ME!

Then again, you could still donate and put me over the top.

http://www.walkamerica.org/anthonysmom2000

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Melting Waking Dream

I could smell the fabric softener on his cotton shirt. For some reason, I know it's a white T shirt, even though my eyes are closed and I can't see anything. I can feel my face press against the soft cotton, tucking my cheek into that little space between his chest muscles.

He must be about 6' tall given where my head hits his chest. His arms are strong and wrap around my back in a gentle, firm hold. And I keep smelling the shirt mixed with the smell of him. Not musky, not describable, but just the smell that tells my brain it is OK to relax and let THIS person hold me for a minute.

His left hand strokes my hair every so often while his right rubs my back lightly....alternating squeezes.

He's comforting me for some reason. Am I crying? Who is this guy? I'm relatively sure that no one this tall has EVER held me like this. So this can't be from memory, and I don't know anyone...hmmmm. Curious.

Why do I feel like I could melt into those arms and crawl right into that little space where my cheek is resting. He sighs, I take a deep, long breath. Then a teeny contented sigh.

When I try to break away, he pulls me closer. Yep, this is that melting feeling again. Of totally losing yourself in the safety of another's arms. There goes the hand back to the hair. When his palm sort of cradles my head in that spot right below the base of my skull where my spine starts, I tingle. He rubs is fingers around just a little. He plays with my hair.

There is nothing else in this waking dream but the sounds of our breathing. I guess I'm not crying...at least not anymore. But I can smell him, his shirt, I can feel his arms and his back...

I can feel my arms actually start to ache a little because they're jealous of this, they want to return the hug. It wakes me a bit and I roll over.

I guess I dozed back to sleep in this warm cuddly haze because later, he was lying down, and I was nestled in that space by his shoulder this time. Same smells, same feeling, same sounds, except I was rested and content this time. Just melting.

Even though I'm in bathed in the fluorescent brightness of my office, and can smell what someone just burnt in the toaster oven, I can close my eyes, take a deep breath and still smell him and go right back into that dream a little bit.

This was probably inspired by something from last night's kickball game. My shirt smelled really clean and right after thinking that, I looked at the next field and a guy was hugging a girl. I just remember thinking that that was really nice. I bet that's where this came from. And it bubbled in my sub-conscious all night.

I wonder if a little part of me doesn't want to forget what that kind of closeness feels like. It's a nice little movie I'm probably going to play in my head all day. {sigh}

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Inspiration

Well. I've got plenty of friends.

Transitgrrrl (see post below) actually wrote another post. I encouraged her to start her own blog. I'll link her here when she gets up and running. If I run out of ideas, I'll post her update soon. But I'm hoping she'll get her but going fast.

Buck Nekkid started his own blog, too. Thoughtsthatrunbetweentwoears is Buck's take on the world, started as an outlet (like so many of the rest of us) during a somewhat turbulent time in his life. Today's post was really nice, so please check it out.

Me? I get inspired for things I want to tell you about all the time. Yesterday, I finally broke down and brought a sweet new bike. I finally took it for a ride today. STBX was here and smirked that I spent money. He has no idea how important succeeding at this is for me. I really wish I didn't have to be around him so often.

Riding outside is a new kind of freedom for me. I can't wait to kick that hill's ass on Thursday and again on Saturday. It IS all about the bike. Lance was wrong. I bet he couldn't get up that freakin' hill on my old bike.

Tonight I end in a really reflective mood. It is like I'm checking things off a list in my head and each time I place a check mark, I'm a little more content. I've got a routine, I've got my boys, I have kickball, tri training, my friends....I'll looking forward to the next several weekends of fantastic summer fun.

Content. Exhalllllle. This is what it's all about, and the bumps? They're not so bad.

Monday, April 23, 2007

The Public Transportation Theory of Deciding When and Whom to Marry

****TransitGrrrl is new to the blogosphere and is quite opinionated on all subjects that involve dating and men. This is her take on how men marry. ENJOY!*************

Most women (at least I'll only speak for myself here) wait until they meet the RIGHT one. Among men, I have noticed a trend. They decide they are getting married and the NEXT one that comes along, they hog-tie with an engagement ring and a line of bullshit that they tell themselves and the hog-tied party in question. And voila! They're married. This concept has been discussed on "Sex and the City" so I know I'm not the only one who's noticed this one. It's like I decide I want to go somewhere, so I go to the bus stop and wait for the RIGHT bus to come along. Some men decide they want to get on a bus, so they go to the bus stop and get on the NEXT paying no mind to where it's going. Doesn't matter. They just had to get on a bus now. Thing is, they probably convinced the woman that he IS the RIGHT bus so she'd let him board. Me? If the bus isn't going where I want to go, I wait for the next one. If there's a problem and I know I'm going to wind up being late, I take an alternate means of transportation --- a clear sign that I was off-track in my choice of a destination.

Metaphors aside.

Twelve years ago when I moved to the city I dated a guy that I was quite taken with. Had the relationship continued, I would have let him board. In fact, I was hoping it would go that way, until my birthday that year. He was an asshole to me. I'll spare you the details, let's just leave it at that. He was an asshole. I called him up the next day and brought up his behavior in question from the night before. The response I got was basically, I was an asshole for bringing it up. Dictionary definition of passive aggressive. I do something shittie to you, and when you bring it up, I make you wrong for speaking up for yourself. So we broke up, and I was broken-hearted. I really liked this guy. He did have other qualities that were good. Fast forward a month later. He is planning a big surprise birthday party for a mutual professional acquaintance of ours. I was surprised to hear from him. We hadn't spoken. The conversation went on for quite a while. During it, he confessed how "unmarried" he was feeling since his ex-girlfriend was going to be coming to the party with her new fiancee/husband. I guess this was my clue that he wanted to get on a bus and I was potentially the NEXT available one. There was no apology for his behavior, though. I didn't ask for one either. So after he ignores me at this party, I spend the next few months broken-hearted and upset and cursing his existence and wishing him bad dating/love karma. And guess what? During that time he met the woman he would marry and have a child with.

Fast forward about 10 years.

Through a series of serendipitous events that seem to only occur in New York, I came into contact with him again, we became friends and hire each other on jobs now. I've let go of what happened back then and we're actually quite close. Thank God I'm only half-Sicilian and can let go of a grudge eventually. The ex in question is now going through mediation with his wife and trying to figure out custody issues with their 5-year old daughter. Turns out that after she had the baby, she went into a bad post-partum depression that hasn't lifted in 5 years and she refuses to get help. They haven't had sex in years and have had separate bedrooms for a while now. My ex at one point recorded their conversations at home to bring to his counselor because he feared he was going crazy. She compulsively cleans their massive house and spends most of the time in her room when he is home. He describes it "like having an imaginary live-in housekeeper." I feel bad for him and especially for their daughter. This has been going on for a while and the laws in New York state do not favor the father when it comes to primary custody.

So on one hand, I have to laugh at the fact that while I was sending him all this bad mojo, he met a woman who would come to torture him about 100 times worse that what he did to me and in a long-protracted manner. It makes me realize that I really shouldn't wish things I wouldn't want to happen on my worst enemy on anyone. It really does come true. I never knew that it did, but how often are you actually privy to how an ex-boyfriend's life turns out, or doesn't?

And on the other hand, I realize that she was just the NEXT bus and he probably just convinced her to let him board. I was too much work to board since I was not about to give him a pass for bad behavior. Part of me wonders if he would have married me and then the thought of having spent the past 10-12 years putting up with passive aggressive behavior and shittie birthdays snaps me out of it.

The silver lining in this cloud is that I am able to be friends with this guy all these years later because he's changed. Rare to see, but true. After having a child and being her primary care-giver and dealing with an insane wife, he has become much more caring and humble. He used to be so arrogant it wasn't even funny.And another part of me wonders whether or not he would have gotten married if his ex-girlfriend (the one prior to me) didn't move in with someone else within 3 weeks of leaving him and gotten engaged and married within the year. I think it's an easy trap to fall into --- making huge life decisions based on all the wrong reasons. This is why I'm still unmarried at 32. When I think about it, I realize how incredibly stupid it would be to jump into getting married to just keep up with the exes, but so many people do it. And, by the way, my ex's ex got divorced within about 5 years of getting married! I sometimes wonder why even some of the most intelligent people I know make decisions about love and marriage based on the most trivial and surface reasons and here's what I came up with. I think that really soul searching for what you want and having the belief in your heart that you deserve it and trusting that the universe will deliver is much scarier for most than getting married to look good to friends, family and society and then subsequently going through a shittie protracted divorce and custody battle. I also think that being single in New York for the past 12 years has been no picnic either, but I know in my heart had I married any of the guys I had dated, we would have wound up divorced hence why I always said no. So I keep working on defining what I want and believing that I deserve it.

The latter seems to be much tougher than the prior.

Recently, I met someone that I really, really like. This doesn't happen all that often. I could really see myself falling in love with him and spending the rest of my life with him, based on what I know about him so far and how he has been treating me up until now. If things keep going in the direction they are, I'll probably want him to board the bus. Very handsome, smart, successful trial attorney with all his hair. Plus we have what I would call tractor-beam attraction. I woke up the other morning because he was laying next to me with a hard-on without him even touching me. Pheromones. Man. Pheromones. Here's the catch. We've been dating a month and his ad is still active on match.com and he has logged in within 24 hours. I've been checking this ever since he told me that he didn't want to see other women. Now, we've only been dating a month so it's perfectly fine to be seeing other people at this point. If that's the agreement. Even though we're sleeping together I have no problem with this. At this point we really don't know each other. So, today I get to have a conversation with him about this. This is usually where things break down. Because I refuse to sell out on myself and I'm aware of the fact that if I let things like this slide, it will set the tone for the entire relationship and I'll create my own prison of a bad relationship.

I'll let you all know how it turns out, and whether he's at the bus stop or not.

TransitGrrrl

Sunday, April 22, 2007

There's No Place Like Home

I'm back. Refreshed and rejuvenated from my 24 hour whirlwind visit to NYC. A good time was had by all. My friend is even writing a guest post on her thoughts on dating. Stay tuned. She and I were like several episodes of Sex in the City, with only two women, no dates and not nearly the wardrobe budget.
Jokes aside, one of my favorite moments was re-boarding the Chinatown bus to return to Baltimore. At least one seat in every row was taken. I looked 3 young women about my age right in the eye and I announced, "there are no more seats where I could sit alone. There are more people coming on this bus. I'm clean and smart and nice. Would you rather make room to sit with me, or roll the dice and see what's behind door number two?"

There was a flurry of 'you can sit here's' thrown at me so fast I had choices. I love being brazen. It makes me feel so powerful. Maybe because I was wearing my supergirl underwear. Buck, close your eyes, you will not approve of what you're about to see. There is nothing at all attractive about it.

My friend Genius took the picture with her Treo so this is the image she'll see every time I call. Aren't old friends the best? :-D

..taking a nibble of the BIG APPLE

So, after much wrangling and drama Friday afternoon, I decided that I would indeed visit my old friend from college, Genius.

It's one of those friendships where we wouldn't talk for months, then with one quick call or visit, we'd be giggling like schoolgirls over everything. One of those friendships, where, (since I have no eye for details some days) I could totally miss that she's had her nose redone. She was Genius after all, and I see HER, her essence, not caring about the size of her schnoz. (Truth be told, it was the long blond hair that had thrown me). She had been so looking forward to my reaction because it had totally changed her life, but I didn't even notice. She wasn't offended, well aware of my ways...when I explained that I ALWAYS thought she was beautiful.

Anyway, for $20 and some patience, you can hop a bus any time of day from Baltimore to NYC. The bus was hot, and there was no toilet paper, and traffic sucked because it was a Saturday afternoon. At 4PM, I arrived in the BIG APPLE! City....here I come!

It wasn't quite the 'hat throwing in the air' moment I thought it would be. We were outside Macy's. Which is always a tread because it's gigantic AND has the most beautiful old escalators. Otherwise, just like the Macy's at home and except home doesn't usually have 25 person deep lines for fitting rooms and checkout. Meh. No shirt is THAT cute.

I hate the branding of America. It is getting harder and harder to go new places and actually find something NEW. I mean, there is a level of comfort knowing you can find things you know and trust wherever you go. HOWEVER, I like to travel to see new things. Otherwise I'd stay home.

When I caught up with her, we went immediately to a wholesale costume jewelry store. BINGO! I thought of 10 women for whom the trip to the city would be worth it if nothing else just to go to this store. I got several pairs of earrings, a bracelet, and two necklaces for about $30. It totally rocks.

We also ventured into this store called Lush .
A store chock full of yummy soaps and body lotions...all hand made-all fancifully priced- all great smelling.

We walked and talked and laughed. It was FANTASTIC. Love the people watching. Except the guy at the ice cream place. He had been apparently on the streets for so long, that his smell preceded him. He was very overweight, and was holding his pants up with one hand. You could see much more of his skin than you wanted to, and it was dried and brown and cracked like a mud puddle that dried quickly in the sun. Vomit inducing gross. But he was enjoying his cone. More power to him!

Genius and I mostly talked about men and dating. She's been single all this time and I've been married. Now she's been seeing this guy for about a month and is totally into him, and he is into her. We talked about how funny it is to see us switching roles...I'm single and she's in a relationship.

I'm enjoying her minimalist apartment with no toys on the floor, and cleanliness as far as the eye can see. Ahh...surely I'll be happy back in my own personal chaos later today.

Just for the record. Yesterday I rode 17 miles, ran about 2.5, then WALKED NYC from 4PM to 10:30 PM. I'm tired people.

Oh Genius just woke up. Hope she doesn't mind that I used her laptop. But I've been up for HOURS!! (it's 9:26AM)

Anyway, I'm hoping we have food soon, and head back to the bus. Not quite the hell raising weekend you'd think, but a change of scenery and pace and a good friend. Well spent.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

...and I kicked it's ASS!!!

All week, I've been psyching myself up to ride those hills again. And I did it. So for fun, the coach threw in an extra hill.

See, I'd been practicing in my mind all week exactly when to shift on the hills. And counting while I road to the top.

I know I can do a 5 minute hill in spin class, so if it takes me less than 5 minutes to get to the top of the hill, I'm well within my comfort zone, right? So I count. If I get to 200 (which is just past three minutes) then I can take a break and walk the bike. Of course, these are baby hills and I barely get to 150. So I did it.

Except the extra hill which was steeper and longer and I didn't practice it. So my mind wasn't in the right place.....ooooh but next time....

So I did 17 miles in an hour and a half, which is up from the 14 last week in the same time, and I ran two and a half miles after. I've discovered Cytomax, an energy drink. Which is why I have the stamina to type at this very moment.I wonder when I'll crash.

After I did the last very tough hill, some other cyclists were coming from the opposite direction. As they saw me crest the hill, mouth hanging open, hunched over and pedaling for my life, they cheered for me and told me I did a good job. I got a little teary. It was beautiful. I love these people. I would imagine that any of you who saw me 'kill the hills' would do the same. {{sheepish grin}} So I will not let you down. I will kill again next week.

Anyway, today's lesson, kids is defeat is all in your head. Once you get over that, you're golden.

Friday, April 20, 2007

The Return of the SUN!

Yes, not only was it 73 degrees here today in Columbia, Maryland...it was SUNNY!!!

Oh, and I'm feeling sunny, too. I even wore a yellow shirt today to help boost my mood.

I thought of a fun conversation I'd like to have with ya'll. Sort of like the comedian that says, 'You know your a redneck if....', my version is:

You Know he's an Internet Scumbag if (in no particular order):
  1. he e-mails you a picture of his penis-- oh, if I had a fiver for every dick I've had the pleasure of seeing in my in box. I deleted them before i thought it would be fun to make a fanciful and artsy collage of them
  2. he only e-mails/messages you between 9 and 5 - That means one of two things, either he's too cheap and stupid to have access at home or there is someone else at home
  3. he wants to talk dirty to you during the day from a work e-mail- dumbass will soon be unemployed as well..forward his messages to the company president. C'mon you can find their name on their web site and if there is no 'contact us' link, you can figure out the e-mail convention. Just do it.
  4. you never really get a picture of his face-- dude's got problems, not that he looks bad necessarily, but he's hiding something.
  5. when he says, "people tell me I'm good looking"- good looking people know it. Trust me.
  6. they get pissy if you don't reply fast enough- denotes the severe lack of a life. at work or at home, you get interrupted. you don't always have time to 'brb'. Get over it.
  7. you have more questions than answers-- parts of the story don't add up, you must subtract
  8. he butters you up like a hot biscuit at a Southern Baptist Fried Chicken Dinner- see, if he's kissing you're ass, you trust him faster and forget, in your haze of emptiheadedness to ask him questions.
  9. if he uses annoying shortcuts and slang- 'prolly' and 'u' ...I have a whole pile of them in my deleted items. You want to talk to someone who can carry on a conversation like YOU'D carry on a conversation. Maybe not all spell checked and in complete sentences, but complete thoughts are nice. Spelling 'probably' and 'prolly' -- only a two key stroke difference you lazy ass.
  10. if he asks what you like and 'cheesecake' isn't seemingly a good enough answer- yes, Buck Nekkid may have finally drilled into my thick head that most single guys just want sex, but some of them really want a conversation first and if you're lucky after. When Mr. Internet goes straight to sex. That's really all he wants. Cool if that's what you want to. But ask him for his latest STD test results, and for the LOVE OF GOD, make him wrap that thing.
  11. I'm in a committed relationship- if he drops that bomb at your first meeting, he's asking, 'Can we still fuck? 'cause I'm OK with it if you are' - again, nothing skeeves me out more than someone who lies and cheats, no matter how not they are or how sure I am they'll rock my world.

Feel free to add your own concessions here. I bet you all have far, far more. If you have more than one or two, consider this a challenge for a response list of your own. I'll link to you here if you let me know!

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Intervention

My friend, Immigrantwife, has staged an intervention. I was embarrassed and teary at the end. But I could use a good cry. My acupuncturist told me it would be good for me.

My half-assed attempts at making new friends are 'trying too hard'. Because only when your single is there such a thing as 'trying too hard'. You can never try too hard in sports, or in parenting, or at work. Name one thing where that's good advice, other than being lonely.

This is not about finding a man, I'd love a female in the same situation to hang with. One that isn't going to swoop in and try to date everyone I make eye contact with and/or spread the word that I'm a whore. If only TXGAMBIT didn't live in Texas, or Melissa, or Sizzle.

Doing anything that involves Craig's list is apparently stupid and naive, and as romantic as it sounds that posting something on 'Missed Connections' might actually start a conversation with that cute guy I saw is even stupider. Welcome to the real world of sleazy people and dumbasses. Apparently I am their inadvertent queen. I need to take a shower to wash off that slime. Because I believed. I walked right into their trap and missed a whole conversation of subtext that I was involved in, but I had no freakin' clue. I couldn't possibly be that stupid. And yet, here I am.

I learned that even the nice man who was sitting at the table next to you with his lovely wife, who messaged you to say they saw both of you and hoped it worked out....he sent you his weight, height, general physical description and stats. There are no nice people who respond to such things. Airheads like me thought he was genuine, and held onto his e-mail so I could chirpily report that he responded but it wasn't a match....dumbass. You didn't need a physical description for that. Like Immigrantwife said, he's lookin' for a little on the side.

So, I'm backing away from the mouse....slowly Immigrantwife, I'm stepping away. I'm going to down a shot of cynicism with my glass of bitterness and anger today. Tomorrow, we'll return to our regularly scheduled Suzie Sunshineyness. I hear you loud and clear-- patience and blazing, serene, hope.

Tomorrow, we can intervene on Buck Nekkid and get him to stop shopping for babies online. Because it isn't all about me. His beloved dog died this weekend. That's a whole different kind of pain.

It Doesn't Make You a Bad Mother....

However well intentioned those words are....no matter how strong we are as women or as confident we may be in our ability to parent....it strikes a chord. At least for me it does.

Last night was our first kickball game of the season. If any of you EVER have the chance to take part in this, don't miss it. Really. Most adult leagues are too serious. You cannot be serious about kicking an 8.5 inch rubber ball. You get to run around a bit, do the whole sporty high- fiving, getting the blood pumping. And if you're really lucky the game is followed by drinks.

But I digress...

I could not get a babysitter for the boys, and they really wanted to come. Taco Bell (dinner of champions) in hand, we brought balls and games and lots of stuff to keep them occupied. There was, however, a playground just on the other side of some trees.

A member of my church was walking her dog, and I asked her about the safety of the playground, the tone of the general area, and if she thought they'd be ok playing there. She re-assured me that they'd be just fine, I should let them play. She even offered to hang around a bit with her dog and keep an eye on them.

The boys wear bright orange coats, trimmed in blue, and are quite loud. So I knew pretty much where they were and could see them when they came out from under the play equipment.

Another mother arrived later, and I asked if she'd seen them on the playground.

To which she immediately questioned my decision and marched herself up the hill and brought them back from the playground. I'm not even going to replay what she said.

I applaud her protective nature. I see the same thing in other friends who gasp at the freedom I allow my children. My decision to be a little more relaxed is a conscious one and I have my own reasons for it. But I was pissed. I'd done all that I thought was right and I was comfortable. Tippy is so attached to me that he comes to hug me every five minutes any way.

As she walked over there, I secretly hoped that they wouldn't remember her and start screaming 'you're not my mommy' from the Safe Side video....that would have been precious. Although, they did remember her as my friend, and she was walking them right to me.

After the game we were discussing it, and someone kindly offered that comfort, 'It doesn't make you a bad mother...' . And it stung. It stings when you quesiton yourself. 'Cause what if something DID happen?

It made me think a little bit.

I'm not a bad mother for making a decision that I'm comfortable with. It isn't like I'm letting them play with just a little fire. Parents do their thing with whatever makes them comfortable. I'm much more relaxed than most. My kids tend to get into trouble more than most. I'm fully aware, thankyouvermuch.

I feel like they're getting cheated out of the beautiful innocence we had as children....to run and play at 7 years old and know to be home when the street lights come on.

Don't get me wrong, I'm protective. When I lived in a town house by a busy suburban DC highway, I was vigilant. I'd herd all three kids in the house if I had to pee. I arranged with neighbors so we could take turns cooking dinner while the kids played out front.

Lest we not forget the DC Sniper. Three months of pure terror where I had two disabled kids that HAD TO RUN just about every day or they'd lose their minds, in addition to Karateboy who was maybe 3 at the time. Remember, he was killing people close to highways, and I lived close to a highway. I was in the garage trying to figure out how I could build a shield for them as they walked from the house to the car. I'm not kidding.

So I'm vigilant when I think I need to be, and relaxed when I think I need to be. I'm not pissed at her any more, but I really didn't have are response. It seemed like everything I wanted to say would look defensive and petty. I was willing to take the calculated risk. Besides, any kidnapper would return them quickly.

It's not like I was passing them a joint or something.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

I asked you a direct question last night. You looked right into my eyes, then as you answered, you're eyes quickly shifted over my right shoulder toward the steps, then back to me. Clearly, you were lying through your teeth.

Are you ever going to stop being a coward, blaming everyone else for your misfortune and life status? Everything wrong is someone else's fault. It's actually funny to listen to you now. Funny and sad.

I know you know the truth. I know you want to hide behind laws that protect women who stop working to raise families. Except you didn't do anything like that. Even when you had the chance to get paid for it. You spent hours at a number of dead end jobs that paid less than daycare cost. You worked late and spent more than you made. You barely lifted a finger around the house.

You complain that our custody arrangement is 'babysitting'. You can't make doctor's appointments, deal with mid-day school issues, or stay home with a sick kid.

You lied and you cheated, and now you're planning to steal.

You have to live with yourself you lying, cheating, characterless jackhole. Only you know the truth. Some day you're mommy is going to stop bailing your ass out. Because I certainly have.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Strokin'

This morning's swim almost makes up for the disappointing story of my ride from Saturday.

We swam about 1250. That's 250 more than the race. To be race ready, you need to exceed the distance of the race (cause you have to do two other things). So I'm pretty happy.

I also had moments where I actually got the stroke right. Some laps were 20/22 or so. Some laps were a solid 28, don't get me wrong.

And I probably took more breaks than I should.

And we were swimming in a neat little line.

Real tri swimming is in a pack with arms and legs and feet flailing everywhere in open water. Toward a buoy. I have this nightmare about going off track and in the wrong direction, or of someone breaking my nose. A broken nose would totally take me out of the race.

But for now, today, I swam 1250. WOO HOO!

Monday, April 16, 2007

God Bless the Crossing Guard.

For those of you who do not have small, school-aged children, let me tell you of the magic of the crossing guard.

You drop your kid off at school, or send them off from home with a kiss each morning, knowing the nice lady with the stop sign and yellow vest will be at that very busy intersection every morning.

Until you drive up and there is pure, unadulterated chaos. Traffic backed up, frantic kids everywhere. It is enough to make you call 911.

Except calling the police is maybe not the smartest move. They tend to park their cars in the middle of traffic with their lights on. They don't understand the intersection, the priorities and the suave grace required for such an undertaking.

Then the dumbass drivers. This isn't a road you HAVE to go down. On a non-school day, it might be considered a shortcut. But why OH WHY do you people have to drive past the school unless you have business there. Between 7:30 and 8:30 AM, stay off that road. Go the 'long' way and you'll get their faster!! Stay away unless you have business at the school, stupid, stupid, people!

Of course, today, our beloved crossing guard wasn't there. My first inclination is to worry about her. Where could she be? Is she OK? Did the 30 degree weather finally get to her? Perhaps I should bring her a hat next time.

There was nothing funny about parents scrambling, hollering to other parents...'she's not at the corner!!' and 'there is no guard'. We're talking moms and dads in PJ's dragging younger siblings also in PJ's...they hadn't dressed to walk across the street.

If Tippy actually had clothes on (yes I gave in and let him wear his PJ's out again today) and the police hadn't shown up,I would have directed traffic myself.

One lone cop. No concept at all of traffic control. It took me 30 minutes to do what normally takes about 7.

God bless the crossing guards. Truly unsung heroes.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Oh, Thanks God. I get it, I think.

So, Saturday's team workout was to ride the actual triathlon route and run afterward. So, 2/3 of the triathlon. Not bad, right? We did lots of hills at the outdoor workouts before, so I should be just fine.

Forget I'm a little nervous about my crappy bike whose chain derails at every opportunity.

Forget that it's 33 balmy degrees outside.

Forget that I was already feeling like a lump of tiredness because I actually kicked ass all week in work outs.

Forget that I'd had a teeny false sense of security-- riding in the industrial part does not equate to riding in 'the wild', complete with traffic.

I was doing great in the beginning. I was keeping up with everyone. Until the first big hill, when my chain derailed because I shifted too quickly. But the hills, oh the hills. And my bike doesn't shift low enough.

But every time I gracefully landed in the dirt, I waived to the folks passing me on their bikes, smiled at the concerned motorists driving by and chatted with the neighbors who were getting their morning papers at the ends of the driveway.

Oh my GOD the hills. In spin class, you control the resistance. In the real world you're hauling your 165 pound ass, plus the bike up a hill and you're freakin' tired. The resistance controls you.

I'm still tired. Just talking about it 24 hours later. It took me almost an hour and a half to go 14 miles. The full triathletes did 20 miles in a shorter time than it took me. They still smiled and cheered me on. Triathletes are good people.

You'd think I want to quit at this point. But I don't. Not until I kick it's ass. I'm going to find a web site that tells me what the hell I need to adjust and get back on that stupid bike. Even though my ass hurts.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Self Doubt

Self doubt is an ugly thing. And when 99.9% of the people around you think you can do far more they YOU think you can, it leaves very little room for self doubt. It's like if you can't live up to their expectations...how embarrassing.

Then there is that one person (that you really, really respect and call 'master') who says, "I never thought you'd stick with it." And proceeds to try to contradict everything that you've learned so far and acts as a skeptic about what you really can do. He even made a comment about my weight.

So, I retell the story to someone else who AGREES with the first person. That sort of smarts a bit. My response to both was, "You don't know me very well. I don't give up on things. The harder they are the more I stick with them. It's the easy things I can't seem to focus on"

So, in the pool last night, trying for the thousandth time to get my stroke right. I've found I can significantly reduce my strokes and get more power if my hands stay on top of the water at all times. I tend to breathe on the right, and that damn left hand sinks when I raise the right hand. So I try every different timing of my breathing I can think of. When I think I get it right, I realize I'm sinking EVEN MORE. This is why I love the swimming. It doesn't hurt and I can get lost for an hour in the teeny little detail. When I'm finally good at it and I have nothing to fight against, I'll be bored by it. I don't doubt I can swim the 400m for the Father's Day Triathlon, which will be my first. I'm pretty sure I can swim the .62 miles for the Iron Girl, but I can always float when I get tired.

I know I can survive the pieces. But I'm so freakin' tired after this morning's 3.87 or so mile run that I wonder where I'll get the energy to do all three. Then I get frustrated because after 3 months of training, I should be able to do that with no sweat, right? So then the questions come:

There is something to be said for race day adrenaline...but will there be ENOUGH?
How do I know I'll get better at it?
When should I be getting better at it?
Am I running enough to be better at it?
Is it because I haven't lost any weight?
Am I not eating the right foods?
Am I not eating at the right times?
Have I fluffed this up so big that I'm going to look like a fool?
My 'slacking off' day now is twice as active as a hard workout day a year ago. That should account for something?
Why am I still so tired (albeit slightly less so than in the beginning)?
Don't I get points for only eating 3 Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs since Easter? Tippy said he didn't like them and SOMEONE HAD TO EAT THEM.

I need to get some measurement of my new fitness level. Some quantifiable data to say, 'you were here and now your here and in two months you'll be there'. I need to know that I'm at least average and bonus points for above average in my progress. I don't expect to compete with those who've been active their whole lives. But I'd like to know where I stand amongst the previously morbidly obese women with two kids and a full time job. Am I slacking?

This feels like that point when I was giving birth to Karateboy that I'd been pushing for 3 hours. And after each contraction I asked if I'd made any progress. And there was no measurable answer. So I grabbed STBX by the collar and growled, "I can't do this without PROGRESS!"

We ended up in a C Section because he was 'sunny side up'- and would never have come out on his own with his big old 8 pound 12 ounce body.

So I wonder if I was as fit then as I am now if I could have done it. I wish I could have shot that baby out like a rocket. I wanted to be the best birthing mom EVER. Well that didn't happen.

So with the whole working out thing, I've been at the gym or exercising in some form 8 or so hours a week. THAT IS A LOT.

I'm going to keep going. But I'm not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm looking around at everyone else and I'm still at the back of the back. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Genetics play a huge role in athletics. Maybe I started too late in life. Maybe I'll hit this goal and it will never be easy and I'll find something else to do. But I really want to keep at it until I conquer it. But the going is hard and slow and I have no patience.

Look. I know I'm my own worst enemy. And the only thing in the way of progress is the voice inside my head. But the voice needs to see something, anything in the way of tangible proof that it is wrong. The voice loves every one's kind words, but it is a cynical voice and likes to deal in facts. I don't know how to measure it. Meh. Bah humbug.

Maybe I'll feel better if I get some more sleep.

OH, and for my MILF sisters? The scale today said I was down to 165, from the 168.5 I've been holding relatively steady. So have I lost 3 pounds? I didn't change anything. I added a weight training class one day a week. But I'm going really light. So I dunno. {sigh!}

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Yet Another Shopping Obsession

I can't stop looking at this web site. I mean, they made fun of me last year during kickball season because I insisted on wearing a tennis skirt instead of shorts.

Yes, I'm serious about triathlon. But I'm also serious about not looking so bad while I pant and struggle to the finish. I tried on tri-suits. Only for skinny people.

But I found tri-suits with skirts. They cover the most unflattering areas leaving the toned, muscular knees and calves for all the world to see. I swear it will make my tummy look flatter. That is if folks aren't distracted by my flabby upper arms. And chin hair.

I would so rock if I could get one of these for my workouts. Or this. Or this. But they're expensive and Danskin probably sells something at Wal Mart for less. But maybe I'll save my pennies and get the tri-suit. I'd love to cycle in a skirt.

How cute would that be? I'd so be an Iron Girl, then. :-)

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

A Crazy Thing Called Sports.

So, who is my new hero?

Lance Armstrong. See, I missed all the press when his famousness peaked. Ew. It had to do with ‘sports’. Which is only a step above ‘physical activity’. That was not my deal back in 2003. I was finishing an MBA and having a baby. I had 3 kids. I was busy. I was TIRED.

I only downloaded his book because Buck Nekkid told me I should. But I'm entering this whole new sporty phase of my life--and I do whatever Buck tells me to do- so I did. But I wasn't very excited about it because while I'm the BIGGEST fan of biography and non-fiction writing, I have never been interested in a sports figure. Of any kind. At all.

Well, now that I understand the lingo, and have actually watched bike races on TV and paid attention to Michael Phelps' times, I think I’m interested in this odd thing called ‘sports’. It is like a bug that gets into your head and infects your thinking with all sorts of interesting facts. Not that I’m exactly conversant, but I watched something about the Pittsburgh Penguins on TV last night AND ENJOYED IT. Before you know it, I'll have a favorite team of some kind.

I mean, I've been to professional events, but if I don't know someone who is playing or have a reason to be passionate about it, I'm mostly there for the socializing.

So why Lance?

Lance, son of a single mom (and he worships his mom), father unknown, says he does everything fast….I just see some of me in him and wonder what would have happened if someone had put my ass on a bike 25 years ago-- or encouraged me to do any kind of regular exercise. Oh, and he’s hot.

There are a bunch of lines in the book that I find myself QUOTING. Much the same way I used to quote writers, thinkers and philosophers. Now, I found myself quoting someone who needs to write a book 'with' someone. Can you imagine?

Now I'm quoting an athlete. Buck brought me two of his books, which are sitting on my desk and distracting me from work because I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HE MEANS when he says, "It isn't about the bike, " or "every second counts". I want to reread the one I listened to because surely I missed something.

What the HELL IS HAPPENING???

I'm Fine

I was just having a moment. The only way to get it out of my head was to write about it, experience it, and move on.

It was quickly resolved with the kiss of a handsome prince charming, aka Tippytornado.

I have my moments, but I recover quickly, because that's whatcha do!

'Faith is not simply a patience that passively suffers until the storm is past. Rather it is a spirit that bears things- with resignations, yes, but above all, with blazing, serene hope. Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. but to keep going when the going is hard and slow- that is patience'

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The flash

I'm just having an office conversation,
with another person who is getting divorced,
and I'm telling her how lucky she is,
that she wasn't married long,
and that there are no children.

A lump forms in my throat and my eyes start to sting. It hits my like a flash. I actually feel the tingling in my fingertips and on the back of my head. It's like all the pain of all this hits me all at once in one flash. The stress, the uncertainty, the prospect of loneliness and the unknown. I have control over nothing. I will never really be free again.

And I feel sorry for myself.

I HAVE to cry or scream or run or something. But it is the middle of the day. I'm at work. There is no time for a pity party, because this is MY mess, even though I don't think I should take all the credit myself.

This is so freakin' complicated.

I KNOW I'm doing the right thing. I KNOW I did the best I could until the final straw broke what teeny weeny back was left. I KNOW that this is the best thing for the boys and I.

It doesn't make it easy, and it doesn't make him right. There are just days where I feel like no matter what I do, it's wrong, and happiness, in whatever form, is meant for someone else.

I don't know if I'll ever feel like I got a fair shake. Even though I work harder than just about anyone and overcome more than just about anyone.

Don't get me wrong, the blessings are listed and it is a mile long.

It just doesn't stop the pain from the impact. There is no buffer. Just part of the process.

And it hurts. And it hurts more to know there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Organ Donation

Just a quick note. Someone I care about very much is alive today because another person donated their organs.

Stan Marshall, whose wife Jacinta was my boss, mentor and friend suffers from a genetic kidney disorder. Stan dedicated most of his life to helping others, and I'm positive you'll never meet a nicer man. I watched Stan and Jacinta suffer with his illness, waiting on edge for years. They'd planned an active retirement, and their dreams were slowly melting away as Stan's health declined steadily.

In the African American community, donors are especially rare, when, in fact, this genetic disorder runs rampant-- the very place it is needed the most is where the cure is in shortest supply. By some miracle, just as they were about to begin dialysis, Stan got the call for a kidney.

Local TV did an interview with them about meeting the donor family. It is amazing to see the comfort brought to those who were left behind to know that part of their loved one brought such joyto another family . See JC Hayward's Interview... It is currently running on the left side of the screen.

My X boss is the beautiful lady in red. Her husband, is healthy and handsome and smiling. It gives me chills just to see him.

Find out how to be an organ donor. Please don't take your organs with you! We need them here!

Monday, April 09, 2007

Wing Girl

Saturday, After recovering from sleeping outside, I worked out, then went to the movies with my friend S.

(more on the Egg Roll when I get the pictures downloaded...I MUST remain in chronological order!)

After the movie, we went to The Green Turtle. Just across the street from the meat market I've been bitching about, it is supposed to be more subdued. Since I'm over my need to get 'noticed' I happily tagged along with S and her sister, also S. See, S is a model. Her sister is young and beautiful. When we're together, I am wing girl. No one notices me. It used to bother me and make me jealous. So I decided not to care. It is infinitely more fun to watch the soap opera as it unfolds.

So we're at the bar and sitting at the table, and Sister S was a little upset that there was no action. Of course, I was laughing, sipping my water. It was pretty boring so we moved further into the bar. S and Sister S introduced me to Chris who is also a bartender. Thank God! Bartenders have the gift of gab and we were laughing and having a good time.

Of course, through all this, I've still got my nasty case of laryngitis. Which I think Sizzle sent me with the cold she had. (I'm taking virus to a whole new level) So I didn't talk much, but I observed a lot. That girl with the spray on tan and the whitened teeth and the bleached blonde hair...sweet, but totally needs to buy larger clothes. Or that guy, that had too much to drink and is dancing just a little too much. There was a running commentary in my head. Oh if I could have shared.....S is such a sweet person that she doesn't make fun of anyone...and it irritates her when anyone else does. I think that's why I like her so much.

Anyway, this group was a little more my speed and a little less meat markety. What was funny was the wing guys who dutifully kept me occupied while their friends talked to S and S's sister. The only pick up line I heard all night? People kept asking S, 'Did you go to ___ high school?'

The band wasn't bad, and we stayed until the bar closed. I met all kinds of people, and it feels like the kind of place that I'd go back to...and they'd remember me. I wouldn't feel awkward walking in there alone, high-fiving the manager and plunking down at the bar. And ordering a soda.

I think I get that cheers thing. And I'm pretty happy to be wing girl. More blog fodder to come!!

Sunday, April 08, 2007

How I spent my Friday night

6 or so years ago I started a family tradition.

On good Friday, we sleep outside the White House, waiting in line for tickets to the annual Easter Egg Roll.

Why? Because it is a rare thing to play on the White House lawn, score free stuff, and hang with celebrities like Mr. McFeely and Barney. And I'm a little nuts.

Last year, STBX the kids and I pitched our tent with 1,400 other crazy folks to get our tickets. See, the goal is to get in line early so you get early tickets. It is timed entry to the event, and by 11AM the teeny White House lawn is pretty stuffed. Get in at 9AM, and you only compete with the other folks who stood in line for 20 hours. By then you're like family.

This year, with illness so rampant, we decided that I would go. 1949 Army down sleeping bag, large golf umbrella, my IPOD and a camp chair in hand, I joined my friends in line at about 3PM Friday. A friend had gotten there first, so I joined her. I was 38th in a line of 1,400.

You spend a lot of time getting to know your neighbors when you're stuck in one place for that long. That close to the front, you have to deal with the media, even though you're far from looking your best. I think I didn't make it on TV...well maybe, but I had the sleeping bag up over my head.

My fellow line mates would check on me every now and again and remind me to take my cold medicine. Nothing cleaner and more pleasant that a bunch of parents. Really. Good folks! Lots of laughing and making fun of everyone's 'coping' mechanisms for passing the time. And what a heathen I was for getting in my bag with my shoes on.

Then it snowed. About 2 inches. Just enough to make it interesting.

See, I didn't bring a tent 'cause it was just me. I thought I'd just snuggle under the umbrella. I was wearing layers...but I forgot extra socks. At about 3AM the snow on my fabulous down bag started to melt. And I got wet. Then I got cold. So I started running around the Ellipse to keep warm. Despite the fact that my line buddies kept adjusting my umbrella and covering me with trash bags to keep me dry. I love those people.

I mean that cute dad with the blue eyes kept kindly offering his tent, but I would have peeled off his snow leggings and bulky old man jacket...and...well...rocked the joint. Actually not, but the thought did cross my mind.

We talked about everything. Introverts apparently don't get in line. Some guys brought a DVD player, a group of preschool moms had a card table and board games.

So, I'd have pictures, but I forgot the camera. But as soon as I get copies...I'll post.

This is the only truly public White House event. It doesn't matter who you know, who you are, how much money you have or where you were born. People of every size and shape and education and background and sexual orientation get in line, get their tickets and get to be a part of a 100+ year old tradition. I get all mushy and gushy at this point about tradition and this country and what it stands for. Wait, while I sing the Star Spangled Banner. For a moment, I even forget who my sister voted for in the election. That even a moron can be President. But I digress. Clearly, I'm a flag waiving patriot for what our founding fathers intended. Not the mess we've made of it.

Tomorrow, my line buddies and I get to meet each other with a few fewer layers of clothes, less sleep deprived and hopefully a wee bit warmer. It is always fascinating to compare your first impressions of people and what you see the next day. 'Oh look, that's the talker', or 'man did he snore', or 'I think he had something other than coffee in that thermos..he ROCKS!!' We'll all be in the same herd for the 9AM entry and I can try to pay #39 back for the hot chocolate he kindly brought me!

WE'RE GOING TO SEE HANNA MONTANA!! Check out the lineup and be jealous...

Friday, April 06, 2007

MILF Check In

Can I get a shout out for my NEW JEANS! They're a size 10, Talbot's petites. If Talbot's does vanity sizing, please don't tell me, because these are even a little baggy.

To review, In January 2005, I was growing over my Size 20 clothes. I was 205 pounds. With just diet, I lost 40 pounds, and with exercise I've lost at least 2 sizes. Hooray!!

One more reason to love the skin I'm in? There is a special category for triathletes who way more than 150 lbs. It is called Athena. As you recall, I'm firmly at 168.5. even if I loose the 20 or so pounds I want to, I can probably still race as an Athena.

The difference? Swimming and racing against 250 women between 31 and 35 years old, all shapes, sizes and fitness levels. With Athena, I race against maybe 50 women. Something makes me happy about standing in line with the other Iron Girls who are amply endowed. It would be nicer to beat the pants off the skinny girls, but that is unlikely.

So anyway...props to the rest of my MILF's..we are in our very own category!

PS I'm still taking a break from Hot Monkey Sex Friday. I'm sick and I'm tired and I'm happy. Please feel free to carry on the celebration yourself, and in your own special way.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Down with GOOGLE!

That damned learning search engine! You can never get the same results twice.

I was running a search for some stock photography to replace the 'eyes' picture GMAN took of me. I have an idea for what I want, but it involves shopping, logistics and GMan and I having a few minutes to laugh our asses off....so coming soon!

Anyway, this guy's myspace came up when I did this particularly unusual group of search words in Google images. OF COURSE, I had to drop him a note that google had grouped him in this unusual set of sites, 'cause I thought it was funny. OF COURSE, neither he nor I can replicate the results, so he probably thinks I'm a nut case. I had to explain what I was doing and why....

Google is evil!

6 Months
For those of you who are counting, yesterday marked the 180th day since STBX moved out for the last time. In Maryland, you have to live apart for a full year before you can even file papers. So, we're in the home stretch. I can exhale a little, and thank him for it. Thank you, too for keeping me sane while I wait, patiently, even when the going is hard and slow, but with a spirit of blazing, serene hope. (yes I lifted from that quote I keep using over and over again from Corazon Aquino--it is hanging on my computer and it keeps me from climbing the walls just about every single day)

New Bed
Karateboy memorized the infomercial for the Tempurpedic (sic?) sleep system years ago. Nothing funnier than saying to no one in particular, "I didn't sleep so well last night", and having your 4 year old pipe up, "That's because your sleeping on an old fashioned mattress" and proceed to repeat the whole infomercial.

So, he needs a new mattress, and I haven't purchased one because of theexpense of the Tempurpedic. STBX said at Christmas that he would buy him the mattress cover, which is still $100, but beats the $800 for a whole new mattress. Karateboy has decided to sleep on his floor.

Last night, Karateboy, Tippytornado and I had some time to kill at the mall. We wandered into JCPennys and proceeded to 'test' all the beds. We had an EXCELLENT time with no sales people, no other shoppers, just us and 10 beds. Personally, I want the Temurpedic style bed. Even the 'air' bed wasn't nearly as comfy.

The bonus was the time spent playing like an 8 year old with my favorite people in the whole wide world.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

The Reality of Crushes

So someone (and forgive me for not remembering which member of my blog family it was) posted about blog crushes. I have had fleeting blog crushes. Gentlemen whose writing I admire, whose jokes I find are funny, and I blush a little when they notice me on my blog. But in person crushes where you see the person and they see you....a whole new level of crushiness. The information isn't controlled by what you consciously choose to write or put out there.

I've been thinking about that a lot and how it relates to other crushes. Crushes especially on those in situations that you know will never go anywhere...it is the crush for the pleasure of the crush alone. 'Cause you can fill in the rest with your imagination, and you never have to worry that it will be shattered and you never really risk a part of yourself.

Like the at work crush. You know, that other person who is so amazing at what they do and how they treat other people you just want to bathe in the glow of your fabulousness. I mean, what is sexier than watching someone adeptly diffuse a tense situation in a drab meeting room withe finesse and style and brains? How about when they show their more driven side and over achieve just a little bit (or a lot)? Respect is an important part of these crushes. I have often wondered where I would meet someone just like the guys I work with...'cause dating at work is out of the question given the nature of my job. They dress well, are smart and funny and respectful. Just darn easy to be around. And OH, they get to see you at your best most of the time, too. You just can't get that kind of information about how someone deals with conflict or solves problems in a bar or on a date. It makes work life a little more livable.

Then there is the gym crush. You know, they guy who seems to ALWAYS be next to you. He smiles and you smile and you wonder if it is just a coincidence or if there is something there. You genuinely haul your ass out of bed some mornings because he'll notice your gone and ask you about it. You complain about the toughness of the workout and compare who sweats more. Crack sarcastic jokes as you groan through the class. It makes gym life just a little more livable.

There was the online/phone crush. The friend I met online and talked to for months before we actually met. We eventually did meet and it was fantastic, but transitioning the phone crush to real life was hard. Being with him was great, but what I knew about him that you'd learn any other way was sketchy. We mostly talked about me. Which was fine when we talked late at night a couple of times a week. However, when you're in contact 10 times a day, and seeing each other in person, I became a pretty boring topic. It made not having an in person partner easier.

Then the neighborhood crush....the guy who is the super dad and excellent husband that you just wonder some times...and you flatter each other and do one another favors, always including the wife. But the fantasy is always sooo much better than any reality.

When the man is also single (from what I can tell), I never want to take it outside of it's little orb of perfection. By thrusting it out of mine (and maybe our) imagination, and holding it up to the sunlight, it couldn't be nearly as bright and perfect and shiny. Flirting with reckless abandon when there is nothing to lose is fun and easy. By forcing it to something else changes the dynamic just enough that it might break. So I really don't want to do that.

I like the boundaries I have right at this minute...so I can still feel fantastic and like a girl and not take risks and get hurt or inadvertently hurt someone else.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

The Sock Story

Gman alluded to the sock story in a comment.

It goes a little something like this.

After Karateboy successfully secured his fabulous orange belt, I got a gander at his socks. They were black. Now, I'm not a bleach-crazy kind of mom. But darn, my whites are white.

When I said, "What did you do to your socks?"

"Oh mother, these are still the ones from yesterday"

...and I made a face...GMan was kind enough to capture my horror. He did not, however capture the filth level of the socks. I'm talking just-throw-them-away-they're-ruined dirty. It didn't help that we were standing just outside the karate school with lots of other folks mulling around.

See, Karateboy likes to wear socks to bed. Unlike me (I'd be barefoot all the time if I could) he must have his tootsies covered. I've tried convincing him to put on CLEAN socks before bed, but he insists on wearing the ones he wore all day. Frequently I have to remind him in the morning to put on CLEAN socks before school.

So I will continue to ride him about clean socks...and over-react and be properly mortified when he pulls more two-day sock extravaganzas.

But really, I don't care. Sooner or later the smell's gonna catch up with him and only he can live with that.

It's his little form of rebellion.

If wearing dirty socks is as bad as it gets, I'm one lucky freakin' mommy, don't you think? It skips drugs, tattoos, earrings and colored hair rebellion....so I'm OK with that.

I know the minute he finds out that girls or people in general won't like him with ripe, two day old socks, the romantic in him will win and he'll change.

Me, I'm sockless...cause that's the BEST!

Monday, April 02, 2007

He did WHAT?

Whilst I was in the shower, Tippy went outside on the front porch to pee. And christen the concrete walkway, he did.

Why? In a house with THREE bathrooms, one of which was probably closer to him when he felt the urge than the front door?

Why couldn't Karateboy stop him? Because he was laughing too hard.

Great. Tippy's a performer just like the rest of us. Effin' great. That's just what I needed in suburban, whitebread Columbia. My own Jackass troupe in the making.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

We HAVE Orange Belt

WOO HOO! Karateboy got his orange belt!! Remember, we wouldn't let him test the last time.


Sure, he got suspended, but we let him do it anyway. He sat still through the whole thing. Now he decides how he's going to behave based on what an orange belt would do! Yipee!! This should last a week or so before he presents another behavior challenge.