Victoria's Secret Needs to Rock the Holster

A rare, but enjoyable daytime post. Me and the early bird buffet of desperate mosquitoes out here on the porch.  I really should text my landlord and demand a net around the porch for my personal enjoyment.  

I currently sit here all sexied out with EKG paraphernalia stuck to my chest, stomach and for that final walk away sway, a holster on my hip.  Filled with a recorder to capture my pitter pats.  Ok first, let me think about a bad fight with Flip.  Ahhh!  How about now a good moment with El in Central Park.  How about now the Exorcist (God I hate that movie with everything that ever came in contact with me).  Now ... a puppy.  That belongs to someone else.  Those things are too much work for me.  Finishing off the thought coaster with a Brad Pitt punctuation.  There we go.  Wonder how that recording will come out...

I'm a little shocked though.  They had a DUDE do the heart ultrasound....which meant, bra off and smoke still coming off the how do you do's and the hands are on my chest.  Shocked that they allow a guy to be in the room alone with a female patient...most places don't that I know of. Now that I think of it...maybe he wasn't even a doctor.  But guess what - good news - I remembered to wear underwear to the appointment.  Yes, it has happened that I've forgotten and had to fashion some out of an extra paper gown.

Next phase was the progressive walk uphill on a treadmill.  Realize though that no coffee had crossed these lips before these tests.  No caffeine allowed until they are done.  So the treadmill was sorta fun except my usual rule of Not even Running for a Train.  I did really well actually and was told that most people my age couldn't accomplish what I did.  That's pretty sad considering that I'm only 42.  I at first mistakenly thought they meant any one who took the test and pit myself against those pathetic, slow seventy year olds.  (Kidding, golden folks...kidding!).  So I had to make a joke about it and come to find out, they meant OTHER 40 something year olds.  

I didn't go as far as I could have though.  Believe it or not, anxiety had me worried that I'd pass out from no food, water or coffee, flying off the treadmill, against the wall with my mouth open and teeth scraping along the still running foot belt on the machine.  Ew.  So even though the rest of me felt fine, my mind won out and I let them talk me into a little faster, a little steeper.  And then I got the post run giggles. 

Shuffled back to the waiting room, I was implored to enjoy the Kerug cup coffee that was there.  I went through the motions.  But then the Does Not Need Refrigeration creamer had a stiff layer of something when I peeled back the paper top.  I'll just wait until I pass Starbucks on the way home.  Sitting back down in my chair I pulled out my copy of Shamhbala Sun and proceeded to look at pictures on the first few pages.  Usually those are reserved for pimping out the newest Buddhist titles.  Then the letter from the editor.  Then.....finally, a room full of old ladies waiting for their hubbies and being coffee-less dropped it's curse on me.  Head back, mouth possibly open and clutching my Shambhala Sun against my chest, I got the best sleep in eight minutes than I'd gotten all night.

So now I'm fitted with this awesome holster.  I will do my show today in it (of course no one can see it - damn).  We are speaking with Kaleah today - a pro on narcissism.  I had to have her on...listening to her radio show really opened my eyes to what was up in my life with Flip.  Rescued me from the crazy thinking web that I kept tangling myself up in (with Flip standing by telling me often how I owed him an apology).  

Today is El's birthday.  In honor, I bought the newest cake pop offering from Starbucks today.  I know that I said I was broke.  But they are $1.50 each.  It's a Salted Caramel Pop!!!!   So cheers, El.  

I've been outta booze for awhile now and won't be having any more until Friday.  I do have beer in the fridge but I shouldn't have to drink beer that causes me to make a face.  Not enough proof in it for me to deal with it.  So that makes me not an alcoholic right?  If I can ignore any booze that isn't my top choice?  This Friday though...LOOK OUT!  A delivery van will be here with a couple of bottles of white, some Leffe blonde, Erdinger and possibly a small wee bottle of Makers for the weekend.  Yep, have my list all planned out.  That's about a $50 list.  Not too bad.   I do enjoy the broke aspect for the fasting though.  It's like a cleanse.  

More emails from Flip today.  I dont know why they still happen.  He says I have things at his house.  I say drop them off.  When I'm not home.  I would like my mail too and want to change my address but can't just yet as a favor to him.  I'd like for him to bring me the mail and stick it in my mailbox.  He claims that he can't do that but I know if I left a lottery ticket in the mailbox, he'd be over for it.  

I feel bad about things.  Of course I love him.  I love sour cream too.  But it wrecks me within hours and screams out of the pores of my face.  Perhaps things would be a slower death if he hadn't tried to slip that phone call past me with the Saint.  Perhaps if he hadn't sounded so flustered by her mere presence on the other line.  Or perhaps if she didn't magically appear every single time we aren't together.  I am not blaming her.  I'm saying that he employs a set of rules for me and has a severe grading system when he believes that I've dinged one.  When he does something that he would lay into me about until I want to burn off my own eyebrows, he may as well hire a campaign crew to help out his cause.

The child is sitting here writing down facts for a 60 second presentation that she will be doing on drugs and drinking in a few weeks.  No, I'm not in it.  I don't qualify....I hate drugs.  The library book that she is citing got a drop of water on it.  The 13 year old went into Nickelodeon drama voice.....The book is RUINED!  

No, I said.  The book isn't ruined.  Ruined would be if it were on fire.  Ruined would be if it was thrown in a puddle and run over numerous times.  That clean drop of water won't hurt it.

It suddenly smells like a mix of vanilla, cooler indoor temps of an old bar that has been lightly sprinkled with smoke.  And I like it.  Pass the cigars.    

It's a Marvelous Night for a Moon Dance...

I really love that tomorrow is a Blue Moon.  Makes me want to buy Blue Moon beer to go along with my evening bask in its glow.  Instead I will probably pathetically- WAIT, not Pathetically...let's be upbeat.. "enthusiastically" scrape together change to buy a good sized Erdinger.  

I have not many ideas on the lore of Blue Moons.  I know that the next one is in 2015.  That seems so far away.   Being told that you can't have something for that amount of time almost feels dire.  Even if it's something you didn't want.  You can't climb a tree that's on fire until 2015! We like our options.

I feel the magic in this wonderful, rare event.  I plan to be doing something very important to me. I've been working on a letter to some people that has been long overdue.  I'll send it tomorrow, in the moonlight outside, with my Erdinger (and a small plate covering it - thirsty bugs!) and a long sleeved shirt (still thirsty bugs!) and my laptop.  I'm hoping for the best possible outcome.

Vague, I know. I wouldn't be a bona fide Scorpio without a little of that.   But it is a cleansing of sorts and however it goes, a new beginning.  

Let's all see the magic in the night!  

A couple of  Blue Moon bits:  (from the Infoplease website)

*"Blue moon" appears to have been a colloquial expression long before it developed its calendrical senses. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first reference to a blue moon comes from a proverb recorded in 1528:

If they say the moon is blue,
We must believe that it is true.

*The rare phenomenon of two blue moons (using the more recent definition) occurring in the same year happens approximately once every 19 years. 1999 was the last time a blue moon appeared twice, in January and March.

And for those who prefer magic over hard science, Simple Wiccan Magik Spells says:

Regardless of what you believe, the August 31^st full moon is an ideal time for potent spellmaking.  When you are celebrating the blue moon, you may follow the appropriate ritual of the zodiac sign opposite the one in play.  For example, the August 31st full blue moon in sun sign Virgo is a Pisces full water moon. This is an ideal time for spells and rituals to increase your clairvoyant powers and to tell fortunes and interpret dreams.  

You can also choose a different spell of your own desire or create one using the correspondences in my books.  Whatever you decide, know that the universe will be tuned in to your vibrations in a powerful way.

I will certainly be hoping that if the Universe doesn't have the exact same idea as me, that it will be just as wonderful as my own preference.  But I suppose after all that has happened, I should just wish for bygones to be bygones and to gain emotional and mental strength every day, because for one of the first times since my Flip split, I am feeling a bit like my old self in the days of Flip BC.    I'll be sure to throw in some gratitude along with my I Wish I May, I Wish I Might....

I Won't Hold Out Tomorrow but You Can't Have My Beer

I'm having an Erdinger while the cat thinks that the arm of the chair is being combative and is fighting back.  My darling teenager is playing with my hair, braiding, unbraiding, ponytailing, etc.  Normally this is the stuff that will put me directly to sleep, without passing Go or collecting $200. I used to play with my mom's hair when I was little, when she'd allow me to touch the long, wiry frizz in the days before gel other than Dippity Do.  I'm not sure if my mom even knew what it was for.

When I was 14, my hair started going through The Change.  Buh bye silky tresses.  Um, what's up and what do I do with you frizz that is about one year before mousse and gel of the 1980s?  I learned early on that after washing my hair and drying it, putting on what those damned kids today call a "beanie" would help domesticate my increasingly wild and disobedient hair.

I decided tonight to take a siphon a sip out of the Asshole Keg. It was a little bitter but only for an incredibly short time.  Flip has been really scant on the invitations to his home and with the quality time together.  Taking him to appointments without seeing him otherwise is not Quality Time.  I suppose I could be That Girl who says "It doesn't matter what we're doing, as long as I'm with YOU" but that's not really the case for me at this point.  Make an effort to see me.  If it wasn't for him needing rides then this week would not have happened.  Oh, I did go to his house one night for the All Star Game...for an hour.  For forty five minutes he went to town on a plate of Chinese food.  Then when I announced I'd be leaving in a few minutes, he pulled me closer but didn't ask me to stay any longer.  Tonight he still didn't ask me by, although I've mentioned to him in a direct way that we haven't been together this week since Sunday (and we live seven minutes apart).  I guess he figures why do today what will inevitably happen tomorrow.  We'll be in the hotel room, having gone to a wedding that I am spending all the money on.  Read: $200.  $110 for the room and then I had to go buy a dress that enjoys the extra boob and ignores the extra gut.  So really.  Money can't buy love but can it buy some time together?  Or at least make you feel like you should tend to the voices outside of your head for awhile?  

He called me today at work..one of those planned calls where he announces he has to leave the house in 5 minutes so thought he would call.  Maybe a Pollyanna would say "Yay!  He called!"  But no, sorry folks.  I'm a Scorpio.  That's not at all how I see it.  I see it as "I'd better call her and make it look like I want to talk to her and that I'm putting in a reach out here and there but I don't feel like calling.  I'll call before I leave so that we can't stay on the phone."  That's what you do to people who annoy you.  To people that you like or are related to and feel the guilt of having to return a phone call even though you'd rather eat your own clipped toenails with heavy cream for dinner than call them.  

He was also coming into my area of town but didn't suggest meeting up as we used to do.  

He'll say I'm being negative.  I call it realistic. 

So when I spoke to him tonight I mentioned that I was having a nice cold Erdinger tonight and was frosting up my glass in the freezer.  He mentioned more than once after that how much he'd love one.  His salesman tactics are rather hard to ignore.  Yes, I have a six pack.  Yes, I would normally be happy to share.  The me of last week would bequeath him....please do stop by and I will give you a couple to take home.  (Insert rude, red Family Feud 'X' here).  Sorry.  I can't have him stop by just to pick up alcohol if he can't bother to come see me or make plans with me.  That would really be chumping myself out.  Especially since the wedding couple wouldn't know my name even though I've been in the family for three years and am running around like crazy tomorrow morning to get the Teen to her father and feed all my animals two days worth before leaving.  All that besides getting beautiful!  (And here is the dress I will be wearing.  My boobs thankfully look way better in it than the mannequin's does.)

So I am going to give my little man piggie some probiotics, paint my nails and then pass out until the Beerless Wonder decides to call.  Cheers, Thirteenthers....here's to a great weekend.  

A Dose of Happy Will Keep Me Off Your Nerves

I feel a bout of random coming on so if you don't feel like dealing with that right this very moment dear reader, then feel free to come back later when you aren't so focused.  

I have on a Yankees/Dodgers game at the moment.  A cut away moment went to an older dude affiliated with the Dodgers.  I'm guessing he's the coach or owner (Gee, I wrote 'downer' at first...would that have worked?).  He was leaning against the railing, watching the game, blowing a cute pink bubble with his gum.  Awwww.  And that's what I'd rather be doing when I'm a Blue Hair.  Looking all adorable and having an important position with a baseball team rather than hobbling out of tonight's church venue for Bingo.

Pouring myself a gorgeous tall glass of Erdinger after a long, hard night of um....long and hardness from my Beloved, I realize I should have put a coaster down.  Because now, miss kitty cat needs to come over and start inspecting the premises to find out just where this cold, seemingly fresh and effervescent liquid is coming from.  She's such a good and curious kitty but  DAMMIT STOP SNIFFING AROUND NEAR MY OPEN GLASS.  So I hold the glass up in the air until she finally decides there is nothing new to learn about this tiny puddle of condensation.

These drug commercials drive me nuts.  Especially the ones that beat around the bush (no pun intended) about swallowing a pill in order to achieve a "10" of an erection.  In all three scenarios on the last commercial that I saw, the women were portrayed as fun loving, adorable, unaware of how cute they were and spontaneous.  The men stood there in a stupified, adoring state, as if  now that they could achieve Hardness Maximus, their significant other was the most curiously fawnable thing on the planet.  I am happy others who can achieve a booty situation that gives their steps to dance, it's just these commercials are ridiculous.  


My weekend was rather nice.  I spent it with Flip and all I can say is that I'm glad I'm no politician.  I flip flop back and forth between such feelings of isolation and ecstasy that I don't often know what is real - except for the fact that when he offers me loving attention, it's all that I need.  Hm.  I guess that does say something about how I feel.  

I Want to be With You, Even Though It's Always Your Fault

It's Saturday night, kids.  The air is so heavy and exhausted with humdity and heat that it's pulled up its small molecular butts to some atomic bench that I can't see.  

I've poured an Erdinger into the only beer mug that I own.  I purchased it at the dollar store because a standard sized beer will not fit into any glass I own unless I stick it in my to go coffee cup.  This idea does not please me as I feel the two items are quite separate, coffee and beer.  Little did I realize that when purchasing the mug at the store it was one weight.  Once I got it home and it sat around and knew that it was now matched up with a household, it let itself go and got heavier.  The bottom line with this mug is that although it holds my beer nicely, I need two hands to bring it up to my mouth.

I am somewhat happily being a little Farmville robot while I have PBS on.  It's one of their fund drives where if you donate $3,000, they will send you a tin of popcorn.  

Tonight they are playing Celtic Thunder.  This is like a segmented Man Boy Band.  Instead of one dude doing all the singing and the others acting like goon puppets behind him, these guys come out one at a time and own a song.  Then maybe they'll come out together on one.  However, there is no dancing.  Oh no....the passion here is not in any showy type of body movements.  The most movement they do is suddenly realize they've been standing in one spot for the time it takes to cook a Swanson TV Dinner - in a conventional oven - and then take a few steps over and plant there for the second Swanson dinner. 

The passion is, in my opinion of the humblest of observations, is about 70% in the facial expressions, limited mostly to the eyes, and 30% in the expensive, tight and mildly shiny trousers they are wearing.  They appear suspiciously purposely arranged - the trousers I mean.

They even carry a tiny Irish eunich with them and he is rather adorable.

Moses the fruit fly just walked across my beer.  He's in a good state tonight that I am observant and OCD enough to examine the surface of my beer before imbibing.

I should mention that the longer I watch these Celtic Thunder studs, there is one Alpha Stud.  He's blonde and has one of those supreme modern boy hair cuts..the kind where it's longish and is styled to look free and unstyled.

Today was yet another day of dark depression mixed in with the healthier moments of granola that are the blessings that a break will give you.  But I took the Teen-a-ling for a grueling seven minute walk in the heat to the deli to get us mozzarella, basil, balsamic and olive oil sandwiches.  We ate outside and watched the brave sparrows try to get close when we'd throw bread on the ground.  Ok, "we" didn't throw bread on the ground.  I took a piece of bread off of her sandwich and threw it down.  

This child would not have survived the same schedule or activities that I took part in 30 years ago.  She complained the entire way home (all seven minutes) about the heat.  

So I took her on to a beach down the road to see if they were open yet.  She had a great time hanging with other kids, tangling herself up in the gross seaweed and digging in the sand full of goose poop.  I decided to walk on the small pier like walkway.  It's slim!  It goes out over my head!  I started to feel panic.  Then I looked at the camera in my hand.  What if it falls in the water?  I wrapped the string around my wrist.  What if I fall in the water?  I quietly played this out, realizing that I obviously would be fine.  I would just be grossed out with the seaweed caressing my whole body as I tried to get out.  I realize that I just wrote 'caressing' like it's a good thing.  Make no mistake, it would be more like grabbing, pulling, diabolically attempting to pull me down into the nine foot depths of the underworld.  

I heard footsteps coming up behind me and turned around to see a woman with her camera and I jokingly said to her that I was getting a little freaked out and without a second thought she slid her arm into mine and said "Then we'll go together!"  Wow. What a great moment! That just makes me realize how much secure of a personality I need to be.  

It was peaceful too.....I read some Wall Street Journal on and off while listening to bird songs, thunder, Latino Pet Shop Boys echoing from a distant radio and kids doling out their ideas on how to handle the interim while waiting for the No Water due to Thunder ban to lift.

When I got home Flip was waiting in the driveway, having come back from a hike with his dog. He handed me a note that he'd written on a lotto form.  It was a short but heart jerking note.  We unfortunately don't get along after about six sentences each in person.  That's probably one reason why I moved out.  But it hasn't gotten better since his DWI. Besides going away on vacation when he stayed here and I went to Arizona, this is the longest we've gone without um, seeing each other in the buff.  And I must attest to it sucking.  

But that's part of letting go, right?  

So we are awkward.  I tried to call him to say hi.  And that's all that happened..."Hi." Silence.  Then..."hi.".  Then me announcing that I called to say hi.  Then silence then we got off the phone after he thanked me for the call. 

What is there to hang on to?  What am I doing?  I believe deep down and have had it backed up by friends that yeah, what he did was disrespectful directly to me.  I honestly can't live with purposeful disrespect.  He mentioned that he went out that night because he was "bored, lonely and needed to boost his self-esteem".  I'd bet money in an alternate universe that had it been me that this happened to, I would be made to feel like a desperate whore that couldn't keep her pants in tact.  He denies this.  I've been with him for nearly three years and through 500 fights.  So I'm aware of what his cause and effect are really like, no matter how he thinks he can spin this to seem like I'm overreacting.

He reminds me so much of a cult leader at times - he can make me feel like crap and that I've done all this despicable stuff and while my head will be spinning from the latest accusation and subsequent branches of trail off and diversion into  his new complaints and character attacks on me, he'll do something like write the note above.  Sigh.  I hate this.  He's no good he's no good he's no good...baby he's no good.......(for me).

Beer Notes From October 1st - Shhhhhhh....

A rainy Saturday morning. My favorite part of the weekend because it’s still an entire weekend in wait. The honey is downstairs making us french toast. His is really good. I can attest to that especially because I am not a fan of french toast. What I’m impressed with especially is that yesterday he went to our local grocery store and went looking for the uncut fresh bread loaves. They were out so he asked that one be ready for today. And it actually was when we went in this morning.

All at once as we were lying in bed was the cacophony of sound througout the house - the dog scraping up the couch cushions, trying to get comfortable, the Tweenaling desperately trying to coax a note out of the newly brought home flute, and the phone ringing all at once. If you’ve been following this blog at all, I think I’ve made clear many times my need for some silence. So I decided that it must be a reminder to me to be absolutely !ecstatic! that I have decent hearing.

Now I sort of write this part as a warning in the early part of the day and hope that it amounts to nothing. My honey seems to feel Not Heard. Today is his day to feel Unheard. And we all feel bad when we think not that no one hears us, but no one wants to listen. It’s not that I don’t ever want to listen. Just sometimes I want to hear what I’m thinking. I’ll admit that it takes effort for me to have even a borderline proper amount of listening skills. Many times I feel that my thoughts are completely overriding anyone who is speaking. Is that because I am selfish? Or is it because so often I have to pay attention to much outside of me, that Me fights back?

...Later on for Beer Time...

At this moment, I enjoy a mug of nice cold Eridinger beer. I’m enjoying a friendly spar of politcal cartoons on Facebook with people that I actually like despite the moat between our politics. I tell the honey about a new picture that I see of President Obama dressed as Urkel saying “Did I do that?” about the economy and he merely says “Mm.” That’s the sign of Not Listening. That’s the Winner and runner up to I’m watching a game, please stop engaging.

So I pour the very last beer into my mug. I’ve read the Wind and the Willows tonight to my Tweenaling…not because she requested it but because she somehow owns it. Must be due to one of those deliriums that Iexpereinced during a local booksale. I will usually snatch up everything in sight….especially if it reeks of Summer Reading List or Classic.

This is one of those beers that reminds me of the alcohol level of things that I don’t drink much anymore. As I exhale through my nose, I smell that strong alcohol smell, like when doing shots during a chess game. And for now, that’s a good thing.

I’ve just rescued what might be a 2nd fruit fly from my beer. But for all I know it was the same fruit fly who happens to enjoy a good German Hefe Weise beer. The silent 3rd one may have really been an herb from our garlic bread earlier. Or at least I hope so, otherwise I sawed one in half with my fingernail trying to determine what it truly was.

My Flail Can Spit Fire...It can't? Why the hell not??

It was one of those work from home days where by the end of it, I should have looked like one of those cartoon characters where the bomb explodes in their face, leaving my hair stiff, black and straight back, my blue eyes peering out from my explosive covered face. The good thing is that I had a nice lunch with my honey. Working from home has it’s perks and lunch usually does not involve food.

We did have a nice lentil & rice dish that he had made last night when we were eventually hungry. Very tasty!

But when work was done, I was just sooo done. Time to change into my Not One More Minute clothes. Time to go see my crows, read a little of A Year in Provence. And out I went. The Crows were about…the one who is more forthright and getting to know that I won’t chuck a rock at him but instead will gently place a small pile of crackers and peanuts for him on the ground where he can see it.

His family is also showing up now and waiting in the backseat of the tree branches, not yet comfortable enough to go without the middle bird.

When I got home, Honey had been making his delicious home fries since we decided on breakfast for dinner. With seven chickens in the yard we can’t really ignore the eggs in the fridge that are awaiting their curtain call. It’d be a huge dis-service to the ladies in the coop, as we hear them at times squawking during production. We feel like the lowest life forms on the small occasion that we drop a precious shelled gift to the floor, thus shattering it and having to call in the cleanup reinforcements…the dog. We are dismayed that after all the bodily effort that the hen out back put in, we basically crumpled it up and tossed it aside. Especially since we’re broke! We may as well hand out $20’s to anyone who walks by our house and doesn’t rob it.

So tonight, after my walk and healing Tibetan excercises, I arrived into the kitchen to top off our dinner. Honey makes the spuds and I am the Egg Chef. I learned how to make scrambled eggs a la Julia Child, after buying Honey her books one Christmas. So tonight I used the Julia method, although the eggs stick to the pan the most for me this way. However, if you read last night’s post, you know that I don’t do dishes. So. Oh well!

For our drinking pleasure with breakfast for dinner, was Erdinger beer. Yum. A little weird with eggs, but on a nice summerish day, how can you turn down an Erdinger?

Eventually we sat outside and I called Miz Eye, who is currently incubating my grandson, Greyson. It was so much fun to talk to her for hours. We exchanged pregnancy stories, the seriousness of Dungeons and Dragons game players (and it turns out that she has my antagonistic What If I do this/Why Can’t I do This? Gene – seriously, why is it such an offense to try and make your troll/dragon/Fantasy Imp do something un-Mythically Conventional? As Miz Eye stated, it’s about using your imagination!), along with stories of her gentle giant of a partner’s passing out when seeing gross or disturbing things. I have a feeling he won’t attend the entire birth in full consciousness. I’ll place my odds on tunnel vision before the crowning.